Jess eyed him pensively. “Could be she just had a rotten week.”
“I hope so.”
They were halfway down the walk, and Dan realized he still held Laurel’s sketchbook. He flipped the pages quickly, not knowing what he hoped to find there. The last drawing stopped him cold. She had sketched a view from a window, a view of a fenced yard. The fence was high, and the window was barred.
Chapter 3
On Friday, Laurel called the clerk of courts in Augusta, Maine. She’d never seen him, but for the last two months she had called him faithfully every week. His voice held a slight tremor, and she pictured him with snowy hair, barely able to limp to his desk each morning.
“Mr. Webster, this is Laurel Hatcher.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Hatcher. Are you still at the same location?”
“Yes. I’m settling into my job.”
“Good, good. Still using your maiden name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No changes in address or telephone since last week, then?”
“No. I expect I’ll be a here a while. Well, until ... you know.”
“Yes. Don’t forget to report to the police out there again before the end of the month. We’ll notify you and your attorney immediately if anything changes here.”
“Thank you.” She hung up and sat staring at the phone. Should she have told him that her apartment had been ransacked? What could he do about it? If anything, he could recommend she be forced to return to Maine. She had temporarily escaped the hatred and rejection she’d found there. If it were up to her, she would forget about Maine. Coming to Ohio had been challenging, but she wanted to succeed here and put the past behind her.
Mr. Webster was a link to her old life. No matter how hard she tried to forget it all, on Fridays she had to remember.
What would happen if she didn’t call in one Friday? Why couldn’t she just melt into the dense population here and truly start over, shedding the past completely?
Even as the thought came, she dismissed it.
She had given her word. Although she didn’t have a parole officer, since she was on bail, not on parole, she had agreed to check in each week. Behind frail old Mr. Webster was a large legal bureaucracy that would relentlessly hunt her down if she failed to keep her promise.
Besides, she didn’t want to live a lie. It was bad enough having to keep things from people, without making up a false background and pretending she was something she was not. She had to go on being who she was, even if it exposed her to scrutiny. Her faith in God would sustain her. It had to.
*****
The phone rang as Laurel was opening the bottle of ibuprofen. After spending most of Thursday afternoon and Friday cleaning her apartment, she wasn’t ready for Dan’s call. She’d thought all afternoon what she would say to him, but she still had no words to explain her chaotic situation. Her head pounded, and she managed to down two tablets before she snatched the receiver.
“Hello.” The fatigue came across in her voice.
“Laurel? Are you all right?”
“Sorry, Dan. I was up late at work last night, and I didn’t sleep well.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to update you on the investigation. We didn’t get any fingerprints, other than yours and your building super’s.”
Several frightening possibilities presented themselves. Allowing the police department technician to take her fingerprints the day before had brought an intense anxiety.
“And?” Her voice squeaked.
“You’re not in the system, but then, you knew that.”
He doesn’t know yet! She exhaled carefully. “Do you think the superintendent broke in? That doesn’t make sense. He has a key.”
“No, we checked, and he did some maintenance and repairs on your unit this spring, before you moved in. When the techs checked around the window, where the screen was cut, his were the only prints they found.”
“So …” She put her hand to her forehead, where the headache had migrated and taken up residence.
“Gloves. It’s all we can figure.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“I’m sorry you’re having such a rough time.”
She was silent for a moment, soaking up the gentle concern in his voice. “Thank you. I just need some quiet time, to put things in perspective.”
“I was hoping we’d get some good prints, so we could check the database.”
“How extensive is that database?”
“It’s nationwide. Anyone who’s in the criminal justice system. Computers are amazing.”
“Aren’t they,” she murmured.
“Well, without any clear prints from the suspect ...”
Laurel gulped but could not bypass the lump in her throat to answer him. If he ran her prints through the national database, he would have a shock. Apparently he hadn’t done that.
“I wish you didn’t have to work tonight,” he said. “I’d take you someplace quiet.
“I’d love that.” Laurel visualized herself and Dan drifting on a placid lake in a canoe.
“How about Sunday?” His quiet voice sounded tentative but hopeful. “There’s a place I’d like to take you. It’s peaceful.”
Laurel closed her eyes. Would it be so foolish to get close to someone like Dan? More than anything, she wanted to accept his invitation. “Where is it?”
“My church.”
Something good and sweet burst over her, and she lay back against the hard arm of the sofa. “I’d like that.”
Dan sighed, as though he had been holding his breath, waiting for her reaction. “You don’t think that’s corny? A lot of people are turned off when they find out I go to church, and when they learn that I go twice a week if I can, they think I’m some kind of cult fanatic.”
“It’s the sanest thing I’ve heard since I moved to Ohio,” Laurel said.
“It’s not a big church, but it’s good. Do you ... go to church?”
“I visited one a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t right for me.” She repressed the memory of when she slipped into the auditorium just after eleven o’clock, thinking she would find a back seat. The large church was more than half full, and no seats were open near the back. Her pulse raced, and she felt hot all over. An usher appeared to guide her down the aisle. The prospect of being stared at by so many people terrified her, and she choked out, Excuse me, and bolted out the door.
“Haven’t found the right one?” Dan asked.
“Not yet.”
“Try this one. I’ll pick you up Sunday morning.”
Apprehension sprang through her again. If only he wasn’t a police officer. Everything else about him seemed perfect. So perfect that she wanted to take the chance it would work. And attending his church would tell her a lot about him. She took a deep breath and tried to sound lighthearted. “Why not?”
“Fantastic. Nine thirty? We’ll go to Sunday school.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Laurel, I need to talk business for a minute.”
“What is it?” She rubbed her temple with her fingertips, trying to ease the dull pain.
“I can see that you value your privacy, and I know this investigation has been difficult for you. I’m truly sorry. But if there’s anything else you remember that will help us find out who did it, please tell me. That man in the hospital parking lot, too. If the two crimes are related—”
Laurel clenched the receiver. “What if we just forget it?”
There was a silence, and then he said, “I can’t do that, and I’m not sure I want to. I want to know there’s not more to this, and I want to be reasonably certain it won’t happen again.”
She heard her own choppy breath and pulled away from the receiver for a moment, so he wouldn’t hear it. “Please, Dan, I just want to get on with my life.”
“I’m just trying to solve this burglary, so you can feel safe again and not worry when you come home from work at night.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to
let things go.” She knew that wouldn’t make sense to someone as practical as Dan.
“If I knew they wouldn’t bother you again, I’d consider that. Maybe you should get a roommate.”
“No,” she said, too quickly. “No, I don’t think I could do that.”
“Too invasive?”
“Much too. You place an ad, and people come to look at the apartment. How can you tell in ten minutes whether or not you want to live with someone?”
“You’ve got a point. I suppose you could get a dog.”
She smiled involuntarily, but she knew she wouldn’t get a dog. Pets tied people down. If she had to move quickly to another state, she couldn’t be encumbered by a dog. Or a man, she thought, but she quickly squelched that notion.
“You’ve got my cell phone number. Use it if you feel uneasy but you don’t want to call 911.”
Another thread binding them together, barely perceptible. “All right.”
“If anything happens, please call me directly. Laurel, I don’t want you to be afraid.”
She drew in a breath. “I’m not. Honest. Most of the time. And when I am …”
“What do you do then?”
“I pray.”
“That’s great. I’m smiling. Can you tell?”
She smiled back, wishing she could see him. “Thank you for being there.”
“I want you to feel secure, and I hope having me just a phone call away helps.”
“It helps more than you realize, Dan.”
When they had hung up, she set her alarm clock and lay down on her bed for half an hour. The headache receded at last, but she still couldn’t sleep. What was she getting herself into? Getting close to Dan Ryan would not be a peaceful canoe ride. Already he was digging into the past, and her reluctance to have him do that made him suspicious.
But already her impressions of Dan were strong enough to be called feelings, and that troubled her. They were becoming confused with her residual feelings for Bob. Maybe it was too soon.
The broader implication of the conversation also worried her. Was it feasible that someone had followed her here? She wouldn’t have thought it likely, but she’d had two incidents in a short time. Any cop would find that significant. Why would thieves target a penniless woman? Dan would find out. She knew he would. Maybe it would be better to just tell him, but how would he react?
She rose to get ready for work. As she rummaged in the drawer for clean socks, the picture on the dresser drew her attention.
Bob. Losing him had been so hard. The trauma that followed his death had destroyed her confidence, her security, her trust—everything that mattered except her faith, and she had nearly lost that during the worst of it.
She picked up the frame and looked at herself and Bob, radiantly happy, six months into their marriage. Her throat ached, and tears filled her eyes.
It’s been a long time, she told herself. Lord, it hurts so much to remember, but I don’t want to forget.
Would she ever be able to feel really comfortable with another man? Did she want to? Explaining her life to anyone would take a monumental effort, and at this point she wasn’t sure she had it in her to risk her heart again.
*****
When Laurel woke on Saturday, the prospect of the weekend ahead nudged her to action.
She’d seen a notice for a rummage sale at the YMCA downtown. Who knew what she might find there? Twenty dollars was the limit she’d set for mad money. She would buy the best bric-a-brac available within her budget.
And tomorrow …
She refused to imagine a negative outcome from her date with Dan. She eagerly anticipated attending church, and Dan would be a buffer between her and the congregation. Would the pastor be like her old pastor in Maine? Pastor and Mrs. Newman had given great support and encouragement to her and Bob. Losing them and her church family was a tremendous regret. But she had followed her lawyer’s advice after her release and lived in virtual seclusion, not contacting anyone in Oakland. Now she wondered if Jim Hight hadn’t been a bit overzealous.
Two years!
Two years since she had been an active member of a church. And Dan was about to give that back to her. It was too wonderful. Something would happen to ruin it.
Before she left for her shopping expedition, she put on sunglasses and a cap. No sense being conspicuous, even at a rummage sale.
When she returned that afternoon she was content. Not only had she found some small African animal carvings and a lovely Bavarian vase at the rummage sale, but a small pine bookcase lay in the trunk of her car.
She took the small items in first. Standing in the doorway for a moment, she scanned the living room. She always followed this routine, with a quick glance into the bedroom and kitchen. Belongings neat, windowpanes and screens intact. She sighed in relief and turned to the bathroom. A quick check there and she would bring in the bookcase.
Her gaze flicked first to the shower, where she always left the curtain pushed back so she could instantly know that no one was concealed there. She’d told herself this was silly, but it kept her heart from racing in fear, so she did it.
As she moved, her reflection in the mirror over the sink drew her eye. Black letters scrawled on the glass stared back at her. Her chest tightened, and she froze in place. The message registered in her brain, and the air rushed out of her lungs.
DON’T FORGeT YOUR FRieNDS
*****
Dan jogged up the steps to the hall where his string ensemble rehearsed every Saturday afternoon. In exchange for free use of the hall, they performed at an annual benefit concert for the Lions Club.
He greeted the others cheerfully and set down his violin case. Joe Cooper helped him arrange the chairs and music stands.
“How are you doing, Dan?” Judy Nichols asked.
“Fantastic.”
“What’s her name?” Joe blurted out, and they all laughed. Dan grinned, too, and Joe eyed him suspiciously. “Tell me there’s really a girl.”
“I’m planning to take her to church tomorrow.” Immediately Dan wondered if the announcement was a mistake, but his friends moved smoothly from surprise to approval.
“Good for you,” said Judy. “Bring her to the concert next week.”
Joe laughed. “As long as it’s not someone you arrested.”
“No worries there, Joe.”
“How well do you know her?” Marcia Smith asked, opening her viola case.
“Not well. She hasn’t been in the area long. I met her on my weekend job.”
Marcia nodded. “I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks.” Dan respected and liked the other three members of the quartet. Marcia owned a llama farm outside the city with her husband of forty years. Judy was a physician’s assistant in a large medical office. Joe, closer to Dan’s age, worked full time as a city bus driver and gave cello lessons.
“I can’t wait to meet her.” Judy gave him the smile that always buoyed his spirits. She was the driving force behind the quartet and took charge of the music selection and performance schedule. As Dan’s musical mentor, she pushed him to his limits where the violin was concerned.
Joe settled his cello into position. “So, are we ready to practice, or what?”
Dan tuned his instrument to Marcia’s, then immersed himself in the flowing music, unable to stop thinking about Laurel. She had asked him, How can you tell in ten minutes whether or not you want to live with someone? It seemed he was struggling with that same question. How could he know, on such short acquaintance, whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her? He had waited so long, and she seemed so right.
His resolve to go slowly had crumbled. He cared about her far more than he had intended to this soon. The break-in at her apartment was disturbing, but he had decided not to charge like gangbusters into an exhaustive background check. He could do that, with the information DMV had on her. State by state, he could request a search, and he would find her former residence and much more.
But he would wait for her to trust him. He felt good about waiting for her to take her time in the relationship. Somehow he would find a way to overcome her doubts.
They were midway through the Beethoven when Dan’s cell phone trilled. He frowned and kept playing to the end of the phrase, but it rang again, urgently, and Joe snapped, “Kill that thing.”
Dan knew he couldn’t turn the phone off and ignore it. Very few people had this number—his parents, the dispatcher, and a handful of others, including Laurel. He got up and laid his violin on a chair before pulling the phone from his pocket.
“Hello?” He pressed his hand to his other ear to shut out the music.
“Dan! Something’s happened.”
“Laurel? Are you at home?”
“Yes. I need help.”
“I’ll be right there.” Dan realized the music had petered out, and the three other musicians were staring at him.
*****
Dan pushed the speed limit as much as he dared between the Lions Club’s hall and Laurel’s apartment. He considered calling for a patrol car to meet him there but rejected the idea. Laurel had hung up as soon as he’d said he would come. He had no idea what he would find when he got there.
Her Toyota sat in her parking space, and he pulled his truck into an empty one near it. As he ran up the walk, he looked around. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
He rang the bell and almost immediately the door swung open. He caught his breath. Laurel’s fearful eyes and trembling hands spurred him to step inside quickly, kick the door shut behind him, and pull her into his arms.
She broke into sobs as he held her.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” He stroked her long, sleek hair and caressed her shoulders. He could see nothing in the entry or the visible part of the living room that would bring on this level of anguish. Time enough to find out what happened later.
“Thank you,” she managed between ragged breaths.
“It’s all right.”
As she sobbed, she clutched the front of his T-shirt. Dan tightened his embrace and rested his cheek on her head. Her hands relaxed slowly, and her fingers splayed out on his chest.
Just Cause Page 4