At Risk

by Judith E. French

  “You think I wouldn’t understand?”

  “Okay, so I’m an idiot. Can you be at the Pancake Kitchen in half an hour?”

  “My hair’s still wet. Make it forty-five minutes.”

  “Can do. And Liz . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  Chapter Nine

  Thirty minutes later, Liz braked at the end of her drive to drop her electric and telephone bills into her mailbox. She used her shoe to squash a spider that had taken up residence, inserted the two stamped envelopes, and raised the flag. As she returned to her car, she noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road some distance away.

  Out of curiosity, Liz turned right and drove along the blacktop until she reached the hedgerow that marked the edge of state game lands. The car, an early 90’s dark blue Honda, looked familiar. She slowed and inspected it carefully, noting the Somerville faculty parking sticker prominently displayed on the rear window.

  Liz stopped and got out, leaving her car in the middle of the road. As she approached the Honda, a bevy of quail exploded into the air twenty yards away on the right side of the line of intergrown cedar trees and wild roses.

  Underbrush crashed and snapped, and a man cursed. A few seconds later, Cameron Whitaker appeared through a gap in the bushes with a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck.

  Anger flared in Liz’s chest. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bird watching, if it’s any of your business,” he said. “This is public land, and I have every right to be here.”

  “You’re wrong. This hedgerow is the dividing line between my farm and state lands, and you’re on the wrong side. You’re trespassing.”

  “Touchy, are we?” Cameron retorted. His face was scratched, and a trickle of blood ran down one cheek.

  “I don’t believe you! I think you’ve been spying on me.”

  “Prove it.” He slipped as he tried to jump the ditch beside the road and sank one white athletic shoe ankle-deep in muck. “Doing something you’re ashamed of again?”

  “Get off my property, Cameron. And stay off, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

  “Like hell you will. What’s the matter? Afraid someone will see what you’re doing in broad daylight with that drug runner?”

  Liz’s palm itched. It was all she could do to keep from smacking the smug expression off his face. “Have you been calling my house and making threats?”

  “Bullshit!”

  “I won’t be harassed. If you are the one, I’ll have you arrested. I’ll prosecute, and I’ll see that you’re dismissed from Somerville.”

  “Just try it! You think I won’t tell a few things on you?” Red-faced, swollen with mosquito bites, Cameron shoved past her and yanked open his car door. “Maybe your students would like to hear what turns you on. A few pictures of you and lover boy on the picnic table would really make you popular. I could post them on the student website.”

  “You bastard! I’m swearing out a warrant against you.”

  “Watch who you’re insulting, whore!” Cameron raised his middle finger as he slid behind the wheel of the Honda. He turned the key and stamped on the gas. The vehicle shot past her, barely missing the right front bumper of her car.

  Liz was still furious as the waitress poured her a second cup of coffee. She and Amelia sat in a corner booth of their favorite Dover breakfast restaurant. “Cameron was spying on me,” Liz said. “He admitted it, but you know he’ll try to lie his way out of it. He threatened me, too.”

  Amelia shook her head. “He’s got to be mentally unbalanced.”

  “I’m wondering if he’s unbalanced enough to have killed Tracy.”

  “Being slime doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but it doesn’t make him innocent either,” Liz said. “And if he’s sneaking around my house, he might be the one who set off your burglar alarm.”

  “And sent the filth mail.”

  “You know how Cameron loves computers. He threatened to put porno pictures of me on the web.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

  “Press charges and hope he’s bluffing. It’s one thing to get close enough to spy on me with binoculars, and another to get pictures clear enough for anyone to recognize my face.”

  “You didn’t dance in a strip joint to put your way through college or something, did you?”

  Liz chuckled. “No, but I did apparently put on quite a show for Cameron in my back yard. He had to be trespassing, spying on me with binoculars, or he couldn’t have gotten the view he did.” She rubbed the side of her neck. “Jack and I . . . we . . .”

  “Did the nasty?”

  “You’ve been at my house, Amelia. There’s no one for miles. I thought . . .” She sighed. “Well, obviously, I didn’t think, but I didn’t expect a peeping Tom, or in this instance, a peeping Cameron.”

  “I think it’s obvious that Whitaker is the one who’s been stalking you.” Amelia spread grape jelly on her bagel. “Once he’s arrested, I’m certain your trouble will come to an end.”

  “I don’t know,” Liz mused. “Why would Cameron have started all this immediately after Tracy’s murder? He came into my office just after I did. Either he was as shocked as I was, or he’s the best actor I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe he killed her.”

  “You need to follow up on this. Today.”

  Liz nodded. “I know.” She pushed a strip of bacon around on her plate with her fork. She hadn’t taken a bite of her scrambled eggs. The hunger she’d felt when she’d phoned Amelia and invited her to breakfast was gone. “Russell wanted me to co-sign a loan for him. I told you. He never calls unless he wants something.”

  “Did you refuse?”

  “Amelia, I wouldn’t give him a quarter for the parking meter. He gambles on everything, and he always loses. Once, he bet on a harness race, a sure thing. The horse came in dead last, and Russell lost his entire Christmas bonus.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yes, and I didn’t have a single credit card that he hadn’t maxed out. I had to borrow money from an aunt for Katie’s Christmas.”

  “I didn’t know you had any family, other than your sister and Katie.”

  Liz shrugged. “I don’t. Aunt Sally passed away more than ten years ago. She was my great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister. She was a Baptist missionary in China for over thirty years.”

  Changing the subject, Liz asked, “Why did you want to talk to me alone, without Sydney?”

  “You know I love her, but sometimes she can be so”—Amelia shrugged—“so politically correct. I wanted to talk to you about the e-mails I’ve been receiving.”

  “Without blowing them out of proportion?”

  “Exactly. I don’t need protesters carrying signs in front of the college, and I don’t want reporters trampling my lawn to get interviews with the latest victim. Thomas would be mortified.”

  “I’m disgusted that anyone would harass you like they did.”

  “Seeing the n-word isn’t going to kill me, so long as it’s just an empty threat. I’m frightened, Liz, really frightened, not just for you, but for me. I’m going to Norfolk next weekend, and I’m going there to stay for the summer as soon as I can.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Come with me.”

  Liz shook her head. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I’ve got to see this through.” She chuckled. “Actually, it’s a relief to know that I’m not the only one jumping at shadows. I was beginning to wonder if I was paranoid.”

  “No,” Amelia said, “you’re not. If anyone is, it’s me.” She glanced around and then leaned closer. “You probably will think I’ve lost it, but I dreamed of white lilies this week.” Her brown eyes widened expectantly.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Amelia sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m superstitious at heart. But the women in my family have this . . . this thing. When we dream about lilies, usuall
y somebody dies.” She grimaced. “Tell anybody and I’ll make a voodoo doll in your image and drive pins through its heart.”

  Liz laughed and clasped her friend’s hand. “It’s okay. I understand. I still throw spilled salt over my shoulder. We’re allowed to be educated and human, too.”

  Amelia laughed with her. “It’s crazy, I know it’s crazy, but it happened to my mother all the time. And my grandmother. I dreamed about white lilies twice before, once when I was ten and again in college. Both times, someone close to me died within weeks.”

  “It’s Tracy’s death. We are both so spooked that—”

  “Now you know why I didn’t want Sydney here,” Amelia managed between giggles.

  “I didn’t . . .” Liz giggled. “Heaven help us.” She squeezed Amelia’s hand again. “Go to the beach and forget all about this. By the time September comes, it will just be a bad memory.”

  “I hope so.” Amelia glanced at her watch. “Have to run. I’ve got a conference in forty-five minutes. I wish I could go with you to the police, but—”

  “Go to school. I’m capable of handling Cameron by myself.” The waitress returned with the coffeepot, and Liz shook her head. “Just the check, please.” She smiled at Amelia. “It’s my turn. You paid last time.”

  Amelia hugged her.

  “No more bad dreams,” Liz said.

  “Or at least I’ll try to dream about daisies,” Amelia quipped over her shoulder as she hurried off.

  Liz pushed back her untouched breakfast and opened her laptop to check her mail, something she hadn’t bothered to do yesterday after she’d downloaded it.

  There were four messages from school, one from Michael, three from Cap’n Jack, two from Katie, and one from a screen name that she didn’t recognize but had Katie Montgomery in the subject line, and the usual spam. Liz opened the e-mails from her daughter first.

  Moms. Go, me! 96 in Dead Irish Poets. I deserve a reward. Daddy says you’re being bitchy again. Can’t you forgive and forget? He needs financial aid. Me too. Send money for books and essentials. I signed up for a dream summer course. Now I have to stay. Love, Katie.

  Liz clicked the next message, which was dated the same day.

  Don’t forget to send money. Bren, Mary & I got tickets to a folk concert on the Burn for next weekend. Taking the bus. Staying with Bren at her grandfather’s cottage on cliffs overlooking Atlantic. Will take camera. Leaving tomorrow. Back Sunday. Will call then. Please be nice to Daddy. It won’t kill you to co-sign his whatever. Hugs. Katie the Peacemaker

  Liz frowned. Katie was not known for her letters home. On the phone, she could talk for hours, but snail mail was rare and e-mails minimal. And the repeated requests on Russell’s behalf meant that Russell was playing dirty pool, trying to use Katie to get his loan.

  “Damn you,” Liz muttered.

  “Excuse me?” The waitress stood, mouth gaping, beside the table.

  “Sorry,” Liz said. “Not you. Ex-husband.” She threw too large a tip on the table, closed her laptop, and walked to the cashier’s station to pay her check.

  When she reached the car, Liz opened the laptop again and read the rest of her mail. Michael wanted to know if she was free for target practice at one o’-clock or tomorrow morning. She wrote back, accepting for this afternoon. The messages from work weren’t urgent. She skipped over Jack’s e-mails and opened the last one.

  Russell, now apparently calling himself “Reliable 3981,” had nothing to say about Katie. Instead, he repeated his request for her to co-sign the loan and promised to repay her for two years’ back child support if and when his no-lose deal panned out. Liz deleted the message and opened one of Jack’s.

  The first was a cartoon of a fisherman stranded on a deserted island, making sweet talk to a seagull. The second was six lines of very bad poetry telling her how much he missed her, and the last was an invitation to join him for a late supper on his boat. She smiled, punched in his number on her cell phone, and countered with an invitation for spaghetti dinner at the farm.

  “Eight sharp,” she said.

  “No can do. Can we make it nine?” Jack asked.

  “Nine it is. Don’t be late. I hate reheated bread.”

  “Scout’s honor. I’ll be there at nine.”

  Sure, Liz thought as Jack broke the connection, but you were never a Boy Scout.

  “You’ve got to hold the gun perfectly still,” Michael said.

  Liz fired off two more shots that hit the target but missed the bull’s-eye by more than a foot. “What did you say?” she asked, easing off her ear protectors.

  “I said, you’ve got to hold your hand steady. You did better yesterday.”

  “Yesterday I wasn’t this mad. Those idiots at the court told me I don’t have enough evidence to convict Cameron of trespassing. Without a witness, I can’t prove he was on my land. Otherwise, it’s my word against his and a waste of everyone’s time. I tried to tell the clerk about the funeral flowers, the rowboat, and the dead fox, but he said that if I didn’t see Cameron do those things, I couldn’t charge him with them. If I insisted, I could sign a warrant against him for trespassing, but he didn’t know when it would be scheduled on the docket, and the judge would throw it out when it did get there.”

  “So you’re going to let Whitaker get away with it?”

  “No, I’m going to talk to Tarkington, the detective in charge of Tracy’s investigation. I think he should be aware of what’s been happening.”

  “I agree. Nathan’s a good man. I remember him from when he first came on the force. Nathan’s smart and pays attention to details. He never rushes a case.”

  “I called him but got his voice mail. I asked him to call me back. I said it was urgent.”

  “If he doesn’t get back to you by Friday, try again.”

  Liz nibbled at her lower lip. “Amelia DeLaurier’s burglar alarm went off the other night. It’s possible that Cameron could be trying to frighten her as well.”

  “Do you want me to handle him?”

  “No. He’s a jerk, and now that I know he’s the one doing all this stuff, I can handle him.” She pursed her lips, pulled the headset back in place and fired the remaining shots in the weapon.

  Her results were less than admirable.

  “Be patient,” Michael said, taking the weapon and checking to make certain that it was empty. “Do you feel confident enough to take the gun home with you? I can arrange a license for you to carry it.”

  “No.” Liz wiped her hands on her jeans. “Not yet. I hate handguns. I hate the stink of gunpowder, and the sound. I suppose I’m just a nonviolent person.”

  Michael motioned for her to step back out of the way, then reloaded the revolver and sank every shot into the black center of the target. Otto lay beside Michael’s chair, but the dog never blinked an eye. “Nothing wrong with the gun,” Michael said. “Keep practicing.”

  Michael’s outdoor firing range was as safe as any the professionals used. The straw-backed targets stood in front of an earthen bank six feet high and ten feet across. The handicapped-accessible concrete pad and walkway made it easy for Michael to practice his sport.

  “I didn’t thank you for getting rid of that rowboat for me,” she said.

  “No problem. I just towed the thing downriver and anchored it in my marsh. As leaky as it is, the rowboat will sink in a few days, and make a good habitat for crabs.”

  “You didn’t leave the traps in there, did you?”

  He chuckled. “No, I didn’t. They went to the landfill. You didn’t want them, did you?”

  She knelt beside Otto and fished a dog biscuit from her pocket. “You know better than that.” The German shepherd daintily accepted the treat.

  “If it was up to you, he’d be as fat as I am,” Michael teased.

  “You? I don’t think you have an ounce of fat on your body.” Michael’s legs were as hard and tanned as his muscular arms. Liz knew he spent hours working out every day, and in good weather he often
rowed or biked for miles. Michael owned a three-wheeled racer, especially adapted for his handicap.

  Maybe she should forget Jack, Liz thought as she and Michael headed back toward the house and a pitcher of iced tea. If she said the word, she knew that Michael would ask her to marry her. And why not? They were best friends, with so much in common.

  Liz couldn’t ignore that they were sexually attracted to each other. She’d never asked him the details about his paralysis, but they’d gotten into some heavy petting once, and she’d learned that he was entirely capable of an erection. Their sex life might be different from most couples’, but she had no doubt that it would be rewarding.

  As if reading her mind, Michael stopped and glanced up at her. “I’m thinking of driving up the coast to Maine and Canada this summer. Birding there is spectacular. Would you like to come along?”

  “Maybe,” she answered. “When?”

  “July. I’m planning on at least three weeks. What do you say? With Katie staying in Ireland, you’ve got the summer on your own.”

  “Let me think about it, Michael,” she said.

  “Not too long. I want to make reservations.”

  “I’m not certain I can afford that long a vacation. I—”

  “No,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m inviting you. I’ll pay for everything. All you have to do is ride shotgun for the cripple.”

  She leaned and hugged him. “Don’t say that. You know I hate it when you talk like that.” She blinked back tears. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said as he held open the kitchen door for her.

  “I love you,” she said. “I really do.”

  “ ‘Ah, but how does she love him?’ the man asks,” he replied with a chuckle. “Brotherly, or something more . . .”

  Definitely not brotherly, Liz thought, but what it was, she had to figure out. “I take the Fifth,” she protested.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide. I want an answer by June first. Got it?”

  “Affirmative, Captain,” she answered with a smile. “I hear you loud and clear.”

  Liz threw basil and chopped garlic into the sauce, stirred, and turned the gas flame as low as it would go. She always made spaghetti sauce from scratch. When tomatoes were in season, she used fresh ones, but this was May and those available in the grocery store were as expensive as gold and tasted like the packing boxes they were shipped in.