Dying Embers by Robert E. Bailey

unpunished.’”
    â€œI’ll get you my expense report,” I said. I had seen Marg smile before, but twice in one day was an occasion. Back in my office I pushed the window curtain aside and studied the parking lot. No Wendy. No Andy. I screwed the cigar into the side of my face and stoked it up. Half a cigar later, the expense report was ready and it was time to go.
    â€œIf Wendy shows up in time to see me off, give her the gate number,” I said to Marg, handing her the report. Lorna took my briefcase and the small green suitcase. I got the rest. She had so much rummage in her trunk that we had to stow the luggage in the back seat. The “ DIE BITCH ” salutation was scratched in so that it could be read from the inside, but they got the E backwards.
    It’s a straight shot east down Forty-fourth to the airport. The sun had remembered that it was June, but no driver’s window made for a chilly ride. Lorna cranked up the heat and turned down the radio.
    â€œHow come you never told me about covering my plates?” asked Lorna.
    â€œYour class at Quantico starts in August,” I said. “Seemed like a lot of agitation for couple of months of insurance drill. Besides, your car is still registered in your father’s name.”
    Lorna snapped her eyes over to me and then back on the road. “So how did they find my apartment?”
    â€œCould be unrelated.”
    â€œYou ran my plate?”
    â€œJust a sec,” I said and turned up the radio.
    The news reader said, “… stolen car was recovered last night from a cornfield in northeastern Kent County. Stuart Grover, a local farmer, called the sheriff’s office to complain of drag racing near his home. Sheriff’s officers reported that the vehicle had been stolen from the Grand Rapids Public Library parking lot earlier in the day. The license plate had been altered. The perpetrators set fire to the vehicle after an unsuccessful attempt to drive it out of the recently cultivated field. Sheriff’s detectives state that the area is well known to local teenagers who frequent the area to race cars. They have promised to increase patrols in the area.”
    â€œDamn,” I said. “Grover has a first name. Who knew?”
    â€œNot teenagers,” said Lorna.
    â€œNot amateurs,” I said. “I’m not in the Bresser’s Cross Index for Kent County so they filched a car for plan B.” I turned the radio down.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘could be unrelated?’ You think I just piss off people at random—and you ran my plate!”
    â€œI know you don’t just piss people off at random. I talked to your high school counselor and two of your college roommates.”
    â€œJesus!”
    â€œI put you on the street with a gun in your hand. What did you expect?”
    Lorna shook her head.
    â€œPull into the short-term lot,” I said.
    â€œI can’t stay. I’ve got to go in and file a police report for my insurance company. I’ll have to just drop you off.”
    â€œYou don’t have to stay,” I said. “I need to pack my hardware and I don’t want to do it in front of the terminal.”
    She pulled up to the arm and a short white kiosk spat a ticket in her direction. “So how did they find my apartment? No one’s bothered my car before and nothing was taken.” She took the ticket and the arm went up.
    â€œIt’s probably safe to figure that whoever followed me wouldn’t have had time to get to your place and rummage through your car. They most likely followed you from the office, same as me. That means there’s at least two guys working us, and somebody is spending a hell of a lot of money. Go to the back of the lot. Look in the mirror and see who comes in behind us.”
    â€œGray Dodge Shadow,” she said. “I don’t want anybody making trouble for my dad and mom.” She pulled into an empty