by Brenda Bone
“I still have my job,” she called as she slipped on a pair of white pants and an aqua cotton blouse.
“Good. For awhile I was afraid you might be too stubborn to accept your job again and Desi would hire someone else to take Brant’s place at WBKB.”
At the pancake house Lindsay swallowed her orange juice. “How’d you hear about the winner of the contest?”
“An announcement came out in this morning’s paper. Didn’t you see it?”
“No. I hadn’t been awake long before you arrived.”
“Maybe you should take a look at the paper. There’s an accompanying photo of Brant Diamond with the new female station manager.”
“The press already knows about Brant leaving WBKB?”
“Yes, but that’s not all I want to tell you. I recognize his new station manager’s face. She’s the woman that was with Brant when I saw him at the restaurant earlier.”
“Their dinner must have been a business meeting.” Why didn’t he simply tell her this instead of letting her believe he dated another woman? Could it be possible that part of the reason he accepted the job at WQXL was because he might be fond of the station manager?
“What’s likely to happen with you and Brant now?” Serita’s question took her by surprise. “With your personal relationship, that is.”
“I don’t know,” Lindsay said sadly. “For awhile he convinced me that he wasn’t trying to have an easy fling with me, that he really cared for me.”
“Now you have doubts?”
“He treated me so coolly after the contest that I don’t know what to believe. It could be that he felt guilty and irritable after he and Desi exchanged harsh words and I picked a bad time to approach him.”
“Try to talk with him again.”
“No. I took the first step in trying to save our relationship. If we’re going to continue as a couple, Brant needs to make the next move.”
Serita shook her head and chuckled, prompting Lindsay to ask, “What’s so funny?”
“I never thought I’d see you so rattled. Of all the people I know, you were always the one who had the most carefully planned life. Now you act as if you don’t know which direction you should turn next. Never under-estimate the powerful effects of falling in love.”
“You’re right. My life was well-arranged until Brant walked into it.”
“But aren’t you glad he did?”
“For now, sure. Yet if I wind up being miserable because he doesn’t turn out to be the man I thought he was, I’ll regret ever laying eyes on him. If only there could be a written guarantee that came along with falling in love…”
“But there’s not. We all must take risks. That’s how true love always begins.”
“Leaving myself wide open by being vulnerable scares me. Even though I felt at ease opening my heart to Brant, I’m afraid now that his love won’t be as strong as mine.”
“Have faith. Everything will turn out all right.”
This time I’m not so sure, Lindsay thought, depressed.
Desi unexpectedly gave her the night off and she planned to catch up on some chores around the house. Noticing that the cupboard was nearly bare, she went shopping for groceries when the red sun started to set. By the time she was ready to return home, the sky darkened. She drove about a block when she noticed in her rear view mirror that the same car, a tan Toyota, followed her out of the parking lot near the grocery store and was still behind her.
Is someone tailing me? When the suspicious car remained visible in the next block, she slowed down and turned into a lot in front of a firehouse to see if the other car did the same. It went on.
Am I starting to become paranoid?she questioned herself. By the time she arrived home, her favorite TV show was on, so she forgot all about the possibility that someone retraced her path.
CHAPTER TEN
“You just missed speaking with your date,” Danielle informed Lindsay as soon as she arrived at the radio station the next evening.
She blinked rapidly in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“A few minutes ago a man called, and I answered the phone. He asked if you were here, and when I said you hadn’t arrived yet, he told me that he’s your boyfriend. He left a message, saying he’s unable to pick you up after you finish your show, but I wrote down his instructions about where he’d like for you to meet him. Here they are.”
Lindsay took the paper that Danielle offered and glanced at the unfamiliar address. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Danielle looked up from her desk and motioned for Lindsay to sit down in the chair across from her. “You look pale. Are you all right?”
Sitting down, Lindsay stared blankly at the paper, then tossed it into a metal trash can. Questions spun in her mind as she tried to hold onto her composure and not let Danielle see that she was upset. “I’m okay. Your news surprised me; that’s all. I wonder who could have called because I don’t have a date for tonight. In fact, since Brant and I are at odds, I’m not involved with any man right now.”
Licking her lips, Danielle stared at her and an uneasy silence passed between them for a few seconds. Finally Danielle pointed out, “You’ve received a lot of publicity lately. Your picture’s been in the newspapers, you’ve made many personal appearances, you can be heard over the radio a lot at night. Probably you have a fan who’s desperate to meet you or who’d like to date you.”
“Why would he lie and say he’s my boyfriend? He surely must realize that I’d know if I had a date tonight.”
“I hope you don’t plan on going to the address he left for you.”
“No.”
“Good. The guy could be dangerous. If he’s an obsessed fan, he might try to contact you again in the future. Already we know he’s dishonest or he wouldn’t have lied about being your boyfriend. Be careful, Lindsay, and don’t let your guard down because you don’t know what kind of schemes he might try to put into action if he’s determined to be alone with you.”
Rising, Lindsay clenched her jaw and called upon every ounce of willpower she had to chase away the hard knot of fear growing inside her. “I’ll stay alert, but I won’t worry too much about the strange caller. When he sees that his trick didn’t work and I don’t show up tonight, he probably won’t bother me again.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Danielle warned. “Some men like a challenge. Brant’s one of them. Perhaps he disguised his voice and made the call to find out if you started seeing another man.”
Relief filled Lindsay as she considered Danielle’s theory. “Maybe that’s what happened. It seems rather childish of Brant, though, to scheme and go to such extremes when all he had to do was ask me directly if I’m dating anyone else yet.”
“True, but you know how most men are. They have their pride.”
“Right. Well, thanks for telling me all this, Danielle.”
Lindsay managed to push the incident to the far corner of her mind by the time she started her show. When she went off the air, it was after midnight, and by the time she was ready to go home, the clock already struck one a.m. The night air was refreshingly cool and flashing neon signs blinked in every direction as Lindsay walked to the parking lot with Janice, the night receptionist who, with her exotic dark eyes and jet black hair, might have been considered good-looking except she carried about forty-five extra pounds on her 5’4” frame.
“Is it true that you and Brant are no longer a couple?” Janice probed.
“It’s true.” Lindsay hoped that she wasn’t about to become a victim of one of Janice’s long interrogations.
“Then he’s fair game? I’d love a chance to date him.”
Detecting the note of hopefulness in her voice, Lindsay nearly laughed aloud. Somehow Janice didn’t strike her as being Brant’s type. “Good luck with that.” She knew Brant always went out of his way to avoid Janice and he once said that he bet she collected confidential dossiers on everyone she ever met.
“Oh,
darn! It seems like he’s not over you yet. Look at what’s stuck under the wiper of your car.”
The sight of a long-stemmed red rose laying against the windshield made Lindsay’s mouth drop open in surprise. She barely heard Janice say, “Is there a card?”
Picking up the rose, Lindsay shook her head, then stroked the silken petals before she held the flower up to her nose to inhale its heady fragrance. Why did the pleasant scent suddenly make her feel like crying?
“What a romantic gesture,” Janice rambled. “I wish someone would leave a rose on my car. No man ever gave me flowers. My date for the high school prom didn’t even buy me a corsage. You’re really lucky, Lindsay.” Janice opened the door of her little blue Honda and cried out, “goodnight” before she slammed the door shut and started the motor.
After she left, Lindsay fumbled with her key as she unlocked her BMW, opened the door and checked to make sure that no one crouched down and hid on the floor of the back seat. For the first time since she was a child, she felt uncomfortable about being alone in the dark. As she drove home, the tall buildings on both sides of the street looked menacing. The light buzz of traffic along with occasional blaring horns sounded louder than usual. While she stopped at a red light, Lindsay glanced down at the rose laying on the passenger seat beside her. Its perfume seemed so strong now that she imagined she could almost taste its sweetness, but a bitter sensation formed in her mouth. She wanted to believe that the rose was from Brant, but suddenly she remembered that someone sent three giant bouquets of long-stemmed red roses to the funeral parlor when Constance died, but there’d been no card to tell who sent them. Shuddering with fear, she wondered if it might be the same mysterious person that left her the rose tonight. Why did someone—who?—think about her and give her the flower?
Instead of taking the rose home and putting it in a vase of water, Lindsay reached for it, and then rolled down the top half of her window before she sent the rose flying away on the evening breeze. For some odd, unknown reason, she felt much safer after she threw the rose out of her car.
“Aren’t you ready yet, Lindsay?” Serita paced back and forth in Lindsay’s kitchen the next afternoon. “We’ll be late for the movie if you don’t hurry.”
“Give me a minute.” Lindsay entered her bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser to take out an envelope where she kept extra money. She slipped a few bills into her wallet, then laid the envelope back in the drawer, but she noticed that her journal in which she often recorded her private thoughts or anything else that she wanted to remember was missing. Not feeling it in the left-hand corner where she always kept it, she rummaged through everything—loose papers, jewelry, nail polish bottles—in the drawer. It wasn’t there. Opening the second drawer, she hoped that she absent-mindedly misplaced it, but this wasn’t the case. Her heart pounded faster and she felt dizzy as she faced the distinct possibility that someone invaded her bedroom, snooped through her personal belongings and removed the journal without her knowledge.
“Lindsay, it’s getting late,” Serita called as she started down the hall. She approached Lindsay, who sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“I suspect that someone has been in my bedroom and stole my journal.”
“Maybe the thief that stole your computer and other items earlier took the journal, too.”
Lindsay shook her head. “It was here after the burglary.”
“Is anything else missing?”
“I don’t think so. The money I keep at home for an emergency was tucked away inside an envelope that was beside the journal. The money is just as I left it.”
“Odd,” Serita remarked. “Want me to help you look for the diary?”
“No, thanks. The book is gone. I sense strongly that someone skulked through my bedroom and pawed through my private things. I just started to feel comfortable at my house again after the robbery, and now this is happening to make me nervous again. Maybe I should consider moving.”
“What kind of things did you write in the journal? Nothing too personal, I hope.”
“Nothing too private is in the diary. Birthdays, appointments, other reminders.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Serita advised, “but change your locks and boost your home security, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good idea. Do you mind if I cancel out on going with you to the movies? Suddenly I don’t feel in the mood for entertainment.”
“You don’t look well all of a sudden. Maybe you should stay home and rest.”
After Serita left, Lindsay tried taking her advice and attempted to catch a short nap, but sleep eluded her. Someone stalked her; she felt sure of it. Why? Fright swept through her as she recalled the many strange incidents—finding the rose, the missing journal, the mysterious phone call. As soon as she could afford it, she decided, she’d begin looking for a new house where she felt safer. Too often lately, she felt as if she were in danger at her own house, so she was determined to find a way to get rid of the fears that kept her tossing and turning at night.
I need out of here soon, she thought, before something worse happens.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Lindsay, we meet again! How are you?” Ariel Cash appeared around the paint aisle of the hardware store where Lindsay picked up a bristle brush.
“Fine, thanks,” Lindsay murmured. “And you?”
“Great!” Ariel’s face lit up when Rafe appeared suddenly and she took his hand in hers.
They must be dating now, Lindsay assumed, guessing that they probably revived their old relationship at the class reunion. She remembered that they made a popular couple during Constance’s sophomore year.
“It’s nice seeing you again, Lindsay,” Rafe said.
“Same here,” she returned.
Ariel inhaled deeply and commented, “Ah! I love the smell of lumber. It makes me think of new houses, and to someone like me who spent too many years living in a one bedroom apartment, it starts one thinking about finally putting down some roots.” Ariel smiled sweetly in Rafe’s direction, but he appeared to be in deep thought.
“If you’ll both excuse me, I need to look at some new tools,” he told them.
“Of course,” Ariel said. “Take all the time you need.”
Rafe disappeared into the next aisle close to where two workmen hammered nails in a sheet of plywood as they hurriedly fashioned a temporary display counter. Lindsay stepped back a short distance to assure that she wasn’t standing in their way. From this position, she saw Rafe stare intently at the large sign that warned customers to be cautious in the section being repaired.
“You should see the gorgeous dress I bought at that cute new boutique down the street,” Ariel prattled on to Lindsay.
Before Lindsay could think of a polite comment, she saw Rafe stumble on the make-shift step and fall to the floor. He held his right arm in front of him, then she noticed a crimson trail of blood slowly running down from his elbow to his wrist.
“Rafe might be hurt,” Lindsay observed. “We’d better go over to help him.”
“What happened?” Ariel rushed down the aisle toward Rafe, who was still sprawled on the floor.
“I wasn’t paying attention and fell down the step,” he explained. “Clumsy of me!”
Recalling that she saw him gaze at the sign a few moments ago, Lindsay wondered if he staged the accident. Why would he purposely try to hurt himself, or would he? Her mind wandered back to the time when he played football in high school. She remembered one game when Rafe lay injured on the field for several minutes. When he finally rose, after the doctor examined him, the anxious crowd cheered wildly. Rafe seemed to enjoy the attention, going on to score the winning touchdown. A similar incident occurred later during the season. Lindsay recalled hearing Constance’s friends talking about the other members of the team that claimed Rafe hadn’t actually been injured. They insisted that he seized an opportunity to gain
the sympathy of the crowd.
By this time, several curious customers gathered around the area and the nervous-looking store manager tried to make sure Rafe was fine. “I’m okay,” Rafe assured him. “Really, I’m not hurt except for this minor cut on my arm. I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
“See you later, Lindsay,” Ariel said as she and Rafe headed for the check-out counter.
“Take care,” Lindsay called after them.
A few days later Lindsay encountered her plump, gray-haired neighbor along the street as they each picked up their mail. “Hello, Mrs. Lawrence.”
“Lindsay! Mr. Hall over on the next block told me there has been a rash of incidents concerning a prowler in our neighborhood during the past few weeks.” Through Mrs. Lawrence’s dark-framed glasses Lindsay saw concern in her narrow blue eyes as she continued to speak in a voice tinged with worry. “Since your home was burglarized, I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes. What happened?” It was a strange mixture of dread, curiosity and alarm that crept over Lindsay.
“A Peeping Tom looked through people’s windows, but so far every time anyone caught him and started outside after him, he ran away on foot and escaped. Some neighbors contacted the police, but they haven’t identified the culprit yet. The only clue they have is that he leaves dried rose petals along the front walks of the houses where he chooses his ‘prey.’”
The mention of roses made Lindsay’s stomach lurch. She had no proof, but her instincts told her that the prowler was probably the same person that left the rose on her car. “Except for the robbery, I haven’t seen anyone suspicious around my house,” she reported, “but I’ll watch for anyone that doesn’t appear to belong around here. You be careful, too, and if there’s anything you need, call me at home or at the radio station.”
“Thank you, dear. Since I live alone, I sometimes worry who I could call if I have an emergency. I’ll let you know if I hear more.”