A Penny for Your Thoughts (2 page)

“Jerry?” she called in a hoarse voice, knowing he either lay there dying or was dead. The gunshot report had been unmistakable. She strained to listen. No one moved in the room. Even the television was silenced. Would she hear him bleeding to death? Did exsanguination make a noise? Penny clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the vomit.

She looked over at the rounded form of Tim who slumped in one of her easy chairs with his head buried in his hands, but she jerked her head toward the phone when she heard a commotion over the line--loud banging as if on a door and then shouting. “Police.”

She listened intently to the sound of a crash, hoping against hope that the police had broken in, and that Jerry would soon pick up the phone and start cursing her for her betrayal. She would welcome his anger at the moment...the anger of living. She heard multiple voices in the background but couldn’t distinguish Jerry’s voice from the rest.

“Hello. Who is this?”

Penny jumped at the loud voice on the phone.

“I’m Penny Brown. Is Jerry all right?”

“Are you the one who called 911?”

“My office did. I was on the phone with Jerry. Is he...did he...” Penny choked on the words.

“Yes, Miss Brown. He appears to be dead. I’m sorry.”

A sob escaped Penny’s lips and hot tears flowed unchecked down her face. She could barely make out Tim’s form as he jumped up to stand beside her, bending near her ear to listen in.

“Miss Brown. We’re going to have to send an officer over to you to take a statement. We’ll have someone there in an hour. Will you be there?”

“Yes,” she sobbed as she thrust the phone into Tim’s unsuspecting hands. She lunged from her chair, ran out the door and around the corner to the women’s restroom across the hall. Penny flung open the door and dashed for the sink. The cold water she threw on her face failed to help. It didn’t lessen her nausea, it didn’t make her feel better, and it didn’t bring Jerry back.

Uncaring of her surroundings, Penny slid down the wall to the chilly tile floor below the sink. She pulled up her legs, wrapped her arms around them and dropped her head on her knees, keening and gasping for air as she rocked back and forth. Jerry was dead, and it was her fault. She had failed him.

****

The killer slipped the gun into Jerry’s limp right hand and closed his fingers around it. He stepped back and studied the scene for a minute while he pulled off his gloves and shoved them in his jacket pocket. Jerry’s bloodied head rested against the back of the couch with a tilt to the left. He bent over to make a check of the Jerry’s pockets, but found nothing except some pocket change, and his frustration mounted. He shouldn’t have killed him so quickly. He cursed himself for not controlling his anger. If he’d just stayed cool, he would have had what he wanted.

The cell phone lay open on the floor where Jerry had dropped it. He could still hear the therapist’s voice over the phone. The police were probably on the way. He needed to get out of there.

He pivoted away from the body and crossed the room to reach a small black metal filing cabinet set in a far corner of the room next to a stack of old magazines and newspapers.
Jerry should get rid of this crap
, he thought for the hundredth time as he yanked open the top drawer of the flimsy file drawer. Bending down to peer into the dark recesses of the back, he rummaged around until his fingers closed over a small gray metal cash box. He pulled it out, and opened it. The silly fool never locked anything. He’d seen this box before. Jerry stored some of his favorite things in here. He knew he’d find a photograph...of two young men on a sandy beach, probably some cash and the thing he wanted. He pushed aside the photographs and hauled out the unruly wad of cash. It was too bad it had finally come to this, he thought ruefully as he threw a glance over his shoulder at the lifeless figure on the couch.

He searched the box again, but it held nothing else. With rising frustration, he ransacked the cabinet drawer. Nothing! He slammed the door shut in a rage, belatedly remembering that the phone still lay open on the floor...and Jerry was supposed to be dead.

As the killer passed Jerry’s body, he took a final look at him...knowing he should feel bad. But he couldn’t muster any sympathy. Jerry got what he deserved. He cursed himself for not pressing Jerry harder. Maybe he should have hauled that therapist here by her hair and forced the fool to give up the location.

He shook his head. Ole Jerry had certainly done everything he could to protect his precious therapist, hadn’t he? When he saw the caller ID on the phone, he thought he had the perfect motivation for Jerry. The words, “I’m going to kill her first” should have gotten Jerry to talk. But he was stubborn. Right up to the end. Right up until he tried to fight back.

He heard her voice on the phone again.

“Jerry? Jerry? Are you there?”

He fought his instinct to kick the phone across the room. That wouldn’t go over well when the police arrived. He cracked open the door and peered out. No one in the hallway. The middle of a work day. He slid out wondering what he was going to do about her. Did she have what Jerry refused to give up?

Maybe it was time to pay her a call.

Penny stretched out her legs, hoping the miniscule beach chair with the shortest legs in the world, which barely kept her backside off the ground, wouldn’t give in to its apparent inclination to topple over and dump her onto the sand. She glanced at her watch and sighed. Four fifteen. The sun would set in thirty minutes. While sunsets on the Gulf Coast usually provided a panoramic blaze of glory on the horizon, they also heralded the end of the day and the beginning of a long lonely night in front of the television.

She scanned the beach to her right. A few couples strolled hand in hand along the water’s edge. Several other couples stood or sat on the sand nearby, snuggled into each other’s arms, waiting for the moment when the sun would flash brightly like a neon orange ball before it sank beneath the waters on the horizon.

She rolled her eyes before turning back to stare at the waves. The beach seemed to be made for couples these days.
How wonderful for them, I’m sure.
Penny sniffed and crossed her arms. The normally warm Gulf breeze had suddenly grown cold as the sun dropped lower in the sky.

A tiny sandpiper darted past, stabbing the sand with its beak in search of food. The sound of a screeching toddler caught her ears, and she turned in the direction of the little blonde girl dashing back and forth as waves tickled her feet.

Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Penny.”

“Hi. Who is this?”

“Take a guess.”

She didn’t recognize the voice. It held a deep-throated tone that she couldn’t quite place.

“Travis! You’re not playing some prank, are you?”

“No prank, Penny. Who’s Travis?”

Irritation made Penny abrupt. “Look, who is this? I’m really not in the mood.”

“Oh, I see.
You’re
not in the mood. Well,
excuse
me. You should be nicer to me, Penny. Because you know what? I’m the guy who’s going to kill you. That’s who I am.” The male voice spoke in a calm tone that belied his horrific words.

Penny froze.

“What?” she whispered. Surely she had misheard. “What did you say?”

“You heard me right, Penny. I’m gonna kill you, and you won’t even know when. You won’t even know why. Wait for me. I’m coming.”

Penny snapped her phone shut and dropped it onto the sand as if it were on fire. She jumped out of her seat and swung around to search the beach, keeping her back to the sea. Who would call her and say such a thing? She scanned the faces on the beach--the couples who strolled arm in arm, too busy to carry a phone, the children who chased the waves, too little to carry a phone. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body, suddenly cold. No one knew her here. She’d hardly met anyone in the two months she’d been in Gulf Shores.

She stared down at the offending phone half buried in the sand. Caller ID. She bent and picked up the phone with the tips of her fingers, gingerly opening the face. A push of a button revealed an area code from her home state of Michigan. She sank to her knees. Who would call her from Michigan with such horrible words? None of her clients were violent or inclined toward making threats. She’d been lucky that way.

She eyed the number and took a deep breath. With a knot in her stomach, she pushed the button to call. Her hand shook slightly as she held the phone to her ear. It rang.

“Tim Matthews.”

Penny almost dropped the phone again.

“Tim?” she squeaked. Her beautiful surroundings grew more surreal.

“Who’s this? Penny? Is that you?” His familiar high-pitched tone sounded nothing like the deep harsh voice on the phone.

“Did you just call me?”

“No. How’s it going down there? Are you feeling better?”

“But I just got a call from your number. It...” She choked on her words.

“Penny? Wasn’t me. I didn’t call you. I’ve had the phone on my hip all day.” 

Suddenly, Penny wasn’t sure of anything. The sound of Tim’s voice took her back to a time two months ago when her life changed dramatically, when she lost faith in her judgment, her competence as a therapist and her humanity. The cold, familiar sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wiped it away. Nausea seemed ever present.

“I’m sure it was your number. I just hit the call back button.”

“I can’t imagine how that happened. What was the call about? Was anyone on the line?”

“Yes,” Penny mumbled.

“And?”

“I-I...um...it’s too bizarre.”

“What’s going on, Penny? Talk to me!” His voice grew louder...as it always did when he was anxious.

Penny scanned the faces and figures of the people on the beach.

“It was a man. He said...” She swallowed hard. “He said...he was going to kill me.”

“What!” Tim bellowed. “What?”

Penny winced and pulled the phone from her ear for a moment. “I can’t say it again, Tim. You heard me.”

“Did you call the police?”

Penny shook her head, but realized he couldn’t see her.

“No, not yet. I don’t think... It was probably just a prank, Tim. But how did they get your phone...your number?”

“You need to call the police, Penny. I don’t care if it was a prank. There’s this thing I’ve read about--some kind of caller ID spoof--where people can buy a phone card and put in whatever originating number they want.” She heard him clear his throat. “I wonder if that’s what happened. It can’t be my phone. I have it in my hands. And I sure as heck didn’t call to threaten you.”

Penny swallowed a moment of skepticism. She’d known Tim for five years. He wasn’t capable of this type of call...even as a joke. His dry sense of humor bordered on irreverent, but never cruel. 

“Penny. Are you... I mean, are you all right?”

Penny heard that certain note in his voice, a note many therapists had--a quiet search for an unspoken truth.

“Do you mean...have I recovered?” Penny choked down the familiar wave of nausea. “No, not yet. I’m not ready to come back, Tim.”

“I understand, Penny. Take your time. Your job is waiting for you. We’ve got your clients farmed out to the other therapists. Everyone seems to be doing okay although they say they miss you.”

Penny tried to chuckle. “I miss them too,” she said, although she felt certain that she lacked the strength of character--the stability--necessary for the job. After all, she’d turned her back on them and run for the hills...or the beach.

“Well, listen, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a client who’s been waiting for me for ten minutes...and he’s hovering around my door, but I want you to call the police. Now! Do you hear me?”

Penny shook her head and shuddered. “I’ve had enough of police, Tim. I can’t face them anymore.”

“That’s your misplaced guilt talking, Penny. I don’t think the police blamed you in the least. You kept Jerry on the phone as long as possible. You know very well if a person wants to take their own life, they’re going to do it.”

Penny slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle an unexpected sob.

“Call the police. Where are you?”

“I’m still in Gulf Shores, Alabama,” she mumbled. “At the beach.”

“Which beach? Maybe you shouldn’t return to your place right now. You’re staying in a condominium, right?”

Penny jerked. “What? My condo? Why not?”

“Because this guy took the time to call you. He knows something about you...and me. Maybe it’s a prank, maybe not. I don’t think you should take the chance. Take this seriously, Penny. Call the police!”

“Okay!” she said irritably. “Okay! I will.”

“And call me and let me know what they say. Because if you don’t call them, I will.”

“Yes, Tim.” Penny hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. What was she supposed to do? Call 911? As terrifying as the phone call had been, it hardly seemed like an emergency. Maybe she should just go down to the police precinct.