Touch-Me-Not (8 page)

C
HAPTER
13

Now that the knitters had decided to meet every weekday afternoon to finish their quilt by the mid-June deadline, this was the first time they’d met on a Monday.

Maron and Jessica sat side by side on the black-and-white-striped couch, Fran Bacon in the matching easy chair, and Elizabeth Trumbull at the table across from Casper Martin and Jim Weiss. Casper had shifted the pile of atlases and reference books to the floor to give them room to spread out their work.

Reverend Judy MacDonald, the Unitarian minister, sat in a rocking chair, where she had a view of the library’s entrance. Two young women breezed in. One was what Victoria Trumbull would call “pleasingly plump.” She was just over five feet tall, with short, curly dark hair, bright apple red cheeks, and violet eyes. The other woman was tall and slender, with straight light brown hair and matching brown eyes. She seemed pale by comparison to the first woman.

“Well, hello, Cherry, Roberta,” said Reverend Judy.

“Sorry we missed the last couple of meetings,” said violet-eyed Cherry. “Roberta and I were invited to present a paper on tube worms at the Oceanographic.”

“On
what
?” asked Elizabeth.

“Tube worms,” said Roberta.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth.

“Pogonophora,” said Jim Weiss, a researcher at the Marine Biological Lab. “Long, skinny deep-sea worms.”

“You don’t find tube worms on coral reefs, or we could knit some for the quilt,” said Cherry.

Roberta sat down near Reverend Judy and pulled her knitting out of a basket.

“Where’s Alyssa?” asked Cherry. She set her knitting bag on the table and pulled up a chair next to Elizabeth. “I’d like to see how she’s doing with her kelp.”

“She had to respond to an emergency call,” said Elizabeth. “Somebody hit a tree on State Road. She called and said she’ll try to get here before we break up.”

Jessica tossed her knitting off to one side. “I dropped a stitch five rows back. I can’t concentrate.”

“Now what?” asked Casper.

“I got another call last night.”

Fran Bacon, the retired professor, spoke up. “You know, girls, we really must concentrate on our work. We don’t have much time.”

“What can we do? We’ve tried everything,” said Jessica. “The phone company and the police can’t trace the calls. He’s calling on a prepaid disposable phone.”

“It has to be someone who knows us,” said Maron.

Cherry’s needles stopped abruptly. “What phone calls are you talking about?”

“A breather is calling Maron and me a couple of times a week,” said Jessica.

“No kidding!” said Cherry. “Me, too.”

“That makes three of us,” said Maron.

Roberta set her knitting in her lap. “This is strange. I got a call the night before last.”

“Just that one call?”

Roberta nodded.

“A man?”

“I assume so.”

“Four of us, then. Someone knows all four of us.”

Jim glanced at Casper.

“You know,” said Casper, concentrating on his fringed anemone, “Anemones are carnivorous.”

The group was silent.

Casper adjusted his glasses. “An anemone can capture small fish.”

“Really!” said Reverend Judy, breaking the silence. The other knitters, heads down, worked intently.

Casper lifted the realistic pink woolen tentacles he’d been working on. “These tentacles have stinging cells that fire a tiny dart connected to a thin filament into its prey. Sort of like a stun gun.”

After several moments of silence, Jessica said, “Don’t tell me to change my phone number again. I did that already, and the creep actually said, before I could hang up, ‘changing your number won’t help, girlie.’ ”

“Definitely a man?” asked Fran.

“No question about it.”

Casper set down his anemone. “Let’s be up-front, shall we? You’re thinking Jim or me, aren’t you? One of us.”

There was a murmur from the group, denying any possible suspicion.

“Well, rule me out. I’m not into that kid stuff.”

Fran Bacon checked her watch. “If we’re serious about finishing our quilt by the deadline, people, we simply must concentrate. Mid-June is only a few weeks away.”

“What do you girls have in common besides this group?” asked Casper.

“Women,” said Jim.

“Church? Health club? Bars?”

For the next hour, the group was quiet. Needles clicked. Through the double doors separating the reading room from the main library, came the sound of library patrons conversing softly. Outdoors, a car started up. Children’s voices drifted over from the playground across the road.

A few minutes before six, Casper looked at his watch. “My wife is picking me up early today. Want a ride, Jim?” He folded up his anemone, wrapped tissue paper around it, and packed it and his needles into his briefcase. “She should be here any minute.”

“Great, Casper. Thanks.” Jim tucked his coral into a green cloth bag marked
THINK GREEN
.

“Good night, all. See you tomorrow,” said Casper.

“Night,” said Jim, and waved.

“Please, don’t think anyone is pointing a finger at you, Casper. Or you, either, Jim,” said Fran.

Casper nodded.

“Good night,” said Jim.

“Bye.”

“Night.”

“See you.”

The door closed behind the two men, and the women continued to work.

After awhile, Jessica set down her knitting. “Well, what do you think?”

“What do you mean?” asked Maron.

“
Is
it Casper? Or Jim?”

“Good grief, no,” said Cherry.

“Well, why not?” asked Jessica.

“We’re all members of this group,” said Maron. “That’s the connection. The caller knows who all of us are.”

“Much too obvious,” said Reverend Judy. “Besides, Jim and Casper are both too, well, normal.”

“Mathematical knitters? Like,
normal
?” said Maron.

Reverend Judy laughed. “Point well taken.”

“Girls! Please!” said Fran.

Jessica laid her arm along the back of the couch. “Then how do we rule them out?”

“Thanks for the ride,” Jim said to Casper once they were outside the library. “Damned uncomfortable in there.” He sat on the top step and Casper leaned on the railing. “What’s with Fran?”

“What do you mean?”

“She claims she was student advisor on how to deal with stalkers, yet she keeps avoiding the subject.”

“She’s preoccupied with the quilt deadline. Feels responsible, since it was her idea in the first place.”

It was six, a bright May evening. Bees hummed in the lilacs by the door, planted by the Friends of the Library. A breeze wafted the fragrance around them.

Jim said nothing.

Casper unhooked his glasses from his ears and breathed on the lenses. “Four women in our group are getting obscene phone calls.” He polished the lenses with his handkerchief and hooked his glasses back on. “I know all four.” He bent down and pulled up a stem of grass that was growing beside the steps and stuck the end in his mouth.

“We both know all four,” said Jim.

“How old is your daughter?”

“Sixteen,” said Jim, smiling. “Lily. Apple of my eye.” Jim fished his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open to a photo gallery of his daughter. “We were married ten years before she was born.”

Casper studied the pictures. “She has your wife’s looks, fortunately. Shame to lose her mother like that.”

“It’s tough,” said Jim, looking away from the photos.

“She have brains to match the looks?”

“Honor roll. Straight
A
’s.” Jim put his wallet away.

“What would you do if she got calls from some guy—”

“I’d kill the bastard. I swear to God, I’d kill him.” Jim smacked a fist into the palm of his hand.

Casper nodded. “Same here. My daughter’s only two, but I can’t imagine how I’d feel.” He crossed his ankles. “The caller knows who the women are. The four youngest. He isn’t bothering Fran Bacon, who’s in her sixties, or Reverend Judy, who’s in her fifties.”

“Or Victoria Trumbull’s granddaughter.” Jim clasped his hands between his knees and gazed at the bees working the lilacs. “He doesn’t want to tangle with Mrs. T.”

“Clearly, he’s observed all four in the library.”

Jim looked up at Casper. “Have we seen anyone suspicious around the library? Cleaners?”

Casper shook his head. “Two Brazilian women.”

“Maintenance people?”

“Walter, who’s in his late sixties,” said Casper. “Not that that rules him out.”

“Except for Steve Bronski, the library staff is all women. What about Steve?”

“He’s been in Florida the past two weeks.”

“Painters? Carpenters? Electricians? Plumbers? Roofers? Booksellers? FedEx or UPS drivers?” Jim unclasped his hands. “Landscapers? Pavers? Who?” He jerked his head at the library building behind them. “The atmosphere in there is so thick, you could cut it with an ax.”

“Who the hell is making those calls?” said Casper.

Jim said, “I don’t intend to quit the group simply because of this growing hostility.”

Casper sat down on the step next to Jim and tossed the grass stem he’d been chewing off to one side. “You mentioned electricians. You know, LeRoy Watts’s wife, Sarah, heads the library trustees. Watts Electrical does a lot of work here at the library, right?”

“Right,” said Jim. “LeRoy Watts is here several times a week, working all over the building. He must know who’s here regularly, have a feeling for what’s going on. What do you say we enlist his help?”

“See if he can shed some light on this?” said Casper.

“Very funny,” said Jim.

“Let’s talk to him,” said Casper. “He’s a great guy. I’m sure he’d love to help us get our hands on the bastard who’s making the calls.”

A red Chevy turned into the library parking lot. “This your wife?” asked Jim.

“Right on time. How about having supper with us? We can drop off my wife, go on to Watts Electrical, and have supper after we talk to him. He’s usually open late.”

“I want to get home to my daughter,” said Jim.

“Another time, then. We’ll invite Lily.” Casper started down the steps. “I wouldn’t mention this to the girls.”

“Women,” Jim corrected.

C
HAPTER
14

Shortly after Casper’s wife picked up her husband and Jim, Alyssa arrived at the library. “Sorry I’m late. A moped accident on State Road.”

“Already?” asked Jessica. “The season hasn’t even begun yet.”

Alyssa slumped into her usual seat and took out her knitting. “It was a guy with his eight-year-old daughter on the back.” She shook her head. “He skidded on a patch of sand and went into a tree.”

“Are they all right?” asked Reverend Judy.

“The father’s in pretty bad shape. They medevaced him to Boston. The little girl was hysterical.” Alyssa pulled out a length of yarn and jabbed her needle into a stitch. “She’ll probably be okay, at least physically. Skinned hands and legs. They’d never been on a moped before. They didn’t have a clue about how dangerous mopeds are.” She knit fiercely. “I had to come here tonight, even though I’m late. Get my mind off the accident.” She looked around. “Where are Jim and Casper?”

Jessica, sitting next to Maron, replied. “Casper’s wife picked him up early and they gave Jim a ride.”

“We’re being unfair to them,” said Reverend Judy. “There’s no reason to believe either one is the caller.”

“Casper made a joke about anonymous phone calls,” said Maron. “It’s not a joke.”

“It’s certainly not a joke. But that’s his usual way of trying to lighten a serious situation.”

“Girls!” said Fran. “We’re on deadline. We can’t let anything sidetrack us now.”

“Four of us are getting calls,” said Jessica. “Maron and me, now Roberta and Cherry. Casper thinks he’s so clever with his snide remarks.”

Alyssa was silent. She looked down at the set of typed instructions in her lap and moved stitches along the needles, apparently counting.

Fran said, “Your kelp looks wonderful, Alyssa. Very realistic. You seem to be coming along nicely.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s keep up the good work, everyone. We’ve got eight or nine different corals, several anemones, sea stars, sea urchins, squid, and half a dozen sponges. And kelp, of course.”

“These phone calls . . .” Roberta began.

“We can’t let those phone calls distract us,” said Fran somewhat testily. “Our deadline is only three weeks away. We have work to do.”

“Whoever is calling knows all of us,” said Jessica. “He’s not calling Elizabeth.”

“He’d better not,” Elizabeth said. “My grandmother would take care of him.”

“Obviously he knows that,” Jessica said. “He’s not calling Fran or Reverend Judy, either, our senior members. What about you, Alyssa? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Alyssa tossed her knitting aside. “I went to see Mrs. Trumbull after last Thursday’s meeting.” She looked down at the brown-and-green woolen kelp on the seat next to her.

“Mrs. Trumbull?” asked Jessica.

Alyssa took a deep breath. “I’m getting calls, too.”

Several pairs of eyes turned to her.

“That’s why you were upset on Thursday,” said Jessica.

Alyssa nodded.

“You should have said something. We told you someone’s calling Maron and me.”

Alyssa didn’t answer.

“And we just found out that Roberta and Cherry are getting calls, too.”

“Why Mrs. Trumbull?” asked Maron.

“She has a lawyer friend who specializes in women’s issues.” After a few moments, Alyssa added in a small voice, “I know who’s making the phone calls.”

Needles stopped clicking.

“Who?”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Casper or Jim?”

“Who?”

“It’s not Casper or Jim.”

“Who is it, then?” asked Maron.

“The guy who works for Watts Electrical Supply, Jerry Sparks. I got a heavy-breathing call today, just before I got paged for the moped accident.”

“I know Jerry,” said Maron, nodding. “He’s whacked-out on drugs half the time.”

“He’s done electrical work for me,” said Jessica.

“Me, too,” said Cherry, looking around at the others.

Roberta nodded.

“Are you sure it’s Jerry Sparks?” asked Reverend Judy.

Alyssa looked down at her work. “I’m pretty sure.”

“The creep.”

“Slimeball!”

“Sicko.”

“What do you say we track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine?” said Maron.

“A lesson or two,” added Roberta.

Fran held up a hand for silence. “Please, girls. We don’t have time for this.”

“What made you decide Jerry Sparks is the caller, Alyssa?” asked Reverend Judy.

Alyssa told them about her movie date with Jerry Sparks and his follow-up calls.

“He’s been going with Emily Cameron for the past couple of weeks,” said Maron. “Why would he hassle us?”

“Girls, the quilt,” said Fran. “The quilt!”

Jessica stood up. “Let’s find him, right now.”

Reverend Judy pushed her glasses back into place and continued to knit. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Rash!” said Jessica, heading toward the back door. “I’m simply going to take my scissors with me and . . .”

Reverend Judy stood up, holding her knitting.

“Five of us against one puny little geek,” said Cherry.

“We’re coming with you,” said Maron, setting her knitting aside.

The five headed out the library’s back door, followed by Reverend Judy and Fran.

“Girls! Come back, right now!” Fran called to them.

“It’s too late,” said Jessica. “Does anybody know where he lives?”

“We can take my car,” said Cherry.

“Tar and feather him!” said Maron.

“Girls! Girls! Stop!” Fran called to them, but they piled into Cherry’s red Jeep.

“Let’s go!” someone shouted, and the Jeep took off in a swirl of dust, long hair flying around eager faces.

Fran hurried back into the library, her hands pressing on either side of her head as though she were trying to hold it together.

Reverend Judy followed more slowly. She laid her knitting on the rocking chair and headed to the front of the library, where there was a phone, calling back to Fran, “I’m phoning Victoria Trumbull.”

Fran didn’t respond. She was still holding her head with both hands.

Elizabeth, who’d been dutifully working on her sea sponge, set it down and went to her. “We’ll be all right, Fran. The quilt is almost finished. It’ll be fine.” She put her hand on Fran’s back to calm her. Fran shuddered.

At the front desk, Reverend Judy was on the phone. “We’ve got a problem, Victoria. Five of the knitters have formed a posse to go after Jerry Sparks.”

“How did this happen?” asked Victoria.

“Alyssa convinced the others that he’s the breather.”

“I was afraid of that,” said Victoria. “Can you stop them?”

“It’s too late. They left with Cherry DeBettencourt.”

“She has a red Jeep, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Casey is with me now. We’re about to leave for Oak Bluffs. We can intercept them.”

“There’s no evidence that Jerry Sparks is the caller, Victoria. They went off like a lynch mob.”

“I don’t blame them for being upset,” said Victoria. “We’ve got to prevent them from doing something foolish, though. I’ll see what we can do.” Before she hung up, she added, “I hope you’ve noticed the sky. We’re going to have a lovely sunset.”

The entire sky, from horizon to horizon, was turning a bright rosy red. The sunset brought shopkeepers out of their stores along Circuit Avenue to gaze at the magnificent display.

LeRoy Watts was too preoccupied to notice.

He’d left the shop to search for the Taser, and he’d searched everywhere. Where was it? Had he been so shaken after the Jerry Sparks incident that he’d hidden it in his van? He’d cleaned the van with disinfectant after he’d transported Jerry Sparks to the library book shed. He simply couldn’t remember. He was sure he’d put it in the top file drawer, but his mind was acting funny lately. He had to think. Think! Where would he have put it?

The rose color slowly drained out of the sky and the shopkeepers went back to their stores. LeRoy’s head hurt from trying to work out where he’d put that damned Taser.

The bell at the front door of his shop jangled. LeRoy looked up. Two men entered. One was a tall, slim man in his fifties with dark hair, white on the temples, and a white beard. The other was younger and shorter, with round glasses and broad shoulders.

LeRoy’s first thought was that they were from the FBI, and he stood up, knocking his coffee mug onto the floor, where it smashed. Then he saw they were dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, not like FBI agents at all. And then he recognized the shorter man. Casper Martin, the math teacher at the high school. He bent down and picked up the larger pieces of his cup and dropped them into his wastebasket.

“Evening, Roy,” Casper said. “Sorry. We startled you.”

“No problem, Mr. Martin,” said LeRoy, his voice quavering. Where was that Taser? “I was distracted is all. How can I help you?” He kicked the remaining pieces of his coffee mug into a pile under the desk.

“Mr. Watts, I’m Jim Weiss.” Jim held out his hand.

LeRoy wiped his hand on his jeans before he shook.

“Jim’s a biologist at the Woods Hole lab,” said Casper. “You got a few minutes to talk?”

LeRoy looked from one to the other, puzzled.

“We belong to a mathematical knitting group that meets at the West Tisbury Library,” Jim began.

LeRoy gasped and felt the blood drain from his face.

Jim paused. “Is something wrong?”

LeRoy thought fast. “I heard about—” Then he stopped. What could he possibly have heard about? “Have a seat. Can I offer you some Jim Beam?”

Casper gave him a look, as though he thought LeRoy had gone crazy. Maybe he was going crazy. That Taser . . .

“No, thanks,” said Casper. “Not for me. You go ahead.” He pulled up a chair next to LeRoy’s desk.

Jim took the other seat. “Casper and I thought maybe you could help us solve something that’s been puzzling us.”

LeRoy nodded. “Whatever I can do, sure.”

Jim sat forward. “Some of the women in our group are getting phone calls from a breather and we’re trying to track him down.”

“Is that right?” LeRoy avoided their eyes.

“We know you do a lot of work for the library. Have you noticed anyone suspicious, taking too much interest in the women in our group?” asked Casper.

Jim added, “Most of them have unlisted numbers. The telephone company and the police are no help at all. As an electrician, you might be able to tell us how he could have gotten their numbers. A way to track him down.”

LeRoy took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, which he’d clasped on top of the big calendar on his desk. When was all this shit going to stop?

“You seemed a good person to start with,” Casper broke in. “The caller must be familiar with the library.”

LeRoy looked up at that.

“Since your wife is head of the library trustees and, as we’ve said, you’ve done electrical work there—”

“Contributed it, in fact,” Jim interrupted. “We appreciate all you’ve done for the library.”

“—you might have some ideas,” Casper finished.

“Ideas . . .” LeRoy picked up a pen from his desk and examined it. “Does this, um, person call other women?”

Jim looked at Casper, who shrugged.

Jim leaned forward. “Listen, LeRoy, the five women are suspicious of us, Casper and me. We’ve got to find this guy. Deal with the bastard. The cops are powerless. We need your help.”

“That’s not my . . . I don’t think . . . Let me . . .” LeRoy’s voice trailed off.

Jim studied him. “We have some ideas on ways to deal with him without involving the police.”

LeRoy’s face, which had regained some color, went white again.

Casper stood up. “Let’s go, Jim. We obviously caught Roy at a bad time.”

Jim, too, stood. “We’ll talk to you tomorrow, give you time to think it over.”

Casper extended his hand.

LeRoy pushed his chair back and stood, wiped his hand again on his jeans, and they shook.

“This breather is a piece of slime,” said Jim. “We’re ready to string him up by the you know whats.”

LeRoy looked away.

“Think it over, Roy,” said Casper.

The bell on the door jangled as the two men shut it behind them.