You Can't Catch Me(31)

We stop for lunch at a diner near Newburgh, a town on the Hudson River. It has a lot of fried fish on the menu, but also sandwiches and pasta. There’s a blue strip of neon running around a recess in the ceiling, which makes everything and everyone in the place look slightly alien.

“Fresh jumbo shrimp cocktail,” I say to Jessie once we’ve had a few minutes to peruse the menu. “You think that’s a good choice?”

She makes a face. “I’d stick to things that don’t go bad so quickly, personally.”

“You make a good point.”

I order a corned beef sandwich and a Diet Coke. She orders the turkey on whole wheat and sticks to water.

“It’s my one vice,” I say, as she eyes my drink with a bit of distaste. “Well, maybe not my only one, but one a day can’t hurt, can it?”

“Eat what you want,” she says. “I don’t care.”

“Did she have any weird eating habits?”

“We didn’t eat together.”

“Just drank.”

“That’s right.”

I take a sip of my Diet Coke. It’s refreshing, especially after the long drive. “And you haven’t flown since?”

“Nope.”

“Did you ask the airport to check its records?”

“Where? In Minneapolis?”

“Yeah.”

“I did. They said I was the only one with that name through the airport that day.”

“So, she has other ID.”

“I guess.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Why?”

“The more we know, they closer we are to getting to her.”

“If you say so.”

She eats her sandwich delicately, taking small bites. I’ve already finished my sandwich and the large pickle it came with.

“I can drive, if you want,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“After lunch. To give you a break.”

She smiles. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

After lunch, I take the wheel and lead us onto the highway. The Prius handles well, and it’s easy to get going over the speed limit. Too easy.

We pass a patrol car tucked into one of those turnarounds that are hard to see until it’s too late. I glance down at the speedometer; we’re going seventy-five.

“Shit,” I say as the cop pulls out of his hiding place.

“What?”

The flash of lights answers for me.

“Dammit,” Jessie says. “This was a mistake.”

“It’s just a ticket,” I say as I slow down and start to pull off to the side of the road. “I’ll pay it.”

“No.” She looks over at me in frustration. “You and me. You’re going to have to show them my car registration and your license, so they’ll know we’re two Jessica Williamses traveling together. Police don’t like coincidences. I should’ve thought of it before.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I mean, you don’t have a criminal record or anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Me neither. So, why would the cops care about us? If they do, we’ll explain.”

“I never switched my registration to New York.”

“I don’t think that’s a huge deal.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I stop the car and roll down my window as the cop approaches.

“How are you folks today?” he asks. He’s about forty years old with close-cropped blond hair and a beefy neck.

“We’re good,” I say.

“Where you headed?”

“Philly.”

“You in a hurry to get there?”

“No, I’m so sorry, Officer. It’s my friend’s car, and I’m not used to the gas pedal. I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

“Uh-huh. What you going to Philly for?”

“A reunion,” I say, smiling.

“Sounds fun,” he says. “Please hand over your driver’s license and registration.”

“I need to go into the glove box,” Jessie says.

“Go ahead.”

She opens it and reaches in as I take out my wallet and give him my driver’s license.

“You, too, little lady.”

I can see Jessie grit her teeth as she takes out her wallet and hands him her driver’s license with the registration. As she leans over me to do so, I can smell her sweat.

The police officer starts to enter the information into his computer, then stops. He puts the two licenses one on top of each other; then he frowns. He tips his head down into the car.

“You ladies have something to tell me?”

After he calls it in, the police officer tells us to follow him to the station.

“See,” Jessie says. “I told you.”

“It’s not illegal to be driving with someone who has the same name as you.”

“Tell that to Mr. Little Lady.”

“He’s a jerk,” I say. “But if we tell the truth, it’ll be okay.”

“Which is?”

“The story I told you, why we’re going to Philly.”