Party Crashers

normal thing she'd done in days and it took her mind off the disturbing tangents her life had taken lately.
    She was actually humming under her breath as she bundled the postcards into a bag and left to drive to the post office. A surprisingly cool wind gusted around her, tossing her hair into her eyes. Two young girls skipped along the sidewalk, holding hands, pigtails bouncing. Their pink cheeks and exuberant feet made Jolie smile. Had she ever been so carefree? At what point in life had she begun to accumulate baggage, to make poor decisions that had led her to this moment?
    She dropped off the postcards, purchased more stamps, and on the way back to her apartment, pulled into a drive-through to pick up dinner. While she waited for her order, she leaned forward and peered through the windshield, squinting into the sun. The day was so luminous, it was difficult to imagine that anything was wrong with the world, much less the horrible mess that Gary had gotten himself into. When her order came through the window, she snagged a French fry from the bag and glanced in the side mirror in preparation for pulling away.
    A gray Mercury Sable sedan sat behind her. With one occupant. A man whose build resembled Gary's. Was he following her?
    She choked down the fry and looked harder, but the man wore a ball cap pulled low over his face. Coincidence or intentional? She kept her foot on the brake and reached for her cell phone. After retrieving Detective Salyers' number, she waited for the call to connect while her pulse climbed. Another car had pulled in behind the Sable, so as long as she stayed put, he would be trapped by a curb and some rugged landscaping. The young man in the drive-through window frowned at her.
    At last the woman answered. "Salyers."
    "Detective Salyers, this is Jolie Goodman. I think Gary Hagan is in the car behind me."
    "What makes you think so?"
    "It looks like my car, and a man is driving it."
    "Are you sure it's Mr. Hagan?"
    "No, I'm not positive."
    "Is there some way you can get behind the car to check the license plate?"
    "No. I'm sitting at a drive-through window."
    "Where?"
    "Holcomb Bridge Road."
    "What's the cross street?"
    She glanced around frantically, trying to remember. "East of Old Alabama Road."
    "I'll dispatch a cruiser there. Can you sit tight?"
    A horn blared a couple of cars back. "I'll try."
    "Stay on the line."
    More horns blared. She shut off the car engine, put on the hazard lights and locked her doors, all the while keeping the phone to her ear and her eye on her driver's side mirror.
    The young man at the window waved to get her attention. She rolled down the window and said, "I'm so sorry—my engine light flashed, then it went dead."
    From the look on the young man's face, it was clear the training manual hadn't prepared him for this. "I need to get the manager." Then he disappeared.
    The horns kept blowing, although the man in the car behind her seemed calm enough.
    "Ms. Goodman, are you still there?"
    "Yes," she said into the phone. "But I have a bunch of angry, hungry people behind me."
    "An officer is on the way, ETA less than five minutes."
    Which sounded like an eternity to Jolie. Sweat gathered on her hairline.
    "Can you still see him?" Salyers asked.
    "Yes."
    "What is he doing?"
    "Just sitting there."
    No sooner had she spoken than the door of the Sable swung open as far as the narrow driveway would allow. A jean-clad leg emerged.
    "He's getting out," she said.
    "Don't risk it," Salyers said. "Drive away."
    She dropped the phone and fumbled to turn the ignition key. As the engine roared to life, she gunned the gas and vaulted out of the drive-through, tires squealing. When she looked in the rear view mirror, the man took off his hat to scratch his bald head. Definitely not Gary.
    Relief flooded her limbs and she pulled into the next shopping center to retrieve her phone. "Detective?"
    "I'm still here—what happened?"
    "It wasn't him. Sorry."
    "No problem," the detective said. "Hang on—let me cancel the call."
    Jolie alternately berated and calmed herself until Salyers came back on the line.
    "Ms. Goodman, are you okay?"
    "Yes. Sorry for the false alarm."
    "Don't worry about it. Gary Hagan is a fugitive. Even if you think you see him, I want you to call me, is that clear?"
    "Yes."
    "Because we both know he's still alive, don't we, Ms. Goodman?"
    Jolie caught herself, then murmured, "Like you, I'm assuming that Gary stole my car."
    "Ms. Goodman, when we spoke