Running in the Shadows

Copyright © 2022 by Betty L. Alt & Sandra K. Wells.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 06/01/2022

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Mankind, fleet of life, like tree leaves, weak creatures of clay, unsubstantial as shadows

-Aristophanes

J anet Johansen had driven nearly six boring hours from Great Bend, Kansas to Kansas City, Missouri. She registered at the Fontaine Hotel, spent the late afternoon in the hotel’s beauty salon to get her auburn hair trimmed, and retired early after a light dinner in her room. Tomorrow would be a busy day as she needed to add several fashionable items to what she considered a rather meager wardrobe. She planned to spend several hours at Nordstrom’s as she had always liked shopping at that store on the River Walk in Chicago when she was married to Douglas Simpson.

Relocating to Great Bend, she had shed her previous name – Nicole Nicky Simpson -- using the Johansen alias since it had a good, solid midwestern sound. As Janet, she had adopted the dress of the local women which tended to be conservative rather than stylish. Dowdy was the way Janet thought of her wool winter suits, print cotton summer dresses, and low-heeled shoes or sandals, many of them purchased at the local Sears store. Now she planned to spend a great deal of money for a few fashionable garments and hoped she would find some place to wear them.

To avoid parking problems, Janet had a cab drop her at the mall early and had sat in a coffee shop drinking a latte as she waited for Nordstrom’s to open. At 9:30 she took the escalator to the second floor and began to browse, particularly looking at the mannequins with cocktail dresses. Shortly, she was approached by a middle-aged sales clerk in a fitted black dress with a mandarin collar and black kitten-heeled pumps.

May I show you something special? the woman asked, smiling at Janet. My name is Sharon.

Well, Janet began, I need several things, and I certainly can’t find what I want in the small town where I live. I’m not certain what functions I will be attending, so I need something appropriate for . . . possibly a formal dinner, maybe a date for cocktails, a casual dinner . . . also something nice but not too dressy for club meetings."

We have a wide selection for you to choose from, and I’m certain . . . Sharon stopped speaking, a rather puzzled look on her face.

I’m open to suggestions, but I want you to know that I’m partial to red, black and turquoise colors. I definitely don’t like pleated skirts, or flashy prints. Janet noticed that the sales clerk was staring at her, a puzzled expression on her face.

For some reason, Sharon began. You seem so familiar to me. I think I may have helped you make selections before . . . several years ago before I moved to Kansas City.

Really, Janet replied. You must have me confused with another customer. I’ve never been out of the state.

Yes, I must be mistaken, the woman said, still peering closely at Janet. It’s just that you look so much like one of my former customers when I worked for Nordstrom in Chicago. She was also a pretty woman . . . Nicole Simpson was her name.

********************

Janet sat in a swing on her front porch and surveyed the neighborhood. Everything seems to be going well she thought. I made certain that the nearly eleven million I was able to take from my last two husband’s foundations was safely put in my Cayman Islands account. The many diamonds and other gems from all of my jewelry they gave to me are in the leather pouch in a safe I had built in my bedroom wall. When I decide to leave here, I will just carry them in my luggage.

Janet smiled. So far, she was content, and there was no need to even think of running. It had been several years since she had fled Chicago from second husband, Douglas Simpson, and eventually settled at Great Bend. Gaillardia and red Astilbe lined her cement walkway that curved out to the street. Near clumps of day lilies, Janet watched a butterfly hover for a second before it decided to plunge into an orange blossom. Drinking the last sip of coffee from a mug with the inscription I love Kansas on one side, she slowly got up and went inside.

Her small two-bedroom, one-bath home built in the 1920s had been what she could afford as, supposedly, a recently-widowed woman. However, it badly needed remodeling. Over the last few years, the white clapboard sides had been painted, and a third bedroom and bath had been added. A new redwood deck overlooked the ample backyard lawn, both shaded by two cottonwood trees. Now, hollyhocks stood along the fence, their stems curved with the weight of buds and blossoms.

Once settled in Great Bend, Janet looked for a job. Although she had millions stashed in the Cayman Islands, she knew not to bring attention to herself by moving large sums into her local checking account. Years earlier she had checks printed on a fictitious investment account and every three months deposited several thousand dollars from supposed dividends.

The one thing Janet could rely on was town gossip, and she knew word would eventually ooze out about her finances. Along with the quarterly dividends, a job would explain somewhat how she was able to live comfortably and bring her home into the 20th century as she always said if people commented on how nice the place now looked. Luckily for Janet, a part-time position was open at a local hardware store, and she began to work Monday through Friday mornings. Her salary was small, but it was just what she needed to fit into the community.

Immediately, she had made certain that she became a part of the community. On Sunday, she went to the First Methodist Church, even in winter when six inches of snow lay piled along the sidewalks, and in summer when the temperature reached a hundred degrees shortly after breakfast. Both the library board and a local book club welcomed her into their afternoon ranks, and she helped raise money for relining the YWCA’s indoor pool. Great Bend had welcomed her, and she felt comfortable and, more importantly, safe.

Still very attractive at close to forty, with long auburn hair and blue eyes similar to those of many of the Great Bend residents, Janet had attracted two single men. One individual, Oliver Swenson, seemed to be always available when she needed an escort to some civic function or simply for an occasional dinner at a local restaurant or the small country club.

Swenson, nicknamed Ollie, was in his early fifties and owned the hardware store where Janet was working. He also owned or had a monetary interest in a number of other businesses in town – a lumber yard, a feed store, a grain elevator, and the local Chevrolet dealership.

Slightly over six feet tall, with nearly white blonde hair and blue eyes, Swenson continued to live in the house where he had been born. Never married, Janet could tell that Ollie was looking for a wife and made sure that she limited their number of dates. Although he was charming, amusing, and attentive, she only agreed occasionally to being squired around, as the locals called it. She was not looking to becoming encumbered with a small-town husband.

The other man, Allen Gabriel Randolphe, who she hoped to make a major part of her life, was considerably more interesting. Tall, with graying blonde hair and blue eyes, he was always fashionably dressed, drove a Mercedes, and had provided both intelligent and amusing conversation during the two brief times she first had seen him.

Randolphe still maintained an expansive home and its surrounding grounds in Great Bend, although he was seldom in residence. His wife, a local girl, had died of pancreatic cancer several years previously. His only daughter, Margaret, had gone off to college and now resided in Kansas City, Missouri. After becoming immensely wealthy from great quantities of oil being discovered under his several thousand acres of wheat, Randolphe had established a home and business in Kansas City.

Due to business reasons, I still keep my Great Bend house since my roots are here, Randolphe explained to Janet as they sat drinking coffee at the local country club. "I have a housekeeper, Maude Doolin, who lives here and sees that everything is kept up to par. Her husband, Mort, takes care of two autos and hires men to help him with the yard work or needed repairs

But I live chiefly in Kansas City for my daughter, Margaret, Randolphe continued. I’d seldom get to see her if I just stayed here. She has her life in K.C. now, and so do I except when I come here to tend to business . . . and to see Great Bend citizens like you, he added hastily.

Placing her coffee cup back in its saucer, Janet had smiled demurely at the last comment. I understand fully, Mr. Randolphe. I know how very busy you are, and I just appreciate you taking time to explain more about all of the issues with oil and my possibly investing some of my money. My late husband took care of all of our investments and, I guess, did a good job. While I’m certainly not rich, I’m also not poor. I came to your seminar because I know very little about money matters and wanted to make certain that I would be investing wisely.

She had not realized how quickly her few minutes drinking coffee with Randolphe had become the town’s latest gossip topic. However, that afternoon, Ollie Swenson stopped by her home.

Ollie! A surprised Janet greeted him at the door. What in the world are you doing here this time in the afternoon? Did I forget that we were supposed to do something?"

No, I just wanted to stop by and talk to you for a few minutes.

Certainly, Ollie. You’re always welcome. Come in and make yourself at home. I’ll pour us a glass of iced tea. Be right back.

Swenson looked around the house, always spotless. To him it was amazingly homey, even though her color scheme was unlike anything he had ever seen in Great Bend. Instead of the usual dark brown carpets and brown furniture, Janet’s house was bright and cheerful. In the living room were a white couch and two side-chairs centered on an oak floor covered with a teal rug. Hints of orchid and gold were woven into the chair’s teal fabric. A small fireplace with a tall antique clock was flanked by paintings with peaceful ocean scenes.

As Ollie sat down in one of the teal chairs, Janet returned with the tea, placing his glass on a small chest which separated the two. Taking a seat on the couch, Janet smiled at him, and Ollie thought that she was one of the prettiest women in Great Bend, probably even in the state.

Well, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Janet asked. "You’re making me nervous. Is something wrong . .