RUNNING… CHAPTER 16


“So, are you two sleeping together?” Fern asked, looking at Aaron. We had just begun eating dinner. Aaron almost choked on his first bite of spaghetti. He looked stricken.

“What do you think about the spaghetti sauce. Too spicy for you?” I asked, trying to skewer Fern with a glance. Like a five-year-old she had no boundaries. But I’d come to suspect that she was bluffing at least half of the time, and knew perfectly well what she was doing. She enjoyed stirring things up. She didn’t seem to be malicious, just overcurious.

“The sauce is fine,” she said with annoyance, and I could see that she was gearing up for another go at Aaron.

“How did you come to settle down here in Gorseport,” I asked. I’d found that sometimes she could be distracted conversationally.

“I followed Jerry here ten years ago. By the time he left town I’d bought this house and didn’t feel like moving. It’s a good place to live. I can do my work anywhere.” She went on to explain what she did and said that after the first two years ninety percent of her clients were referrals.

“Tell me what’s been going on in Murietta since I left?” I asked Aaron. He eagerly tackled the question with uncharacteristic chattiness. I found out things in the space of three minutes that I hadn’t heard in all the time I’d lived there. Who said you couldn’t herd cats?

Fern’s eyes were beginning to glaze over; talk of Murietta didn’t interest her. “I’m done,” she said, and disappeared. Aaron helped me to do the dishes, and left for his motel room. I felt exhausted, but had trouble sleeping. My head was in high gear.

I felt good about the decision to check things out in Seattle, and to take Aaron along as backup. But, despite the fact that I tried never to second-guess myself, doubt kept rearing its ugly head. One way I kept from freaking out was to remind myself that I no longer was Marina who was afraid to rock the boat, but a whole new persona named Morgan, and that Morgan could be fearless more often than not.

I finally fell asleep making to-do lists in my head. Over the weekend Aaron and I provisioned up the RV. He stowed his sleeping bag and air mattress in one of the outside compartments. We read through the campground directory for likely places to spend the night near Seattle, and studied the map. I figured out Seattle was only an eight-hour drive from Gorseport.

Monday morning we talked to the mechanic at the garage and asked him to look the RV over before we left. We didn’t get away until almost noon. We traded off on driving and stayed at Saltwater State Park just south of Seattle for the night. “What’s your plan?” Aaron asked after a quick dinner.

“I’m going to go to the house and see Vern tomorrow.”

“Questions,” Aaron said. “One: do you know if he still lives there? Two: does he have either a personal bodyguard, or a police guard – servants maybe? Three: what time are you planning to see him?” Aaron waited.

“I just assumed he’d still live there. I have no idea about a bodyguard; he always had guys around him – mostly at work. And, I thought I’d catch him around nine P.M.”

“Why?” Aaron asked. I just shrugged. The truth was I hadn’t exactly thought things through yet. “Would you like some suggestions?” he asked. I bristled defensively. “No-strings advice,” Aaron said holding his hands palms out facing me. “I’m here to help you – not to interfere.”

“Okay,” I said, “suggest away.”

“First. We could call and see if he still lives there – not identifying ourselves, of course. Second, we could drive over there and see if there’s somewhere we, or I, could observe who comes and goes. Third, four A.M. would be the best time to catch him alone and most vulnerable. I’d be glad to provide perimeter control while you talk to him. I won’t come in unless you want me to. And, tomorrow I need to visit McLendons Hardware, and a Radio Shack. We need some disposable phones.”

“Is that all?” I was aiming for an ironic tone, but he gave me a literal answer.

“That’s all for now. What do you think?” I could see he was excited by the task but trying not to crowd me. “By the way, does Vern carry a gun?”

“No, but there’s one in the bedside table.”

“Gotta do something about that.” He sounded like he was talking to himself.

After a restless night with Aaron sleeping outside on the picnic table we made quick work of breakfast and made sure everything was stowed properly. Aaron suggested that we first drive through my old neighborhood and past Vern’s house. My house too, technically speaking. I still had keys.

It took the better part of an hour to get through downtown Seattle traffic and over to the neighborhood where I’d lived for just two years. The house looked the same – white columns in front, a circular drive, well-maintained grounds.