Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

All I really cared about was that the bed was comfortable, the room was clean, and my car would be ready the next day.

Melanie yawned and stretched. She got up and walked to the dresser, where she’d put her leftover sandwich.

I wondered if the dresser had held anyone’s clothes since its arrival at the motel.

“Now, I’m hungry,” she said, returning to the bed with the box and plopping down. Those were the first words she’d spoken since we checked in.

“I think there’s a McDonald’s down the road, if you want more.”

She thought about it. “Maybe. I almost feel too tired to bother, you know?”

On screen, one of the high-fashion lawyers was going to court with a thin file tucked under one arm and a determined pout on her collagen-enhanced lips.

I wondered if Melanie liked baseball. I didn’t know if there was a game on. Would they watch the Orioles here or the Pittsburgh Pirates?

“I didn’t try to steal from you.”

I looked at Melanie. She kept her eyes on the tube.

“OK,” I said.

“I don’t know anything about identity theft or where those papers came from.” She paused. “But Tom might have.”

I rolled onto my side and perched my head on one hand. “Tom?”

“He was a computer expert, you know?”

“I didn’t know. Who did he work for?”

“He had his own business. Computer consulting and web hosting. In fact, he did some work for the bank. That’s how we met.”

“I’ve read a little about those cases,” I said. “There’ve been some big ones, where employees get personal data from their employers’ databases and steal hundreds of thousands of dollars. A bank would be a great place to get that kind of data.”

Melanie grimaced. “If he was making big money from identity theft, he never told me. He was always trying to borrow from me.”

It seemed inconsistent, but there could have been an explanation. “Maybe he kept the money hidden, the way regular thieves will hide a stash until the heat’s off, as they say in the movies.”

“You’d still think he could have risked using a couple of hundred, now and then.”

“True.”

Melanie chewed her sandwich. In silence, we watched a commercial featuring a grinning woman who wore Depends and whose days were apparently spent in a nonstop series of tennis games and deck parties.

“Donna never mentioned that, about Tom working for the bank,” I said. “Not that she’d have a reason. By the way, she’s very concerned about you.”

Melanie sighed. “Really? She got mad at me for a while about Tom. She thought it was dumb for me to start a relationship with a guy I hardly knew. Obviously, she was right. I had no idea about his problems. There’s so much I still don’t know about him.”

What do we know about anyone? What did I know about Melanie? She was a client. Usually, I trust my instincts about people, and she had seemed OK when I first met her. Now a series of strange circumstances was challenging my first impression. Were the circumstances evidence of the truth or a muddling of the truth?

“You know, I think I will walk over to that McDonald’s,” I said. “I can bring back something if you like.”

“OK. Maybe one of those salads? With ranch dressing?” She retrieved her purse. “This should cover it. Hey, incidentally ...”

“Yeah?”

“I never properly thanked you. I wasn’t sure I should go back at first, but I think you’re right. I can’t run from this.” She looked directly at me. “And I am innocent.”

I nodded, still not sure.