Free The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker Page A

fire hydrant down the street from the concert hall.
    As people streamed out the main exit doors, a line of cars moved under the brightly lit portico. Judy spotted the congressman and his party coming down the steps, stopping from time to time to greet friends. Handshakes, air kisses, slaps on the back. A big smile on the older woman with platinum hair, the man with her watching the line of cars. Judy raised her binoculars. This would be Noreen Finch, Shelby’s mother.
    A couple of minutes later, a silver-blue Cadillac sedan approached. Noreen Finch signaled the others, and they went down to the driveway. Shelby paused to shake another hand.
    A bearded man with a shaved head got out of the car. Dark suit, open-collar shirt, big shoulders. No wasted motion. But Shelby had already opened the back door, putting the women and his stepfather inside. The congressman got into the front, and the car pulled away.
    Pointed the same direction on the one-way street, Judy followed.

    C.J. hadn’t asked her to do this. In her phone call three hours ago she had only mentioned that Shelby’s driver would be picking them up after the concert. When the poker game at Edgar’s ended early, Judy thought there might be time to take a look at the guy.
    What had she learned? Not much.
    She followed the Cadillac up the interstate on-ramp, heading south, the mirrored spires of downtown on the left, the low apartments and tree-lined streets of Little Havana on the right. The expressway arched over the river, curved past the turnoff to Key Biscayne, then dumped traffic onto South Dixie Highway. Judy turned up the volume on her satellite radio, the classical station, and settled into her seat. There were no classical stations in Miami, which said something about the culture, but she wasn’t sure what.
    She stayed just close enough not to lose them. Her gray Camry was as invisible a car as existed, but it had a six-cylinder, turbocharged engine and racing shocks. A couple of miles farther on, the Shelbys’ car slowed at a light, then turned north on Riviera Drive. Here in Coral Gables, banyan trees met over the narrow streets and traffic thinned out. Riviera curved right, but the Cadillac went straight on to Biltmore. Judy slowed as its brake lights flared. The Caddy paused at a low, vine-covered wall on the left, waiting for a gate to slide back.
    Judy cruised by the house, a sprawling, two-story mansion with a red tile roof and a fountain. She caught a glimpse of the older couple getting out and quickly did a U-turn at the end of the block and parked in someone’s driveway with her lights off. When the Cadillac reappeared, she followed it back to South Dixie.
    Through the usual heavy Friday-night traffic she kept her eyes on the Caddy’s taillights. The driver maintained a steady pace, going the speed limit, signaling before changing lanes, a real Eagle Scout. He cruised past the University of Miami and took a left on Red Road, due south, into narrower streets and heavier foliage. Judy fell back.
    They went over a bridge and toward a landscaped traffic circle. As she’d expected, the Cadillac went around, heading toward the low illuminated sign that marked the waterfront subdivision of Cocoplum, where the Shelbys lived. At the guard shack a gate arm went up. Judy kept going around
to the small parking area near the bridge, which overlooked a canal. She turned off her lights, slid down in her seat, and adjusted the rearview.
    Ten minutes later headlights approached the exit lane, and the gate went up. A dark blue Audi appeared. The side windows were tinted, but the light from the guard shack shone through the windshield. When the Audi had gone around the circle and over the bridge, Judy put her car into gear.
    Heading north on Dixie Highway he picked up speed to fifteen miles over the limit, like everyone else. At Twenty-Seventh, he slowed as the light turned yellow, then whipped around another car and blew through the