Scarlet Oaks and the Serial Caller

by Michaela James

  Having the foresight to enlist Siri’s help as her fingers were trembling, Scarlet pressed the talk button on her phone,

  “Call Detective Smyth.”

  When the automated voice affirmed it was making the call, Scarlet looked at her mother, “It’s him, I’m sure of it. He must have followed me here and then followed you into Aptos.”

  Breathing hard, Marilyn asked, “But, the surveillance guys?”

  Scarlet was about to respond when a voice from her phone said, “This is Detective Smyth.”

  Once she’d hastily apologized for calling late and on Christmas day, Scarlet told the detective she believed Stewart was in Aptos and had approached her mother the previous morning. After a brief recount of her mother’s information on the meeting, Scarlet listened for a few minutes, thanked the detective, and hung up the phone.

  Sitting on the edge of the couch, close to the chair her mother seemed unable to move from, Scarlet began, “In answer to your question, I think Stewart must know this house is secure and that’s why he chose to follow you into town.”

  Eyes wide, Marilyn slowly nodded her head.

  Reaching out and gently holding her mother’s hand, Scarlet continued, “Detective Smyth assured me we are perfectly safe in this house. He and his partner will travel down here first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he’s put out an all-points bulletin on Stewart. I won't be at all surprised if they catch him tonight.”

  In a voice, barely louder than a whisper, Marilyn said, “But I saw him yesterday. He could be anywhere by now. This is all my fault. You asked me questions about him, and I didn’t give you enough answers.”

  Scarlet shook her head. “That was my fault for not telling you about the seriousness of the situation. You thought I was just mildly curious about this guy and that’s because I hadn’t shared the facts.”

  Marilyn forced a smile. “We have a French apple tart in the fridge. How about I heat it up while you and Prudence make some tea?”

  Laughing, Scarlet replied, “Great idea.”

  Following comic relief from three episodes of Frasier, two helpings of apple tart and no mention of a serial killer, mother, daughter, and pig finally let another Christmas go.

  Scarlet awoke early the next morning to the sound of vacuuming. Finding her mother had also cleaned the kitchen and made fresh coffee, Scarlet, feeling suitably guilty, nudged her mother’s hand off the handle and finished the job.

  Returning the vacuum to the cupboard under the stairs, Scarlet heard her mother ask,

  “Would you mind giving the guest bathroom a quick wipe down? I’m making some pancakes in case they’re hungry.”

  Aware that cleaning and cooking at eight in the morning must be necessary for her mother’s mental well-being, Scarlet cheerfully obliged.

  An hour later, Detectives Smyth and Williams were devouring pancakes in Marilyn’s immaculate home.

  Admiring her mother’s composure, Scarlet listened as Marilyn recounted the meeting with the man, who by all accounts and purposes was the killer Scarlet knew as Stewart.

  Cheerfully allowing his partner procurement of the last pancake, Detective Smyth assured Marilyn she was in no danger. Nevertheless, they would have a surveillance team assigned to her.

  “Do you think any of my other family members here in Aptos are in any danger?” Scarlet enquired as her mother cleared the table.

  Wiping his mouth with a linen napkin, the fair-haired detective replied, “We don’t understand that to be the case, Miss Oaks. Our team of psychiatrists believes Stewart Steele feels the need to converse with you and only you.”

  “That said,” Detective Smyth interjected, “the fact he approached your mother is concerning. It shows a level of frustration at not being able to reach you. A frustrated killer is not a good thing.”

  As if that were a perfectly reasonable statement to make over breakfast, Smyth continued,

  “Ms. Oaks, those were the most delicious pancakes, thank you.”

  The recipient of the compliment blushed. “Please, call me Marilyn.”

  Answering as many questions as they could, regarding the progress of the San Francisco police department, the detectives admitted they were a little stumped over Stewart’s ability to elude them. But they could assure Scarlet and Marilyn, he was no longer in Aptos.

  Ten minutes later, as the detective’s car drove out of sight, Scarlet asked her mother, “Have you seen Prudence?”

  Looking behind her, Marilyn said, “That’s odd, she loves an opportunity to run around this front yard.”

  Feeling panic rise in her throat, Scarlet said, “I haven’t seen her in hours. She hates the vacuum, so I assumed she was steering clear while we cleaned this morning.” Taking the stairs two at a time, Scarlet added, “We were so distracted by the detective’s visit, I didn’t even think to go and find her.”

  “You look up, I’ll look down,” Marilyn suggested before she started calling the little pig’s name.

  Twenty minutes later, Marilyn in tears and Scarlet on the verge of throwing up, someone knocked on their front door.

  Covered in mud and looking at Scarlet from under long eyelashes was Prudence. The man holding her was also covered in mud, but instead of looking remorseful like the pig, sported a wide, amused grin.

  “I believe you two are acquainted,” the man stated.

  Scarlet, seemingly at a loss for words, welcomed her mother’s inquiry, “Where on earth was she?”

  Handing the filthy, but still cute, pig to Scarlet, the man volunteered, “I was on leaf and dirt duty.” Seemingly to prove his point, he turned a hand in towards his mud-encrusted jumpsuit. “To my surprise and delight, up trots a little vision in pink.”

  Pausing for a moment while Scarlet and Marilyn laughed, he continued, “In no time, she proved to my colleagues and me, she has a solid future in surveillance. I apologize I didn’t bring her back sooner, but I had to wait for shift change.”

  Scarlet, finding her voice, confessed of her panic and thanked the man profusely.

  Marilyn, running towards the kitchen, returned moments later with three plastic containers. “Some home baked goodies for you and your incredible team.”

  Accepting the gifts with thanks, Prudence’s savior returned to the unseen depths of Marilyn’s yard.

  For the next half hour, Scarlet listened graciously as Marilyn informed her how correct she’d been about the surveillance guys. Not only were they young, strong and handsome, but also grateful to have delicious home baked goods.

  Marilyn concluded with a satisfied smile, she felt sure the SFPD would leave this surveillance team in place as they were already settled.

  Scarlet seized her moment. “I really should be heading back to the city.”

  “Already?” Marilyn enquired, the smile gone.

  Scarlet gave an apologetic nod.

  “Just a couple more hours?” Marilyn asked in a pleading tone.

  Scarlet smiled, “Why not.”

  Lunch was filled with endless surveillance questions from her mother. Would they be outside the salon when she had her hair done? Would they follow her through the grocery store? When it got to the question of would they be watching Marilyn as she sunbathed in the backyard, Scarlet decided it was time to start packing the car.

  Despite a brief detour to drop off Christmas gifts on Trent’s doorstep, Scarlet made good time, and she and Prudence were soon relaxing in Rose’s sunroom for four o’clock tea. Scarlet’s great grandmother was English, and Rose had grown up with tea being served daily at eleven in the morning and four in the afternoon. It was prompt and always accompanied by something delicious to eat.

  Rose and Joe sat transfixed, as Scarlet, illuminated by the afternoon sun, recounted the events in Aptos.

  An impartial observer may have had trouble gauging which was more shocking – Marilyn being approached by a psychotic murderer or Trent’s current feelings about his wife.

  Scarlet didn’t put up too much of a fight whe
n her father and grandmother insisted she stay with them. Knowing her mother had held a face-to-face conversation with Stewart was unnerving her more than she cared to admit.

  Father and daughter decided to make a trip to Scarlet’s home, before the sun went down, for added clothes and necessities. Said sun had recently disappeared behind thick gray clouds. Five minutes from Upper Terrace, slanting rain began to bombard their windshield.

  Limited visibility and the urgency to escape the rain, almost prevented Scarlet and Joe from seeing a basket of flowers floating in a water-filled tub, on her front doorstep.

  Cursing under his breath, Joe looked to his daughter, “Don’t touch it. I’m calling the police.”

  With no desire to, or even the ability at that moment to touch anything, Scarlet stared and nodded.

  Returning to Joe’s Honda, they sat huddled together listening to the melodic sound of rain on the car’s roof.

  In no time, Detective Smyth’s unmarked car pulled in behind them. Lifting a black jacket collar up to shield his neck, Smyth asked, “You haven’t been inside?”

  Waiting until they’d reached the cover of her porch, Scarlet replied, “No and we didn’t touch the flowers.”

  Detective Williams, having stayed a little longer in the car, now joined them. “Unit One,” he voiced into a walkie talkie. The rain and wind gathering momentum around them, all four eyed the wildflowers, bobbing unrhythmically, in a small plastic basket, atop browning water.

  Lowering the walkie talkie, Detective Williams said, “Unit one followed you here from your grandmother’s house. They’ll check to make sure your home is secure.”

  Receiving the all clear, Scarlet, Joe by her side, frantically stuffed clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag. Rejoining Smyth and Williams on the doorstep, they watched as uniformed men, with gloved hands, placed the flowers into a police van.

  “When will this end?” Rose asked hypothetically from her recliner, an hour later. Warmed by a roaring fire and cartons of Chinese food covering the coffee table, Scarlet felt relatively relaxed and safe. But, she had to agree with the question Rose sent out to the universe. How was this man able to elude the police? Was he much smarter than he sounded? Was it possible, he wasn’t working alone?

  The next morning, Scarlet found her grandmother raking leaves in the backyard.

  “Let me do that for you,” Scarlet said walking towards Rose.

  Smiling, Rose said, “It’s good exercise for me.” When Scarlet scowled, Rose added, “You’re as bad as your father. The best way for us old folks to stay fit and healthy is to keep moving.”

  Taking in the mature fruit trees and countless bushes, Scarlet replied, “No argument there, but raking is heavy going.”

  Sighing good-heartedly, Rose handed the tool to Scarlet. “Go on then, you finish this area, and I’ll make us one of those frothy lattes, coffee houses charge a fortune for.”

  Half an hour later, Scarlet returned to the house, out of breath enough to remind her she needed to get back into a running routine.

  “Yard de-leafed, rake returned to shed, and leaves awaiting removal by green waste dudes,” Scarlet in mock military fashion, informed Rose.

  Rose chuckled and handed Scarlet a tall, dark blue mug.

  Looking from her place in the kitchen out towards the entrance hall, Scarlet enquired, “Is Dad still at the beach?”

  “No, he’s at work. He was a little anxious when he left; some bigwig is visiting from Denver today. Joe’s anticipating she’ll have a lot of questions for your dad and his team.”

  “I should have known that and wished him good luck this morning,” Scarlet responded with a scowl. “All our energy is zapped up because of this lunatic.”

  “Your dad will be just fine, and none of this energy zapping is your fault. We’re just happy to be here for you until it’s all over.” Rose glanced at the oven clock. “Aren’t you lunching with your friend Mia today?”

  Jumping off the high kitchen stool, Scarlet exclaimed, “Oh, yes I am. Thanks, Gran. I’m going to go take a shower.”

  ****

  Mia had said she was in the mood for Indian food, so the friends decided on a Haight St. eatery famous for its naan bread.

  “Hope you’re jiggy with this place,” Mia said as they were led to a small table in the rear of the restaurant. “You know how I love to mop up curry sauce with my naan.”

  Ordering and agreeing it had been far too long since they’d seen each other, Scarlet filled Mia in on the drama recently befallen her.

  Thick copper bangles jangling, Mia raised her right palm. “This is not good, Scarlet. This is not good at all. Do you know how hard it is to catch a serial killer? You must remember how long the zodiac dude was at large.”

  Scarlet pulled a face. “That was over forty years ago. I’m pretty sure police procedures, and technology has come a long way since then.”

  As if Scarlet had said nothing at all, Mia carried on, “Ted Bundy! How many years did it take them to find him?”

  “Also in the seventies,” Scarlet pointed out.

  Mia absentmindedly rearranged all the condiments on the table. “We can’t rely on the police. The consensus is, this man wants to talk to you, right?”

  “Yes,” Scarlet said in a small voice.

  Mia narrowed her eyes. “Then we allow him to do just that and figure out a way of entrapping him.”

  Inwardly sighing with relief as their food arrived, Scarlet waited for her friend to take a few bites before asking, “So tell me what’s been happening in your world. Are you still seeing Bruce?”

  “Bruce,” Mia repeated, “is ancient history, my dear friend. Can you believe the man doesn’t vote?”

  Scarlet’s eyes widened with feigned horror.

  Pulling apart her naan bread with unneeded force, Mia continued, “He doesn’t recycle, and he thinks hybrid cars are a fad.”

  The remainder of the lunch was spent with Mia animatedly reporting on the disappointing men who had, as she put it, stolen hours from her she’d never get back. The only man now capable of enticing her, she concluded, would be able to quote Karl Marx, list five life lessons from the Dalai Lama, and figure out a tip without the use of a calculator.

  “Quite right,” Scarlet said, suspecting her friend may be single for some time to come.

  Imagining she’d successfully diverted Mia’s thoughts from the serial killer, Scarlet doubted this to be true when her friend suggested a short walk after leaving the restaurant.

  Linking her arm through Scarlet’s, Mia began, “He’ll call into your show again, I’m sure of that. You must be ready to ask him some pertinent questions.”

  Feeling sick to her stomach at the thought of talking with him, Scarlet enquired, “Such as where he lives or what he does?”

  Stepping out of a jogger’s path, Mia responded, “Yes, exactly. But of course, it can’t appear as if you’re trying to help catch the jerk. Just come across as caring and interested.”

  Scarlet lifted the collar of her pea coat as the wind picked up. “I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say to him if he calls again, and I agree with you, I think he will call.”

  “I know it’s not easy,” Mia sympathized, tightening her grip on Scarlet’s arm.

  Scarlet shivered. “That’s for sure, but, if I can, I really want to stop him from killing again.”

  “That’s my girl!” Mia said with a broad smile.

  “Let me get this straight,” Niles asked, his voice raising, “Mia believes the police aren’t doing enough and it’s your job to catch this violent murderer?”

  Tom and Niles had, just two hours earlier, arrived back in the city. After being all but housebound, due to the cold weather in Boston, they were ready to enjoy the sun, and mid-fifties temps the city afforded them.

  “That’s not what I said,” Scarlet responded patiently.

  Breathing in the crisp, clear air of the Golden Gate Park, Niles said, “We never should have left town. I can’t believe t
his killer approached your mom in Aptos. He’s getting way too bold, Scar. I don’t think you should go back to the station at all, let alone engage him in conversation.”

  Scarlet released some frustration by kicking a pine cone into nearby bushes.

  “You may have just assaulted one of your surveillance guys,” Tom said with a laugh, then rearranged his dark curls in case they were indeed mere feet away.

  Niles reached out and touched Scarlet’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried, and you know I get bossy when I’m worried.”

  Scarlet gave a half-smile. “I know that. Plus, you’ve never been a huge fan of Mia’s. I shouldn’t have irritated you by relaying her thoughts on the subject.”

  Clearly, in a mischievous mood, Tom suggested, “I think he’s jealous of her because you’ve been friends since you were in knee socks.”

  Niles stopped walking and glared at Tom. When Scarlet and the target of his anger looked back, Niles’ sullen expression morphed into a smile. “Scar still wears knee socks.”

  Jogging to reclaim his space alongside them, he added, “Didn’t you mention something about Mia trying to start a rebellion in your Brownie group?”

  Giggling, Scarlet explained, “We were eight years old and working on our patches. I think Mia and I had about four each. We weren’t the most conscientious brownies in the group. They were for things like Hiker, Dancer, Inventor, and Home Scientist. One evening, Mia walks into the hall with a new badge. But, it’s a badge she made herself. Our brownie leader asks to take a closer look at it, and Mia proudly shows her.”

  Having slowed their pace, Tom and Niles, eyebrows raised, hung on Scarlet’s words as she continued,

  “Written in black marker on thick pink card, cut to the exact measurements of our other badges, Miss Coolidge read aloud, Drug buster.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tom asked with a wide grin.

  Shaking her head, Scarlet went on, “After Miss Coolidge sends the rest of us over to the craft table, she tells Mia to remove the badge. Mia refuses and her mother’s called. Poor Mrs. Sumner arrives twenty minutes later, looking miserable. She explains to Miss Coolidge; her daughter was responsible for alerting the police to a meth lab in their garage. Mrs. Sumner’s husband, Mia’s dad, had subsequently been arrested.”