“In the next four to six months, I should know when that’ll be. I thought I’d wait until I knew something. Otherwise, all I can tell you is, ‘the plan is for me to move back sometime in the next five to ten years.’ Not exactly helpful information.”
“I admire what you’re doing, Jonathan. So do your employees.”
“The Atlanta office isn’t quite as supportive but then they feel more upstaged. They’ll be happy when I go back ‘up north where I belong.’”
That sounded odd to her. Rockland wasn’t exactly New England. When he returned, he’d be the CEO of the entire company. Surely, they’d object more to that than simply a Chief Communications Executive… whatever they did. “So, why are they okay with you being CEO but not CCE? What does a CCE do again?”
“Basically, I’m the agency’s ad agent. I sell us to various markets and help top management know how and what to say.”
“How will that help you as CEO?” Cara didn’t really care what he did or how he did it, but she suddenly felt very tired and wanted him to talk her home.
“I’m not hanging up until you’re safe in your house, so we can talk about scrapbooks or Pilates or anything else you’d like.”
Again, his insight astounded her. “How’d you know?”
“You yawned twice in a sentence of seven words. I’m not an idiot.”
“Answer the question anyway.”
“Basically, it has taught me to be a diplomat. I started as an office temp in high school, worked up to ad assistant in college, and by the time I graduated, I was a junior ad agent.”
“What ads did you do that I might know?”
“Storyland.”
“You’re never too old.” She sighed. “That was yours? I used to tell my mom that it was such a brilliant campaign because that’s exactly what kids my age always said. ‘I’m too old for that place.’ We stopped saying that after those commercials.”
“The funny thing is, that wasn’t supposed to be the big line. The big line was supposed to be ‘no age limit on fun’, but the girl who did the shoot wasn’t the brightest cracker in the barrel. She kept saying, ‘there’s no fun in age limits’. We tried and tried until finally I said, ‘It’s the other way around. You’re just saying that you’re never too old to have fun.’ She looked at me like I was crazy and said, ‘Well, why don’t I just say that then?’”
“Well, the concept was great. None of us remembered the rides and themes that were more adult. We remembered Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel’s cottage… We’d all forgotten Rumplestilskin’s spinning wheel or any of the more exciting ones. After those ads, we went all the time.”
“They’d kept the same fairy land type commercials going on for years but ignored a vital demographic…kids with time and money and no need for mom and dad to follow them around. I was so excited to show my favorite rides and places.” The pride and excitement of his first big hit still radiated even after so many years.
“I’m home.”
“You’re not in your house. I still hear your car running.”
As she walked up the steps to her townhome, a movement in the shadows caught her attention. “Who is there?”
Jonathan barked, “What are you talking about?”
“I saw someone—someone near my door.”
“Run to your car, Cara!”
Before she could turn, someone grabbed her and ripped her purse from her shoulder, spinning her in place. She stared into the face of a stranger—shocked. “What—” His hand reached out, jerked the key pendant from her neck, grabbed her phone, turned, and ran.
Chapter Eighteen
Jonathan heard her scream, cry, and then nothing. He shouted for her for a minute before the phone went dead. Probably smashed. Immediately, he dialed his local police and told them what he’d heard. “She said she saw someone and then she screamed. About a minute later, the line went dead. I debated calling the Rockland police, but I thought they’d listen to you more than me.”
The moment he got off the phone, he called Cara’s house. The line buzzed—busy. Relief slammed into him. It probably meant she’d made it inside the house—at least he hoped she had. Why else would the phone be busy at that time of night? Again, he dialed his local police and told them that he thought she was okay. “Sorry for bothering you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
The next time he called, Cara answered quickly. “Jonathan, I’ve got police here, and I can’t talk. He stole your key! I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The phone mocked him for several minutes as he stared at it. Being nearly a thousand miles from her wouldn’t work. He paced his office, sent a few emails, and prayed for hours. Prayed until the sunrise colored the morning sky a perfect flamingo pink. She hadn’t called. He knew she’d said tomorrow and knew she’d probably meant later in the morning at the earliest, but he’d hoped…
~*~*~*~
“I want it delivered to her house immediately. Insure it. Thank you.” He disconnected the call, sat the phone in the charger, and hung his head in his hands. Several minutes ticked past before he reached for his mouse and clicked open his insurance company’s website.
With a heavy sigh, he clicked on the claim link and followed the procedure for filing a claim. He’d only filed one claim and had intended never to do it again, but here he sat, filling in information as though he did it every day. Cara would feel terrible about the loss. He needed to be able to tell her it was taken care of when she called.
Noon came and crawled by on the back of a garden snail. He tried to keep his children occupied and his mind off the call he still hadn’t received, but Jonathan felt lost. Verna offered to stay home, but he knew how she looked forward to her weekends with her children and grandchildren. He couldn’t take advantage of her good nature, no matter how strong the temptation.
By two o’clock, he realized that Cara would need a new phone. By four, he wondered if she’d been more injured than she’d led him to believe; and by six, he began searching the web for Russell and Diane Laas. He hesitated over the number for several minutes before he dialed her home phone instead. An answering machine picked up almost immediately.
“I know you said you’d call, and I know I’m being a pest, but I can’t help feeling helpless and concerned. Can I do anything? Order you a new phone? Have it delivered to your house? Have an alarm system installed? Butt out and get off the line so you can call me? Yeah. I’ll start with that one. I’m praying for you. Bye.”
Habit took over, and before he realized the futility of his actions, he typed a quick text message as well. CARA MIA. I WISH I WAS THERE. JONATHAN
The moment he hit send, he felt like a fool. She’d never get the message. Or would she? His messages would likely be saved until retrieved. He wasn’t sure. Of course, everything would be fine by the time she retrieved it. Then again, he wanted to be there regardless… His trains of thought collided, creating a gory nightmare of emotional carnage.
~*~*~*~
The night dragged as slowly as the pages in the virtual mug book that Cara spent the next several hours perusing. It had been fascinating to give a description and watch the computer remove anyone who couldn’t fit the description. According to officer Tiller, they could even narrow the suspect down to just those with known tattoos if she’d seen one. However, regardless of her well-lit porch, an African-American male, five feet six to five feet ten didn’t give much description. Not seeing the man’s hair made it difficult to narrow the choices as closely as they’d hoped.
“I’m about to crash, Office Tiller. I think you should scroll back ten pages and save it for me for later. I need sleep.” She reached into her purse for her phone and sighed. “What time is it?”
“It’s nearly four.” The officer looked dead on his feet.
“I’m going home. I’ll come back tomorrow—later today. Whatever.”
As she left the station, a woman stumbled into her. Cara held the door open and assisted her to the counter, ca
lling for an officer. “There’s an injured woman out here!”
A female officer rushed to aid the woman. Cara started to linger and then shook her head. It was none of her business and a desperate need for sleep demanded she go home. At an incredibly slow pace, she drove through the deserted streets of Westbury, parked in her accustomed spot, stepped from her vehicle, and froze. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t climb those steps and walk up to that door again. Not in the dark and not tonight—this morning.
Cara hesitated. She knew her thoughts were ridiculous, but fear won out, and she jumped back in her car, backed out of her parking space, and drove toward her parents’ house. Her phone wouldn’t wake her there.
Russell Laas woke two hours later for an early tee time and found a note from Cara on the refrigerator.
Mom and Dad,
I’m asleep in my old room. I’ll explain later. Please don’t wake me up unless you have to. If Jonathan calls, tell him I’ll call him back.
Love you,
Cara.
~*~*~*~
“So, anyway, I got out of my car and decided I didn’t want to walk back up those steps again.”
“Oh, Cara, you could have been hurt!” Diane Laas hugged her daughter, staring horrified at Russell over her shoulder.
“But I wasn’t, Mom. I mean, I knew I was being ridiculous last night, but I was exhausted and I decided to humor myself. I need to go back down to the police station, and I promised to call Jona—.”
Cara stopped mid-sentence, her eyes riveted to the television screen. A police sketch of a man wanted for rape and robbery took over one third of the screen as the news anchor gave the latest “breaking news.” Her finger shook as she pointed to the sketch. “That’s him! That’s the man— She grabbed her purse. “I’ve got to go tell Officer Tiller.”
Heedless of her parents’ questions and her mother’s concerns, Cara jumped in her car and raced toward the police station, ignoring posted speed limits and pushing through a yellow light that should have slowed her down a bit. She burst through the doors, her eyes already looking for familiar faces among the staff from the previous evening.
“Hello, I was hoping to find Officer Tiller?”
“He won’t be on duty until nine o’clock.” The bored tone of this officer rankled.
“Who do I speak to about my case and another open case?”
“What case?”
“I was robbed last night. I spent several hours going through your database and then went home for a nap. While I was eating breakfast—” she saw the clock and amended her words, “well, late lunch I guess, I saw this face on the news. Someone had sketched it. He’s wanted for rape and robbery.”
The man pulled a sheet from a desk behind him and laid it on the counter. “Him?”
“That’s the one. That’s the guy from last night! He stole my phone, my purse, and—” Cara choked. “—my necklace.”
“Your name?”
Cara gave her full name, the name of both officers who had met her at her home, and then asked, “Do you think it can possibly be the same man? I mean, robbed us both but not attacked—”
The man, flipping through her report, interrupted her abruptly. “It says here you were talking on your cellphone when he attacked and that you told whoever you were talking to that someone was there?”
“That’s right.”
“That probably saved you. He knew whoever it was would send help to you. He just didn’t have time.”
“I wonder if anyone looked to see if my phone was lying around anywhere close. He didn’t wear gloves…”
“I’m sure they looked, but it was dark. I’ll send someone over to get another look, just in case. Getting a fingerprint could help us nab this guy faster.”
She spoke with the sketch artist, asked for a few slight changes to the man’s face, and then nodded with satisfaction. “That’s almost perfect. I’d be curious to know if the other woman agrees.” Cara hesitated. “Are you allowed to tell me if they found her anywhere near my house?”
“Well, I’m not sure where it happened. I wasn’t here when she came in; she walked all the way here.”
Instinctively, Cara knew it was the woman she’d seen as she left that morning. “Can you give her my number—in case she wants to talk or something?” She frowned. “Well, it’ll go to voicemail until I get a new phone, but still.”
~*~*~*~
It would be dark in an hour. She needed to get home before it was too late, but Cara wanted nothing more than to turn her car around and drive back to her parents’ house once more. She could do it. She could wash her clothes, wear them to church the next day, and come home afterward. It wouldn’t hurt anything…
Resolutely, she snapped the blinker, changed lanes, and turned left on the main road to her home. Her attitude had moved from understandable to a bit ridiculous. She needed to face the bugaboo before it took over her life. Within minutes, she had parked her car, held her keys ready to open her door or gouge out any eye that got in her way, and had climbed the steps to her townhome. The light on that side of the building still illuminated everything.
Thankful for a west facing door, Cara opened the door, slammed it shut behind her, and slid the dead bolt into place. “I feel like an idiot. The odds of him coming back are so far out there that it’s ridiculous.”
Keeping up a running mumbled monologue, Cara rushed upstairs, grabbed her favorite silky pajama shorts and camisole, her ratty robe, and climbed into the tub. She’d sit with her bubbles until her toes wrinkled, the water chilled, and she felt utterly relaxed. She lit candles all around her and soaked as the sun’s light gave way to moonlight, plunging her bathroom into darkness illuminated only by the few flickering flames of her candles.
Water splashed over her chin. Cara sat up, her heart pounding. She’d fallen asleep. Climbing from the tub, she hurried to the shower, turned on both spray nozzles, and thanked the Lord, something she did nearly every time she showered, that she’d paid extra for the second showerhead. Her hair clean, the stress of the past week gone, Cara pulled on her comfy lounging clothes and jogged downstairs. She’d have Indian delivered—something nice and savory.
The answering machine light flashed rapidly, telling her she had several messages. Officer Tiller, her mother, Todd Graham, her mother, her cousin Kirky, her mother, her father begging her to call her mother, Carly demanding to know why she wasn’t answering her cellphone, Jonathan…
“Oh, no!” She glanced at the clock. He’d called two hours ago. He must be worried. Well, she couldn’t do much about it now. She ordered her dinner and then punched his phone number into her phone, praying she remembered it. It was wrong. She tried again. Another wrong number.
Frantically, she called her mother. “Mom, help! I promised I’d call Jonathan back and I don’t have his number. It was in my cellphone.”
“Call information.” The answer came quickly and automatically.
“They don’t have him. Men like Jonathan Lyman have unlisted numbers.”
“His mother?”
“In my cellphone. I can’t think of anyone who might—unless—Julia?”
“You could try. Meanwhile, email him while you try to find him. Maybe he’s online.” Diane jumped into the spirit of things. “I was worried about you when you didn’t call back. I didn’t realize you didn’t have your phone.”
“Guess I didn’t tell you that. Sorry. Okay, I’ve got to call him. I said I’d call today, and today is almost over.”
Cara called her cousin, got a number for Jonathan’s aunt, called that number, and got a number for his mother. Finally, she reached Mrs. Lyman as her fingers hit send on her email. “Oh, Mrs. Lyman, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was supposed to call Jonathan back—long story—anyway, my cellphone is gone and without it, I don’t have his number. Would you mind giving me that number or asking him to call me again?”
“Of course I’ll give you the number.” His mother seemed to hesitate. “Cara, are yo
u okay? You sound a little out of breath.”
“Frankly, no, but I will be. I just feel awful that I said I’d call today, and as you can see, today is nearly gone.”
Jonathan picked up first ring. “I almost didn’t recognize your number. Are you okay? Irritated at me for not leaving you alone?”
“Irritated? I feel like a jerk for not calling yet. I’ve had the worst twenty-four hours of my life and then I had no way to call. Your number is in my cellphone.”
Jonathan sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.” The silence on the phone wasn’t their comfortable togetherness she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, it felt strained, awkward. “Cara, are you okay?”
“No.” She knew she sounded like a child with a scraped knee.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“No.” Cara nearly groaned at the even more pathetic sound of her response. She needed him to be strong for her—for him to talk. But would he?
“Well,” he began as if he’d read her mind and accepted the unspoken challenge. “How about mail? Did you get any mail today?”
“I didn’t check.” Her voice shrank to child-like tones. “I don’t want to go out there.”
“Aw, Cara mia, you don’t have to go out there. No packages or anything?” He sounded confused.
“Well, if they did come, I wasn’t here all day. I was at the police station until four this morning, tried to come home, couldn’t do it, went to my parents’ house, went back to the police station, and almost didn’t come home again.” She thought for a moment. “Should I be expecting something?”
“Well, I did have something sent to your house today.”
“Let me call Frank down at the office and see if it was left there for me. I wonder if he’d walk it over…” The doorbell rang. “I think that’s my dinner.”
“Let me have his number. I’ll call and you answer your door. Just don’t hang up.”
Her laughter felt normal—comfortable. “If I don’t hang up, how will you call Frank?” Everything would be all right eventually. “I’ll just—”
Speak Now Page 18
