When they arrived home, Jane rallied and, without hesitation, checked every closet in the house. Her dress was missing. She had no doubt the one on the dummy was hers.
Kyle insisted she go over the story with him, and she repeated the events, her palm stroking Wilcox’s fur as he nuzzled between them on the sofa.
“The story doesn’t change, Kyle,” she said, losing patience. “I tell it the same way every time.”
“What about the whimper you heard?” Kyle probed.
“It had to be the madman imitating a child.” She glared at him. “Is this how you interrogate suspects at the station?”
“No. We use one of those big lights and have a faucet dripping in the background. Drip. Drip. Drip. Finally out of desperation, the culprit confesses.”
“Well, you won’t get a confession out of me. It’s just like I told you.”
He slid his arm behind her and drew her closer to his shoulder. She rested her head, and he brushed his fingers along her cheek in a soothing caress. She tried to calm her irritation. It wasn’t Kyle, but the situation.
“I’m as frustrated as you, Jane. Nothing makes much sense. I know you think I’m silly, but I really want you to look for those old diaries. Just maybe, something will trigger an idea.”
“I haven’t had a chance. I’ll look as soon as I can.” She monitored the frustration etching her voice. The talk seemed ridiculous. Useless.
“How about tomorrow night? We could have a search party,” Kyle said.
“I’ll look in the daylight.” He was pushing again. “It’s so gloomy in the attic…and the basement. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” She said anything to appease him.
Kyle lay his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. “I’m telling you, Jane, I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to you. If you get hurt in any way, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
His hand dropped from her chin and he fell against the sofa cushion. “I can’t get any more action out of the department. The only real crime is the burglary, and even then the door was opened with a key.”
“I know,” she said, looking at his face and understanding his frustration. She felt the same. “You’ve done all you can.”
The fire in his eyes softened, and a rush of tenderness eased through her limbs. She’d been tense since the afternoon, but in Kyle’s arms she relaxed, feeling safe…and cherished.
Seeing the yearning in his eyes she met his lips in a warm, lingering kiss. She shifted to catch her breath, but Kyle lowered his mouth again, nibbling her lower lip, then kissing her until a sigh trembled from them both.
She drew back, gazing at him with flushed exhilaration. “No bright light or faucet handy, so this is your new technique for a confession,” she said.
Kyle laughed. “You like it?”
“Love it,” she said. “Better than a glaring bulb or a drip any day.”
“I’m glad,” he said, drawing her close to his chest. “You’d better get used to it.”
Jane reveled in the two weeks that followed. A precious lull enveloped her. The stalker seemed to have vanished. She prayed he was gone for good. Time had flown since she’d first met Kyle. In three days she would celebrate Thanksgiving with his family. Then Christmas was soon to follow.
Though the northern wind had grown colder and promises of snow crept into the weather forecasts, today autumn pirouetted outside her living room window—the last of the burnished leaves dancing on the gusty winds.
Jane’s thoughts of Kyle were as bright as the golden landscape, but like the dying leaves, old fears crackled in her thoughts. Could her warm feelings last or would the icy fears of her past kill the love that she felt at this moment?
Guilt filled her. She’d done everything to avoid searching the attic. But hearing Kyle’s plea in her ears, Jane pushed her thoughts aside and began her search for the long-forgotten diaries—though she knew they would provide nothing pertinent.
With daylight seeping through the small, dusty windows, she plowed through the attic and located four old leather-bound journals tucked inside a box of her teenage memorabilia. Two books were locked, and she had no idea where the keys were. But she carried them all downstairs anyway.
Expecting Kyle later, she sank into a chair and opened a diary from her sophomore year in high school. The entries sounded foolish. “Got up. Went to school. Did homework. Practiced the piano. Went to Shirley’s.”
She’d almost forgotten about the piano lessons. Scanning the next few pages, Jane knew she’d been right. Kyle could read her daily accounts until he turned purple, and he’d never find anything helpful.
When she heard the doorbell, Jane dropped the diary, unlocked the door and let Kyle in the house. When he strolled into the living room, a smile lit his face, seeing the four worn, miniature volumes.
He slid his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “You did find them. Thanks.”
“I found these four, but two are locked. I suppose I can pry them open. Shouldn’t take much.”
She handed him one, and he tested the strap’s strength by pulling on the closure.
“I’ll look for the keys,” she said. “They’re probably in the bottom of the box where I found these old things. I can’t believe I actually locked them.”
Grinning, he turned the journal over in his hand. “They held all your secrets.”
She chuckled. “Right. Read a couple of entries. They’ll bore you to tears. ‘Got up. Went to school. Went to bed.’ That’s mighty confidential material, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s it? You didn’t spill your guts on these pages?”
“I’m not kidding.” She crossed her heart with her index finger. “I wasn’t sure I wanted you to read about my girlhood antics. But skimming a few entries, there’s not one antic that I can see.”
Though he looked disappointed, he winked at her. “No sense in reading them if I can’t get the ‘goods’ on you.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Enough silliness,” she said, giving him a playful shove. “I have pasta in the oven and a salad in the fridge. Hungry?”
“Sure am,” he said, shifting his hands to rest on each of her shoulders and, like a caboose, followed her into the kitchen.
After dinner when they’d settled again in the living room, Jane tossed him a diary. “Have fun.”
He opened the book and delved into the yellowed pages. Before long, Jane laughed and was also reading her mundane, meaningless entries. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’re right,” Kyle said, closing the book. “This is getting us nowhere.” He rose and ambled to the sofa where Jane sat curled in a corner.
She eyed him, guessing what he was up to, but kept her eyes focused on the diary.
Kyle ran his fingers along her arm, then slid his hand behind her neck, distracting her. When she’d had enough, she closed the volume and scowled at him. “Okay, buddy, you were the one who insisted we read these silly things. What’s gotten into you?”
“Want the truth?”
“Sure.” She held the book in her lap and folded her hands over it like an attentive schoolgirl.
“I can’t stop looking at you.”
She couldn’t stop looking at him, either, but she refused to admit it. “You’re supposed to be looking at the diaries.”
“But they’re boring.”
She chuckled. “You can say that again.”
“But you’re not,” he said, his gaze caressing her face. “I think we need to take a break.”
With his comment, her earlier hope surfaced, and her humor vanished. “Do you think it’s over, Kyle?”
His expression fell. “Over?”
“Over. The stalker. Whatever he is.”
A flash of embarrassment flickered on his face.
Jane understood. “You thought I meant us.”
He averted his eyes. “For a minute.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.” She reviewed the flood of emotions that had wash
ed over his face, then pressed her hand against his with understanding.
She’d struggled with her own wavering feelings— afraid to love him and more afraid if she didn’t. Her life had molded around his in these past months. Molded like two complimentary shades of wax forming one lovely candle. But Jane feared her fiery memories. What would happen if her past lit the candle and destroyed the rich, wonderful shape it had taken?
With a curious look, Kyle studied her, but didn’t ask what she meant. Instead, he slid his arm around her back and drew her head to his shoulder. “To be honest, your question threw me. I couldn’t imagine that our relationship was over.” His gaze captured hers. “You know I love you, Jane.”
I love you. His words had struck her ear with so little fanfare, she thought she’d not heard him correctly. “You what?”
“I’ve fallen in love with you. And don’t argue with me. I know how I feel.”
The meaning of his words reached her senses slowly. As his message settled in, her pulse soared. She hadn’t expected him to say the words aloud. She’d sensed his rising emotions in the past months as she’d felt her own feelings move from friendship to something deeper. But saying the words caught in her throat.
“Just say you feel the same,” Kyle said.
Instead of joy, she felt sorrow. Though Jane loved him, she didn’t want to. Not yet. Not until she’d dealt with her old hurts and fears. How could she explain it to him?
Kyle clutched her hand. “You’re not answering me. I know you feel the same.”
She raised her other hand and pressed her palm against his cheeks. “Kyle, I can’t deny my feelings. But I have too much to deal with right now. Too many awful memories. Too little time to resolve them.”
His expression rent her heart, and she dropped her hand in her lap. “I can’t make a commitment until I’m confident that I’ve resolved the things that have haunted me for so many years. I tried to explain it before.”
“I heard you. But I’d hoped.” Staring at her pinched expression, Kyle’s stomach churned. The weight of her comment pressed against his own happiness.
“But you didn’t believe me,” she said.
“I thought when you loved me you’d feel differently.”
“I do feel differently, but…if I said that your career doesn’t matter, I’d be lying.”
“Don’t, Jane. Never lie to me.”
“I haven’t.” She closed her eyes. “I’m confused. I’m concerned. I’m cautious. All I can concentrate on right now, Kyle, is what’s been happening. When— if—this horrible stalker thing is resolved, I’ll have time to work on me. It’s me, Kyle. I’m the problem. Not you.”
She sighed and Kyle held her closer, praying that the words in his head reached her heart. She meant the world to him, and God willing, he’d get her through this horror. No matter what.
The day before the holiday, Jane glanced out the classroom window and watched the snow drifting from the sky. The weatherman had been correct. The city would have a white Thanksgiving.
The flakes had begun the evening before, lightly at first, but by morning, the drive had been long and horrible as she crept along the road to avoid skidding on the slippery streets.
Before classes began, Celia bounded into Jane’s room, looking pleased with herself. Len had offered to drive her to school and had even carried in her books. The romantic picture sent a twinge of regret against Jane’s heart. Kyle hadn’t phoned to offer her a ride. The weight of their discussion lingered in her thoughts.
With the children occupied at their desks, Jane stripped her bulletin boards of pumpkins, turkeys and Pilgrims and prepared them for the snowflakes and Christmas decorations stored in her closet.
Usually, her students, looking forward to the four-day break, were noisy and hard to control, but today they worked quietly, their noses buried in the math workbooks.
Jane tucked away the last Pilgrim into her closet and ambled through the aisles, checking the students’ progress—and her wristwatch—eager for lunch.
As her gaze settled on Lena, she wondered about Sam Malik. He’d seemed to ease off his attack since his last surprise visit. That day he’d left her curious. His only question was whether or not Lena was seeing the special education teacher. Jane had arranged an occasional session—nothing formal—between Lena and Betty Durham from special education. So she was able to answer Malik with a yes. She was thankful, but hoped she wasn’t experiencing the proverbial “calm before the storm.”
When the lunch bell rang, she shooed the students from the room, locked the door and headed for the teacher’s lounge. Stepping inside, her body propelled backward. Standing just within the doorway, Dale Keys eyed her with a grin.
Nodding, she slid into a chair beside Celia. But before she could count to five, Dale had plopped into the vacant spot next to her.
“Surprised to see me?” he asked. “I’m subbing. Fourth grade.”
Jane groped for a pleasant expression. “Some of your old students, I suppose,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere.
“I prefer third grade, but then, you have my class.”
Her shoulders tensed. It was her class, but why squabble?
But Celia didn’t keep quiet. “That was last year, Dale. This year it’s Jane’s class.”
“Right,” he said.
“You’re making me feel guilty,” Jane said.
Dale chuckled. “Didn’t mean to do that. If I hadn’t resigned, hoping for something better, I’d still be here.”
Curiosity got the better of Jane. “What do you mean ‘something better’?”
In a heartbeat, Dale spit it out. “A more cooperative principal, for one.”
Surprised, Jane inhaled, and a piece of apple caught in her throat. She coughed and dislodged it. “You shouldn’t make me laugh when I’m eating,” she said.
Dale shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“I know,” Jane said, happy to hear she wasn’t the only one who found him disagreeable.
After lunch, she promised the students a spelling game to end the day. Anything to get through the last couple of hours. When they were all quiet, Jane reviewed the rules.
“Does everyone understand?”
Head nods and shouts of yes filled the room.
“Okay.” She glanced at the ledge below the board, noticing it was empty except for an eraser. “Then all we need is chalk.”
Jane opened her desk drawer and withdrew the chalk box while the children waited eagerly. She pulled out two sticks and delved in for two more. She recoiled, feeling a sharp, stinging jab.
Withdrawing her hand, she gaped at the blood seeping from her index finger. Hoping the children hadn’t noticed, she hid the wound beneath a tissue from her desk. Blood would frighten the children, especially hers.
Wrapping the cut tightly, she forced a smile to her lips and looked inside the cardboard package. A razor blade stuck upward, and a telltale piece of bloodied paper nestled amid the white chalk.
She eased two more chalk sticks from the cardboard along with the paper and dropped the box into the pocket of her blazer.
“Okay, time to begin.” She selected the four students and gave them the signal.
As the children were absorbed with their teams, Jane unfolded the slip of soiled paper, preparing for the worst. Her body quaked as she focused on the note.
Look! Look! Look! See Jane bleed.
Chapter Thirteen
Facing the classroom, Jane leaned her shoulder against the doorframe for support, praying that someone would come by. The blood seeped through the tissue. She needed to clean the cut and find a bandage.
“Jane.”
Like an answer to her prayer, she spun around to face Mary Campbell. “Mr. Skylar wants—” She halted. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Without details, Jane explained her cut finger.
“Bandages are in the workroom cabinet,” Mary said. “Go ahead, and I’ll stay her
e a couple of minutes.”
Thanking Mary, Jane hurried toward the office. At this point, she didn’t care what Skylar wanted. She wanted a bandage and to know how the razor blade got into her chalk box.
Rounding the corner, Jane spied Charlie ducking into a custodian’s closet, his rolling trash container lagging a little behind him.
“Charlie,” Jane called out, remembering he had a key to her room.
He peeked around the door, his mouth gaping.
“Did you let anyone into my classroom this morning?”
He drew back, shaking his head. “N-no. Rules say I c-can’t. Just y-you or a sub.”
She showed him her bloodied tissue-wrapped finger.
He gaped at it, then scowled.
“Someone slipped a razor blade in the chalk, and I cut myself,” Jane said in explanation.
“A r-razor?”
His startled expression looked sincere. “It’s okay, Charlie. I’m fine.” Still, she wondered. He had a key to her room, and weeks earlier, she’d stumbled on him putting the chalk box into her desk. Could it be?
As Jane entered Redmond Community Church for the Thanksgiving Day worship service, Kyle guided her into a front pew, his dark gray suit accentuating his tall, powerful frame. Jane struggled to keep herself from admiring him as he helped her pull off her coat.
Once seated, Kyle held her hand, avoiding the one with the bandage. The evening before, she’d reviewed with him the events of her day: Charlie, the razor blade and her horrible run-in with Skylar while searching for a bandage.
After telling Skylar about the razor blade incident, he’d only quizzed her about Lena and the special education teacher Betty Durham. Jane had struggled with her response.
But instead of defending the special help she’d arranged for Lena she poked her throbbing finger in his face. “What about the razor blade? And the note?” she had asked.
“Be more careful next time” was all he’d said.
Drawn from her recollection by the swell of the church organ, Jane sighed and glanced at the tape around her finger, then at Kyle’s powerful profile. As always in his presence, Jane felt safe, his broad shoulder pressing against hers and his ample hand wrapped around her smaller one.
A Love for Safekeeping Page 13