“You’re supposed toleave a car between you and the perp so they don’t get spooked. You really need to watch more TV.”
Before I moved in with Addison I hadn’t even owned a television, and I had serious doubts about what the murder shows she loved so much were teaching her. “It’s five o’clock traffic. He wouldn’t notice if we were riding his bumper.”
“Fine,” Addison said. She flicked on her turn signal and mergedwith the next lane, accelerating to get in front of the car between us and Greg. The light ahead of us turned yellow and Greg sped up, barely making it through before it went to red.
“Damn it! Hang on,” Addison said, braking hard.
I gripped the “oh shit” handle and watched the rearview mirror, hoping the guy behind us wouldn’t plow into our bumper. When there was no impact, I grabbed the fileand started thumbing through it. “Where do you think he’s headed? Jean’s house?”
“Maybe. We didn’t see her leave, so she might still be at work. Maybe he has to pick up some dirty cheater supplies.”
I didn’t even want to know, but I had to ask. “Dirty cheater supplies?”
“Yeah, like Ho-Guard.”
I choked on a laugh. “Ho-Guard?”
“Yeah, you know”—she went into announcer mode—“when you smell thatstank, it must be a skank...Ho-Guard.”
“Holy crap.” I burst out laughing. I definitely shouldn’t have asked. Needing to get Addison back on track, I pulled myself together. “Do we double back and try to follow Jean?”
“Let’s go a little further. How far could he have gotten in this traffic? Just keep an eye out for his car.”
“Uh...how about that silver Prius?” I asked, pointing at the car ahalf block ahead of us turning into a Whole Foods parking lot.
Colorful language flew from Addison’s lips as she crossed two lanes of traffic and almost missed the driveway. We parked in time to watch Greg walk into the building.
“Now what?” I asked. “Maybe he’s meeting up with Jean or some other girl in there.”
“Yeah.” Addison unfastened her seat belt. “We’ve gotta get in there and checkthis out. Here, take the camera. I’ve got a plan.”
Dread crept up my spine. Addison’s plans...though entertaining...weren’t always that great. “I’m not about to end up in jail again, am I?”
“No, silly. It’s nothing like that,” she said, fluffing up her ta-tas. “I’m gonna dangle my girly bait in front of little Mr. Greg and see if he bites.”
Her words conjured up way too much imagery. I shookmy head. “Wait, what?”
“Just be ready to take a picture,” she said.
Out of morbid curiosity and the desire to pay my car insurance this month, I followed my best friend into the grocery store with our small surveillance camera in hand.
Addison grabbed a basket and tracked Greg as he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and a protein bar from health foods section before heading to theregister. Realizing he’d just stopped for a snack and not wanting him to get ahead of us, we bolted for the door, ditching the basket on our way out.
We slid back into Addison’s car and buckled up, waiting. Moments later, Greg emerged. We followed him out of the parking lot and onto I-405.
“Wonder where he’s going,” Addison said.
I was wondering the same thing. The house Greg shared withhis wife was in northeast Portland, and Jean lived in an apartment in Gresham. We crossed the Ross Island bridge and hit 26 West toward Beaverton. Traffic on Highway 26 was stop-and-go, and Addison had no trouble keeping up with Greg. We followed him onto 217 and into a sketchy part of Beaverton. When he turned into a self-proclaimed “gentlemen’s club,” that appeared to be anything but the kind ofplacegentlemenfrequented, Addison didn’t hesitate to follow. She parked across the lot from him and turned off her car.
Looking from Addison, to the seedy strip club, back to Addison, I asked, “Uh... what’s the plan here?”
Addison’s gaze was tracking Greg as he climbed out of his car and headed for the front door. “We’re taking that camera in and catching that asshole in the act of pawingsome stripper.”
Right. That’s what I was afraid of. Before I could bring up all the valid arguments running circles in my mind, Addison was out the door, throwing the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Hurrying to join her, I patted the camera in my bag and tried to keep up.
“Don’t you think we’ll stand out in there?” I asked, gesturing wildly at our dressy business attire.
Addison pausedlong enough to look me over. “You’re right.”
