She went back to the kitchen to reheat the stew. Her gaze fell on the dangling phone cord. Was the man calling Brianna the same pervert calling her? Perhaps Maggie was right. She should have gone to the police.
The stew tasted bland, mushy, and totally disgusting. To mask the flavor, she munched on crumbs from the opened potato chip bag. She held up the wine bottle, checking for how much was left, and poured a half glass. If Maggie could see her now, Kat was sure this wasn't what she had in mind when she told Kat to go on a vacation. This definitely wasn't the Ritz.
Kat checked her watch. The time was after seven. Going to bed early had its benefits. She could catch up on her sleep and block out any anxieties concerning those irritating phone calls. Then again, there were the visions to consider, the visions that hadn't stopped.
A knock at the door reminded her it hadn't been locked. She parted the curtains. No cars were parked out front or in the driveway. She leaned her weight against the door, thinking how silly her fears were, and asked who it was.
"Pastor Fletcher."
The name brought to mind Wilma's story about Brianna's first conquest, and Kat stared at him in the opened doorway in a cold, inhospitable manner. "What do you want?"
Startled, he hesitated answering. He wore the same clothes from the meeting: dark slacks and a baggy black cardigan over a white shirt. The color of his nose was a deeper shade of pink than the rest of his face, his dark, bushy eyebrows wiry and untamed. "I wondered if I might have a minute of your time." He tried persuading her with a smile. For added strength, he hugged a Bible to his chest.
"Well, then, come in."
Clutching the Bible tighter, he walked cautiously to the sofa, his eyes wide and searching. "I'll only stay a minute."
She took the wine bottle to the kitchen, though she wasn't sure why she'd made the effort. She sat across from him at the table. No way would she sit next to him.
The pastor glanced into the bedroom and hastily brought his attention back to Kat. "My wife is waiting for me at the church. She's the one who suggested I drop by tonight to invite you to attend Sunday services tomorrow. She's a very thoughtful person, my wife, always thinking of others. Patsy, her name is Patsy.
"I saw you at the meeting earlier," he continued. "I felt very badly about Bri . . . about the loss of your sister. I thought maybe a church service might offer you comfort. Are you of any particular denomination? Well, no matter, all are welcome. Did you say how long you will be in town? If you're staying a while, we would surely welcome you to our congregation."
He was getting on Kat's nerves, and she had no intention of attending church services. To put an end to the ramblings of this hypocritical man, she leaned forward and pierced him with a stare. "I know about you and my sister, Pastor."
He swallowed with great difficulty while squeezing the life out of his Bible. "Whoever told you that?"
"Then it's not true?"
"Well, now, in a sense it is true that I strayed, but only in my mind. I admit I had lustful thoughts, but I never acted on them. I mean no disrespect to the memory of your sister, but she could be very, shall we say, tempting." His eyebrows squirmed like caterpillars.
Kat wasn't about to let the blame fall on Brianna. "And you couldn't get up and walk out of this house?"
"I was weak, and she was a beautiful woman, like you."
"Why did you keep coming back?"
"Because I thought I could talk her into attending church, but . . . the flesh is weak. My thoughts would stray."
Kat stood. "I think you should go."
"You won't tell, will you? I've made peace with myself and my wife, and my congregation. If you stir this thing up again, it will only muddy Brianna's name, and you wouldn't want to do that to poor Brianna, may she rest in peace." Kat's incensed look drove him to the door. "I'll take my leave, then, and by the way, when did you say you were leaving Rosswood?"
"Goodnight."
Grasping his Bible, he hurried down the street, muttering to himself. The man was dripping with guilt, but with Brianna gone, no one would ever know the truth. At least he wouldn't be bothering Kat again.
Kat craved a hot bath with steam rising through fragrant bubbles. A shower would have to do, anything to rinse off the energy of the day.
In bed by nine she woke later in the night from her cell phone tinkling its high-pitched melody. She rolled over on her stomach, plunged her hand into her purse, and fished for the metal object. Maggie had better have a good excuse for calling this late. "Maggie?"
Silence, a twitter of laughter, then "Pussssycat."
Kat snapped the phone shut. The call was a splash of cold water. Wide awake now, she made sure the door was locked. The night was jet black, no stars shining through the branches, only a twinkle of light coming from the direction of the church.
She lay awake in bed, her mind playing catch up with her heart. He'd called her Pussycat, same as the jerk in Seattle. And instead of calling Brianna's landline, he'd called Kat's cell phone.
She checked her cell for the last incoming call and punched in the number. It connected to voice mail.
In Seattle the man never called her cell. His calls were always on her landline; he never deviated. How did he get her cell phone number? Then it struck her. The ad at the post office. She'd written the number on the ad. Unless he'd followed her from Seattle, the man lived in Rosswood.
She let her mind meander further along that line of thinking. If the man was in Rosswood, was he the same one who'd harassed Brianna? If he was someone Brianna knew, why would he harass Kat? It didn't make sense. As she'd told Chance, she and Brianna ran in different circles. Unless the calls to Brianna and the calls to Kat were totally unrelated. But that seemed unlikely. It was too much of a coincidence. The calls to Kat had started up immediately after Brianna's death.
Whoever the prankster was, Kat wanted the calls stopped. If he lived in this small town, there was a good chance she could discover who he was and put an end to the calls once and for all.
Until now he'd been lucky since neither she nor Brianna had caller ID. By calling her cell phone, he was slipping up. The key to his identity lay in finding the owner of the phone number.
CHAPTER 13
Sunday morning came too soon for Kat. She stretched and yawned and closed her eyes again and forced herself to get up. Over jeans she wore another of Brianna's shirts, a gray-and-red plaid wool, hoping to stave off the day's chill.
She'd left Seattle for the purpose of de-stressing, but because of the strange calls and haunting visions--both of which she'd hoped would stop by now--her nerves were still on edge, and she'd lost even more sleep. Leaving Rosswood immediately seemed like the logical course of action, but she had no guarantee these disturbing occurrences wouldn't hound her when she got home.
The first thing to take care of was ripping the ad off the bulletin board. Though the damage had already been done, she still wanted her phone number erased from public view.
On her way outside, a scruffy-haired tabby, a kitten about six months old, dashed from around the corner of the garage and tried to worm its way into the house. Wrinkling her nose, Kat nudged the kitten with her foot. "Go on now." But the kitten stood its ground and wove back and forth against her legs. "I don't have time for this. Go away."
She closed the door, shutting the kitten out. She waited a minute, hoping the little nuisance would run off, but as she cracked the door open, the kitten nosed the gap and mewed pitifully.
Kat set a saucer of milk on the step. The kitten purred and lapped the milk as if it hadn't eaten in days. "I don't even like animals. You be gone before I come home."
While the kitten was occupied, Kat escaped to her car and proceeded down Maple Lane. The organ's punctuated tones, blaring beyond the church walls, reminded her of her conversation with the pastor. Whatever the truth behind his and Brianna's relationship, he certainly wanted Kat to leave Rosswood, to leave his less-than-holy past alone.
As she passed the ch
urch parking lot, which was filled to overflowing, it dawned on her it was a Sunday, and in Rosswood even the post office lobby was closed. That was what lack of sleep and a minimal amount of nourishment would do to a person. Nevertheless, she drove into town and parked in front of Bertie's.
Before getting out of the car, she noticed movement in the side mirror. The girl, Tilly, dressed in the same blue jacket and frayed pants, hovered near the rear fender. Kat rolled down the window and waited for the girl to make a move.
The girl crept alongside until she came within a foot of Kat's window. "Brianna was my friend," she said. "Tim wasn't Brianna's friend."
Kat twisted around. "What do you mean, 'Tim wasn't Brianna's friend'?"
Tilly inched backward and ran behind the car. Kat scooted out to pursue the girl and in the process received a stinging shock from the car's metal frame. She paused, cursing and shaking her hand. When she finally rounded the rear of the car, Tilly had vanished. What had she meant about Tim and Brianna? Hoping to catch up with her later, Kat let it go for now and followed the aroma of fries and bacon into the Grill.
Sunday morning at Bertie's was not what Kat expected. She figured most of the locals would be in church and only a few customers would trickle in for a cup of coffee or an early lunch. But the Grill was crowded and had the usual jukebox blare and click, clack of the pool balls. Up front near the bar she found a small booth.
In her initial sweep of the room, she didn't recognize anyone. Most of the customers were men younger than Kat. When she peered at the pool tables, her stomach hitched. Staring back at her was Doug Jones, the man who'd made the crude remark about her at the grocery store.
She thought about leaving, but Bertie came to her table with a coffeepot, blocking the view and breaking the connection. "You gave a good speech at the meeting." Bertie filled Kat's cup. "You got my vote."
"Thanks, but I think I alienated a few folks in the process."
"You mean Chance."
"Why would you single him out?"
"From where I was sitting, his was the only face I could see that lit up like Rudolph's nose. He must have turned ten shades of red."
"Yeah, well . . ."
"Don't mind him. He's got his views, and we got ours."
"I hope you serve breakfast here."
"Anything we can put in a sandwich."
Kat thought a moment. "How about a little cheese and bacon on toast."
"Coming right up."
Bertie started walking away, but Kat called her back. "Who are all these men in here?"
She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. "These guys? They work for an old rancher east of here. They come in here every Sunday morning, just like clockwork. Some of them are a little rough around the edges, but they pay their tabs."
"When you have a couple of minutes to spare, I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Bertie hesitated, a puzzled frown forming.
"It's about Brianna."
"I don't deal in gossip. No second-hand news."
"I know," Kat said. "It's nothing like that."
"I'll make time after I get a few orders out." She worked her way back to the kitchen and broadcast Kat's order.
Kat savored the steaming brew, richer than instant, but she yearned for a cup of Seattle's Best. To avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially the men, she snatched a newspaper from the table next to her.
Engrossed in the headlines, she suddenly smelled a hint of tobacco. Jeaned thighs butted against her table. When she finally glanced up, Doug Jones was chalking a cue stick and staring down at her. "Play pool?"
She returned her gaze to the newspaper.
"I saw you in Hank's the other day. You in town long?"
She ignored him, keeping her eyes on the paper.
"Thought we could play a friendly little game. Then I could get to know you just like I knew Brianna." He strutted back to his buddies who were hooting and laughing. One of them gave him a thumbs-up.
Kat surged with contempt.
Bertie slid Kat's order across the table and sat down. "What did he want?"
"What do you think he wanted?"
Bertie flicked a look his way. "He's a cocky son-of-a-gun."
"He made an ugly comment about Brianna. Did she know him?"
Bertie folded her hands on the table. "I don't know what happened after hours, but Brianna used to flirt a lot with these guys. I warned her against it, but she wouldn't listen to me. Said she was keeping them happy."
"Did she flirt with him?"
"I guess she did, for a while anyway, until he stopped coming in here."
"Why was that?"
"Not sure." Bertie squeezed her chin and narrowed her eyes in thought. "All I know is about three months before she died, maybe more, he just stopped frequenting this place. He started coming back again a week or so afterward. Don't know any more than that. Is that all you wanted to ask me?"
Kat rummaged in her purse and presented Bertie with a piece of paper. "Do you recognize this phone number?"
Bertie held the paper up to the light and handed it back to Kat. "Can't say that I do."
"Someone called me on my cell phone and didn't leave a message. I didn't recognize the number and wondered if it belonged to someone in Rosswood. It was probably a solicitor."
"Or a wrong number." Bertie moved to get up until Kat coaxed her back into her seat for one more question.
"Remember the remark that was made at the meeting, the one about Brianna arguing with the developer? Were you present when it happened?"
"I was there, all right." Bertie's eyes were suddenly more animated. "It was at the meeting when Wheeler first presented the project to the community. After he finished his presentation, she stood up and lit into him. I'm sure you know how emotional she could be about the things she cared about."
Kat nodded, though she hadn't been close enough to Brianna in recent years to know what she cared about.
"She accused Wheeler of being a land scalper and corporate hog. We didn't agree on this issue, but I had to admire the girl. She had the passion of a preacher. You should have seen the man's face. Redder than the devil. He looked like a rocket ready to launch." She shook her head, chuckling.
"Did he say anything to her?"
"There were words spoken, but I don't remember what," Bertie said. "By that time the whole church was rocking. It was noisier than all get out."
"Did you and Brianna ever talk about it afterward?"
"Not much, but she did say she was going to pay him a visit. I'm not sure she ever got the chance. Well, I've got work to do." Bertie rose from the table. "You take care."
"Thanks, Bertie."
Jones and his friends had already left the Grill, and Kat finished her breakfast with no other distractions. While she paid her bill at the bar, Sheriff Holmes took a stool nearby. She paused, wondering whether or not to mention the phone number since Tim Holmes was the one person in town who had both numbers. "Sheriff, may I talk to you a minute?"
"Have a seat." He turned to Sue Ann, who was wiping the surface in front of him. "I'll have the usual."
Kat perched on a stool and waited for Sue Ann to deliver the sheriff's coffee. "Sheriff, I know about your son's relationship with my sister."
Without reacting, he ripped open a sugar packet and emptied it into his cup.
"Do you know if he called Brianna frequently after it was over between them?"
The sheriff took his time, stirring his coffee. When his gaze met hers, Kat felt the heat. "What are you insinuating?"
Tread lightly here. "I'm not insinuating anything. I'm trying to find answers. It seems she received several calls before she died, and they're still coming in on her line."
"What sort of calls?"
"Whoever it is phones and never says much, maybe a word or two, if you know what I mean."
"And you immediately thought Tim would be the one harassing your sister."
"I didn't say he was harassing her."
"Listen, Ms. Summers, I don't know what you've heard," he said, "but let me set you straight. If anyone was getting harassed, it was Tim. He tried to break it off with your sister, and she wouldn't have any part of it. She pestered him to get a divorce, and when he refused, she wouldn't leave him alone. She'd show up at his place of business and pick fights with him in front of customers. If I recall, she threatened to ruin his business and his marriage." He paused. "Hypothetically speaking, if he was the one doing the calling, why would he keep it up after her death? What would be the point?"
"No point at all." Forget about the phone number. She planted her feet on the floor.
"Next time you go around accusing someone unjustly, I suggest you think it through."
Kat cringed at the lecture, but fought back a snappy retort. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff." She strode out of Bertie's, trading the heat for the much-needed cool air.
That didn't go well. She'd irritated the sheriff, not her intention, but in turn he did paint a different picture of Brianna and Tim's breakup than Chance did. Next time she saw Chance, she would confront him about it.
On Center Street the traffic was crawling along. A truck, older than Chance's, slowed down to let her cross.
After Saturday's meeting she was hesitant about frequenting the general store, considering her and Hank's opposing views on the development project. Though when she entered, they exchanged smiles, which was a good sign.
She left him waiting on a customer and combed the aisles for canned tamales and pinto beans. She found a can of spinach for her token green vegetable. At the counter she unloaded her goods and asked Hank if she could have a few empty boxes. While he rang up her groceries, she grabbed three. One fit, tipped on end, into another.
"You know," Hank said, after she'd returned to the counter, "some of us in town are dead-set against Wheeler's ideas."
Here we go. Time to placate. "I know that now, and I'm terribly sorry if I offended you."
"Uh-huh." Although he seemed satisfied she'd acknowledged his stand on the issue, his smile hadn't returned. He needed time to soften.
Rose from the Grave Page 9