for the agency. Ms. Davis will recognize me the minute you and I approach her. That’s why I thought it better if Lex here accompanies you.”
Gudgeon fidgeted. “I don’t like this . . .” he admitted in a dull half-whisper. “It seems like harassment. I’d rather just let the kid have the damn dough.” He stared through his windshield at Papyrus’s uninspired shopfront. “She has to work in a place like this, and on a Sunday morning? Maybe it’s better she just holds on to the money. Besides, like I told you, Polycrates, I want this mess kept on the Q.T. My kids would—”
“Lexi’s discreet,” Rosco interrupted as he opened the door for Gudgeon and watched him step out. “I’ll follow you as far as the entrance. In case Dawn recognizes you and things turn ugly, Lex and I have wireless communication. I can be with you in a second.”
Gudgeon flinched and seemed about to retreat to his car, but Belle, a.k.a. Lexi or Lex, soothed him with a warm, encouraging smile. “Mr. Polycrates and I have reason to believe this may not be the same woman who conned you, sir; that we may, in fact, be looking at a case of identity theft, and a seriously criminal confidence game that goes beyond your exposure to it.” Then she added a quiet, “Either way, if this is the Ms. Davis you tried to help, we’re still concerned she may be attempting to work the ruse a second time.”
Gudgeon heaved a reluctant sigh, but allowed himself to follow Belle. Rosco waited until they reached Papyrus’s entrance before trailing behind.
The harried young woman working the Xerox machines matched Gudgeon’s description to a tee. Belle strode toward the copy center desk, pushing her way past a number of clamoring patrons—all of whom needed their jobs done ASAP and all of whom were impatient and shrill. “Miss!” they shouted, “Miss! I just need a . . .” The person who called herself Dawn Davis twirled around like a crooked top, tearing open reams of neon-bright paper, matching a photographic reproduction to the black-and-white original, and unjamming a recalcitrant machine while an irate voice screamed, “That better not be my only copy you left crumpled up in there! That’s an important legal document.”
Belle propelled Gudgeon into the shouting throng, but he kept his eyes on the floor. “Is that her?” Belle prompted in a sotto voce tone as she positioned herself with her back to Dawn so that Gudgeon could look over her shoulder. He finally glanced up, staring goggle-eyed at the woman in the center of the copy meltdown.
“Sir? We need you to make a positive I.D. Whether you choose to pursue this or not, we need to be certain we’re on the right track.” Belle again whispered.
“No,” he murmured.
An expression Belle interpreted as utter confusion now covered his face.
“I . . . It’s not . . . It’s not her,” he added. “I’m sure of it.”
At that point, Dawn Davis caught sight of them. “What do you need? If it’s not photocopying, please go to the information desk for assistance.” The tone was both brusque and weary. In the midst of a busy morning, she had no time for confused customers taking up space.
“Mr. Gudgeon?” Belle pressed. “Can you positively state that this woman is not the Dawn Davis to whom you—?”
“I’m Dawn,” was the curt interruption. “What is it you want?” She instinctively glanced at her name tag, which only read Dawn. “How do you know my last name?”
Walt Gudgeon shook his head. “But you’re not the same young woman who—”
“Who what?” Dawn demanded.
Belle turned to face her. “Sorry, we have a friend named Dawn Davis . . . Just a coincidence.”
“Look, folks, I don’t want to be rude, but I’ve got work piling up here. I don’t know what you two want.” She paused for a second, studying them. “I’m guessing you’re not goons sent by the landlord. Ditto social services. My credit card’s paid up. The same for that heap of rusting metal the car dealer fobbed off on me.” Then Dawn leaned hard against the counter, oblivious to the howls for service surrounding her. “So state your business, or get in line with whatever copy order you’ve got. And if you’re looking for another lady named Davis, just move along, because it ain’t me.”
Noting her aggressive stance, and suspecting that the cat was out of the bag, Rosco quit his hiding place and came forward; while Dawn, at the