At Risk

by Judith E. French

  “Some sick bastard must be having fun at our expense,” Katie said.

  “Where did you pick up that language?”

  “From you.”

  “True. But I want you to listen to Michael and—”

  “No need to freak. I’m in Dublin. What idiot is going to pop for a plane ticket to play Halloween when he can access the internet for free?”

  “You’re right,” Liz agreed, beginning to breathe normally again. “I’m trying to think who would have your address there. Your father, certainly, and the latest Mrs. Montgomery. We’re barely on speaking terms, but she’s never struck me as—”

  “It’s not Danielle. She likes me. Remember the pink silk sweater I got for my birthday? Dad certainly didn’t send it,” Katie reminded. “I wouldn’t put it past Larry or that creep who’s been stalking you—Cameron Whitaker.”

  “He’s not stalking me. He’s a nuisance and a major loser. But I’ve never given him your address.”

  “He’s a grad student,” Katie said. “How hard would it be for him to get into your office files?”

  “I keep the filing cabinet locked.”

  “Right, and I could pick that lock with a hair clip. It’s probably his idea of a joke. Mystery solved. Got to go. Stop worrying. I can take care of myself.”

  “Katie, wait—”

  “Love ya. Bye.” There was a distant click and then dead silence.

  Still gripping the phone, Liz turned to Michael. “What do—”

  “She’s an ocean away.” He refilled her wineglass. “And you are definitely staying here tonight.”

  “No, I can’t. I—”

  He held up a hand, callused palm out. “No argument, Elizabeth. I insist. Tomorrow I’ll call someone about alarm systems. If you can’t pay for it, I’ll—”

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “I was thinking of that myself. I can manage. But I don’t want to take advantage of your . . .” She grimaced. “Katie’s sleeping with her Irish boyfriend. He’s probably a terrorist—some kind of munitions expert, and his enemies are trying to get to him through my daughter. And I have just advised her to have him spend the night with her.”

  Michael grinned. “Maybe you should give up teaching and write thrillers. You have a great imagination. She’s a college student. If she wasn’t sleeping with her boyfriend, I’d worry. Drink your wine. I’ll light a fire, and we’ll sit in front of it and mull over this mess.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Certain you don’t want to get me drunk to take advantage of me?”

  “It’s crossed my mind. You’re staying here tonight. Doctor’s orders. You can be the brave, independent woman tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to take care of you.’

  “Thanks, Michael. You’re a good friend.”

  “That’s me, friend in need.” He raised one brow quizzically. “You know I’d like to be more than that.”

  “Tempting, very tempting.”

  By the time she’d finished clearing away and loading the dishwasher, Michael had a blaze going in the hearth. When she joined him, he indicated her half-empty wineglass. “More?”

  “No, this is wonderful.” She curled up on the leather couch. “I’ve had enough alcohol for one night.” She yawned. “Excuse me. Mmm. If I’d known we were having a sleep-over, I’d have brought my SpongeBob pj’s.”

  “I think I can find you something to wear.” Muscles corded his forearms as Michael swung himself from his wheelchair into a high-backed and overstuffed chair. He pulled an ottoman close and lifted first one leg and then the other onto the footstool before retrieving his imported beer from the carrier on the back of his chair. “If you want popcorn, you’ll have to make it yourself.”

  She chuckled. “No, I couldn’t eat another bite.” She leaned down and patted Heidi’s head. Both dogs were sprawled on the rug, seemingly content to be near Michael and the fire.

  Michael began to tell her about a warbler he’d seen the day before in the trees along his driveway. As always, they never failed to find enough to talk about. For the better part of two hours, they avoided mentioning Tracy’s murder or the intruder at her house.

  Finally, she said, “You know what really got me about those muddy tracks across my kitchen floor? They bring back memories of when I was a kid. Things I’d rather forget.”

  Michael’s compassionate gaze met hers. “Sometimes talking about bad stuff is better than trying to bury it.”

  She sighed. “I suppose.” She swallowed in an attempt to ease the lump in her throat. “I know I’ve told you before about that crazy hermit. The one who lived out in the marsh.”

  “Buck Juney.”

  She nodded. “Yes.” Unease prickled the skin on her arms and she grimaced. Buck was long dead, and she was no longer a child. But, try as she might to shake him, he remained a shadowy specter lurking in the dark places of her mind, poised to pounce if she lowered her guard. If she let herself, she could still smell the sweaty flesh and rotting hides that radiated from his shuffling form.

  “I’ve never lived anywhere that there wasn’t one crazy in the neighborhood.”

  “Buck was worse than that. People said all kinds of things about him,” she said softly. “That he was a war hero who came home shell-shocked and murdered his wife and child in their beds. That he cooked and ate their bodies, and avoided being hanged for it only by claiming insanity and spending years in a mental institution.” She grimaced. “Sonny Shahan swore that Buck had fits, ate his meat raw, and howled at the moon like a werewolf.”

  “And what did your father say?”

  “That Buck’s wife deserted him the same way Mom left us, and maybe that gave him the right to be a little addlepated.” She examined a chipped nail. “Daddy thought that Buck was harmless. If we left Buck alone, he’d do the same by us.”

  “Is your mother alive, Elizabeth?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. My sister heard from her a few years back, after Daddy was declared legally dead. She wanted to know if there was anything in the will for her. When Crystal told her there wasn’t, Mom hung up. She didn’t leave a number, but Crystal said the call came from an Alabama area code.”

  “You’ve never seen your mother since she left your father?”

  “I can’t even remember her face. And Daddy tore up all of her pictures. I was little, but Crystal said Mommy-Dearest took off two days before Christmas. Went to Wilmington with a girlfriend and walked away with every cent Daddy had in his wallet and an advance on his next week’s pay from Jack’s father. After that, it was just the three of us.”

  “Never curious about her? About why she ran away?”

  Liz finished her wine. “Nope. Daddy said Crystal favored her in looks and temperament. When I asked about her, he claimed Mom was pretty but not much of a mother and even less of a wife. Crystal claimed that they argued a lot, mostly about money and living out here on Clarke’s Purchase. She hated the solitude.”

  “And it never bothered you, growing up? From what you’ve told me, you and Crystal were alone on the farm a lot while your father was out fishing.”

  “Bothered me? No. Crystal hated Clarke’s Purchase. Most days when we weren’t in school, she’d hitchhike to Dover or shut herself in her bedroom and watch soaps. But I loved the old place. Other than burying myself in a book, I was happiest fishing or crabbing, or building forts in the marsh grass. I still love it, Michael. And I won’t be frightened away from my home by some nut.”

  Firelight cast shadows on his rugged face. “I don’t blame you. There’s a peace here that I haven’t found anyplace else. There’s room to stretch out, to be yourself. Even if that self is a little eccentric.”

  She smiled at him. “I’d hardly call you eccentric. You’re the most normal person I know.”

  He glanced at his custom wheelchair. “In spite of my mode of transportation?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Michael lifted his beer bottle in salute. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “
And on that note, I think I’d better get to bed. Unless I’ve had more to drink than I thought, that clock says 11:15. I’ve got to work tomorrow. And I’ve got to get up early if I’m going to go home and change before school.”

  “Sure, go ahead. I’m ready to turn in too. If the weather is decent tomorrow, I’d like to drive out to Bombay Hook just after the sun comes out and see if I can get my duck count up. I saw a Gadwall listed on the rare-bird alert, and I haven’t seen one this year.”

  He set his beer down, his second of the evening, barely touched. “Take Heidi with you tomorrow. Let her into the house first, and leave her in while you’re at school. I can guarantee that you won’t have any prowlers inside.”

  She rose and kissed his cheek. “What would I do without you?”

  Despite taking two nighttime tablets, sleep didn’t come much easier for Liz in Michael’s comfortable guest room than it had at home. Half of her felt silly for hiding out here instead of going home, and the other half was relieved that she didn’t have to face an empty house tonight. Not empty, she reminded herself; she’d have Heidi. The dog would be company, and as Michael said, she wouldn’t have to worry about an intruder with the German shepherd on duty.

  She glanced at the antique clock on the nightstand. It was just after midnight here, but three hours earlier on the West Coast. A little past nine. Crystal would be awake. Talking about their mother with Michael had brought back memories of more than Buck Juney.

  On a whim, she dug through her purse and came up with her palm pilot. Before she lost her nerve, she located Crystal’s number in Santa Barbara. Her sister picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Crystal. It’s Liz.”

  “Liz? Is everything all right? Nothing’s happened to Katie, has it?” There was a blare of TV in the background. “Wait until I turn down the box.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No. Five hundred stations and I end up watching reruns of gay guys picking out furniture for straight men’s apartments. You’re sure nothing’s wrong? You haven’t developed some weird disease and need a kidney or something?”

  “Nope. No fatal diseases this week. How’s work?” Liz was a receptionist for a plastic surgeon through the week and worked as a cocktail waitress on Friday and Saturday nights. Or at least, she had. “Still at the same apartment?”

  “Why would I move?” Crystal had gotten the condo as part of the settlement from her second husband, a gambler and would-be club manager. From what her sister had told her, the place was small and beginning to show its age, but it had a pool and was in a good location.

  “Hold on while I get an ashtray.” More clatter, a crash of glass, cursing, and Crystal’s throaty voice returned—still oozing with a Delaware accent and the results of decades of smoking. “I’ve got a new neighbor. Cute, but bald as an egg. He wants to take me to Reno for a weekend. Not exactly Mr. Right, but not bad. At least he’s a gentleman.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  “Maybe, depends on how bored I am. Okay, sis, you didn’t call to hear about my love life—or lack of it. What’s up? Have you come to your senses and realized how crazy you were to move back to the swamp? I’m not giving back a cent of—”

  “No, I like the farm. Always did.”

  “Fix up the house, sell, and buy a condo in Ocean City. I would if I was a big college professor with a fat bank account.”

  “Me? A fat . . . You have no idea, Crystal. If the price of oil doesn’t drop, I may be toting drink trays on the weekends.”

  “Sure. Right. I’ll believe that when I hear you’ve struck oil on the family plantation. You’re not getting married again, are you?”

  “No, at least not in the immediate future.”

  “Preggers?”

  “No, not with child. I just thought I’d call and see how things were going with you. We are sisters.”

  “Yeah, Daddy claimed we were.” Liz heard the clink of ice in a glass. “ ’Fess up, baby girl. I know you better than that. You didn’t call because you had an uncontrollable desire to hear my voice.”

  “Maybe I did,” she admitted. “I was talking with a friend about Mom. You haven’t heard from her, have you?”

  “That old bitch? Not likely. I’ve got an unlisted number, and unless she’s come into millions and wants to leave it all to me, there’s nothing I have to say to her. She didn’t want us and she didn’t want Daddy. She made that clear.”

  “She might be dead by now.”

  “So? Why get sentimental about poor white trash? She never did anything for you but let you burn yourself on the wood stove when you started walking. Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Once, she let you wander off and tumble off the dock. The Lab pulled you out. Blackie. Remember him?”

  “Yes, I remember Blackie.”

  “Bad-tempered old dog, but he saved your neck. You looked like a dead fish when you stopped puking. Yeah, dear old Mom. You think Daddy had a drinking problem? I can’t remember ever seeing her sober. Good riddance, I say. Why would you want to get in touch with her?”

  “I didn’t say I would. I was just thinking about her, about old times when we were kids.”

  “Not me. I try not to think about them. I washed that bay mud off my feet a long time ago. I’m strictly a California girl, Liz.”

  “So things are good for you?”

  “Could be better. I’d like to lose ten pounds and win big at the slots. Not thinking of coming West for a vacation, are you?”

  “No, too much to do here. If I did take a vacation, it would be to go to Ireland. Katie’s in college there.”

  “Ireland? See! What did I tell you? Miss Rich Bitch. You’re loaded, Liz. You don’t know how the other half lives. Maybe I should have gone to college. Or I could have been a flight attendant. Or a cosmetologist. Opened my own shop and charged forty dollars for a wash and cut.”

  “It’s not too late, Crystal. Lots of women go to school—”

  “Not me. At least, not college. I’ve got a friend in Las Vegas. She says dealers make good tips. I’ve been thinking about renting this place out and moving there to see how I like it. Or Hawaii. I’ve always wanted to live on the beach in Waikiki.”

  “Be certain you give me your new address, if you do move. I e-mailed you after Christmas, but—”

  “I don’t have time for that. Waste of time. I didn’t use that internet service enough to make it worth my while. I can use the one in the office if I want. You can always get me there.”

  “We should keep in touch. There’s only the three of us.” Crystal had never had children, never wanted any.

  “Right. You’ve got a birthday coming up. I’ll give you a ring then.”

  “Okay,” Liz said, knowing Crystal wouldn’t bother. Years had only widened the breach between them. There were no common ties to strengthen. “It’s getting late here.”

  “If you get to Ireland, send me a postcard. Or better yet, a bottle of Irish whiskey.”

  “Will do. Bye, Crystal. Love ya.”

  “Back at you, sis. Ciao.”

  Liz turned off her phone and then the light. Trust a conversation with Crystal to make her wonder whether she had done the right thing to move back to Clarke’s Purchase. An owl hooted outside, making her feel lonelier than ever. She missed Katie’s laughter and even her loud music echoing through the farmhouse.

  “I’m glad you’re far away,” she murmured into the pillow. “Safe.” The pills were beginning to work, and she felt the warm haziness of sleep easing her unrest.

  She tried to picture Katie’s smile and the freckles on her nose, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the mother she’d never really known. And the biggie hissed at the back of her mind—the gremlin that had ridden around on her back since she was old enough to put thought into words. If my own mother couldn’t love me, who will?

  The Game Master shut his car door and stepped out onto the overgrown dirt road on state game lands. The dark blue, ten-year-old sedan was a recent acquisition. He’d picked it up a
t the Philadelphia airport in long-term parking and replaced the New York tag with a Maryland one. The Chevy would suit his needs for a few weeks, and then, if no one noticed it, he’d trade up for another model. He liked American cars with their large trunks, much more convenient for transporting his cargo. When he was working, he never drove anything flashy, and he was a cautious driver. It didn’t pay to attract attention or give any reason for the cops to stop him.

  It was close to two o’clock and dark as pitch, but he didn’t need light to guide him. He knew where he was going and he had his night-vision goggles. He’d driven the road that ran past the professor’s lane twice. Though it was impossible to tell if anyone was parked in the yard, he knew that no state troopers were patrolling the area. Still, he took no chances, crossing woods, fields, and marsh to approach the brick dwelling without the possibility of being seen.

  No cars were behind the house or pulled up beside the nineteenth-century barn or in the sheds. He entered the house, as he had before, through the outside cellar entrance. The heavy board-and-batten door was locked, but opening it was child’s play, easier and faster than letting himself into the professor’s office had been.

  Inside, he moved slowly and silently down the brick steps and across the main room. An open passageway, leading to several smaller rooms, ran the length of the structure. A wooden staircase rose from one of these narrow chambers. Using a tiny flashlight, the Game Master climbed to the first-floor hall and made short work of that lock as well.

  The house sounded empty, but he took no chances, examining each room before he set to the task of removing electrical switch plates and floorboards to plant electronic devices in strategic positions. The last of these, miniature cameras, he installed in the professor’s bedroom and the largest bath. The tasks were time-consuming, but setting up the game board was a necessary part of the game.

  Lesser men might be content with the satisfaction of the kill, the scent of blood, and the cries of their victims. Those aspects were enjoyable, even immensely fulfilling, but it was the sport of the chase that thrilled him the most. Stalking his lovelies, watching as ever-increasing fear consumed their lives, kept the game new and challenging. That . . . and—something he prided himself on—the fact that he escalated the danger to himself with each challenge.