25
I
slammed down the phone and felt the jolt all the way up to my elbow. My stomach clenched. Goose bumps rose on my arms. The unnaturally loud thump of my heart filled my ears.
Almost immediately, the phone began to ring again.
Wildly I looked around the room. At least I wasn't groggy, half-awake and sitting in the dark as I'd been the night before. At least I wasn't trying to make sense of what was happening.
I tried to find some comfort in that. It didn't help much.
The repetitious sound was making my nerves scream. My fingers twitched, wanting to pick up the receiver . . . And do what? I wondered.
Throw it across the room, probably.
After the fifth ring, the machine downstairs in the kitchen picked up. Faintly I heard a voice speaking, my own message being relayed to the caller.
You have reached the Travis residence
, I thought angrily.
Melanie can't come to the phone right now. She's upstairs cowering in her bed.
Unless he was whispering, no one responded after the beep. Coward, I thought bitterly. I hated the feeling of not being in control. Of not knowing what might happen next.
I threw back the covers and rolled out of bed. Eve was still stretched out on the duvet, snoring softly. It takes more than a late-night phone call to spoil her beauty sleep.
Faith, who'd always been more attuned to my moods, was already up. She knew something was wrong, she just didn't know what. I looked at her and crooned, “Good girl.” She whined anxiously in reply.
As I debated what to do, the phone began to ring again. The sound was shrill and grating, a clarion call shattering the stillness. The night before I'd been concerned the noise might wake up Davey. Now I just let it ring.
Talk to the machine, or don't, I thought. Up to you.
I'd gone to bed wearing a tee shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Suddenly that didn't feel like enough clothing, enough protective armor. I crossed the room to the closet, pulled out a robe, and wrapped it tightly around me.
Phone calls could come from anywhere. The fact that he was calling me didn't mean he was close by. Still, I felt myself drawn to the windows.
Lacy curtains shrouded the panes of glass. They obstructed the view of my bedroom from outside, but didn't block it entirely. I'd never worried about that before. Now it seemed of paramount importance. Back-lit, my movements were entirely visible.
If anyone was watching.
The ringing stopped. I heard the machine downstairs click on again. Again, there was no reply.
I thought of suggestions I'd heard on how to deal with harassing calls. Unlisting your phone number was always first. Not a late-night fix, certainly, and a huge inconvenience, too. Another idea: get a whistle and blow it into the phone.
Like that was going to happen. Someone was calling me, and he knew where I lived. Did I really want to make him mad?
He'd already visited my house once.
At least once, I amended.
Maybe I should have spent more time with the locksmith. Bars on the windows were sounding pretty good right about then. So was a moat and a barricaded drawbridge.
The phone began to ring. Again.
I stalked across the room and snatched up the receiver. “Look, you pervert,” I yelled. A gasp of indrawn breath greeted my words. I guessed he hadn't been expecting a response. “Whoever you are, cut it out!”
I jammed the phone down, then stared at it, simmering with annoyance.
Cut it out?
That was intimidating. I bet I had him on the run now. The guy was probably thinking about upping his insurance.
For a long, blessed minute there was only silence. Like maybe my angry words had worked.
Then again, maybe not. The phone began to ring again.
Turning deliberately away from it, I went back to the front window. Padding quietly, I skulked around the edges of the frame like an intruder in my own home. Two fingers lifted the edge of the curtain aside. Cautiously I peered out into the darkness.
A street lamp in front of the house cast a muted glow over the front yard. All was quiet and still. No cars drove down the road. Lights were off at most of the houses I could see. Everything looked just as I'd have expected.
The spot across the street where Jill Prescott had parked repeatedly during the last week was empty. Where's a reporter when you need one? I wondered. Nerves were making me giddy.
The phone stopped ringing. The machine came on. The pattern was becoming annoyingly familiar. I wondered how long it would take him to tire of the game.
My gaze slid farther down the street. Two houses away, in the hollow of darkness between two street lamps, a car was parked along the curb. Several trees blocked my view. It looked like some kind of SUV, but I couldn't be sure.
And even if it was, I thought, so what? Every other soccer mom in Fairfield County drove an SUV. Nor was it unheard of for my neighbors to have overnight visitors. A car parked on the street was nothing remarkable.
Unless you happened to be wandering around your bedroom in bare feet and a bathrobe, peering out of the window, looking for suspects, and beginning to feel seriously deranged. I let the curtain fall.
And yet again, the phone began to ring.
I considered calling the police, but I doubted they'd send someone over. If my break-in hadn't impressed them much, this surely wouldn't, either. I also thought about calling Sam. Miles away, home in Redding by now, there was nothing he could do. Aunt Peg would probably tell me to go back to sleep. Bob might be alarmed and that would alarm Davey, something I wanted to avoid at all costs.
In the end, I did the same thing I'd done the night before and simply took my phone off the hook. Maybe not the best idea, but one that finally led to silence. Then I turned off my light and went to sleep.
Well, not really, but that was the plan.
Instead I stayed up most of the night, listening for unexpected noises. The crackle of branches, a creak from the house settling, the squeal of a neighbor's cat; it's amazing how much goes on in the middle of the night. And every innocuous sound shot me straight up in bed. Eyes wide, heart pounding, I clenched the covers between whitened fingers and waited, straining to hear evidence that I wasn't alone.
It never came.
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Dawn eventually saved me. That and three cups of strong black coffee. By seven-thirty, I was on the phone. Davey's an early riser. I knew he wouldn't mind.
“Hey sport, how are things going?”
“Great. Last night we went to the movies and I got to stay up extra late. Dad's going to make chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. After that, we're going over to the farm to ride Willow. We might even spend the whole day there. Or maybe we'll go back to the Bean Counter. Dad hasn't decided.”
I guessed that meant my son hadn't had time to miss me yet.
“It sounds like you're having fun.” I tried not to sound wistful, but I was too tired to put much effort into it. Besides, Davey knows me pretty well.
“I am,” he said gamely. “What about you?”
“I was thinking I might come over to the pony farm and watch you ride. Would you like that?”
“Sure,” said Davey. “Pam says I'm going to work on my posting trot today. That's almost as fast as a gallop.”
“I'll bring the camera,” I promised, and we made plans to meet in late morning.
Since I was already feeling pretty low, I decided to totally demoralize myself and start the day at the Department of Motor Vehicles. It wasn't until I'd worked my way to the front of the two-hour line that it dawned on me that I'd be having my driver's license picture taken looking just like what I was: someone who'd been up most of the night.
I opened my purse, pulled out a mirror and applied some concealer to the bags under my eyes. Now I had pouches with highlighter on them. The photographer caught me mid-grimace, which seemed altogether fitting. I took the offending card and tucked it into my new wallet. At least I was once again legal to drive.
As I approached the pony farm, my spirits began to rise. It was a gorgeous spring day. Tulips and wild daffodils lined the road, leaves on the trees were just beginning to bud, and the air smelled wonderful.
I'd stopped at home and picked up the Poodles. Both Faith and Eve were bouncing around on the back seat. They didn't care where we were going, just as long as they weren't going to be left behind.
As I had on my last visit, I pulled up next to the barn and parked beside Bob's Trans Am. Lowering the windows a bit for air, I left the Poodles where they were and went inside to see how Pam felt about strange dogs on her property.
Willow was standing cross-tied in the center aisle of the barn. Davey was beside her. He'd leaned over and picked up one of her front feet, which he was trying to clean. I heard Pam and Bob's voices coming from the direction of the tack room.
“That looks like hard work,” I said when Davey had finished his task and placed the hoof carefully back on the ground.
He spun around, grinning with pride in his accomplishment. “It is. Pam showed me how to do it. I make sure Willow doesn't have any rocks caught in her hooves so she won't get hurt when I ride.”
“Good plan. Aren't those hooves heavy?”
“Not as heavy as you might think,” Pam answered for him, coming out of the tack room. She had a small saddle draped over one arm and was holding a bridle in her other hand. “Actually, the pony bears most of the weight, and I don't let Davey do the back feet unless I'm out here with him. I'm glad you were able to make time in your busy schedule to come and watch him ride. Davey's really happy with the progress he's made.”
Huh?
I stared after her as Pam walked past me and went to help Davey tack up. What busy schedule was that? I always had time for Davey and he knew it. The fact that my son was currently staying with Bob had nothing to with how busy I was.
“Don't mind Pam,” Bob said under his breath. He'd followed her out of the tack room. Now he came my way. “I think she got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”
“No problem,” I muttered. I still had to ask about my dogs. It was too warm to leave them in the car indefinitely.
I walked over to where Davey was now encouraging the palomino pony to open her mouth and take the bit. Her teeth looked awfully large in relation to my son's small hands, but Willow didn't seem to notice. She dropped her head and opened her mouth without any fuss. As Davey was buckling up the straps, I asked permission to go get the Poodles.
Pam frowned fleetingly. For a moment, she looked unexpectedly perturbed. “They're not going to fight with my dogs, are they?”
“Of course not.”
“They won't chase anything, or bark at the ponies?”
“They wouldn't dream of it.”
“I guess it's all right then.” She sent an assessing look in my direction. “Speaking of dogs, you must be really worried about that Dachshund puppy you lost.”
How did Pam know about Dox? I wondered. I didn't recall mentioning him when we'd spoken the day before.
“I am. How did you find out about that?”
“Bob told me.” Pam walked around Willow's side and lowered the saddle onto the mare's back. “He talks to me about everything.”
If I were a Poodle, I'd have been growling. It didn't bother me that Bob had a new girlfriend. It did bother me that he told her so much stuff about my family and my life. Stuff that was nobody else's business.
Not only that, but I was willing to bet Bob didn't bother telling Pam about all the things that were going
right
in my life. Not when the problems made a much better story. Come to think of it, recently they'd been pretty much the only story. But that still didn't mean Pam needed to know about them.
“We're just about ready,” she said. “Go on and get your dogs. You can meet us around back at the ring.”
Faith and Eve bounded out of the car as soon as I opened the door. Immediately two Jack Russells showed up to check out the interlopers. I stood by while all four dogs touched noses cautiously.
Though the terriers greeted the new arrivals on stiffened legs, their tails never stopped wagging. After a moment's hesitation, the Poodles were accepted as friends. The four dogs dashed away, the much shorter legs on the JRTs pumping up and down like crazy as they raced to keep up.
Keeping an eye on the Poodles' progress, I strolled around the barn and joined Bob beside the ring. Davey and Willow were already circling the arena at a sedate walk. Pam was standing in the middle. Davey was sporting chaps, a safety helmet, and a big smile. I pulled out the camera I'd picked up from the car and snapped a picture.
“I hope you don't mind a little constructive criticism,” Bob said.
“Go ahead.”
“You look like hell, Mel.”
And here I'd thought he was going to criticize my photographic technique. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”
“How come?”
“Someone thought it would be funny to keep calling me in the middle of the night.”
“That's all? Just phone calls?”
“That was enough.” I drew my gaze away from Davey and turned to face him. “But since we're on the subject of things that are bugging me, what's going on with you and Pam?”
“What do you mean?”
“How come you keep telling her things about me? Don't you have enough stuff to talk about on your own?”
“Sure we do. We hardly talk about you at all.”