Genuine Fraud(61)

Jule had never worn a dress this nice. It was heavy cotton, a day dress with a square neck and a full skirt. She was surprised Lita had such a thing, but Lita said she got it for cheap at a resale shop.

Jule stepped onto the street in the dress and her running shoes, Lita’s heels in her bag. The smell of New York City in the heat of early summer floated in the thick air around her: garbage, poverty, ambition.

She decided to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. She could get the subway from the Manhattan side and wouldn’t have to transfer.

The sun sparkled as she set out. The stone towers loomed. Jule could see boats in the harbor, leaving trails through the water. Lady Liberty was strong and bright.

It was strange how someone else’s dress made her feel new. This sensation of being someone else, of changing into someone else, of being beautiful and young and crossing this famous bridge to something big—it was why Jule had come to New York.

She had never felt that possibility stretch out in front of her until this morning.





THIRD WEEK IN JUNE, 2017

CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO

A little more than a year later, in the Cabo Inn, at five a.m., Jule stumbled to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and lined her eyes. Why not? She liked makeup. She had time. She layered concealer and powder, added smoky shadow, then mascara and a nearly black lipstick with a gloss over it.

She rubbed gel into her hair and got dressed. Black jeans, boots, dark T-shirt. Warm for the Mexican heat, but practical. She packed her suitcase, drank a bottle of water, and stepped out the door.

—

Noa was sitting in the hallway, her back against the wall, holding a steaming cup of coffee between her hands.

Waiting.

—

The door clicked closed. Jule stepped back against it.

Damn.

She thought she was free, or nearly free. Now she had a fight in front of her.

Noa looked confident; relaxed, even. She remained sitting, with her knees up. Balancing that foam cup. “Imogen Sokoloff?” she said.

Wait. What?

Did Noa think she was Imogen?

Imogen, of course.

Noa had tried to win Jule over with Dickens. And a sick dad. And godforsaken cats. Because she knew all those things would lure Imogen Sokoloff into conversation.

“Noa!” Jule said, smiling, returning to the BBC English accent, her back against the door of her room. “Oh, wow, you surprised me. I can’t believe you’re here right now.”

“I want to talk to you about the disappearance of one Julietta West Williams,” Noa said. “D’you know a young woman by that name?”

“I beg your pardon?” Jule shifted her handbag so it went across her body and wouldn’t easily come off.

“You can cut the accent, Imogen,” said Noa, standing up slowly to keep her coffee from spilling. “We have reason to believe you’ve been using Julietta’s passport. The evidence points to you faking your own death in London a couple months ago, after which you transferred your money to her and took over her identity, possibly with Julietta’s cooperation. But now no one has seen her for weeks. She’s left zero footprint from shortly after the execution of your will until you started using credit cards under her name at the Playa Grande. Does that sound familiar? I wonder if I could have a look at your identification.”

Jule needed to think through all this new information, but there was no time. She had to act now.

“I think you must be confusing me with someone else,” she said, keeping the BBC accent. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to trivia night. Let me get my wallet out and I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted right away.”

She faked as if to look into her bag, and in two steps, she was on top of Noa. She kicked the coffee up from underneath. It was still hot and it splashed in the detective’s face.

Noa’s head jerked back, and Jule swung the suitcase hard. It hit Noa in the side of the skull, knocking her to the floor. Jule brought it up again and slammed it down on Noa’s shoulder. Again and again and again. Noa hit the floor and scrabbled for Jule’s ankle with her left hand while she reached toward her pant leg with the right.

Was the woman armed? Yes. She had something strapped to her leg.

Jule stamped her boot down hard on the bones of Noa’s hand. There was a crunching sound and Noa cried out, but her other hand was still trying to grab Jule’s ankle, to tip her off balance.

Jule steadied herself against the wall and kicked Noa in the face. As the detective coiled back, bringing both hands up to protect her eyes, Jule yanked the leg of Noa’s jeans up.

A gun was strapped to Noa’s calf. Jule pulled it off.

She held the gun on Noa and backed away down the hall, dragging her suitcase as she aimed.

When she hit the stairway, Jule turned and ran down it.

Out the back entrance of the inn, she scanned the trash cans and the cars packed in the back lot. There were bicycles leaning against the back of the building.

No. Jule couldn’t take a bike, because she couldn’t leave the suitcase.

Farther down the hill, the street opened onto a plaza with a café.

No, that was too obvious.

Jule ran through the inn’s parking lot. When she turned the corner of the building, she saw a window into a guest room along the side wall. It was tipped open at the top.

Jule looked into the room.