Listen to the Shadows (11 page)

He looked at her for a moment, then, without replying, turned from her and extinguished the flame in the lamp. Now only the light from the fire kept them from being in total darkness.

The earlier drumming of rain on the glass doors had softened to a light patter, and it was with an unsettling blend of relief and longing that Katie watched Jonathan’s silhouetted form move from her to go and sit before the fire. She watched him reach for the poker standing against the wall to stoke the fire, exploding sparks into the air like fireflies.

Now his head lay against the chair’s headrest, bringing into profile the strong chin, high cheekbones, the faintly hawk-like nose.

Light and shadow played about the terrain of his craggy features.

What is he thinking about? Katie wondered, sensing that he had withdrawn into himself.

She was suddenly struck with the unlikeness of Dr. Jonathan Shea being here in this room with her at all. Why is he? What brought him here? He’d told her he’d overheard her call on his police-band radio. Also, that he’d known where her house was located because of her aunt’s local celebrity status.

Had it been vanity on her part that made her so readily accept explanations which now seemed contrived? She saw in her mind’s eye the muddy tracks throughout the house, which she’d first assumed were Jason’s. With a slight quickening of her breath, she lowered her gaze to Jonathan’s shoes.

Fire danced in the black leather.

His voice came soft and deep out of the darkness, startling Katie. “You’re perfectly safe, Katherine. Go to sleep.”

She hadn’t thought he could see her in the dim light. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps he’d only sensed her watching him.

“I wasn’t worried,” she said.

Chapter 14

Jonathan was gone when she woke up.

The day had dawned bright and sunny. Katie ate a stale bran muffin and was finishing her second cup of coffee in the kitchen, trying to get up the nerve to call Mrs. Cameron at The Coffee Shop, when she heard a car slow down outside. Through the window, she saw the police cruiser, red dome twirling silently, drive by her house. Seeing it brought a measure of comfort, and at the same time frightened her, bringing home the reality that she might be in real physical danger.

Surely—whatever—whoever it was had meant her no harm, she reasoned. Otherwise he could have been in the back seat of her car instead of just the—strawman. Or he could have been waiting for her in her room last night. At the thought, the coffee turned suddenly bitter in her mouth.

She got up and made the rounds, checking all the locks on the doors. Old doors. Old locks. Some of the windows didn’t even have locks. Someone could get in easily if they had a mind to. Someone already had. In her aunt’s day, there’d seemed no need for locks.

Satisfied she could do no more, Katie started up the stairs to take a much longed for bath. Halfway up, a sense of foreboding gripped her, and she had to force herself to keep going, not to turn and run.

She hesitated at the door to her room, her hand raised but not quite touching the doorknob. Was he in there now? Waiting? She opened the door and went inside.

She stood in the middle of the room looking warily about her. Her brass bed with its multi-colored quilt, the night table, the dresser—all as she remembered. Nothing out of place but the empty spot on the dresser, where Todd’s photograph had sat for all these years.

She noticed the dark, sooty smear on the rug where she’d dropped the lamp when she’d fainted and again said a silent prayer of thanks that a fire hadn’t started.

It came unbidden—the image of a shadowy figure moving stealthily about her room, opening drawers, sifting through her personal belongings. She tried to block it out, but it was impossible, filling her with a feeling of uncanniness. Although the room looked the same, she knew that in some intangible way it was changed forever. It was almost as though she, Katie, had been personally violated.

Why Todd? Why had the strawman been made to appear as Todd?

She moved to the window, pushing aside the long, sheer drapes in a need to escape one possible answer that tugged at her consciousness.

No. It couldn’t be. That would be too—incredible.

Outside the window, the sky was an unbroken blue. Although the wind had lessened considerably, there was still enough to ruffle the surface of the lake below and cause the nearby trees to brush against the house, making a sound like fingernails on wood. Impatient with herself, she shut out the image the creepy thought had evoked. Never had she found the wind a thing to fear. She had, in fact, often done her best work to the accompaniment of a violent storm outside her studio doors.

The leaves of the red maple trembled precariously as if echoing her own uneasiness. Always, Katie had drawn comfort from the trees surrounding the house, like the embrace of old friends. But now they held an ominous quality, like those same friends had, while her back was turned, gone over to the other side of some unseen enemy.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said aloud, and was mildly reassured by the sound of her own voice in the quiet room. Taking a change of underclothes from the bureau drawer, she went into the bathroom where she turned both taps on full.

A half hour later, Katie was back in her studio dialing the number of The Coffee Shop.

“Katie,” Mrs. Cameron’s cheerful voice cried over the line. “How are you, dear? It’s so good to hear your voice.” Not waiting for a reply, she went on, “Such a terrible thing, your accident. I would have come to visit you in the hospital, but I’ve been pretty well tied up here.”

Katie could hear Francine calling out to Frank for a ham and cheese omelet and a side of fries. She sounded harried. In the background, above the familiar buzz and chatter of the early lunch crowd, Kenny Rogers was singing Lady.

“I know, Mrs. Cameron, and I really am sorry. I hope I haven’t caused too much inconvenience,” she said, knowing, full well, she had. There was never enough staff even at the best of times. “I was planning on coming in this afternoon if—if you still want me to. I mean, I realize you can’t hold my job open indefinitely.”

She heard a surprised chuckle. “Still want you to? My dear girl, I’m going quite mad here without you. You possess a certain knack of calming the staff and customers that I no longer seem to have. I suppose I don’t have the patience I had as a young woman. But I don’t want you coming in here, Katie, unless you’re sure—absolutely sure— you’re feeling up to it. We can manage to struggle along until you get back on your feet. Andrea, dear,” she called out, “there’s a customer at the cash register; will you take care of it, please?”

Katie let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d been more worried about losing her job than she realized. “I’m feeling fine now, Mrs. Cameron. Being back to work will be good for me.” It will bring back some semblance of normalcy into my life, she thought. She was about to thank her employer, and ask her to convey her appreciation to the staff, for the basket of fruit and the lovely card everyone had taken the trouble to sign. Even Joey had signed his “X”. But she decided it would mean more if she did it in person.

Thoughts of gifts given to her in the hospital made her glance guiltily down at the overnight case on the floor. She’d almost forgotten about it. Probably because, subconsciously, she wanted to. Poor Drake. What must he be thinking? She would telephone him if she knew his number, but she didn’t, and there was little point in trying to look it up since she had absolutely no idea where he lived except that it was up country, wherever that was.

Katie opened the case. Gazing in at the lovely fabrics, and smelling the exotic fragrance of French perfume, she tried to imagine Jonathan Shea buying expensive gifts to impress a woman, and couldn’t. He would no doubt think he was quite enough in himself. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think about Dr. Jonathan Shea. There were just too many confusing emotions when she did—too many unanswered questions. She was clearly physically attracted to the man, yet in a deep part of herself, she sensed a hidden side to him. An angry, darker side. She’d felt unsure in his presence, vulnerable. Even a little frightened.

Think about Drake, she told herself. Drake had tried to convince her he just wanted to be her friend, but she knew better. He was hoping for much more. Maybe she was too. It would be nice in a way not to be alone anymore.

No. She’d made her choices. Safe choices.

Holding up a lace trimmed coral negligee, intending to refold it properly, she noticed a small, glossy card fall from one of the folds in the skirt. Idly, she picked it up and read the gothic script.

Thank you for shopping at Natasha’s, Bellville’s first store in fine lingerie. We are pleased to have served you. Come again.

The Management

For several seconds, Katie simply stared in bewilderment at the card in her hand. As realization dawned, she began a slow burn. Drake had lied to her. He hadn’t bought these things in Boston at all. So determined to have her accept his gifts, he’d actually gone so far as to trick her into believing he would have to drive three hundred miles to return them.

Katie dropped the negligee back into the case and snapped the lock. Well, this would certainly make giving them back a whole lot easier. Relief gradually replacing her anger, she went upstairs to change into her work clothes.

As she entered the room for the second time that morning, there was a split second when she saw the strawman sitting propped up in the chair just as it had been last night. She turned away and reached into the closet, snatching up a white tailored blouse and straight black skirt from their hangers, leaving the hangers to swing and clatter together like old bones. Taking care not to peer too closely into the cavernous darkness beyond the rack of clothes, Katie shut the door and hurried from the room.

***

Rose Nickerson seemed pleased, if not terribly surprised, when she answered her door and found her neighbor, Betty Martin, standing there. Which was curious, since neither was the visiting kind.

“Come in, Betty,” she smiled, opening the door wider. “How nice to see you. I’ve put the coffeepot on. Of course you’ll sit awhile.” Mrs. Nickerson was a big woman, and solidly built. She was a cheery, capable sort.

Probably saw me coming up the path, Betty Martin thought as she followed Rose into the big yellow and white kitchen, where the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. Yet it did seem to her that Rose already knew why she was here—that she’d been expecting her.

“It certainly has turned cold all of a sudden, hasn’t it?” Rose Nickerson said, taking down two earthen mugs from the cabinet and filling them with steaming coffee. She set out a plate of cookies. “I sure do hope we don’t have a winter like we did last year. How’s Earl, Betty? I hear the school bus drivers are talking about going on strike. Well, I for one think they should be making a decent wage. It’s a darned responsible job they have.”

Earl Martin had been driving a school bus for nearly twelve years, and loved it. He had a way with the kids, and rarely did a problem arise he couldn’t solve with a little diplomacy. Earl didn’t want to strike. But when you belonged to a union you went along, and Earl was a union man down to his toes.

Even as they talked, Betty was listening intently, but except for her and Rose and the hum of the refrigerator in the background, there was no other sound in the house. She’d looked discreetly around as she was coming up the path, but saw no sign of the man. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or not. She didn’t like confrontation. Just the same, she would have liked to get a closer look at him, hear his side of things while looking him straight in the eye.

Now, seated across from her neighbor at the kitchen table, stirring sugar into her coffee, the small talk soon behind them, Betty Martin began to wonder if coming here had been a mistake. She didn’t want to offend Rose.

Maybe she was making too much of the incident with the children. And then she saw that they weren’t quite alone as the big orange tabby came silently into the room, blinked at them, then sidled up to Betty and rubbed itself against her ankles, purring loudly.

“Tiger likes you,” Rose Nickerson said, smiling as Betty reached down to stroke its soft fur.

***

Before draping a soft cloth over the painting, Katie stepped back to appraise the work one last time. Never terribly confident about her talent, she wondered if it was good enough to enter in such a prestigious competition. Reminding herself of the success of the show, she felt somewhat reassured. She’d done the watercolor in subdued blends of blues and grays, setting it off perfectly in the silver frame she’d picked up for next to nothing in a flea market. It both excited her and made her nervous knowing her work would be judged with the best.

She, too, was pleased with the eerie quality at which Jason had remarked. It had just happened in the process of painting, quite unplanned. Proof, Katie thought happily, of the superiority of the subconscious mind.

Or maybe it was a sign, said a small inner voice. A harbinger of evil to come. She shook the chilling notion and returned her thoughts to the competition. City Hall was only a five-minute walk from The Coffee Shop. She would dash over there this afternoon. Things generally quieted down around three.

She was getting into her coat when the telephone rang. “Hello,” she said, half-hoping it was Drake, and at the same time afraid it was. She wasn’t up to running the scene she knew was inevitable. Anyway, she had to get to work.

There was no answer.

“Hello,” she said again.

At first the breathing seemed to come from far off, striking a note of fear against Katie’s heart. “Yes, who is it, please?”

Hang up! Hang up now.

But she didn’t.

Allen used to phone her. In the middle of the night. After she broke up with him, the phone would ring, dragging her out of a sound sleep. He never said anything. But she always knew it was him. But that was two years ago. She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t think so.

“Hello…hello…” Standing with the receiver pressed to her ear, Katie’s heart began to beat queerly as if it already knew what she was only beginning to suspect.

As the breathing reached through the line, Katie could almost feel the hot, vile breath against her ear. “Who are you?” she cried, knowing now that it was him. “What do you want?”

“Youuuu…” came the deadly whisper, and Katie jerked the phone from her ear as if she’d been burned. It was the bogeyman of her childhood, a thing shrouded in darkness that hid in her closet, and sometimes waited under her bed. Now it was at the other end of the line.

She dropped the receiver.

It swayed on its cord as the whisperer called to her…“KATIE…

KATIE…”

Silence.

She stood absolutely still, her eyes riveted on the dangling receiver. In its muteness it seemed a thing alive, mocking her. The dial tone returned. But it was a full minute before Katie could bring herself to touch the receiver to hang it up.