At the other end of the mall, Cara and her mom sat at a small, corner table in Liberty Deli, picking at croissants.
Her mom’s tight-lipped expression replaced her smiley shopping one. “Go on.”
Cara pulled a flake from her croissant and let it disintegrate on her tongue. “The person who’s been harassing me—David’s stalker—is a girl who was a senior at Seaside when I was a freshman.”
“So you know her?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Amber Miller. We both dated Chris Adams when I was a freshman, and she’s angry with me because she thinks I stole him from her. I didn’t. But now she’s trying to steal David from me.”
Her mom frowned at her. “I wish you would’ve shared this with me sooner. I thought it was bad enough that this girl was associated with David. But it sounds like you’re her true target.”
Cara gritted her teeth. “There’s more to tell, I’m sorry to say.”
Deep lines creased her mom’s forehead.
“Remember how I told you Amber’s mixed up with occult stuff like Ouija boards and tarot cards?”
Her mom looked like she was holding back from rolling her eyes as she slowly nodded.
“Amber practices witchcraft. She’s been trying to cast breakup spells on David and me. I wouldn’t worry about it, except that she broke into our house the other day and left a spell in my room.”
Her mom dropped her croissant, brushed off her hands, and clasped them in front of her on the table. “I hope you understand that all this witchcraft and spell nonsense is ridiculous.”
Cara didn’t respond.
“What’s not ridiculous is that you say this girl broke into our house. What exactly did she leave in your room?”
Obviously, her mom wasn’t going to accept that the occult activities Amber was initiating were dangerous, any more than David had.
Cara grabbed her backpack, pulled out the sachet, and held it up. “I found this on my desk after you and I had both been gone for the day, when you were at the after-Thanksgiving sales.” And I’d been watching Rachel get delivered from a demon.
Her mom barely gave the sachet a second look. She smashed the rest of her croissant in her napkin and stood. Cara dropped the sachet in her backpack and followed her mom to the garbage to throw their napkins away, then out to the parking lot.
“What does David have to say about all this?” her mom asked as she popped the station wagon’s locks.
“He thought it was important for me to tell both you and the police. But I doubt the police will be able to prove that Amber’s done anything to harass me.”
“David’s right,” her mom said as they climbed into the Outback. “We need to file another report, like we did for your car. We need to build a case against this girl. Stalkers rarely give up.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Cara helped David clean up after they’d eaten a stir-fry dinner at his place the following Saturday. He went to get their coats. It was earlier than usual for her to head home on a weekend night, even though she always made it a point to get home at a decent hour to encourage her mom’s growing acceptance of their relationship. But David had to get up early for his first ocean fishing trip. And her mom was leaving town the next morning for her conference in Seattle.
Cara and David pulled on their hoods and wrapped their arms around each other. Cold, briny air surrounded them as they walked the beach toward Cara’s house.
“I hope you don’t think it would bother me if you went out sometimes, to the bar or wherever, instead of always hanging out with me,” she said.
David’s arm hugged tighter around her waist. She looked sideways and caught his lopsided grin.
“Is that what you think I want to do? Escort you home so I can run off to party?”
She bumped him with her hip. “Of course not. But if that’s ever what you feel like doing, I want you to know I wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s sweet.” He tucked his face under her hood and kissed her cheek. “But I’m not into that scene. Besides, I have a fishing trip scheduled at the crack of dawn.”
“I don’t envy you that,” she said, chuckling. “I’ll stick to my not-so-awfully-early whale-watching trip.”
“I hope you see Crossback and Bobbi tomorrow.”
She hoped so, too.
He walked her up the stairs from the beach to the street and then the few blocks to her house. They reached her front porch and she tensed when he held her to him. Her mom might see.
David showed no signs of worry. He gave her a lingering kiss. “I’ll miss you tomorrow. I should be back by early afternoon. Wanna play Scrabble?”
She relaxed in his arms. “Call me when you get back.”
“Why don’t you hang out at my place when you get back from your tour? Enjoy the view.”
“I do enjoy the view.”
He gazed down at her with a look that warmed her whole being and erased any fears she had of his ever leaving her.
“Take this, then.” He released his hold on her, reached into his back pocket, and held up a key. “This is my only spare. It’s yours.”
* * *
The next morning, behind Cara’s curtains, no threatening clouds loomed in the dingy sky. The sea, however, was a torrent of tossing waves. She’d awoken at dawn, though still later than her mom, who’d left early enough to squeeze in a full day of shopping in Seattle. She dressed quickly and grabbed a banana and a granola bar before she climbed into the Fit to head to Liberty Charters.
Before she started the engine, her cell phone rang. It was Sherry. All tours were canceled for the day due to a storm moving in. The larger fishing boats went out, but David might come home early if the captains decided to play it safe.
She chose to walk the beach to David’s place. The stretch of ocean was as beautiful as ever, but the sea roared as forceful winds pushed at it. Waves broke and rolled sideways. Veering around the large chunks of seafoam that dotted the beach made her feel like she was on an obstacle course.
She struggled against the winds that pushed at her as they did the waves. Her hood covered her head and she kept her sunglasses on to keep the sand that whipped up out of her hair and eyes. The smell of seaweed swirled in the air and thick, gray clouds rolled in. Good thing the walk wasn’t long. No doubt conditions would be rough for David’s fishing boat.
Relief from the elements came only when she stood in the shelter of David’s portico. She turned the key he gave her in the lock on the front door and a peaceful sense of belonging overcame her. She stepped inside, shut and locked the door behind her, and pulled back her hood to look out the picture window.
The view from David’s place always mesmerized her. The panorama was close-up and clear compared to the muted portrayal in the painting in her room or the longer-distance views of the ocean from her house. At the moment, the picture window revealed a more tumultuous scene than usual.
Coupled with the leather scent of the sofas, David’s house smelled like a combination of his muskiness and the sea. Those aromas communicated comfort to Cara. They represented her David.
The edge of a Post-it note curled up from the Scrabble box on the dining room table. She walked over, pulled it off, and read, “I miss you.” She hugged the note to her chest before she tucked it in her bag. In the kitchen, she opened the fridge. Another note was stuck to a six-pack of diet soda bottles. Again, the note read, “I miss you.” She added it to her bag with the first note.
By the time she’d searched the whole house, she’d collected seven notes, all conveying the same message. The last five Post-its were stuck to the French doors to the deck, the big sofa, the TV, David’s bedroom pillow, and the bathroom mirror.
After she collected the last note in the bathroom, the front door creaked open. She froze in the hallway. Her skin prickled.
David could have come home early due to a canceled fishing trip. But the person who entered didn’t make any noise. Cara was more than a little frightened by who she thought it was.
The hallway was hidden from the living room area, so she was able to quietly sneak down to the coat closet. She thanked God the door didn’t make a sound when she opened it and shut herself inside. Not that it would matter if she hid. If it was Amber and if she knew Cara was here, the witch would easily find her in this little shoebox of a house.
Slinking as far back as possible in the small closet, she considered her options for protection. Her backpack hung from her shoulder, but she didn’t carry any type of weapon. She unzipped her pack and fumbled for her cell phone in the dark. Her fingers closed around it and she held it up and turned it on. The lit screen allowed her enough visibility to see that the closet’s contents included only coats, other outerwear, and footwear.
A heavy pair of boots was the only tool she could find for defense. At least she could call 911. If she had time for that.
The click-clack of thin heels came to a stop in the hallway and Cara shut off her phone. Again, darkness surrounded her. She prayed repeatedly that Amber was just here to be her crazy stalker self, to snoop around David’s place.
Seconds later, the heels click-clacked again. They were headed her way. Abruptly, the clacking halted, and the hinges on the linen closet door next to her squealed as the door opened.
A couple of metal items tapped against each other before the linen closet door closed again. Cara scooted farther back in the closet, held her breath, and waited for the door that shielded her to swing open.
The heels clacked in the opposite direction. Cara let out a silent sigh. David’s home phone rang then, and the clacking stopped.
After three rings, a man’s voice blared from a speaker on an older-model answering machine. “David? It’s Dad. Are you home?” There was a slight pause. “I hope you’re not wasting your time with that girl. I meant it when I said you need to come home. Call me.”
The line went dead and a dial tone sounded before the answering machine cut off.
Amber made a grunting sound that might have been a laugh. Then her heels started clacking again. Her footsteps sounded like they were landing on the linoleum in the bathroom. The mirrored vanity cabinet doors squeaked open. Seconds later, the medicine cabinet doors closed with a magnetic click and the lower cabinets shut with a thud.
The clacking heels returned to the hardwood in the hallway. Cara again thanked God when the footfalls headed toward David’s room, rather than toward her.
Pressing her ear against the door, Cara made out the sound of fabric ripping and Amber’s muffled voice. Unless she was imagining it, she could swear she also heard another, lower-pitched voice. She couldn’t make out any words.
Holding up her cell phone, she turned on the screen. With a shaky hand, she switched the phone to call mode and poked her pointer finger at the key pad. She hit the 9, but missed the 1. On her second attempt, she clenched her fist tighter and jabbed her finger at the numbers. Her call connected.
“Liberty County 911. What’s the exact location of your emergency?”
As if she could speak at the moment. Amber might hear her. And it seemed like a reasonable assumption to think that the authorities could track her by GPS.
Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispered, “374 Jettison Avenue.” She drew the phone away from her ear and listened for any sign that Amber was coming for her.
Amber’s voice carried down the hall from David’s bedroom. It sounded like she was chanting.
“What’s the emergency?” the operator asked.
Again, Cara whispered. “Someone broke into my boyfriend’s house.”
“Are you at your boyfriend’s house now?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the phone number you’re calling from?”
Not understanding how that information could be important enough for her to risk being discovered, she almost didn’t answer. But Amber’s muffled chanting continued, so she quickly relayed her cell phone number.
“What’s your full name?”
“Cara Markwell.”
“Are you the only one in the house?”
Other than the intruder. “Yes.”
“Are there any weapons in the house?”
Not in the closet, unfortunately. “Not that I know of.”
“Okay. Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
Probably not, without the witch hearing.
Amber’s chanting had stopped. Heels clacked in the hallway again.
“Ma’am?” the operator asked.
Cara heard fingers tapping on a keyboard on the other end of the line. “Wait,” she whispered.
“I’m dispatching police officers to your location. Don’t hang up,” the operator told her.
The smack of heels sounded against the hardwood. The footfalls faded in the living room, when Amber must have walked on the laydown rug, then picked up again before the front door clunked shut.
Cara’s words streamed out in one pent-up breath. “She just left.”
“She? So you got a look at the intruder?”
“No, but I heard high heels. I’m sure it was Amber Miller. I filed a report with Officer Taft last week after she broke into my house.”
Cara’s whole body trembled now as it burned off the excess adrenaline that surged within her, ready to serve her if she chose to run or battle. But she hadn’t had the courage to confront Amber. And now she didn’t know if she would even be able to leave the closet.
More keyboard tapping sounded on the other end of the phone connection. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”
Cara was explaining what had occurred since Amber arrived when three loud raps struck the front door.
“Someone’s here.”
“It’s the officers I dispatched. Go ahead and open the door for them. Stay on the line until I tell you to disconnect.”
Cara burst out of the stuffy closet and bolted for the front door. Through the peephole, she saw two uniformed officers, a man and a woman. Another cruiser pulled up in front of the house just as Cara opened the door a crack and peeked around it.
“The intruder just left,” she told the officers who stood on the porch.
Officer Taft stepped out of his police car and strode up the walkway. “I’ll handle this. You two clear the house,” he told the other officers, who entered and began a walk-through.
“You’re with the officers?” the operator asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You can hang up now. I’m disconnecting.”
THIRTY-SIX
Cara shoved her phone in her backpack and breathed a sigh of relief when Officer Taft stopped outside the front door.
“Hello, Cara.”
She opened the door wider for him to enter.
He remained on the porch. “This isn’t the address we have for you from your last report.”
“This is my boyfriend’s house.”
“We’ll need to talk to him. Is he here?”
“No.”
“Where was he during the alleged break-in?”
Alleged sounded accusatory, but she chalked it up to standard procedure.
“He’s out fishing.”
The other officers came back through the living room, exited the house, and told Officer Taft all was clear.
He excused them and turned to Cara. “Until we talk to the person who lives here, you’ll need to keep off the property.”
Again, this was likely protocol, but it felt abrupt.
The other officers took off in their cruiser.
“Let me lock up,” Cara said, and dug her keychain out of her backpack.
“Where did you get the key to the house?” Officer Taft asked as Cara twisted it in the doorknob.
She suppressed a huff. He could be at least a tad more sympathetic after what she’d just been through. “David gave it to me.”
“Your boyfriend? The one who lives here?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him.
He pulled out a small notepad and a pen. “What’s his ful
l name?”
“David Wilson.”
He jotted that down. Noting her unstable steps, he stowed the notebook in his pocket and took hold of her elbow to help her down the stairs. “Why don’t you have a seat in my car?”
She held back for a second. Sitting in a police car sounded more like punishment than protection.
“Unless you’d rather sit in your own vehicle?” he asked as they continued toward the street. The air had stilled, but the threatening storm clouds remained.
“I walked here.”
He appraised her as he opened the passenger side of his cruiser. “Let me give you a ride home, then.”
She slipped into the passenger seat and looked up at him as he asked, “What were you doing here while your boyfriend was out fishing?”
His face looked as neutral as his tone.
“David thought I’d like to enjoy the view until he got back.”
Officer Taft didn’t comment. He shut her door and walked around to the driver’s side. She glanced around at the intimidating array of electronics in the car, as well as the steel-mesh and bulletproof partition between the front and back, and especially the huge rifle mounted just behind and between the two front seats. Following Officer Taft’s lead, she fastened her seat belt.
As he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, he asked, “Did you get a look at the intruder today?”
“No. But like I told the 911 operator, I heard high heels. I’m sure it was Amber, the girl I filed a report about last week.”
He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”
Cara described all she’d heard.
Officer Taft remained silent until he parked in front of her house. “We’ll need to contact Mr. Wilson.”
She nodded and unbuckled her seat belt. David was the one who’d insisted she involve the police. It was good that he’d get to hear about Amber’s antics from the authorities this time.
“I’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you.”
She thanked him and stepped out of the car.
Save Me Page 20