At Risk (17 page)

“Good night, Jack.”

At six a.m., Liz discovered the water-soaked body of a red fox on her porch, one paw cruelly sawed or bitten off. The sight made her gag. She would have thrown up if she’d had anything in her stomach.

She was tempted to call the police, but knew that if she did, she’d appear a kook. She’d already made a complaint about the crank call and the boat. Michael had insisted she do so yesterday from his house. The desk sergeant had seemed amused, had said that it was a busy day, but he’d promised to send an officer to investigate, if she insisted. To her knowledge, no one had come. She’d tried Detective Tarkington’s number and left a message on his voice mail, but he hadn’t returned her call.

Now she had a dead fox to add to the puzzle. Was she overreacting? There were foxes in the fields and woods around Clarke’s Purchase. Any stray dog could have dragged the carcass there. But she knew in her heart that it hadn’t been a dog. Not a dog, and not the ghost of a dead man. Somebody was still playing sick games with her. She didn’t know who or why, but she’d find out. And she’d raise the stakes.

More resolute than angry, Liz went to the barn, got a shovel, and buried the animal at the edge of the field. Before the day was out, she’d return to Michael’s and put in more target practice. She didn’t want to harm anyone, but she was tired of being a victim, and she was tired of being afraid in her own home.

After showering and washing her hair, she phoned Amelia, apologized for calling so early, and asked her if she wanted to meet for breakfast.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Liz noticed that Amelia’s voice sounded strained. “Did you want me to give Sydney a ring and see if she’s free to join us?”

“No. Just us,” her friend replied. “I don’t know about you, but I had a rotten night’s sleep.”

“Missing Thomas?”

“Yes. After a fashion.”

The tightness in Amelia’s tone remained. Something was wrong. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not. My alarm system went off in the middle of the night. The company called me and then alerted the police. I had two officers here about two o’clock. My trashcan was turned over, and the door to the screened porch was open. The police thought maybe a stray cat or a raccoon—”

“A raccoon?” Liz said. “I could understand it if you kept cat food out there, but you don’t. Why would a raccoon wander onto your porch?”

“You know how paranoid Thomas is about doors and windows being locked. I think I might have had a prowler. He triggered the motion detector, and the alarm scared him off.”

“And you want me to spend the night there? In town, where it’s safe?” Liz chuckled, trying to hold back a sense of growing concern.

“I know. It gives me the creeps. We’ve never had any trouble here. The Rehnards, over on the next street, had a coin collection stolen last year, but it was while they were on vacation.”

“Maybe the wind blew the door open.”

“I’ve never left the porch door unlocked. If it was wind, it was gone by the time the patrol car got here. I was outside in my robe answering questions, and not a breeze was stirring.” Amelia paused. “There’s something else, Liz, something I didn’t mention. I received a very nasty e-mail Friday. I printed it off and saved it.”

“Worse than the ads for larger sexual organs?”

“A lot worse.”

“What did it say?”

“It read, ‘You’re next.’ And then a racial epithet, one no one has ever directed at me.”

“That’s terrible. Do you know who sent it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did you show it to the police? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it came from the college. With your screen name.”

“Me?” The stiffness in Amelia’s tone became immediately understandable. “You don’t think I—”

“Of course I don’t. Give me some credit. But I’m scared. I keep thinking about Tracy.”

“Me too.”

“And this isn’t 1960. I won’t be threatened, and I won’t stand for being racially harassed.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“It makes me so damned angry. I know these things still go on every day, but not at Somerville, and not to me.”

“Is it still on your computer? Did you save it?”

“Just the copy. I was so furious that I didn’t think.”

“You should have told me.”

“I was embarrassed. Afraid that you’d be offended.”

“Me?”

“It’s complicated, Liz. Not being black—”

“You think I wouldn’t understand?”

“Okay, so I’m an idiot. Can you be at the Pancake Kitchen in half an hour?”

“My hair’s still wet. Make it forty-five minutes.”

“Can do. And Liz . . .”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Thirty minutes later, Liz braked at the end of her drive to drop her electric and telephone bills into her mailbox. She used her shoe to squash a spider that had taken up residence, inserted the two stamped envelopes, and raised the flag. As she returned to her car, she noticed a vehicle parked on the side of the road some distance away.

Out of curiosity, Liz turned right and drove along the blacktop until she reached the hedgerow that marked the edge of state game lands. The car, an early 90’s dark blue Honda, looked familiar. She slowed and inspected it carefully, noting the Somerville faculty parking sticker prominently displayed on the rear window.

Liz stopped and got out, leaving her car in the middle of the road. As she approached the Honda, a bevy of quail exploded into the air twenty yards away on the right side of the line of intergrown cedar trees and wild roses.

Underbrush crashed and snapped, and a man cursed. A few seconds later, Cameron Whitaker appeared through a gap in the bushes with a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck.

Anger flared in Liz’s chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Bird watching, if it’s any of your business,” he said. “This is public land, and I have every right to be here.”

“You’re wrong. This hedgerow is the dividing line between my farm and state lands, and you’re on the wrong side. You’re trespassing.”

“Touchy, are we?” Cameron retorted. His face was scratched, and a trickle of blood ran down one cheek.

“I don’t believe you! I think you’ve been spying on me.”

“Prove it.” He slipped as he tried to jump the ditch beside the road and sank one white athletic shoe ankle-deep in muck. “Doing something you’re ashamed of again?”

“Get off my property, Cameron. And stay off, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“Like hell you will. What’s the matter? Afraid someone will see what you’re doing in broad daylight with that drug runner?”

Liz’s palm itched. It was all she could do to keep from smacking the smug expression off his face. “Have you been calling my house and making threats?”

“Bullshit!”

“I won’t be harassed. If you are the one, I’ll have you arrested. I’ll prosecute, and I’ll see that you’re dismissed from Somerville.”

“Just try it! You think I won’t tell a few things on you?” Red-faced, swollen with mosquito bites, Cameron shoved past her and yanked open his car door. “Maybe your students would like to hear what turns you on. A few pictures of you and lover boy on the picnic table would really make you popular. I could post them on the student website.”

“You bastard! I’m swearing out a warrant against you.”

“Watch who you’re insulting, whore!” Cameron raised his middle finger as he slid behind the wheel of the Honda. He turned the key and stamped on the gas. The vehicle shot past her, barely missing the right front bumper of her car.

Liz was still furious as the waitress poured her a second cup of coffee. She and Amelia sat in a corner booth of their favorite Dover breakfast restaurant. “Cameron was spying on me,” Liz said. “He admitted it, but you know he’ll try to lie his way out of it. He threatened me, too.”

Amelia shook her head. “He’s got to be mentally unbalanced.”

“I’m wondering if he’s unbalanced enough to have killed Tracy.”

“Being slime doesn’t make him a murderer.”

“No, it doesn’t, but it doesn’t make him innocent either,” Liz said. “And if he’s sneaking around my house, he might be the one who set off your burglar alarm.”

“And sent the filth mail.”

“You know how Cameron loves computers. He threatened to put porno pictures of me on the web.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

“Press charges and hope he’s bluffing. It’s one thing to get close enough to spy on me with binoculars, and another to get pictures clear enough for anyone to recognize my face.”

“You didn’t dance in a strip joint to put your way through college or something, did you?”

Liz chuckled. “No, but I did apparently put on quite a show for Cameron in my back yard. He had to be trespassing, spying on me with binoculars, or he couldn’t have gotten the view he did.” She rubbed the side of her neck. “Jack and I . . . we . . .”

“Did the nasty?”

“You’ve been at my house, Amelia. There’s no one for miles. I thought . . .” She sighed. “Well, obviously, I didn’t think, but I didn’t expect a peeping Tom, or in this instance, a peeping Cameron.”

“I think it’s obvious that Whitaker is the one who’s been stalking you.” Amelia spread grape jelly on her bagel. “Once he’s arrested, I’m certain your trouble will come to an end.”

“I don’t know,” Liz mused. “Why would Cameron have started all this immediately after Tracy’s murder? He came into my office just after I did. Either he was as shocked as I was, or he’s the best actor I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe he killed her.”

“You need to follow up on this. Today.”

Liz nodded. “I know.” She pushed a strip of bacon around on her plate with her fork. She hadn’t taken a bite of her scrambled eggs. The hunger she’d felt when she’d phoned Amelia and invited her to breakfast was gone. “Russell wanted me to co-sign a loan for him. I told you. He never calls unless he wants something.”

“Did you refuse?”

“Amelia, I wouldn’t give him a quarter for the parking meter. He gambles on everything, and he always loses. Once, he bet on a harness race, a sure thing. The horse came in dead last, and Russell lost his entire Christmas bonus.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes, and I didn’t have a single credit card that he hadn’t maxed out. I had to borrow money from an aunt for Katie’s Christmas.”

“I didn’t know you had any family, other than your sister and Katie.”

Liz shrugged. “I don’t. Aunt Sally passed away more than ten years ago. She was my great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister. She was a Baptist missionary in China for over thirty years.”

Changing the subject, Liz asked, “Why did you want to talk to me alone, without Sydney?”

“You know I love her, but sometimes she can be so”—Amelia shrugged—“so politically correct. I wanted to talk to you about the e-mails I’ve been receiving.”

“Without blowing them out of proportion?”

“Exactly. I don’t need protesters carrying signs in front of the college, and I don’t want reporters trampling my lawn to get interviews with the latest victim. Thomas would be mortified.”

“I’m disgusted that anyone would harass you like they did.”

“Seeing the n-word isn’t going to kill me, so long as it’s just an empty threat. I’m frightened, Liz, really frightened, not just for you, but for me. I’m going to Norfolk next weekend, and I’m going there to stay for the summer as soon as I can.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Come with me.”

Liz shook her head. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I’ve got to see this through.” She chuckled. “Actually, it’s a relief to know that I’m not the only one jumping at shadows. I was beginning to wonder if I was paranoid.”

“No,” Amelia said, “you’re not. If anyone is, it’s me.” She glanced around and then leaned closer. “You probably will think I’ve lost it, but I dreamed of white lilies this week.” Her brown eyes widened expectantly.

“I don’t understand.”

Amelia sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m superstitious at heart. But the women in my family have this . . . this thing. When we dream about lilies, usually somebody dies.” She grimaced. “Tell anybody and I’ll make a voodoo doll in your image and drive pins through its heart.”

Liz laughed and clasped her friend’s hand. “It’s okay. I understand. I still throw spilled salt over my shoulder. We’re allowed to be educated and human, too.”

Amelia laughed with her. “It’s crazy, I know it’s crazy, but it happened to my mother all the time. And my grandmother. I dreamed about white lilies twice before, once when I was ten and again in college. Both times, someone close to me died within weeks.”

“It’s Tracy’s death. We are both so spooked that—”

“Now you know why I didn’t want Sydney here,” Amelia managed between giggles.

“I didn’t . . .” Liz giggled. “Heaven help us.” She squeezed Amelia’s hand again. “Go to the beach and forget all about this. By the time September comes, it will just be a bad memory.”

“I hope so.” Amelia glanced at her watch. “Have to run. I’ve got a conference in forty-five minutes. I wish I could go with you to the police, but—”

“Go to school. I’m capable of handling Cameron by myself.” The waitress returned with the coffeepot, and Liz shook her head. “Just the check, please.” She smiled at Amelia. “It’s my turn. You paid last time.”

Amelia hugged her.

“No more bad dreams,” Liz said.

“Or at least I’ll try to dream about daisies,” Amelia quipped over her shoulder as she hurried off.

Liz pushed back her untouched breakfast and opened her laptop to check her mail, something she hadn’t bothered to do yesterday after she’d downloaded it.

There were four messages from school, one from Michael, three from Cap’n Jack, two from Katie, and one from a screen name that she didn’t recognize but had
Katie Montgomery
in the subject line, and the usual spam. Liz opened the e-mails from her daughter first.

Moms. Go, me! 96 in Dead Irish Poets. I deserve a reward. Daddy says you’re being bitchy again. Can’t you forgive and forget? He needs financial aid. Me too. Send money for books and essentials. I signed up for a dream summer course. Now I have to stay. Love, Katie.

Liz clicked the next message, which was dated the same day.