The Mourning Mail (FINAL)

Chapter 30

It was time to write the first article of what I envisioned as a multi-part story based on the most recent events of Brian Pierce's life. I'd thought about what I would write for so long that the piece was almost creating itself. I felt good about the project, and it was time to take a brief break and leave the house for a few hours.

Emma Woodson and I had exchanged numbers when we first met; since then, we'd talked several times. Our friendship blossomed quickly, and in her, I found a confidante with whom I could share things without having an agenda. She was an excellent cook, always looking for an excuse to try a new recipe, so it did not surprise me when she invited me back for lunch.

As I went to my car to leave my apartment, I couldn't help but notice the dark blue Dodge. It was in the same spot behind my Toyota that it had been that night when I left to go to The Casbah. Though it was early in the afternoon, its lights were on. I saw the car's designers had trimmed the parking light and turn signal modules on each front fender with thin white LEDs. I couldn't make out the shadowed figure in the driver's seat and didn't recognize the vehicle as belonging to any tenants I knew. But then again, I couldn't claim to know them all or what cars they drove.

Still... Why would this vehicle be following me? Is it related to that Mustang?

And even if my suspicion were well-founded, what could I do? Parking in a parking lot is not illegal, and no one had accosted me. I could approach the Dodge and ask what they were doing, but for what reason? That they were looking at me? For parking too often in the same spot? I would look foolish, even paranoid, if they were here legitimately. I didn't want to be setting myself up as the girl who cried "wolf." If they had harmful intentions, bad guys would lie about them anyway. Worse, they could create serious problems for me and others if armed and aggressive.

There was only one practical step I could take. I pulled out my cell phone, walked to a spot in the lot as visible as possible from their vehicle, and made it obvious I was taking photos of the car's license plate. Then I took one that showed a view of its side. Finally, I leaned over the hood and took a photo of the driver through the windshield, who covered his face with his forearms before I could get a good shot. I stood there with my arms crossed, camera app poised at the ready, staring at the driver for several moments until he finally put the car in reverse and backed out of the slot.

I'd inform building management of my concerns that the vehicle had no parking sticker and my suspicions it was stalking someone. But there was no one to act on my complaint other than the guards from the contracted security company who cruised through the lot once every hour.

Still, I knew that Marci had been right; I couldn't take my personal safety for granted anymore. I needed to be on the lookout.

Once I arrived at Emma's lovely home, we chitchatted about nothing world-shaking. The conversation turned to a personal question I'd wanted to ask the first time we met.

"You know, you and Darrell go together so well, and it's obvious you care about each other," I said. "How did you meet?"

"I had an appointment with a client at the Pendry Hotel," Emma said. "I arrived early and was going through my presentation materials in the lobby—I'm an interior designer." And a good one, I thought, as my eyes wandered through the house.

"I put one of my folders on the arm of a sofa in the waiting area, and once the client arrived, I missed it as I gathered my things to move. When we got to the conference room door, Darrell came up behind me and said, 'Ma'am, I think you left this in the lobby.' He was very polite, nothing forward, but of course, you couldn't miss his sexy Australian accent. And I was very grateful to have the folder back."