Crush - Alan Jacobson [65]
Her headlights hit the sign ahead that announced Calistoga would be coming up in fifteen miles. Calistoga? Her Napa geography was fairly poor, but she remembered Calistoga being toward the top of the map—farther down the road, after St. Helena—meaning she should’ve turned left onto 29, not right.
She slowed to see where she could make a U-turn, but headlights in her mirror caught her attention. Same ones she saw a few moments ago when leaving the police department? Impossible to say—and normally she wouldn’t give it much thought. But last night someone—Fuller?—had tried to turn her into a french fry and today a serial killer texted her phone. Her sense of awareness, always pretty good, was heightened. Paranoid? Realistic. Someone might be following her. She wasn’t about to let whoever it was have the upper hand again.
A few yards ahead was Pratt Avenue. Without signaling, she hung a sharp right onto the narrow, two-lane road and accelerated, coming up quickly on Park Street. Swerved right again, then made an immediate left onto Crinella Drive. Residential.
Glanced up, saw nothing—no headlights. All that for nothing. She felt her heart rate moving at a good pace. Nothing like a little scare to get the blood pumping. She followed the road as it curved right, keeping an eye on her mirror, just in case. If nothing else, it’d be a long way around to getting back onto 29 in the correct direction.
Parked cars populated driveways and lengths of available curb space. To her right, a portable basketball standard stood poised for action, sandwiched between neatly placed garbage and recycling containers.
She followed Crinella as it proceeded straight, then hooked right again. Perfect, a circle. She would stay on it and loop back onto Park, then get back onto 29. Of all things—a detour when she desperately wanted to meet up with Robby and relax. If she told him about this, he’d laugh at her. Then again, given all they’ve been through lately, he probably would not find it amusing.
After turning right onto Park, she took a couple of deep breaths to slow her pulse rate. This can’t be healthy, she thought. Doesn’t stress kill? A totally different kind of serial killer. One I’d never be able to catch. She chuckled at the absurdity of her thought, how the mind turned to humor at strange times.
As she passed the opening of the Crinella loop, she caught a glimpse of a car sitting at the curb ahead of her, its headlights burning. So what? It’s just a mother who’s running to the store for milk. Waiting for me to pass so she can turn onto Park.
Vail continued along Park, headed toward Pratt. Looked in her side mirror. The car had turned onto Park but was several dozen feet behind her. But what if it’s not an innocent resident?
She reasoned most people would turn left here, to get to the main drag, Highway 29. So she turned right, down toward a darker area. If the other vehicle stayed with her, the chances were greater its occupant was trailing her. She would then call Robby, have him drive toward her. Enough of this shit.
As she crossed a set of railroad tracks, Vail wished she had Stella with her. She didn’t know her way around—especially in the dark—and the Taurus wasn’t equipped with an in-dash GPS. She then realized she should’ve headed back to 29, a road she had been on and which was a main thoroughfare. Then she could have gone back to the police department.
As she mentally kicked herself, the two pinpricks of bright light appeared in her mirror. The car had turned right and was now behind her again. She accelerated hard, took it up to seventy for the next half mile as the road doglegged left. This had to open up somewhere, spill onto another road. If not, she’d need to find a street to turn around, then head back toward whoever was following her. She pressed her left forearm against her waist and felt her Glock.
While she mulled her options, Pratt dead-ended at what looked like a main road a hundred feet ahead. She remembered looking at the map when they were planning the trip and seeing