Evening Bags and Executions(79)

“Watch behind you to make sure you’re not followed. Go straight to Sheridan’s,” Jack said. “Call her. Tell her you’re on the way. Don’t get out of the car until you recognize someone standing in the doorway.”

“Got it,” I said.

I put the car in reverse and backed up a little, then hit the brakes.

“How did you get into that costume and down here so quick?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I was in the Batcave when you called.”

I grinned and backed out of the spot, then drove away.

I exited the parking garage and crept along Highland Avenue as it curved around to the entrance to the 101. Once I’d merged into traffic, I put in my Bluetooth and called Muriel.

“Got them,” I said, when she answered.

All I heard was a little mewling sound, which I took to mean she was both happy and relieved.

“I’m on my way to Sheridan’s house,” I said. “Meet me there. Tell the security guard on duty to let me through the gate. Stand in the open doorway. I’m not getting out of the car until I make sure everything is safe.”

“I understand,” she said. “Wow, Haley, you really are good at this.”

I saw no need to tell her that I might have blown the whole thing if it hadn’t been for Jack.

“See you soon,” I said, and we hung up.

Keeping Jack’s other advice in mind, I checked my rearview mirror in case Janis Joplin and a possible partner might be somehow following me. But since it was dark and all I could see were headlights, it was hard to tell if a vehicle was tailing me. I changed lanes frequently, sped up and slowed down—well, mostly I sped up—just in case.

I tried to focus on the traffic but the whole ransom exchange kept playing over and over in my head.

I thought I’d handled everything pretty well. I’d followed the kidnapper’s instructions, gotten everything I needed, made it to the appointed spot, and I’d even figured out who to make the ransom exchange with.

But if Jack hadn’t been there when the whole thing went bad, I don’t know what I’d have done.

I glanced in my side mirror and changed lanes again, pulling in front of a pickup truck.

Of course, there had been no way I could possibly know that the kidnapper would take off without making the exchange. Jack had claimed that Janis Joplin recognized me. He’d thought that if she knew me, I’d know her. But I had no clue who she was.

Or maybe I did.

I hung in the lane behind the pickup, thinking back. In my mind I played the whole encounter over slowly. Seeing Janis Joplin as she turned the corner. Realizing she was the kidnapper. The relief I’d felt that I’d found her.

A couple of miles passed. I checked my mirrors and glanced over my shoulder, and eased into the next lane behind a green janitorial service van.

Mentally I pictured the kidnapper. I’d been so overwhelmed at realizing just who Janis was that all I’d noticed was her costume. The floppy hat, the mass of long curly hair, and the round glasses had all disguised her features. Yet something about her—other than that ratty old Coach tote—had seemed familiar.

Miles passed. I transitioned south onto the 405. I ran dozens of people and places through my head, hoping something would match up—like that facial recognition software casinos use when they target cheaters.

Had I seen her at Holt’s? At a restaurant? In my classes at the College of the Canyons? Was she connected to L.A. Affairs? Maybe she’d been at—

A face exploded in my head, like the mushroom cloud from a nuclear bomb.

Oh my God—could I be right? Was I remembering her correctly?

I ran everything through my head again—her height, weight, build, age, chin, jaw, nose, forehead—and knew I wasn’t mistaken.

But how could it be? It didn’t make sense.

Why—and how—would Belinda Giles steal the Beatles bobbleheads?



I was still fired up when I pulled into the parking lot of my favorite Starbucks in Santa Clarita. Jack had called to make sure I’d gotten the bobbleheads to Sheridan okay, and we’d agreed to meet here.

When I’d pulled into Sheridan’s driveway, the guard for the private security firm I’d hired had waved me through the gate. Muriel had been watching from a window and came out of the house. She hadn’t asked for details on the exchange or if I’d gleaned any clue about who had stolen the bobbleheads in the first place. She seemed relieved and glad the ordeal was over—and that she’d get to keep her job.

She wanted me to come inside, but after hearing that she would have to wake Sheridan with the news of the bobbleheads’ return I decided I could definitely pass on seeing Sheridan in her PJs or whatever she slept in. I figured I could talk to her about the whole ransom thing at the party tomorrow.