In Miami, Rochelle's absence began taking its toll, and those having to answer to Tobias Chandler were in no favorable moods. By four o'clock on the day Rochelle left, Johnson was still waiting in the restaurant with one of his cronies, looking at his watch every few minutes. He checked with the manager to see if anyone called for him, getting a negative reply. His friend, Jake, was talking, but he was not hearing much of what Jake said. He was beginning to get very concerned over Mrs. Chandler not calling. She was usually through shopping before four o'clock.
“Johnson, why do you keep looking at that infernal watch?”
Jake asked irritably, leaving his story unfinished since Johnson wasn't listening anyhow.
“I've got to go,” he said, jumping from his chair and rushing toward the door, leaving a questioning Jake gazing after him.
At The Boutique where Johnson dropped Mrs. Chandler, he parked and went inside for the first time ever. There had never been a reason before to enter the shop. A woman met him just inside the door.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, who is Remy?” he inquired, his eyes sweeping over every visible inch of the store.
“I'm Remy. What can I do for you?”
“I'm looking for Mrs. Chandler. Is she in the dressing room?”
“Who are you?” Remy asked before answering.
“I'm her chauffeur. Is she here?”
“No, she left some time ago.” Remy knew Rochelle went out the back door as she had numerous times in the past few weeks, but she wasn't about to give the man that information. She had to protect her clientele, else they would shop some place else.
“Where did she go?”
“I'm sure I don't know. She never tells me where she's going.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“No, I didn't. I have been rather busy this afternoon. When I had a moment to look about, I realized she was gone.”
Johnson picked up her phone on the counter and dialed. “Dave, we've got a problem,” he said into the phone. “Mrs. Chandler has disappeared.”
Dave, the head guard in charge when Tobias was out of town, sat up straight, the chair groaning with his weight. Jumping to his feet, the chair tilted backward and crashed to the floor. “Gone? What in the hell do you mean, gone?”
“She told me she would call me when she finished shopping, but she never did. I got worried and came back to the shop looking for her.”
“Where in the hell were you? You were supposed to be watching her.”
“She told me to go have lunch and she would call me when she was finished shopping.”
“You stupid damn bastard, I thought you knew what your job was!”
“It was nothing new. I've done it many times before.”
“Then we damn well don't have a problem, Johnson, but you sure as hell do. You get paid to watch her so nothing like this happens.”
“I was following the routine I've always followed. What are we going to do, Dave?”
“I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm calling the boss.
If I were you, Johnson, I'd pack a suitcase and get the fuck out of Miami just as damn fast as you can.”
“It wasn't my fault. Surely Mr. Chandler won't blame me.”
“Not only will he blame you, but you'll damn well pay if something's happened to her. Have you forgotten those other two who created problems for Mr. Chandler, not to mention at least a dozen others? You do recall them, don't you, Johnson? Our boss knows how to make people disappear.”
That is all Johnson needed to hear. He went to the bank, drew out his savings, and ditched the shiny limo. He went back to his tiny apartment and started packing his clothes, intending to catch the first bus out of the city. He figured if he could get to New York City and get lost among the hoards of people Tobias Chandler would never find him.
IT TOOK DAVE A COUPLE of hours before he could track Tobias down, and he dreaded like hell to be the one to tell him. It was his duty, though, since he was in charge. He just hoped Tobias would not take his hostility out on him since Johnson was probably already on his way to the other side of the United States.
“Disappeared?” Tobias screamed into the phone, following with a string of expletives. “Disappeared from where? Can't any of you sons of bitches do anything right?”
Dave winced at the anger in Tobias's voice, and reluctantly repeated the story told by Johnson.
“What in the hell have you done about it?” he demanded, rising impatience seeming to reach through the telephone from Columbia to Miami and quickly growing into dangerous rage.
Tobias's breathing sounded hard and ragged now, and Dave knew the man was in a killing mood. “I sent some of the guys out with her picture to some of the shops where she frequently goes. I told them to hit on taxi drivers and the ticket tellers at the bus station. I also checked car rental places, and the airline, and nothing was booked under Mrs. Chandler's name.”
There was a lengthy span of silence as Tobias thought it through. When he spoke again, he was calmer than at first. “What does Johnson have to say for himself?”
“About all he said was that she disappeared.”
“Let me speak to him.”
“I can't, Mr. Chandler. He is missing, too. The guys located the limo, but Johnson has also disappeared.”
“I want that son of a bitch found, and you know what to do when you find him!”
“What about Mrs. Chandler? What do you want me to do?”
“You look for her and find her, but I'll deal with her myself. I do not want the police called in. We will have to handle the matter ourselves. Check pawnshops to see if she pawned jewelry. She had to have money to get out of town and I never leave her more than a couple hundred since I have charge accounts established at the places she frequents. She also has a couple of credit cards. Find out if she has made any recent charges.”
“Yes, sir, I'll get the boys busy on it.”
“Dave, you get off your ass and find her, do you understand?”
His voice was suddenly calm, but underlying the calmness was a deadly rage. “I'll be back on the earliest plane I can get, and I'm going to kick some ass if she's not found by the time I arrive home.”
BOZEMAN WAS THE LARGEST city located near the small bedroom community called Windy Point where Rochelle planned to settle. Exhausted from the days and nights aboard buses, where she feared even taking a nap with so much money in the duffel bag, she decided to spend a night in Bozeman before going on to her destination. After clutching the handle of the duffel bag until her hand felt locked into a curved fist, and forcing her eyes to remain open when her whole body cried out for sleep, she knew she needed a bed and rest. When she arrived at Windy Point, she wanted to be at her mental best, ready to handle the business of her money, and find a place to live.
Taking a cab, she asked the driver to take her to the best hotel in town with a good restaurant. She yearned to bathe and take off the wig that heated her head as though she was under a dryer.
She walked into the hotel lobby and requested a room, aware that she did not look exactly like the type of guest who would frequent one of the better hotels. Under normal circumstances, she would have been ashamed of her appearance. Now, however, she was thankful for her awful clothing that had served her well in her escape from Tobias.
“You might be more comfortable somewhere else,” the desk clerk told her, eying her questionably, her blond hair flowing over her shoulders like a horse's coarse mane.
“I'm sure I will be very comfortable here,” she assured him, taking money from her purse to pay in advance. The desk clerk eyed it suspiciously.
“Ma'am, this is a respectable hotel,” he warned, assessing her distastefully.
“Sir, all I want is a room and a place to sleep. I may be dressed very foolishly, but my moral behavior is more refined than yours I dare say.” She slid a bill in his hand.
He looked startled, but instantly changing his attitude, he pushed a registration card toward her. She filled it out, her hand scratching in the information, all of which was a lie. “I'll be here one night,” she said. “How much?”
His reply was abrupt, but he handed her a key and told her the price. She counted out the correct amount and handed him, which he also looked at questioningly. People paid with credit cards, rarely using cash for payment. He was not sure about this. He could end up losing his job, but the twenty bucks she handed him would come in handy toward the new tire he needed for his car.
“Are there any clothing shops near the hotel?” Rochelle inquired, thinking she would like to look a bit smarter tomorrow when she went to the bank. Her wrinkled suit stuffed in the duffel bag would hardly look presentable.
“There's one a few blocks over,” he said, and gave her the address and directions.
Rochelle took a cab to the location given her. Their prices were high, but they had some lovely clothing that caught her eye immediately. She received several evil stares because of her attire, but for the most part the clerk was friendly and helpful. Not in the mood for a lot of shopping, she bought one gorgeous white suit and a pale yellow silk blouse to wear with it. She purchased hosiery; a matching set of under-things, and had to go to a couple more shops to find comfortable pumps and a matching purse, cosmetics and personal items.
As soon as she was back at the hotel in her room, she slid out of her clothing, glad to rid herself of it as she stuffed the items into the trashcan along with the blonde wig. She kept her sneakers, socks, and sunglasses, as well as her underwear, which she washed in the sink and hung on the shower rod to dry. She checked her watch as she had done probably hundreds of times since leaving Miami, and each time she did, palpitations pumped erratically in her chest.
By now, the hue-and-cry had gone out, and a full-scale search would be underway for her. No doubt, Tobias cut his Columbia trip short and was likely in a killing mood. He probably had considered numerous ways to murder her since learning of her disappearance.
The fact that she had outsmarted him, thus far anyway, would be enough to make him more dangerous than ever. Her life would not be worth a wooden nickel if he found her. The thought of his virulent rage sent a shiver along her spine.
She bathed, washed her hair and toweled it dry. She called room service and ordered a green salad and ham sandwich and some hot tea. When she finished her meal, she could not stop yawning. God, I have never been this tired, she thought.
Tucking the duffel bag beneath the bed covers next to her, she fell into a hard, fast sleep that lasted throughout the afternoon and night.
When she awoke the following morning, she ordered a huge breakfast and plenty of coffee through room service. She wanted to remain out of the public eye as much as possible even if she was far away from Miami. She considered changing her appearance, maybe cutting off some of her flamboyant auburn-gold hair, but had no scissors.
She dressed in her new white suit, looking like a completely new person when she made her way down to the lobby. Her long, shapely legs drew attention from the short hemline down to the black patent leather pumps she wore, but she did not notice. Still emotionally tired despite all the many hours of sleep, her brain would not let go of all the visions of what must be happening in Miami. She was physically free from Tobias, but she would never be emotionally free. Fear of Tobias discovering her whereabouts kept her bound to him as completely as if he were by her side.
The desk clerk looked at her with appreciation, and did not recognize her, not even when she informed him she would like to pay her room service charges.
He looked puzzled, not having remembered checking her in.
“What room, miss?” He asked, scratching his head. When she handed him the key, he did an about face, his eyes gleaming with surprise.
Rochelle settled her tab and asked him to order her a cab. She only had a few minutes to wait.
“To the bus station,” she told the taxi driver, hoping this would be her last bus ride. Buses made her hopelessly uncomfortable now after spending so many long endless hours on them.
As the bus carried her to Windy Point, she thought of her parents and the time the three of them visited the small town years previously. She was deep in thought when the bus stopped on the curb next to a bus stop sign across the street from the post office.
With her duffel bag handle clutched tightly in her fisted hand, she walked toward the business district, suddenly feeling more alone than she'd ever been in her life. This morning, upon waking, her body, her mind, everything felt numb. Now, her precarious situation hit her with a rush of emotion. She was on her own with no friends, no one to turn to, and feeling akin to a hunted animal. Depression weighed heavily upon her tense shoulders. She tried to concentrate on her surroundings, barely remembering anything from her visit years ago with her parents. She felt like crying, but bit back the urge.
Landmarks looked different and strange, quite unfamiliar to her wandering gaze. Recalling the town had been small, now she could see it had not changed a great deal. It was still small with a row of stores and shops on both sides of the avenue, compacted close enough within a commercially zoned area as to put things within easy walking distance. Nearer the outskirts was a motel, also in easy walking distance. It was where she and her parents stayed when her father visited with his good friend, James Matheson, many years ago.
“James Matheson,” Rochelle whispered aloud to herself, digging the name of her father's friend from her memory, the man she would soon be seeing.
She started down the sidewalk of the main street, feeling extremely nervous at the prospect of dealing with Mr. Matheson, even if he had been a friend of her father. She expected the bank to be a small establishment much like all the little modernized shops and stores with decorative facades. She was pleasantly surprised when she spotted the bank, and saw it was a nearly new structure.
When she went inside, its modern architecture was somehow very stabilizing and friendly, as was the modern decor. The floor contained a carpet in a conservative shade of gray with borders of dark mauve. Padded chairs, covered in mauve leather complemented the rough textured wallpaper with its abstract lines and shapes. The lobby was enormous with several tall patron desks spaced across the length of its center and containing deposit slips, credit applications, and other banking forms. Green plants, selectively placed, lent an earthy setting.
Rochelle's heart pounded against her chest as she went to the first teller she saw. Business and banking were not exactly her areas of expertise, and she was frightened that she might somehow bungle this, considering she had so much cash on her. One phone call to Tobias for verification of who she was would surely mean ultimate death for her. She could feel her hands grow damp and the butterflies start up again.
“I'd like to see Mr. James Matheson,” she said, and watched the woman's face take on a frown that raised Rochelle's uneasiness. Her hands were shaking nervously. All alone in a strange place, with no one for moral support, feelings of loneness and fear consumed her.
If not for her father's referral to James Matheson, she would fear having to deal with anyone else. She hadn't the foggiest idea how far-reaching Tobias's organization was, and giving her name to anyone could create a trail leading him to her. She dared not trust anyone.
“May I ask what the nature of your business is?” the woman asked, replacing her initial frown with her best professional look as she sized Rochelle up.
“Investments,” Rochelle told her, trying to sound confident.
“I'm here to make an investment.”
“Hold on, miss. I'll see if Mr. Matheson can see you now.” She picked up the phone, and spoke quietly. “Mr. Matheson, there's a young woman here who is asking for James Matheson. She says she would like to make an investment. Can you see her, sir?”
A silent pause at the woman's end preceded a nod of her head before she hung up the phone. “If you'll go down to the end of the teller windows, you'll see a door there on your left. Just knock on it, and go right in.”
Rochelle nodded, wondering why the woman stared at her so inquisitively. Her paranoia was in overdrive. The butterflies fluttered nervously, and her palms felt terribly clammy. She was extraordinarily afraid of questions. Any personal information given out could easily establish a paper trail making it easy for Tobias to find her. She hoped James Matheson would not make her quite so nervous.
She took a deep breath, her mind focused so intently on Tobias possibly locating her, she could barely think coherently. She found herself subconsciously glancing over her shoulder. She took another deep breath, knowing she needed to get control. Putting herself out in public among people presented the greatest concern for her.
Stopping in front of the heavy door, she read the nameplate bearing the name Michael Matheson, President.
A flicker of confusion caused her to frown. She searched her memory, thinking she might have incorrectly recalled Mr. James Matheson's first name. Perhaps Michael was his middle name, she thought.
Straightening her back and changing her facial features to the inscrutable mask she'd long worn with Tobias, she tapped lightly on the door.