Shaking her head, Valentina said, “No, I am not refined in the way you think. I was born into a wealthy family. An only child. My parents died in a fire when I was fifteen. I miss them still,” she said. “I only wish they’d lived to meet my daughter.”
Alison didn’t know what to say in response to such revealing personal details from a woman she thought refined and classy, even though she said otherwise. She sensed her new friend didn’t have such a high opinion of herself. She was unsure why, as Valentina seemed to have everything. But Ali knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. Confidence and self-esteem weren’t guaranteed regardless of one’s family or wealth. She’d had a few experiences when she waitressed in some of Florida’s finest establishments. Some of the female customers were competitive, childish, and downright mean. Ali had to bite her tongue more than once when she’d encountered the wealthy women who’d treated her like garbage. Always thinking of the tips, she learned to smile, agree, and do what was asked of her. In the long run, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t worked in fancy restaurants to make friends. It was all about the money. All about her future—and now that she’d achieved one of her main goals, she had the last laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” Ali said, and meant it. “I never knew my parents.”
“I figured as much. It’s not always a bad thing, Alison. Some folks aren’t meant to have children.”
“I suppose. I’m not exactly sure what my mother or father’s circumstances were, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m an adult now, with my own life.”
Valentina nodded. “You’ve a good attitude, and that’s what matters. So,” she said, “do you want to drive, or should I?”
“We can use the Jeep. I want to stop at the dollar store to pick up a few basics for tonight. You sure you don’t mind tagging along?” she asked again.
“Not at all. As I said, the shop is quiet. Nothing to keep me there, and besides, I need a break.”
Ali locked the back door, then used the code Kimberly gave her to lock the key box. “I’m all set,” she said.
After the short walk to the public parking lot, Ali stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the gray car.
“Is something wrong?” Valentina asked.
Alison shook her head and resumed walking toward her Jeep. Once they were safely inside, she turned to Valentina. “I think whoever owns that gray sedan has been following me.” She told her about the other times the car appeared out of nowhere.
Valentina raised her brow. “You’re serious?”
“Either that, or maybe it’s just a lot of coincidences—which I don’t believe in. I’m pretty sure I saw a man driving when the car was behind me at the Pass, though I couldn’t make out any details. His hair, build, that sort of thing.”
Pulling onto Dolphin Drive, Ali kept looking in her rearview mirror, waiting for the gray car to appear. At the end of Pine Tree Road, she turned onto Highway 41, heading south with no sign of the gray vehicle.
“It’s just a couple miles, then we’ll take a left,” Valentina directed her. “Slow times, so you should be able to get the guys out to your place before the end of the day. If not, why don’t you spend the night at my place? You know I have a couple extra rooms.”
Ali laughed. “Okay, if I don’t have power, I’ll take you up on your offer, but on one condition.”
“What would that be?” Valentina asked.
“You’ll let me take you and Renée out for dinner. Or let me make you dinner once I’m settled. I know my way around the kitchen a little bit. Your choice.”
“We’ll go out. There’s a new restaurant that just opened in Fort Charlotte. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go, so this is perfect.”
“Sounds good,” Ali said.
“Turn here,” Valentina said. “I’ll wait here while you take care of business.”
“I’ll leave the keys. If it gets too hot, crank the air on.”
Twenty minutes later, Alison Marshall had a bona fide utility account. When she returned to the Jeep to tell Valentina the good news that her power would be on by the end of the day, she was surprised to discover her friend wasn’t waiting for her. She scanned the parking lot. No sign of her. Ali went inside to check to see if she’d gone to the ladies’ room. Nothing.
Inside the Jeep, Ali’s keys remained in the ignition, and it was hot, almost to the point of suffocation. She cranked the car over and adjusted the air conditioner as high as it would go. Ali felt she had no other choice but to sit and wait for her friend. A zillion possibilities ran through her head, and none of them made sense. Fearing Valentina might’ve been taken by some weirdo, she shoved the Jeep into reverse, then slammed on the brakes when she saw her speaking to someone. Someone in the gray car.
What the heck?
It was the guy from the coffee shop, the one who had come to Ali’s defense.
Clueless, she eased across the lot, stopping when she was beside the gray car. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” she asked Valentina.
“Yes, but it’s not what you think,” Valentina said, then walked around the front of the Jeep to get in on the passenger side. “I saw this car as soon as you went inside. I thought he was following us, so I got out to ask him what he thought he was doing. Let him tell you.” She motioned to the man behind the wheel of the gray car.
He opened the driver’s side door, unfolding what had to be at least six foot five of total manliness. He had dark brown hair with streaks of white on both sides and wore a pair of aviator sunglasses so Ali wasn’t able to see the color of his eyes. He also wore light denim jeans and a cream-colored shirt.
She rolled her window down as he walked over to the Jeep. “Why are you following me?” Not one to waste time on bullshit, she wanted an explanation now.
He held both hands up. “I’m not following you. I’m Kit Moore,” he said, then took another step toward the Jeep. “Remember, we met this morning?”
“Of course, though you lied and told me you were here to fish. What do you want?” She asked. “I’ve seen your vehicle more than once, so don’t try to tell me you aren’t following me.”
“Okay, so maybe I was fishing—not literally, but not for the reasons you’re thinking,” he defended himself.
“How would you even know what I’m thinking? Are you psychic?” As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, she regretted it. She faced Valentina. “Sorry,” she said, then returned her attention to Kit Moore with the gray sedan.
“I’m an investigative reporter for the Miami Journal,” he said, then removed a business card from his shirt pocket. “I’ve been on this story for more time that I care to admit. I’m close to tying the loose ends together. I’d like to speak with you, ask a few questions, if you don’t mind.” He stood there, sweat gathering on his forehead and the sides of his face.
“Go on,” Ali said.
“You mean now?” he asked.
“No time like the present,” she quipped.