Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  “You’ll be fine, Dad.”

  “Not me. You,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

  “I can take care of myself, Dad. I don’t need Frazier or you to protect me. I’m an adult. I’ve taken care of myself for years. And I’m going with Adam.” She sat down on the couch beside him, taking care not to wrinkle the gown. “Didn’t you like Adam? He brought pie.”

  Her father cut his eyes at her. “I like Lincoln. Where’s Lincoln? He understands weather patterns. He’ll want to know about the low system gathering over the Great Lakes.”

  She exhaled. For days, her father had been asking where Lincoln was. She’d finally talked to Lincoln midweek. They had talked a little bit about why she was so upset and he had apologized again. He seemed sincerely remorseful. And he still wanted to see her. He said he thought they could get past this “little bump in the road.”

  She hadn’t broken up with him because she wasn’t convinced that was what she wanted, but they were definitely in a time-out. She hadn’t mentioned to him her date with Adam. Lincoln was taking his grandparents to an anniversary party tonight and would be staying all evening with them. She reasoned that she wasn’t obligated to tell him what she was doing on a night they hadn’t made plans together.

  A bit of a stretch, but so far, her rationalization was working for her.

  Casey looked at her father. “Lincoln had something else to do tonight, so I’m going with Adam to a charity dinner and auction at the DuPont Hotel in Wilmington. Dad, you should be happy for me. Adam is a very well-respected man in the state. He could be attorney general some day. Or a senator.”

  Ed scowled.

  She sat there for a minute. She could hear Jayne talking rapidly, tension in her voice. Obviously, this wasn’t a good night for her to come and stay with their father.

  Maybe this was a bad idea all around, Casey going out with Adam. Somehow, now that she was dressed, all the rationalization in the world just didn’t feel right. When she had talked to Lincoln on Wednesday, she had realized how much she missed him. How much she wanted to trust him. Be with him.

  She was so confused by her emotions. Adam was a great guy for her. Almost perfect. She really liked him, but Lincoln…she felt as if she could love him.

  She groaned inwardly. What was wrong with her, even thinking that word? Surely the word love was the kiss of death in modern dating. She wasn’t in love with Lincoln. They hardly knew each other yet. She had slept with him because she was lonely. Because he was lonely.

  It was just that compared to Adam, Lincoln just seemed more right. His edges were a little less sharp. He was less like her. Casey felt as if he brought a balance to her day. To how she felt about the world and herself.

  The doorbell rang.

  Frazier barked.

  “He’s here,” Ed pouted, sitting back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll be late. I won’t sleep a wink.”

  “Won’t sleep? Whom are you kidding? Daddy, you never sat up waiting for me when I was a teenager.” She went to the door. “Now, please be nice.”

  Adam was dressed in a classic black tuxedo and a real bow tie, and his hair was combed back off his face in dark, shiny waves. He looked as if he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ magazine, and he smelled even better than he looked.

  “Wow. Wow, Casey, you look incredible,” he said, still standing in the door. He didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off her for a second, and she could feel herself flush from her toes to her hairline.

  “Thank you.”

  “For you.” He offered an exquisite nosegay of white roses and lily of the valley. “I hope it’s okay. My assistant said not, under any circumstances, to order you a corsage. She said women didn’t like them hanging on their gowns.”

  Casey couldn’t stop smiling as she accepted the flowers. No one had ever given her such amazing flowers. Such expensive flowers. “They’re beautiful.” She brought them to her nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

  “Come on in.” She waved Adam into the living room, smiling. “Let me tell my sister we’re going and I’ll grab my coat.” She hurried for the kitchen, turning around halfway there. “Thank you for the flowers. They really are beautiful.”

  Leaving Adam to say hello to her father, Casey went into the kitchen. She hated to interrupt Jayne’s phone call, but there was a limo waiting for her in the driveway. “He’s here. I’m going,” she announced.

  “Hang on,” Jayne snapped into the phone. She lowered it, reaching for a business-sized envelope on the counter. “I forgot. This was stuck in your front door.”

  The moment Casey’s fingertips touched it, she knew what it was. Who it was from. A thick lump rose in her throat. For a moment, she felt a flutter of panic that made her light-headed. She remembered the squeak of the bed she had slept in at the hospital.

  It’s not safe, her father had told her a few minutes ago. He didn’t want her to go.

  “Have a great time. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.” Jayne raised the phone to speak to Joaquin again.

  “Lock the doors behind me. Dead bolt, too.” Casey hurried out of the kitchen. “I have my key.”

  She left her flowers on the dining room table and went upstairs to add one more swipe of lipstick and get the dress coat she kept in the upstairs closet and her handbag. As she climbed the steps, the satin of her gown gathered in one hand to keep her from tripping, she gripped the white envelope in the other hand. She didn’t even want to look at it.

  But the smooth paper felt hot. Almost menacing.

  In her room, she dropped it on the antique white dressing table that had been her mother’s. She wouldn’t even open it tonight. She wouldn’t let Charles Gaitlin ruin her evening, which was obviously his intention.

  She grabbed her tube of lipstick, popped off the cap, and leaned down in front of the etched-glass mirror to carefully trace her lips.

  Against her will, her gaze fell to the envelope.

  He had no right. He had no right to scare her like this. To invade her life this way.

  She put the cap on the lipstick, then looked down at the envelope again.

  Maybe it wasn’t another message from Gaitlin. Maybe she was getting all worked up over nothing. Maybe the oil company had started leaving bills in envelopes. It was certainly classier than stuffing the rolled-up bill in the door. And considering the price of fuel oil, customers certainly deserved an envelope.

  She dropped the lipstick into her satin handbag on the table and snatched up the envelope. The envelope made her angry. What was inside made her even angrier.

  It was another hand-drawn eye. Blue, and almost identical to the last. No note. But the details were better than those of the last drawing. The previous one, though in color, had been more like an outline. This one seemed more real.

  You better have eyes in the back of your head.

  Casey threw the drawing down on her dressing table and strode to the closet, her high heels tapping on the hardwood floor. By the time she had her coat on, she had decided she wouldn’t tell Adam about the envelope tonight. She didn’t want to spend the entire evening talking about herself, about Gaitlin. She didn’t want Adam fussing over her, treating her as if she needed to be defended or protected. Treating her like a victim.

  A long time ago she had vowed never to be a victim again. Tonight, she would pretend Gaitlin didn’t exist, and tomorrow, she would decide what to do about him.

  Chapter 17

  When Casey had arrived at State Police Troop first thing this morning, Detective Martin had listened to her story politely, even checking on the trooper’s response to her house the night she had seen Gaitlin’s car out front. He seemed sympathetic, but it had rather quickly become obvious to Casey, once she began telling her story, that the detective didn’t believe she had enough evidence to have Gaitlin charged with stalking. In fact, he had just delicately pointed out that she didn’t really have any evidence at all. He said that in cases such as these, with no evidenc
e and no witnesses, it was basically one person’s word against another’s.

  Casey shifted her purse on her lap, thinking there had to be something the detective could do. Then an idea came to her. “If Gaitlin did send these drawings to me and his prints are on them, it wouldn’t be hard to get a match. You’ve obviously got his prints on file.”

  “I can give it a try.” He held up the piece of paper to the light as if he might be able to see fingerprints. “But I doubt I’ll be able to lift anything off this. We don’t have the kind of technology you see on TV, ma’am. For the most part, we’re still doing things the way we did them years ago. Computer system is better, but it’s more about funding than anyone would like to admit.”

  He glanced at the clock on the wall.

  She was wasting his time. Wasting her own.

  “What I could do is send a car to Mr. Gaitlin’s residence to check on him. I could have an officer speak to him regarding his contact with you. That sometimes does the trick in these cases. Guys like this see we mean business, they lay off.” He rose. “In the meantime, you should take safety precautions. Have your keys in your hand before you enter a parking lot. Keep doors and windows locked. Commonsense stuff.”

  Casey knew when she was being dismissed. She got up from the hard metal chair, trying not to be resentful. This wasn’t Detective Martin’s fault. She shouldn’t have come. She knew there was nothing the police could do. It wasn’t their fault or hers. It wasn’t anyone’s…except Gaitlin’s.

  “I’d like to hang on to these, if you don’t mind, Ms. McDaniel.”

  She glanced at the drawings on his desk. She wanted them back. Why, she didn’t know. Of course she couldn’t ask for them. How weird would that seem? “Of course,” she heard herself mumble.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  She smiled up at him. He was a nice man. Late fifties, had probably been on the job a long time. She was sure he was following protocol. For all he knew, she could be the stalker.

  Still, it guiled her. Despite the increase in stalking in the United States, in the injuries and deaths of women, abusers were still, across the country, not being taken seriously enough.

  “Thank you for your time, Detective.”

  “I’ll give you a ring in a couple of days.” He buzzed her out.

  Casey walked out into the small lobby, out the front door, knowing chances were she wouldn’t hear from Detective Martin.

  In her car, doors locked, she started the engine. Her cell phone rang. The Caller ID indicated Lincoln’s cell phone number. She hesitated before answering it.

  “Hey,” he said. His voice was warm.

  “Hey.” She was glad she had picked up.

  “Have a good weekend?”

  He was trying so hard to be patient with her. To earn a second chance.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  And Saturday night had been fun; the limo ride, the amazing Golden Ballroom at the DuPont Hotel, the extravagant dinner. Adam had been charming, attentive. He had been the perfect date. But even though Casey had enjoyed herself thoroughly, all evening she had found herself thinking about Lincoln. She had caught herself daydreaming, wondering how he was faring with his grandparents at the anniversary dinner at the fire hall. She had enjoyed the night of dazzle and hobnobbing, but she would have been just as happy to have had dinner at her house or Lincoln’s and played backgammon.

  So that was it, she realized suddenly. The final truth. She was in love with Lincoln. At least falling in love with him. It didn’t matter how perfect Adam was or how much she liked him as a friend; he wasn’t perfect for her.

  “I had a nice weekend,” she said into the phone. “But I missed you.” She hesitated. “I still think you should have told me about Gaitlin, Lincoln, but—”

  “But you’re willing to give me a second chance,” he cut in, obviously pleased. “This one time.”

  “This one time.”

  “So are we going to kiss and make up?” he asked.

  She still sat behind the wheel of her car in the state police parking lot. She glanced up at the traffic rushing by on Route 13. “We are. But you have to promise me that if something like this comes up again, you’ll tell me. I don’t want you doing anything illegal, of course, but…” She halted, then continued, “Lincoln, I want you to know…this is probably as much me as you. I have…‘trust issues.’” It sounded so lame, but it was the easiest explanation. And it was the truth.

  “Lesson learned,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. Maybe we could do something more than kiss and make up?”

  She smiled. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t push her at that moment on her “trust issues.” Her appreciation quickly turned to guilt. Should she tell him about her date with Adam? After all, they were discussing honesty and that whole idea of lack of disclosure being honest or dishonest was a slippery slope.

  “Shoot. Casey, can I call you back? I have a call I’ve been waiting on and I really have to take it.”

  “Sure.” She felt a little relieved. She did need to tell Lincoln about her date with Adam, but she didn’t necessarily have to tell him this minute. “We can talk tonight?”

  “Can I come over?” he asked.

  “Dad would like that.” The fact that she would too went without saying.

  “I probably can’t make it by dinner, but I’ll bring dessert.”

  She hung up and shifted her car into reverse. Her meeting with the detective hadn’t been all that great, but the day was still turning out pretty well.

  Maury sat on his bunk, hunched over, legs dangling. He rubbed the back of his neck irritably. He’d had a hard day at work. His boss had ridden his ass hard. The stench of the chicken plant didn’t usually bother him, but today it had. Work release was definitely better than Phase IV incarceration, but Maury was beginning to get antsy now that he’d had a taste of the outside world again. He needed to get out of here. Out of the chicken plant. Back to his “life’s work.”

  There was a young woman who worked in the maintenance office, ordered parts and stuff. She was short and a little pudgy, Guatemalan probably. But she spoke English good. She was pretty, in a dark way. Maury liked his women pretty. He wondered if Martina would go out with him if she didn’t know he was a con. He wondered if she could be lured by pretty baubles, plied with alcohol and drugs. He wondered how large her dark eyes got when she was terrified.

  Maury looked at the folded letter beside him on the bed. He’d had it since last night but he’d just opened it. Danni was getting to be a bit of a dilemma for Maury.

  Enclosed in the letter was a newspaper clipping with a blurry high school photo of a young man named Dylan Polanski. He had been robbed at gunpoint at a mini-mart near the beach and shot in the groin. He was expected to live, but when the story went to press, his condition was unknown. According to the paper, it was the third mini-mart robbery in the area in the last six weeks, but the first time anyone had been injured.

  Danni had written in the margin, “Poor Dylan!”

  Maury didn’t know Dylan. He suspected Danni didn’t either, until that night. He suspected it was Danni who had been in that store that night. Danni was the shooter.

  Which led to the dilemma. Maury wasn’t sure what to make of Danni now. Obviously he was trying to impress Maury. But Maury suspected he was also trying to draw him into something. Otherwise, why the request for the drawings of the eyes?

  Maury was flattered that Danni cared what Maury thought. That he obviously admired Maury, obviously wanted his approval. Otherwise, why would he be sending the clippings?

  Maury just hoped Danni wasn’t expecting any kind of “partnership” when Maury got out in a few months. That happened sometimes. There was an underground network few people knew existed. Men like him, a few women, communicated. Sometimes bragged. Admirers, younger, less experienced, occasionally hoped to latch on to those with more notoriety. Even participate.

  Maury would certainly encourage Danni in his “ac
tivities ,” support him in any way he could. Offer guidance, even. But Maury, like most serial killers, was a loner. And he was a smart loner. He didn’t mess with petty crimes like armed robbery, which could get you caught. The drug bust had been a mistake, bad error in judgment, but that wasn’t who Maury was.

  His life’s work was important to him. He had definite likes and dislikes. Needs that had to be fulfilled, and they had to be fulfilled alone, just he and the women.

  Maury fingered the news clipping. According to the paper, the boy had been shot after he had handed over the money in the cash register. There had been no reason for the robber to shoot the kid. Except that he had wanted to. Danni liked the violence, Maury could tell. First the B&E and the old woman. Now the kid. A shot to the groin. That was cruel. Maury would never do anything like that to another man.

  He thought of the woman in the barrel.

  He pushed the thought aside.

  The issue right now was whether or not to continue his relationship with Danni. Maury was flattered Danni appreciated him, but he was also cautious. No adulation was worth jeopardizing his own efforts. As long as Maury had been in prison, he was eager to go back to see the woman in the barrel. He was eager to…provide her company, emotionally if not physically.

  So maybe Maury should just end it with Danni here and now.

  He unfolded the letter and read the message Danni had written using Maury’s code.

  And who was he sending Maury’s drawings to? Always eyes. Blue eyes.

  Maury was really tempted not to send another drawing. But…what harm could it do? He was committing no crime and Danni was obviously being careful: the post office box, the secret code, even his cover of Danni with an i. And Danni was so grateful for Maury’s attention. He always said so in his letters.