by Erin Lanter
“Maybe I’ll never be good enough!” Camille whined to her best friend, Beth. “Why is it that when a good guy finally comes along, he doesn’t want me?” Camille blew her nose again.
“I don’t know,” Beth soothed. “I’m sorry I ever told Pete you would be a good match for Drew. I just thought after everything I’d heard about his ex-wife, you might be a nice change for him.”
Camille huffed and plunked the box of tissues on the coffee table.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you would have ended up being miserable in the long run,” Beth offered.
“It doesn’t make me feel better. Nothing will make me feel better ever again. If you could have seen him, Beth. He went back to Chester’s today. I was sitting right there, and he never even looked at me. When his order was ready, he snatched it up and practically ran to his car.” A tear dropped onto the front of her shirt. “Or maybe he did notice me and was just trying to avoid me. She drained the last bit of wine in her glass and held it out to Beth. “I need more.”
Beth unfolded her long legs and stood, then took the glass from Camille’s hand. “He’s not worth your tears, honey,” Beth assured as she walked toward the kitchen.
“But how do I convince him I’m the one he wants?” Camille asked, picking an imaginary piece of lint off her pants.
“You’re absolutely positive he wants to get back together with his ex-wife?” Beth asked, filling the glass to the rim.
Camille nodded. “That’s sure what it sounded like to me. He told me I’d never understand him the way she does. He even spent the night with her!” she wailed and plucked another tissue from the box.
Beth deposited the wine glass on the table in front of her friend and folded herself back up in the club chair. “Maybe he just needs to be reminded of all the things she did that drove him nuts,” she suggested.
“I tried that. He just got mad. He knows what’s wrong with her and he still loves her.” Camille lifted the wine glass and guzzled. She lowered it to the coffee table with a clank and pointed to it. “More.”
Beth shot her friend a disapproving look. “You’re going to get yourself drunk.”
“Good,” Camille said as she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa. “I just want to forget this ever happened.”
When Beth returned from the kitchen, she put the glass directly in Camille’s hand, set the bottle down in front of her, and plopped back in the chair. “Don’t asked me to get up again,” she gently warned.
Camille took a long drink and said, “You know something? She seems perfectly nice. When I went to her house last night and pressed my face against the window, she didn’t call the cops or try to shoot me or anything. She just came outside and talked to me. I think she was mad that I was there, but I think I get why Drew loves her,” Camille slurred.
At that, the empty wineglass slipped from Camille’s hand and her head fell backward. Soon she was snoring.
34
Tessa’s heart beat faster as she drove down Oak Street, probably named for the giant tree at the end of the cul-de-sac. Images from Monday night bombarded her mind, the clarity of them making her shiver.
Am I crazy for making this trip? Tessa asked herself for the thirtieth time in as many minutes. Detective Jefferson offered a safe house, and instead I’m parked near the most unsafe house I can think of.
But she had to know. If she was going to go into hiding, she needed to make sure her imagination wasn’t getting the better of her.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. The thump of the car door shutting echoed on the otherwise silent street. Tessa wrapped her arms around her waist, fighting every urge to hop back in the car and leave.
Placing one hand on the roof to steady herself, she glanced around the neighborhood. In the daylight, it was even more impressive. Gorgeous houses, luxury cars, immaculate landscaping. Despite having seen the woman’s dead body thrown over that man’s shoulder, Tessa wondered how something like that could happen on a street like this.
This was the American Dream – or something like that – and as far as Tessa knew, the American Dream didn’t include murder.
At least, not for most people.
The house in question sat peacefully at the end of the court. Today, in the sunshine, it didn’t look quite as haunted.
Tessa walked to the spot on the sidewalk where she had been standing Monday night. She squinted to get a better look into the front room of the house. It looked ordinary. Glancing at the hedges she’d hidden behind while her mind tried to process what she’d seen, she thought about last night, when Camille was looking through her window.
The people who live here would have thought I was either a burglar or a crazy person and would have called the police, Tessa thought. On the heels of that thought came another one: if they had called the police, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess.
Satisfied that the police would eventually arrest the murderer, she got back in the car and turned around at the end of the cul-de-sac, slowing as she drove back past the house in question. It seemed perfectly lovely, like nothing bad could ever happen there.
Unfortunately, Tessa knew better.
35
Still disappointed from having missed Tessa at her office, Drew returned to work.
“Is everything okay, Mr. James?” Dorothy asked.
“Yes. Thank you, Dorothy,” he replied as he walked into his office and closed the door. How many times did he have to tell her to stop calling him Mr. James? He was thirty-six; Dorothy was fifty-two.
Knowing he shouldn’t be this upset about missing the chance to surprise Tessa, he glanced over his to-do list for the afternoon. Of course, it wasn’t missing Tessa that upset him, it was the way he’d left things with her last night. Pushing the thought away, he looked at the item at the top of his list. A particularly high-strung client who was always worried about her money wanted him to call her. More than once he’d told her she’d be better off moving her money somewhere else if she couldn’t trust him to handle it. So far, she hadn’t, and he was stuck dealing with her insecurities.
As he was trying to muster up the will to call her, his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and answered.
“Thanks for lunch,” Tessa said. “You’ve been feeding me well this week.”
He smiled. Her voice was certainly warmer than it had been last night. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I missed you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Tessa was quiet for a few beats, then said, “I’m sorry about last night, too. The stress of this is getting the better of me.”
“Me too.” He pictured her twirling her hair the way she always did when she was uncomfortable. “It’s not like you to leave work in the middle of the day.”
Tessa sighed. “Just returning to the scene of the crime.”
Biting the inside of his lip, Drew fought the urge to scold her for not being careful. “Did you come up with anything?”
“No. I was just checking to make sure I saw what I thought I did.”
Several seconds ticked by before Drew responded. “You’re not your mother, Tessa. Despite what might have happened in the past, you’re a stable person. Just please don’t go looking for trouble,” he warned.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Drew,” Tessa warned gently. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just doing my part to make sure justice is done.”
“I just don’t want you doing something that will get you hurt.”
He heard Tessa take a deep breath. “I won’t. There have been some developments in the case, and the police are actively looking into it now. They’ve agreed to send a patrol car by my house every hour. They’re looking out for me,” she assured him.
“At least that’s something,” Drew mumbled, a gnawing feeling in his stomach. There was something she wasn’t telling him.
“I need to get back to work. Thanks again for lunch. It was delicious,” Tessa said, then disconnected
the call.
Drew rubbed the back of his neck. Tessa could be infuriating. She was hardheaded, and when she set out to do something, nothing could make her back down. He just hoped the killer didn’t find her.
A patrol car was something, but a lot could go wrong in an hour.
36
Tessa used her fork to cut off a wedge of chocolate cake and relished the bite.
Fear, she’d realized, had been robbing her of her life. Thinking back to the bird on the windowsill at Dr. Raymond’s office, she vowed she wouldn’t live in fear any longer. Not of the man who’d murdered that woman and threatened her, and not of the things others might do to hurt her.
She’d done her duty and reported a crime to the police, then had taken them the email this morning that proved not only that a crime had really occurred, but that she was in danger, too. They were sending a car by her house to make sure everything was okay, and within a few days, there would be a safe house waiting if she accepted their offer.
Sadness pierced Tessa’s heart as she thought of the victim who set all this in motion. Did she have a family that was wondering where she was? Were they waiting for a dreaded phone call telling them she was dead?
Nobody should just be erased from the world, forgotten for the sole reason that they hadn’t been found. That couldn’t happen to this girl.
There were enough imaginary monsters lurking around without a real one preying on young women.
After finishing the last bite of cake, she ran a hot bath and promised herself she would relax. Slipping into the water, she laid her head against the edge and closed her eyes, willing the warmth to ease the tension in her shoulders and back. Only losing Mama and her marriage falling apart had caused as much stress as this week.
Tessa began to drift to sleep but was jerked back into high alert by a loud scratching. She sat straight up, straining to hear where the noise was coming from.
Something, or someone, is in the house, her brain warned. She stood quickly and wrapped a towel around her dripping frame. She grabbed Drew’s old baseball bat from her closet and moved slowly toward the noise. As she got closer, she realized it was coming from the living room.
I was just in there, she thought. There hadn’t been anything there before I got into the bathtub.
Drawing the bat back, she stepped through her bedroom door and into the living room, ready to defend herself against the intruder.
Tessa’s eyes searched wildly for the source of the scratching. She flicked on the light and looked again.
Nothing.
Taking a few cautious steps into the small room, she looked in the corner between the sofa and the wall. Again, nothing.
Still clutching the towel with one hand and grasping the baseball bat in the other, she inched toward the front door. Was something trying to get in?
Suddenly, the sound stopped.
Did I imagine it? she wondered, straining to hear the sound again. She shook her head. It was real. It had to be.
Dropping the bat, she placed a shaking hand on the knob of the coat closet inside the front door just as the scratching sound began again. She picked the bat back up, ready to strike, then twisted the knob and quickly pulled the closet door open. To her right were boxes she still hadn’t unpacked even though she’d moved into this house a year ago. The boxes contained memories, mostly, and in her newfound independence she hadn’t been in a hurry to relive the past.
She shoved aside one of the boxes and saw that there, wedged between two of the bigger ones toward the back, was a small electronic device. She didn’t know how it got there, but she was certain in didn’t belong to her.
Tessa picked it up, walked to the sofa, and sat down to examine it. It looked like a run-of-the-mill MP3 player, except this one had an alarm on it. She pressed play, and the sound of scratching pierced the silence. She adjusted the volume and continued to listen. It was almost as if the sound was playing on a loop, set to stop after a couple minutes.
He was in my house, she thought, panic erasing the calm she’d felt only minutes earlier.
How did he get in? He’d been there, going through her things, looking for just the right place to hide it.
Adrenaline coursing through her body, she stood, willing her knees not to buckle, and reached for the phone. She had to let Detective Jefferson know about this.
After hanging up, she rushed to her bedroom and threw on the first clothes she grabbed. She settled onto the sofa again, which gave her a view of every way someone could get into the house, and clutched the bat, ready to defend herself against the intruder.
Home wasn’t safe. The police officer driving by every hour had missed the break-in, and it hadn’t deterred the man who wanted to silence her.
Would she ever be safe?
Right now, it seemed like anybody’s guess.
37
Tessa’s hands were clammy against the bat when there was a knock at the front door. Beads of sweat popped up all over her body.
She’d been unable to shake the feeling of having been violated. Someone had been in her house.
She pictured the dead, beady eyes searching for a place to put the device, his hands all over her things.
She shivered.
Tessa stood on shaky legs and walked to the front door. A glance through the peephole confirmed that there were two uniformed police officers responding to her 911 call.
Relaxing her grip on the bat, she opened the door and moved out of the way so they could enter.
“Everything okay here, ma’am?” the taller of the two officers asked.
“No. Nothing is okay here,” Tessa said. She could feel her chest tightening and her breath becoming labored. The room began to spin; her arms went numb.
It had been months since she’d had a panic attack, but considering the way the week had gone so far, she wasn’t surprised that one was rearing it’s awful head.
Through a constricted throat, Tessa managed to ask, “Is Detective Jefferson coming?”
The shorter, rounder officer nodded. “He’s been made aware of the situation and is on his way.”
She nodded, excused herself, then went to the kitchen for a glass of ice water. The cold always helped calm the panic.
When her breathing was a bit more regular, she rejoined the police officers. “What do you need?” she asked. Having to call 911 wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do.
“If you could tell us how you discovered your home had been invaded, we can start there.”
Tessa retold the story, then pointed to the coffee table. “The playback device is over there.”
The two officers exchanged glances. “You moved it?”
Swallowing hard, Tessa hesitated. The officers’ nonverbal expressions weren’t lost on her. “Well…yes. It was tucked between some boxes in the coat closet. When I realized what was making the scratching noise, I picked it up. I didn’t think anything of it. Now, based on your reaction, I assume it was a mistake.”
A movement at the front door caught Tessa’s eye, and the officers excused themselves. She watched as Detective Jefferson walked into the house, then paused to talk to the uniformed officers. After a brief, muted conversation, Detective Jefferson nodded and walked toward her.
“Sounds like you’ve had an exciting evening,” he remarked, glancing around the small house.
“Oh, yeah. It’s been a real party around here,” Tessa replied flatly.
The detective motioned toward the sofa. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Tessa followed him, then sat rigidly next to him as she recounted the discovery of the home invasion. “I’d gotten home from work late and was taking a bath. After a little while, I heard a noise. It sounded like something was scratching at the door. When I started looking around, I found this in my coat closet.” She pointed to the device still sitting on her coffee table.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and picked it up, turning it over to examine it f
rom different angles. When he flipped the small switch, the sound of scratching penetrated the otherwise quiet living room.
“There must be some kind of alarm on it that made it start playing at a certain time, because it was absolutely not making that sound when I got home.”
Detective Jefferson nodded slowly. To Tessa it looked like he was trying to process this new development and come up with a course of action.
“Someone must have broken in between patrols,” the detective muttered to himself.
“Well, a lot can happen in an hour,” Tessa said. Her voice was returning to normal, but even to her own ears, it still sounded strained.
“I’m afraid that’s true,” he agreed.
“But I don’t know how he could have gotten into my house, or how he knows where I live.” Her voice was rising again.
The detective leaned toward her. “We aren’t certain who broke in.”
“Who else could it be?” She wiped her hands on her lounge pants, stood, and began pacing around the room.
He stood with her. “I need you to think. Did you notice anything that seemed different anywhere else in the house? Maybe that something was out of place?”
Tessa stopped pacing and considered the question, then said, “No. Nothing.”
“I’m going to have the house dusted for fingerprints and searched thoroughly to see if there are any other little surprises hiding here. Between this intrusion and the email you received this morning, I’m afraid staying here is the worst possible thing you could do. If this is the same guy, we already know what he’s capable of. I would encourage you to accept our offer of a safe house. Unfortunately, you can’t move in until tomorrow evening. Is there somebody you could stay with who will keep an eye on you in the mean-time?”
Tessa chewed her thumbnail, a subconscious move she always did when her anxiety was at its worst. “I don’t know what to do…” she admitted. “There has to be something you can do.”
