Golden Filly Collection Two (84 page)
The sound of a car in the drive sent Caesar barking up the lane. “Gotta get you guys some feed.” She stepped away from the fence and horse and started to trot up the lane. Within two strides, she thought the better of it and walked fast. She had a lot to do, including studying for tomorrow’s government exam. At least she was getting the hardest one out of the way first.
That evening Marge had left for a meeting at church. When the phone rang, Trish shoved back her desk chair and crossed the hall to her mother’s bedroom extension to answer it.
“Runnin’ On Farm.”
A silence met her ear. “Hi, this is Trish.”
A sinister chuckle sent shivers racing up and down her spine. A scratchy voice she’d hoped never to hear again said, “Welcome home. I’ll be seeing you.”
The line clicked dead.
T
rish didn’t wait for the dial tone. The receiver clattered into the plastic stand. Her heart did triple time.
The phone rang again. She stared at it as if it were a rattler, buzzing its tail. Second ring, third. She reached out her hand, sure the thing would bite. She lifted the receiver to her ear. “Runnin’ On Farm.” She could barely get the words past the cotton filling her mouth.
“Trish, is that you?” Rhonda asked. “You sound awful.”
Trish could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart. “He called,” she croaked.
“Who ca—oh no, not The Jerk?”
Trish curled herself into a ball in the middle of her mother’s bed. “I—I have to call Amy. C-c-can you come over?”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
As soon as she had the dial tone, Trish punched in the numbers for Amy’s home. An answering machine suggested she leave a message. Trish stuttered and stammered her way through a message and hung up. Where was Amy? Where had that creep called from? Was he near? What if he had a car phone and was right down the road?
“God, I’m so scared!” She clutched her arms around her knees. “Help me, please.” Trish huddled for a few more minutes, practicing her deep breathing to relax. For a change she was glad for the ache in her ribs. The pain made her think of something besides The Jerk lurking out there somewhere to get her. When her heart had settled back somewhere near its proper place, she let her hands, arms, and shoulders relax. “Thank you, Father. This feels much better.”
She pushed herself to her feet and headed back for her room. One thing she could do—close all the drapes. If he
was
out there, at least he couldn’t see in and she didn’t have to feel as if eyes were staring in at her. When the drapes were closed, she crossed the room to the door. The soft light from the lamp on her desk shone like a laser on the three-by-five cards tacked to her wall. Bible verses, mostly handwritten by her father, lined the area. One in particular seemed to be lit by a flashing strobe: “Do not be afraid—I am with you!”
“Thanks, Dad, for the verses and thank our heavenly Father for me too. You seem to be a bit closer to Him right now than I am.”
She chewed on her lip on the way down the hall. Was her father really closer? Physically maybe, but Jesus had promised to live right in her heart. “Huh! Can’t get much closer than that.” Without drawing the living room drapes, she went to the back door.
“Hey, fella,” she said to the dog lying on his rug by the window. “You want to come in?”
Caesar never needed a second invitation. He leaped through the opening in one bound, his tail wagging his entire body. Caesar glued to her side, Trish crossed the kitchen to the phone and dialed Officer Parks’ number. He picked it up on the first ring.
“What’s wrong, Trish?” he interrupted her greeting.
“He—he called again.”
“When?”
“Just a few minutes ago.” Trish looked at the clock. “Maybe ten or so.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Caesar. Mom’s at church and Patrick went somewhere. Rhonda’s on her way over.”
“Did you call Amy?”
“She—she had her answering machine on.” Trish could see headlights coming up the drive. “Rhonda’s here.”
“I’ll be right out. I’m bringing one of those new phones, the ones that show the number that last called on a screen. We may get him this way. Don’t answer the phone again. Let your machine pick it up and then you can hear who’s calling. That way you can screen your calls. I’m on my way.”
She met Rhonda at the door. “Trish, you didn’t even have the door locked.”
“I—we never lock the doors. You know that. You don’t either.”
“Yeah, but no one’s threatening me.” She dumped her book bag on the sofa. “I got a paper to write by tomorrow. Is Amy coming out?”
“No, Parks, for whatever good it does.” Trish left for the kitchen and returned with two cans of Diet Coke. “I don’t think they have anything on this dude yet, and let me tell you…” She handed a can to Rhonda, who had flopped on the sofa. “I’m getting sick of it all. Real sick.” She could feel that she was getting mad. It always started in her gut. But at least mad felt better than scared to death.
“What do you think he wants?”
“Got me. Make me crazy, I guess.” Trish stopped her pacing to drop down on the raised hearth. Caesar sat down beside her and put one snowy front paw up on her knee. She rubbed behind his ears with one hand, leaving the other free to hold her Coke.
“They questioned all of us while you were gone.” Rhonda dug in her backpack and pulled out a spiral notebook. “I just can’t believe it’s someone from Prairie. We’ve known each other all our lives.”
“Me neither. I bet I don’t even know this—this person, if you could give him such a compliment.” Caesar got to his feet and crossed to the door, a low rumble in his throat. At the same time, they could see light beams from an approaching car. Caesar set up a crescendo of barks.
“Must be Parks. Caesar doesn’t bark more than once for Mom or Patrick.” Trish crossed the room and let him out. The collie bounded down the walk, barking all the while. He stopped. His tail began wagging as soon as Parks stepped from his car and greeted him.
Trish held open the door.
“Trish, for crying out loud, get out of the doorway,” Parks said after only a perfunctory greeting. “You make a perfect target that way.”
“But—but I knew it was you.” She stepped back to let the tall, tired-looking detective in.
“No you didn’t. Not at first. You should have let Caesar out the back door so no one would see you in the light like that. The creep knows you’re home. He just called.”
“Oh.” Trish felt like a little kid who’d just been scolded for playing in the street. She hugged herself with both arms.
Parks turned toward the kitchen and placed a caller ID phone on the counter. He plugged it in and showed her how to use it. “Now, tell me everything that happened.” He took his worn black notebook out of his inside jacket pocket.
While Trish detailed the call, Parks sat on the hearth, long legs bent to form a desk. He tapped the end of his pen against his teeth when she was finished. “Did you hear any background noises, music, loud voices, some such?”
Trish shook her head. “He always sounds raspy, like he’s trying to disguise his voice.”
“Are you sure it’s a male voice?”
Trish shook her head again. “But I
think
so. Besides, girls don’t do this kind of thing.”
“Don’t kid yourself. They do, but it’s not as common.” He wrote himself another note. “Now remember, screen your calls and call me with the number if he calls again. Maybe this time we’ll get lucky.”
By Friday Trish felt as if she’d been to the moon and back—on foot. She dragged herself into the house after making up her last midterm exam and collapsed on the sofa.
“Bad, huh?” Marge hung up the phone and joined her daughter in the living room.
“Worse than that.” Trish closed her eyes. “And to think that quarter finals are only two weeks away. I have a term paper to write and another short paper, besides one Haiku. You ever write poetry?”
“Sure, but not since college.” Marge leaned a shoulder against the edge of the wall. “You want something to eat? I baked brownies.”
“Do horses whinny?”
“I think that’s ‘Do ducks have lips?’ but I’ve never understood that particular phrase. Brad’s down at the barn. I just came up to make some calls. You want to call him? I’m sure he could use a goody break.”
“Have you ever heard of Brad turning down brownies?” Trish shook her head at the absurdity of the idea. “Or any other cookie for that matter?” She shoved herself vertical. “We should send David another goody box.”
“I know. I thought maybe Sunday afternoon Rhonda would help us. Go call Brad now.”
“Let’s send one to Red too. He’s always giving me presents and I never get one for him.” Trish could feel her energy coming back. She stepped out the front door and yelled, “Brad!”
She heard her mother from inside. “I could have done that. Go down to the barn and get him. They got in a load of hay today.”
Well, at least four days since Jerk Face called.
She’d made up a new name for him during the wait. Each day Marge had shaken her head at Trish’s question and each night she’d gone to bed using “no call” as one of her
thank-you’s
during her prayers.
She whistled once just to set the lineup to whinnying. “Hey, Brad. Brownies are ready.”
“Back here.” She found him in the hayloft, moving hay that had been stacked on the straw side of the barn. When she stuck her head up through the entrance, she watched him dump the last bale in place. “You’d think they could figure out what went where, wouldn’t you?” He wiped the sweat from his brow and stuck his leather gloves in a rear pocket. “We’re about due for a load of straw too. Patrick said we should start keeping the broodmares inside at night pretty soon.”
“We’ll have to keep Firefly in too as soon as she arrives.” Trish backed down the ladder so he could come down. “Sorry I can’t help.”
“Yeah, right.” He snagged his jacket off the gate of a stall. “I know how much you love tossing bales, even when you’re all in one piece.” He patted her on the head, then jerked her braid. “There
are
advantages in staying small, not having to sling hay being one of them.”
Arm in arm they sauntered out of the barn and up the rise. “I seem to remember Rhonda and me moving our share, even though we did it as a team.”
“You’re right.” Brad ushered her in the door in front of him. “And as the football team knows, there’s no better way to get in shape than tossing those suckers around.”
Trish felt a tide of confusion wash over her. Since when had Brad started treating her like a girl? They’d always raced to see who hit the door and then the cookie plate first. She shrugged. Maybe this growing up wasn’t so bad after all.
The phone rang while they sat around the big oak kitchen table. Trish rose to get it but slowed at her mother’s reminding look. First they had to wait to see who it was.
A familiar voice came on. She clapped her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear—but then let them drift down to her side in morbid fascination. She felt the cold begin at her toes and work its way up.
“I’m sorry you can’t come to the phone right now, Trish, but I’ll call back later. You can count on it.”
Trish dashed to the phone. Sure enough, there was a number right across the screen. Beginning with the 503 area code made it Oregon.
Trish grabbed a pencil out of the cup. She dropped it. Got another. Her hand was shaking so badly she broke the lead. After a deep breath, she picked up a pen and wrote the number down, then dialed Officer Parks. A ripple ran from her head to her fingertips. Would this be the breakthrough they needed? It
had
to be.