A girl can't be too careful

“Someone did a background check on you,” read the subject line from a software security firm. Normally she would have sent the unsolicited email directly to the trash, but these weren’t normal times and something told her this could be worth looking into. A girl can’t be too careful these days.

An early December snowstorm choked downtown Minneapolis with a blinding, blustery assault, keeping would be Christmas Shoppers and Warehouse District employees inside for the afternoon. The lunchroom of Hobbs & Linderman, a large design agency in the Twin Cities, was busier than usual as employees grumbled over Lean Cuisine and stale sandwiches from the vending machines. Senior designer Alice Nolan and copywriter Conner Farmington occupied a small table in a corner of the noisy room.

            “Is that a new tat?” asked Conner.

            Alice lifted up her arm. “Yeah. It’s a butterfly with Jeffrey Dahmer’s face.”

            “Of course it is. The expiration date on this cinnamon roll is in Roman numerals.”

            Alice smiled. “Well, since you’ve eaten half of it, I hope that’s not a problem.”

            “I’ve had worse. Do you or do you not find it weird that most of the people we work with on a daily basis are total strangers? I mean, here’s an example. I interact with Janice Dempsey almost every day. Project coordinator. She’s nice, capable, good at her job, but I know exactly nothing about her. No wedding ring. Okay. Not married. A bit gamey and course at times, but not outrageous. Beyond that, nothing. Even though I converse with her probably more than anyone else in my life, I don’t know a damn thing about her.”

            “And this troubles you.”

            “I find it odd. That’s all. On a given workday, I spend more time with you than I spend with my boyfriend. Okay, more conscious time, yet I only know bits and pieces of your life, but it’s a whole lot more than I know about Janice. Do you not find that strange?”

            “I live with two cats who know me better than my parents. Go figure. You gonna eat that pickle?”

            “No.

            “The copy for Dow?”

            “Yeah?” said Alice with a twinge of dread.

            “Full of cryptic satanic references that will make fundamentalist Christians instantly evacuate their bowels when they read it.”

            “That’ll win us more work. Do you really want to know more about Janice Dempsey’s life? And if the answer is yes, why?”

            “My point is a simple one. I spend a lot of my life with a group of people I know nothing about.”

            Alice leaned in. “That can be a good thing.”

            “If you have a lot to hide, maybe.”

            “I wish. Besides, this is 2014. You can find out almost anything about anyone online.”

            “Please. That’s too much like stalking for me.”

            “Listen, you’re interested in the life of Janice Dempsey? In a half-hour of searching I bet I can find out a ton of information about her.”

            “Okay, but why?”

            “Call it a personal challenge.” Conner arched an eyebrow. “Okay. My life is so boring and empty even this sounds exciting.”

            The loft apartment reeked of burnt kale that was left in the skillet too long. Alice chewed on carrot stick and glared at the hardboiled egg sitting in a bed of salt next to her computer that would be her dinner tonight. Punishment for neglect. Janice Dempsey was turning out to be a bit of an enigma. People searches only turned up a Janice Dempsey at her current address in Minnetonka. Nothing relevant earlier than three years ago, when she started at Hobbs & Linderman. A common name, Google churned out hundreds of links related to Janice Dempsey, and the half hour she had originally scheduled for the search turned into an hour and then two. Janice Dempsey disappears after husband’s death. Janice Dempsey wins 100-meter breaststroke for Bemidji State. Janet Dempsey celebrates 94^th birthday. Janet Dempsey latest victim in string of Toronto murders. Janice Dempsey to speak at West Coast chiropractor convention. Janet Dempsey promoted to Vice President, Sales at Bennett Medical Supplies. The disappearing Janet Dempsey was intriguing and she went back to that story.

            According to the AP, in 2010, four years ago, Alice noted on a pad next to the computer, Janice Dempsey of Phoenix Arizona reported that her husband Kenneth had committed suicide. Police found Mr. Dempsey’s body on the floor of a bedroom in their house as well as several nearby empty vials of prescription sleeping pills. Mrs. Dempsey said she had gone out for the evening with friends and came home to find her husband unresponsive. An autopsy was performed and evidence was found of a blunt force wound to the back of Mr. Dempsey’s head. When police arrived at the Dempsey’s house three days later, there was no sign of Mrs. Janice Dempsey. All attempts to locate Mrs. Dempsey over the preceding six months turned up nothing.

            There was a grainy, shadowy photo of Mrs. Dempsey with the story. The woman in the picture had dark hair, but when Alice squinted and imagined her with blond tresses, she could see a resemblance to Janice Dempsey at work. The age was about right. Structure of the cheeks…Alice put a hand to her mouth. Oh my god, we may be working with a murderer.

            The next day Alice physically pulled Conner into a large coat closet. “She killed her husband.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Janice Dempsey. Four years ago, she killed her husband and then assumed a new identity. And she’s working here.”

            “Look at me for a minute. If that’s true, she wouldn’t be calling herself Janice Dempsey. Am I right?”

            What little air there was in Alice’s argument whooshed into the ether. “Uh…okay. Yes, you are right. But…I hate you.”

            “Meet you in the cafeteria at nine-thirty.”

            “Right.”

            The next few days drifted by as days do. Alice licked the wounds to her ego and tried to forget about Janice Dempsey. Who cares? She has secrets, we all have secrets. Then Conner stopped at her cube with a disturbing expression. “Lunch room. Twenty minutes.”

            Twenty minutes later the two sat at a high table in a corner. “What?” asked Alice. “What is it?”

            Conner had to breath deeply several times before responding. “Okay, let me get my self together. I was in vendoland trying to decide what poison I wanted to ingest when Janice came in. We started chit-chatting, she has a Welsh corgi and I just adore Corgis…anyway, I asked her if she grew up here and she said, “No, I grew up in the Southwest. Phoenix.” Phoenix. Where the murderer Janice Dempsey is from.”

            “Holy shit. She admitted it. Wait. Nothing makes any sense. Why would she admit she’s from Phoenix and why would she not change her name?”

            “Honestly, I don’t know, but this is some crazy circumstantial evidence, don’t you think?”

            “Sometimes killers actually get off on taunting the police, leaving clues, like the Zodiac guy.”

            “Yeah, but this seems so blatant.”

            ‘Okay, okay. Let me think. We need to do a stakeout.”

            “What?”

            “A stakeout. Watch her place. See what she does at night.”

            “Why?”

            “Why? Have you never watched a freaking movie in your life? If she’s a killer, she probably has some very strange habits, like going to nightclubs at midnight or walking around the park at—“

            “What park?”

            “Loring Park.”

            “Honey, this is Minneapolis in the middle of winter. Even the craziest killer isn’t going out in this weather…unless it’s to shop.”

            “Hey guys.” It was Janice holding a steaming bowl of something from the microwave. “Mind if I join you?”

            Smiles erupted. “No,” said Alice. “Please do.”

            The two conspirators tried to hide their nervousness. “So are you busy?” asked Alice.

            “Always. Not enough hours in the day. You?”

            “Yeah. Probably going to have to stay late tonight.” Alice immediately regretted volunteering that information.

            “I probably should, but I’m meeting a couple of friends for drinks.”

            “They must be good friends to get you out in a storm like this,” said Conner.

            “Fortunately, we’re meeting at the Republic which is only a two block walk from my place. No driving involved.”

            “Ah, so you live in Uptown,” prodded Alice.

            “Right across from the Lund’s. It’s a fun area and I’m kind of a party girl.”

            Alice gave Conner a quick sideways glance. The conversation turned back to mundane work-related topics. Alice returned to her cube and saw she already had an email from Conner.

            “She’s wearing a wig.”

            Alice tried to distract herself that evening with TV, then a book, and finally her guitar, but she could not get Janice Dempsey out of her head. She was obsessing. It was a trait of hers that she’d always hated, and that had led to her heart being broken more than once and struggles with drugs and alcohol, but it happened whether she wanted it to or not. The truth about Janet Dempsey was her latest all-consuming quest.

Sitting with rigid intent in front of her computer, Alice began searching deeper into Janice Dempsey’s background. From clues in the news article about the murder, she was able to trace Janice back to a wedding announcement in the Phoenix Herald. Her maiden name was Gorman. This led to Arapaho High School where three years earlier senior Janice Gorman was a cheerleader and a member of the track and field team. She graduated with honors. The only other piece of information Alice could find was a police report about responding to a domestic violence situation at the Dempsey house six months prior to the murder. All that this told her was that Janice Dempsey was in a bad marriage. Then she turned her attention to Glenn Dempsey, the murdered husband. He too had gone to Arapaho High where he played football and lettered in several sports. She found an article indicating he had joined the Army after graduating and spent a year in Iraq before returning to Phoenix, where he must have reconnected with Janice. Maybe he suffered from some kind of post-traumatic disorder, thought Alice. She finally gave up, closed her laptop and got ready for bed.

Snow was still falling the next morning and the commute to work was a sloppy nightmare of ice-clogged wipers, spinouts and blaring horns. All that Alice could think about was Janice’s declaration that she was “kind of a party girl.” It was hard to concentrate on her work, and by noon, she’d made up her mind.

“You’re going to stake out her place?” asked Conner.

“Yep. From dusk ‘till dawn. It’s Friday, she’s a party girl, and I’m going to find out what she’s hiding.”

“Maybe we’re taking this thing a bit too far. Maybe she did murder her husband, but that was years ago. She could have turned over a new leaf and put that all behind her. Maybe her husband was abusive and deserved it. We don’ know.”

“And maybe she’s looking for her next victim. I’m not calling the cops. Yet. Why is she wearing a wig? No one wears a wig anymore.”

“Cancer?”

“She admitted she was from Phoenix. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“Alice, I just don’t think it’s a great idea. You’re going to sit in your car freezing to death while she’s up in her bedroom sleeping. What is the point?”

“I thought you were with me on this.”

Conner looked down at his salad and sighed. “Call me if you find out anything.”

Having watched what time Janice normally left over the past few days, Alice was lying on the front seat of her car as Janice drove by toward the parking lot exit. Alice followed behind cautiously, thankful the falling snow acted as a bit of camouflage on the drive from downtown to Uptown. Finally, Janice turned onto a narrow side street and parked her car. Alice drove by and then doubled back. After several minutes looking for an open space, she found that the parking lot of Lund’s grocery store offered the perfect vantage point for observing both the apartment building and the suspect’s car. She opened the thermos she’d brought with her filling the cabin with the comforting aroma of coffee. An hour passed, then another. Lights were on in several apartments, others were dark and lifeless. Alice had to turn the car on every ten or fifteen minutes to whisk the snow off of the glass. It was now ten o’clock and hers was one of only a few cars still in the parking lot. She began thinking that, as much as she hated to admit it, Conner may have been right. This was an exercise in futility. And it was damned cold. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. There were three sharp wraps on the window next to her. Alice jumped and turned toward a dark face only inches away. She screamed instinctively, but covered her mouth with her hand when she recognized the face belonged to Janice. Not knowing what else to do, she rolled down the window.

“Hey,” said Janice smiling. “I thought that was you.”

Squirming, digging deep for something logical, Alice stuttered. “I…yeah…wow…I…only store in town that carries my brand of…olive oil.”

“You’re cooking this late. You must be a night owl like me.”

“I am. When I can’t sleep, I’ll just cook something. You know?”

“I’m just coming back from a club. As long as you’re here why don’t you come up for a drink.”

“Oh, thanks but—“

“Just across the street. Come on.”

Alice smiled and nodded. She followed Janice across the icy street and into the faux Mediterranean stucco apartment building. On the third floor, Janice pulled out her keys and they entered the dark apartment. Alice was both anxious and full if anticipation. She was going to get a glimpse into Janice’s private life, something that never would have happened otherwise. She rationalized that even if the woman did kill her husband, she wasn’t necessarily someone who killed innocent people. There was probably a good reason for her one dramatic act of violence, as Conner suggested.

Lights came on and Alice absorbed her surroundings like a sponge. The living room was sparse, with two large brown leather chairs and a couch. A modern glass coffee table sat on a tan accent rug. It was oddly….

“So,” said Janice, throwing her coat on the back of the couch. “What would you like? I’ve got wine, vodka, some gin…”

“A glass of wine would be great.”

“You got it. Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Alice did as she was told. Janice bustled around in the kitchen. There was an odor lingering in the air that was oddly musky.

Janice set the wine glass on the side table next to Alice’s chair and returned to the kitchen. “Wow, I still can’t get over the coincidence of running into you across the street from my place. Weird.”

“Yeah, weird,” said Alice, picking up the glass and taking a sip of wine. “Mmm. This is good.”

“Oh, thanks. I dated someone once who was very into wine and I got spoiled on the good stuff.” Janice came back into the room with a glass of something clear and sat down on the couch.

Alice took another drink. “Was that in Phoenix?”

Janice smiled. “No. I hate to admit this, but I told our friend Conner a little white lie.”

The temperature in the room suddenly flared up and Alice was sweating. Her hands started trembling. “A lie?”

“I’m not really from Phoenix.”

Panicking, Alice realized her vision was starting to blur. “Wait. What…what’s going on?”

“Actually, I’m Canadian,” said Janice, who reached up and pulled off her wig, revealing a head of short-cropped, coarse black hair.
             Blinking furiously, clawing at the arms of the chair, Alice tried to remain conscious. Janice pealed off her eyelashes.

“Grew up in Toronto. Great city.”

Muscles went limp and the sound of glass shattering on the hardwood floor was the last thing Alice ever heard.