Murder Deja Vu

Reece’s mouth water. “Smells wonderful.” Lana had set the kitchen table with placemats, silverware, and cloth napkins. She put plates of food in front of them, and they dug in.
    “Pot roast and potatoes, carrots and beets,” she said.
    Reece swallowed a heaping forkful, “This is delicious.”
    “Yes, it is,” Dana said. “You’ll have to give me the recipe so Reece can make it. I’m a terrible cook.”
    “Even a terrible cook can make this,” Lana said. “You throw everything into a pot and it cooks itself. Easy as pie. I’ll write down the ingredients before you go.”
    Reece gave Dana an affectionate pat on the arm. “Easy as pie.”
    Dana stuck out her tongue playfully in return. “Maybe eating pie, not making it.”
    When they finished, Lana took their plates, refusing help, and Reece and Dana joined Frank in the living room. He had put the nasal cannula in his nostrils and raised the leg part of the recliner. “Lana turned on the window air conditioner. It smells bad tonight.”
    “Yeah,” Reece said. “What is that?”
    “Brown algae,” Frank wheezed. “Crap covers the beach. Been here since before the Pilgrims landed, I read.” He paused to take a breath. “Geniuses at all the big universities around here can’t get rid of it. Stinks, but it keeps the rent down.” He rested before continuing. “Most days it’s clear and clean, nice enough to enjoy the ocean. After the smells in prison, this is a piece of cake. Nature, in all its glory.”
    Reece agreed.

Chapter Twenty-Five
The Sleeping Giant

    W hen they woke, Dana sniffed the aroma of freshly-made coffee wafting into the bedroom. “I could get used to this, if only it were under different circumstances.”
    They showered, dressed, and tiptoed into the living room when they saw Frank in his chair. He was awake, but his hollow eyes indicated a man who’d never gone to bed. He tossed Reece a phone and a set of keys.
    “It’s a black Honda Civic parked in front. The car’s clean. Don’t exceed the speed limit and you’ll be okay. The phone’s a throwaway. Can’t be traced. I have a new one too. Phone numbers are on the map on the front seat. No GPS. Sorry. Take these.” He handed Reece a cap and sunglasses. “Won’t hide you if they’re waiting, but it’ll keep others from seeing too much. Now have some breakfast and get going.”
    Reece took them and nodded. “We’ll get some coffee and join you.” But Lana appeared holding a tray with two cups of black coffee. Reece crouched down and grasped onto Frank’s arm. “Thanks for all this, friend. Would you believe I’ve never had a cell phone?”
    “I believe it.”
    “I’ll keep in touch.” Reece finished his coffee. He smiled at Lana, who never strayed too far from Frank’s side, his watchful protector, the same way that Frank had been Reece’s.
    Dana followed him down the hall to the front door of the building. “I feel like we’re Bonnie and Clyde, on the run.”
    “I hope we don’t meet the same end.”
    She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “Be careful.”
    He pulled her close. “There are words I want to say, but I can’t say them. Words like I love you and I want you, but I’ll have to wait until this is settled.”
    She met his gaze. “I can wait.”
    “Can you?”
    “As long as it takes. Now go or I won’t let you do this alone.” He left without turning around. She hurried down the hall before someone saw her, struggling to still her raging heartbeat. What chance would Reece have if the cops were waiting in Portland? If he managed to avoid them, would they be lurking somewhere on the street when he returned?
    What if? What if?
    She was running on adrenaline, staying with people she didn’t know, without a car, without escape. She slipped into the apartment, squashing the doubt that things might not work out, and saw Lana injecting Frank. Her stomach roiled. There were things worse than being caught, worse than prison.
    “It doesn’t take long to work,” Frank said, “and then I’m okay for a while. Lana made you some breakfast. Go eat while this kicks in. When you finish, come keep me company.”
    “I’d like that.”
    Lana took her arm. “Come. Have you ever eaten blini? They’re the Russian version of pancakes.”
    Dana followed Lana to the small kitchen. “I’ve had pancakes and blintzes, but never blini.”
    Lana moved close as if she were imparting a state secret. “Blini are better. I made some this morning. Frank