Behind Closed Doors

by Carla Cassidy

  He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Who broke up with whom?”

  Again Ann’s cheeks warmed with a blush. She was a private person who rarely shared personal information with anyone, especially attractive strangers. “I broke up with him...but I’m sure Greg would never stoop to this kind of cryptic threat and sneaking around.”

  “Although you’ve indicated whoever it was might have found access through the unlocked patio door, it might not be a bad idea for you to get all your locks changed as soon as possible.”

  She nodded. “It’s probably one of my students,” she said more to herself than to him.

  He looked at her sharply. “You’re a teacher?”

  “Yes, I teach freshman English at Northland Junior College. I also teach a community education course in creative writing.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “If I had my way, I’d pay all you teachers hazard pay.” He snapped his notebook closed and put it back into his pocket. “I think you’re probably right. This smacks of a silly student prank.” He stood up and walked to the front door. “I’ll file a report on this incident and if you have any more problems, don’t hesitate to call the station.”

  “Thank you for getting here so quickly. I’m sure I overreacted to the whole thing.” As she remembered her near blind panic while speaking to the emergency operator, a surge of embarrassment swept through her.

  His dark gaze, which had remained cool and impersonal up to this point, softened and he reached out and lightly touched her arm. “Your initial reaction was smart. When it comes to the possibility of an uninvited person in your home, there’s no such thing as overreaction.”

  Ann fought the impulse to lean into him, force him to hold her for just a moment. A comforting hug to banish the last lingering core of icy fear. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem.” Saying goodbye, he turned and left.

  She watched him until he got into his patrol car and drove away. When the car was no longer in sight, she closed and locked her front door.

  Leaning against the door, she gazed around the home she’d worked so hard to attain. It frightened her sometimes how proud she was of the condo. There were moments late at night when she was certain her happiness would be yanked away from her.

  She walked back into the kitchen, the wine bottle in the middle of the table a grim reminder. She tossed the bottle in the garbage, then picked up the note that had sent chills down her spine. AULD LANG SYNE. I CAN GET YOU ANYTIME.

  She was surprised he hadn’t taken the wine bottle or note with him to check for fingerprints or something. Although the police probably did that kind of thing for more serious crimes. After all, nothing had been taken. There wasn’t even any indication that someone had broken in. Somebody had just waltzed in her unlocked back door and helped himself to her wine.

  A student prank. Surely Officer Clay Clinton had been right. It smacked of immaturity. Probably someplace in town one of her students was giggling, recounting to his friends how he’d managed to get into Ms. Carson’s condo, drink a bottle of her wine and leave the note.

  She had grown lax about checking to make sure the patio door was locked. She wouldn’t be lax in the future. With a sigh of irritation, she crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. Even telling herself it was nothing more than a student prank couldn’t dispel her underlying unease.

  She worried that somehow this was just the beginning, the first fissure in a widening crack of the happiness and stability she’d worked so hard to attain.

  They don’t make English teachers like they used to, Clay thought as he drove back to the station. With her big blue eyes and pale blond hair, Ann Carson had looked more like a college student than a teacher.

  He could still smell the scent of her perfume, a clean, floral scent. The entire condo had smelled the same way... pleasant and almost good enough to eat.

  Almost, but not quite. Although she was incredibly pretty, she wasn’t his type at all. Too cool, too controlled. Even her address was off-putting. Secluded and exclusive, the condo had breathed not only of her evocative scent, but also of permanence, stability and obligation...all the things he was about to chuck from his own life.

  Still, something about her had intrigued him. He knew she’d been afraid when he’d first arrived, but she’d hidden it fairly well. What had drawn him more than anything had been a darkness in her eyes, a darkness that spoke of secrets, of pain.

  He shook his head, scolding himself for allowing his imagination to take flight. The problem was he hadn’t had a date in months, a fact which made every attractive woman seem vastly intriguing.

  He wheeled into the station and parked the patrol car. By the time he typed up his report, his shift would be over. Another day done. Forty left to go.

  As he entered the Kansas City suburban Graceton Police Department he was greeted by the usual cacophony of noise. Officers shouted back and forth to one another, arrestees proclaimed their innocence, computer printers whirred out reports and telephones buzzed with annoying regularity.

  Before sitting down at his desk, Clay got himself a cup of coffee from the break room. As usual, the coffee smelled too old and too strong. He carried it back to his desk and sat down. Now, if he could just find his computer amid the chaos of papers on the top of his desk.

  “Hey, buddy, thought you’d already gone home for the day.”

  Clay grinned as Raymond Misker clapped him on the back. “I caught a late call...possible intruder at the Evergreen condos. As soon as I type the report I’m outta here.”

  “So was it an intruder?” Raymond asked as he helped himself to the coffee.

  “Somebody had definitely been in the house, but the victim is a teacher. I think it was probably some sort of student vendetta or prank.”

  Raymond nodded, sipped his coffee, then grimaced. “Whew, that’s bad.” He sat down in the chair next to Clay’s desk. “So how many days left?”

  “Forty.”

  Raymond shook his head with a rueful smile. “I still can’t believe you’re really going to retire.”

  Clay reared back in his chair. “I figure now is the time, while I’m young enough and good-lookin’ enough to enjoy it.”

  Raymond snorted. “You’re definitely young enough, but certainly not my type.”

  “Thank God,” Clay retorted.

  “What are your plans? Going to go into some sort of business for yourself?”

  “Ah, that’s part of the fun of retirement, not having to have plans. Right now I’ve got a one-way ticket to Hawaii waiting for me at home. I figure I’ll lie on the beach and contemplate the meaning of life.”

  “Yeah, right...and what are you going to do on the second day when you get bored?”

  Clay shrugged. “I’m not planning on getting bored, and if I do, I’ll face it when it happens.”

  Raymond smiled wistfully. “Still, sounds like a hell of a nice dream...bright sunshine, tropical breezes and women in bikinis.”

  “I intend to make that dream my reality,” Clay replied.

  Raymond shook his head ruefully. “Ginger keeps telling me I can’t ever retire. As long as we’ve got a mortgage and four kids to put through college, there’s no chance of early retirement for me. I’ll be lucky if she lets me retire when I’m eighty.”

  “And that, my friend, is why I don’t have a mortgage, a wife or kids,” Clay replied. “Now get the hell out of here so I can type up this report and go home.”

  With a good-natured grunt, Raymond stood up and ambled to his own desk across the room. Within minutes, Clay had found the proper form and busied himself inputting the necessary information.

  He knew many of his fellow officers envied his having the opportunity to retire at the ripe age of forty-two, but it had been a life plan Clay had never varied from.

  As he worked on the form, his thoughts returned to the lovely Ann Carson. Now there was a high-maintenance kind of woman. Whoever she married
would not have the luxury of early retirement and living out dreams. He’d be busy paying the mortgage on that fancy condo.

  He finished the work on the report, then filed it, along with any further thoughts of the attractive English teacher.

  Chapter 2

  Ann left her evening class and walked out into the faculty parking lot. Evening had fallen, spreading deep violet hues that washed the surrounding scenery, but brought no relief from the July heat. As darkness spread, the overhead lights of the parking lot cast dark shadows where their luminous beams couldn’t reach.

  Her heels clicked rhythmically against the hot pavement as she hurried toward her car, not wanting to linger in the nearly deserted parking lot.

  She immediately saw the note fluttering beneath her windshield wiper. At first she thought it was a flyer, announcing the latest drama department production, or perhaps an advertisement for tutoring services.

  She plucked it from beneath the wiper and opened it, the bold, black marker words all too familiar.

  AULD LANG SYNE...SOON YOU’LL BE MINE. I LONG TO HEAR YOU CRY. I’LL WATCH YOU AS YOU DIE.

  Her knees weakened and she leaned against the driver door, her gaze darting around nervously. Dammit. Who was doing this to her? Why was somebody doing this to her?

  She frowned as she saw a group of her students from the creative writing class on their way to the student parking lot They waved at her, their cheerful voices riding on the late evening breeze.

  She returned their waves, wondering if one of them had put the note here? She pulled the keys from her purse and got into her car.

  Certainly in her three years of teaching, she’d dealt with disgruntled students before. She’d received middle of the night phone calls, nasty notes calling her names, but nothing as threatening as this one.

  The handwritten letters seemed to shimmer with malevolence, a hostility far beyond that of a student irritated about the latest grade she’d given.

  Starting her car, she decided to take the note to the police station. Even though she might be accused of being an hysterical woman, overreacting to a silly note, she’d feel better knowing the police had some sort of record about the problem.

  It took her only minutes to get to the Graceton Police Department, a five-story building whose dirty brick facade made it look much older than it was.

  She found a parking space but remained in the car. Leaning her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes. Was she being silly? Running to the police with nothing more than a note? She wasn’t accustomed to asking for help for anything, had accomplished everything in her life alone.

  She looked at the note once again. It didn’t matter if the police thought she was being silly, she’d feel better knowing the police had the note.

  Mind made up, she got out of the car and went into the building. Immediately, from all sides, sounds and smells assaulted her senses. The noise level was appalling and the scent of burnt coffee and pungent disinfectant mingled with the underlying odors of sweat, blood and tears.

  Two young officers jumped up to greet her, bumping shoulders like Keystone cops as they approached. “May I help you?” They both asked at the same time.

  “I’d like to speak with Clay Clinton,” she said.

  Their eager smiles died. One officer moved back to his previous position and the other one pointed her to the back of the room. “His desk is there in the corner. You can go on back and have a seat and I’ll see if I can find him.”

  Ann made her way to the desk, once again wondering if she was foolish for coming here. The room was uncomfortably warm, but she dismissed the thought of removing her linen suit jacket, aware of the lingering male glances shooting in her direction.

  She frowned as she eyed the top of Clay’s desk. She hoped he was more organized in fighting crime than he apparently was in his paperwork. Looking up, she saw him approach, a cup of coffee in hand.

  “Ms. Carson.” He set the mug down amid the mound of papers and offered her a handshake and a pleasant smile. “What brings you here?”

  “This.” She handed him the note she’d received.

  He read it, a frown deepening the furrow of his brow. “Where did you find this?”

  “Under the windshield wiper of my car when I came out of evening classes.”

  He looked at her, his brown eyes exuding an empathy that warmed her. “If this is a student prank, it’s not very amusing, is it?”

  “I’ve had nasty notes from students before, but never anything like this. Usually I get them the week after the students have received their final grades, but we’re in the middle of the semester right now.”

  He studied the note once again. “The contents of the first note were easy to dismiss as a bad joke, but this one...this one implies a definite threat.” He reared back in his chair and looked at her once again. “Did you get the locks of your house changed?”

  She nodded. “Yesterday.”

  “Good.” The front legs of his chair thumped down and he raked a hand through his thick, curly hair. “Look, I’d like to do a little follow-up on all this...get some more information from you, but I have a favor to ask.”

  She looked at him curiously. “What?”

  “How about we go down the street to Maxim’s Café and finish our business? The air conditioner is on the blink and it’s so damn hot in here it’s hard to concentrate. Officially as of fifteen minutes ago I’m off duty for the night and I hate to sit here in this heat a minute longer than I have to.”

  “It is warm in here,” she agreed. Her jacket clung to her with uncomfortable stickiness and the heat was making her a little nauseous. “The café is close?”

  “Half a block. During the summers when the air conditioner doesn’t work, Maxim’s becomes our unofficial annex.”

  She stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Can I keep this?” He held up the offensive note.

  “I wish you would.”

  He placed the note in a plastic bag, put it in his drawer, then rose and grabbed his notebook. With a hand to the small of her back, he led her through the squad room to the door where she’d come in.

  Ann pretended not to notice the thumbs-up signs and sly winks directed at Clay as they passed other officers, although she felt her cheeks flush hotly at the attention.

  “You’ll have to excuse the Neanderthals,” Clay said as they left the building and walked out into the humid, hot night. “Most of the women they see in the station are hookers or addicts. They don’t know how to act when an uptown lady comes in.”

  “It’s all right. I’m not easily offended.”

  They walked a few moments in silence, Ann double stepping to keep up with his long, confident strides. She felt better already, just knowing the note was in his possession.

  “Whew, nothing like summer in the midwest,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “I’ve always heard crime rises with the heat and humidity of summer.”

  He nodded. “It’s true. Unfortunately we have yet to figure out a weather pattern that prevents crime.”

  He opened the door to Maxim’s Café and ushered her into the dim coolness within. It was after nine o’clock and whatever dinner crowd the restaurant served was long gone, leaving only a handful of people and plenty of empty tables.

  “Hey, Wayne.” Clay waved to the man behind the long counter and led Ann to a table in the corner.

  The café smelled of rich home cooking and Ann’s stomach responded, gurgling to remind her she hadn’t eaten in several hours. “Was that yours or mine?” Clay asked as they sat down.

  Ann blushed. “I think it was mine. I haven’t eaten since noon and then it was just an apple and some crackers.”

  “My lunch was a hot dog from a street vendor.” He pulled out two menus that had been propped behind a napkin holder. “I vote we conduct our business while we eat.”

  “I second the vote,” she replied as she opened the menu.

  For a moment they each studied
the options. Ann decided on the chicken salad plate, then turned her attention to the man across the table.

  She wondered if he was married. She noted the lack of a ring on his finger. Still, she knew that didn’t necessarily mean the lack of a life partner. A lot of married men didn’t wear rings.

  “You mentioned you were off duty. Will your wife be expecting you at home?” she asked.

  “Nope. No wife... no significant other, not even a dog to wait up for me.” He closed his menu and pushed it aside. “I decided my wife would be my work. Too many marriages don’t survive the job. What about you? Ever been married?”

  “No. My sole focus has always been my education, then my work.”

  “So, no reason to suspect an angry ex-spouse left those notes.”

  She shook her head. “Not a single angry ex-spouse to suspect.”

  “Hi, Clay.” An attractive waitress appeared at the table, flashing Clay a saucy grin, then casting Ann a pleasant smile. The name tag on her tight uniform read Betty. “Airconditioning must be broken again, you’re the fifth cop who’s come in here this evening.”

  “Yeah, someday the taxpayers will approve a bond that will get us a new cooling system for the station...but until that time you’re stuck with having our presence whenever the temperature rises above eighty,” Clay said.

  Betty looked at Ann with a mock pained expression. “The presence of so many cops in here sure ruins our reputation as a dive.” She pulled an order pad from her pocket. “So, what’s it gonna be, and I don’t recommend the daily special.”

  Once they had ordered and Betty had left the table, Clay opened his notebook and took a pen from his pocket. “Now let’s get down to the matter at hand. Tell me again. When and where did you find the note?”

  “I was at work...at the college. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my late nights. The creative writing class lasts from seven to eight-thirty on those nights.”

  “And you found the note when you went out to your car to go home?”