by Rachel Lee
“You have to face him sometime, Esther,” Craig said quietly. “Sooner or later you have to face the bogeyman just so he can’t scare you anymore.”
Sleep captured her then, carrying her away to sunny dreams of a man with long, dark hair and eyes the color of the night sky.
It was nearly noon when Esther opened her eyes. She was alone on the couch, the fire had burned down, and there was no sign of Craig anywhere.
She sat up slowly, reluctant to let go of the cozy warmth of sleep and face the harsh reality of day. Sunlight poured through the windows, almost clear enough to hurt after the cleansing rain.
She’d kept her brace on all night and now her leg felt chafed and sore from the straps. In fact, she felt stiff all over, probably because she hadn’t twitched a muscle since she had closed her eyes. If she had turned over during the night, she couldn’t tell.
But she felt rested despite the grittiness of her eyes and the stiffness of her body. Her first thought was to wonder what had become of Craig. Her second was to check her answering machine and see if Dr. Llewellyn had called with news about Guinevere.
Smothering a groan, she stood up, adjusted her clothes and limped to the kitchen. The note from her father still lay crumpled on the table where she had left it. She stared at it with loathing, wishing she had never seen it. With one stroke the man had stolen the last vestige of her security from her all over again.
Reaching for the paper, she shredded it into tiny pieces and dumped it in the trash can. She just wished she could get rid of her father as easily.
On the counter was a note from Craig saying he would be back sometime in the early evening, but to call his sister if she needed anything.
That was all right, Esther thought. By the time she bathed, dressed and straightened up the house from last night, it would be time to drive into town to get Guinevere. Not enough time to get nervous and edgy.
Just the same she checked to make sure all the doors and windows were locked before she went upstairs to bathe. Bath salts and hot water went a long way to improving her mood, and she decided to treat herself by wearing her favorite lavender broomstick skirt and matching peasant blouse with a silver concho belt.
A little talc helped with the chafing from her brace and made her feel so feminine that she indulged in makeup, a rarity for her.
Downstairs she threw the towels from last night—thoughtfully rinsed out by Craig, apparently—into the washer, then made herself a quick breakfast of an English muffin and strawberry jam.
By that point she was ready to venture outside. It was only as she began to unlock the kitchen door that she realized how much metaphorical girding she had just done, bathing and dressing to the hilt as if that would help her face the day better.
Well, maybe it would, she thought with a shrug. Did it matter? It was nice to feel that she looked her best for a change.
Outside the day was significantly cooler, as if with the passing of the storm last night had come a hint of approaching autumn. The breeze had that cool dryness that contrasted so wonderfully with the heat of the sun. Enthralled by it, Esther paused in the middle of her back yard, closed her eyes and just soaked it up.
Finally, heedful of time, she continued to the studio, wanting to check whether the storm had done any damage. The air inside the barn was unusually damp but there didn’t seem to be any flooding. The large painting of the mountains was still stretched tautly on the frame, although given the dampness in the air she decided to let it dry for a couple of days before she tried painting on it again. In the meantime she could work on one of the small still lifes that she planned.
She took the time to check all the paintings she was keeping carefully pressed in a portfolio, but they were fine, too. It wouldn’t be long before she would be shipping them to Jo who would take care of the rest of the process for her. Esther did nothing but paint. She refused even to concern herself with framing. Others, she believed, were better at those things than she, and to this day her belief had never been tested because she had never set foot in a gallery to see one of her paintings on display.
Another one of her personality quirks. She vastly preferred anonymity, and her fame as a painter interested her only in that it made it possible for her to keep painting.
All of that, she knew, could be traced back to her self-consciousness about her limp and the basic insecurity a person developed when she felt unloved by her parents. Whatever the reason, she was happy with the way things were and couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying than having to meet the world at large.
Satisfied with the condition of things in her studio, she locked up and headed toward town. She needed a few odds and ends from the grocery store, so she decided to go shopping before she picked up Guinevere. Thinking of her dog, she pressed a little harder on the accelerator.
What she didn’t want to think about were Craig’s last words to her. Ever since she awoke they’d been trying to wedge their way into her thoughts. Sooner or later you have to face the bogeyman just so he can’t scare you anymore.
Her hands tightened on the wheel as she tried to force the words away once more. He didn’t know, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly understand. Richard Jackson was more than a bogeyman. He was the man who had crippled her and killed her mother.
There was no way to equate that with the fear of a monster in the closet. No way at all.
Face him so he couldn’t scare her anymore? Not likely. There was only one reason he could want to see her after all this time, and that was to kill her. Just because he was too canny to threaten her on the phone or in writing didn’t mean he was harmless.
And she was so very disappointed that Craig couldn’t see that.
She thought she saw her father as she was loading her groceries into the Jimmy. A gray-haired man stood across the street, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the lamppost. It was him. It had to be. God, he was following her!
Her heart climbed into her throat, and her hands began to tremble violently. She had to get out of here now!
Swiftly she walked around the Jimmy and climbed in behind the wheel. When she looked again, the man was gone. Shaking, the sour taste of fear filling her mouth, she sat motionlessly, trying to figure it out, but her thoughts were scrambling around like terrified mice.
Maybe that man hadn’t been Richard at all. It could have been almost anyone. After all this time she really didn’t know for sure if she could recognize him. Maybe her imagination was running wild.
And maybe he had seen her getting into her car and had gone to get into his so he could follow her. It was a distinct possibility, and one that did nothing to comfort her.
She needed to go to the sheriff, she decided finally. She should have called him first thing this morning and told him about the note Richard had left. There had to be something he could do now that it was apparent that Richard was here.
She nearly dropped the keys first, but finally managed to get them into the ignition and turn the engine over. Then, watching her rearview mirror almost as much as the street ahead of her, she drove to the sheriff’s office. There didn’t seem to be anyone following her.
The Fates must have been favoring her, because there was a parking place right in front of the sheriff’s building. She steered straight into it and parked, then waited a minute or two to see if she saw the man again. But he wouldn’t show himself this close to the sheriff, would he?
Inside, she found Nate Tate in the front office talking to Velma about some vandalism at the high school. As soon as he saw Esther he turned to her with a smile. “Sweetie, you look gorgeous this afternoon. You better stay off the streets or I’ll have to cite you for disturbing the peace.”
She couldn’t even bring herself to smile, and in an instant he was across the room, taking her elbow gently. “What happened?” Velma stood up at her desk and leaned toward her. “Esther? You okay, girl?”
“I…I’m fine, really. Just scared.”
Nate looked
straight down into her eyes. “Your father?”
She nodded. “I had to bring Guin to the vet around one this morning. When I got home there was a note from him taped to my front door. He said he was sorry he missed me, and that he’d call.”
“But you didn’t see him?”
“No…but I…” She trailed off and looked beseechingly at him. “I think I may have seen him when I came out of the supermarket, but I’m not sure. It’s been so many years, but a man was standing across the street, smoking a cigarette, and something reminded me so strongly of him that I came straight here.”
“You did the right thing,” Nate told her. “Exactly the right thing. Do you have the note you found on the door?”
Suddenly feeling stupid and miserable, she shook her head. “I ripped it up. I ripped it up into the tiniest pieces I could manage. I’m sorry—”
He silenced her with a shake of his head and a smile. “I probably would have done the same thing. Don’t worry about it, sweet cakes. Now, do you think you can draw me a picture of this guy you saw?”
Esther felt a burst of hope. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Of course I can!” She glanced at her watch. “But I’m supposed to pick up Guin at four.”
Nate turned to Velma. “Give Jake a call, will you? Tell him I need Esther for a little while so she’ll be late. If that’s a problem, I can send a deputy to get the dog. Whichever is better for him.”
Then he turned back to Esther. “Now you come back to my office. I’ll get you some paper and pencils and we’ll see what you can do to help us find this guy, okay?”
She smiled then, feeling a whole lot better. “Okay.”
As she sat at Nate’s desk with the blank sheet of paper before her, she found herself wishing she had taken a better look at the guy. Now she had only the vaguest recollection, broad brush strokes of impression that her mind was undoubtedly going to try to fill in.
Closing her eyes briefly, she reached for the snapshot that her brain had taken in the first instant she had seen the man. Then, working swiftly, she began to make pencil strokes on the paper before her.
Twenty minutes later she handed the paper to Nate. He studied it intently, then nodded.
“We’ll be able to identify him from this,” he told her. “But you have to understand, legally I can’t touch the guy. I can have my men keep an eye out for him, and I can have them keep a sharper eye on you, but I can’t do anything about this man until he does something illegal. Fact is, I can’t even ask him what he’s doing in these parts. Well, I can ask, but he doesn’t have to answer. Legally, my hands are tied until he actually does something wrong.”
Esther nodded, feeling apprehensive again.
“Of course,” Nate continued, “I could always have a personal word with him, something to the effect that he’d better hope you don’t stumble and sprain your ankle while he’s around, because if anything, however minor, happens to you, we’re going to be looking really hard at him.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t all that she could have wished for, but even Richard Jackson might take pause if Nate Tate spoke to him that way. Most mortals would.
“Now,” Nate said, perching on the corner of his desk and looking down at her, “why don’t you consider coming to stay with Marge and me? Just until this guy moves on. We’ve got a spare room and you’d be more than welcome.”
The offer touched Esther deeply. Tears prickled her eyes and she had to blink rapidly. “Thank you, Nate. I appreciate that more than I can say.”
“Nothing to thank me for. What good is a neighbor if he’s not willing to help out when you need him?”
“Well, I thank you anyway, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. I’ve got so much work to do to prepare for my next exhibition. I can’t afford to let my father interfere with it, Nate.”
He cocked his head to one side and frowned. “Your life is the important thing.”
“My career is my life. Without it, I’m nothing. I’m not going to let him destroy me through fear.”
The sheriff nodded, managing to look at once resigned and understanding. “Sounds exactly like some damn fool thing I’d say myself. Okay, have it your way. I’ll just make sure the patrols run by your place more frequently now, and that everybody’s on the lookout for this man.”
Rising, Esther looked at the sketch he was still holding. “The more I look at it, the more convinced I am that it’s my father.”
“Well, it’s sure not anyone local. I’d recognize him if he were.”
That sent another chill skittering along her spine. That was when she realized just how much she’d been hoping she’d mistaken someone local for her father. “I’d better go get Guin,” she said finally.
“Check with Velma first. Somebody may have already gone to get her.”
When she stopped at the dispatcher’s desk, Velma shook her head. “Jake said you come by whenever. It’s no problem. He also said to tell you Guin’s just fine.”
“Thanks, Velma.”
“No problem. Anything else I can do, you just holler, hear?”
When Esther stepped back out onto the sunny street, she felt considerably better, as if discovering how much support she had strengthened her somehow. Her head was up and her step was light. And quite consciously, she refused to look around to see if she saw the man again. She didn’t want to know if he was there. Sooner or later, it seemed she was going to have to deal with him. Until that time she wasn’t going to cower.
Her newfound courage lasted all the way to the vet’s where Jake told her that Guin was just fine.
“I don’t know what was wrong,” he told her. “She vomited once more after you left her, but she didn’t go into acidosis. When she woke up this morning she was bright-eyed and energetic. She ate a full breakfast and pretty much downed a whole bowl of water. Since then she’s been sleeping, but that’s her normal schedule, isn’t it?”
Esther nodded. “She sleeps through most of the day while I work. Her most active time is in the evening.”
“Well, then, she’s just fine. I can only speculate that she ate something she shouldn’t have, something that was a little toxic to her.”
Guin was thrilled to see her, wagging her entire body with delight and clearly resisting the urge to jump up on Esther only with the greatest difficulty. She leapt into her transport case with undisguised eagerness, and woofed a friendly farewell to Jake Llewellyn.
Jake waved as they drove away. He was, Esther thought, a remarkably warm and friendly man. In fact, now that she thought about it, she’d met a number of very nice, very friendly men since moving here. Back in Seattle she’d avoided men completely, talking to them only when business demanded it. Since coming here, though, she hadn’t been able to get away with that. The men of the sheriff’s department were rather persistent about looking after her, and now her neighbor was thrusting himself into her affairs with all the determination of a knight-errant.
Isolated? Had she really believed herself to be isolated? She suddenly felt an urge to laugh out loud. Since coming to Conard County she was less isolated than she had been at any time in her life. The people here just wouldn’t let her be, and she apparently hadn’t felt any desperate need to insist upon it. The daily visits from deputies had become a welcome part of her life, along with Verna’s arrival with the mail. And it felt damn good to be headed home knowing that deputies would be stopping by frequently, and that in a few hours Craig would arrive.
No, her isolation had been a state of mind, and now that it was shattered, she was incredibly relieved. How absolutely appallingly awful this situation would have been without all this support!
When she pulled up to her house and saw that a deputy was already waiting, she could almost have kissed Nate. Micah Parish stepped down from her porch and came around to speak to her through the driver’s window.
“Nate didn’t want you arriving home alone,” he told her. “Seems you saw your father in town?”
“I think so.”
<
br /> He nodded. “Well, then, just give me the house key. I’ll go inside and check things out. On the off chance there’s someone in there, you and Guinevere stay right here. If I’m not back out in five minutes, get the hell out of here, okay?”
Just like that, all the sunshine was gone from the world again. The threat had never seemed more real or more hideous. There was something so stark about his order for her to drive away if he didn’t come back out.
Another shiver trickled down her spine and she looked away from the house, out over the prairie toward the mountains. They were late-afternoon dark now, almost slate gray. The air was still so crystalline from the night’s rain that the mountains seemed almost magnified, with every detail standing out clearly. She wondered if she could accomplish that effect with her watercolors.
Guin groaned a happy sound from the back, as if she knew she was home and that at any moment she was going to be allowed to run free. Which, of course, she wouldn’t until she was out of heat.
God, had five minutes ever dragged so slowly? Esther found herself drumming her fingers on the steering wheel and tapping her toe. If something happened to Micah Parish…
But nothing did. He stepped out the front door eons later—or so it seemed—and waved that it was all clear. Then he headed toward the barn. Esther considered getting out of the Jimmy, then decided to wait. Someone could be hiding in the barn just as well.
But no one was. When Micah came striding back across the hard-packed earth toward her, she climbed down from the Jimmy and went around back to let Guinevere out.
Guin was apparently waiting for this opportunity. Rather than sit patiently to be leashed as she usually did, she leapt right by Esther, nearly knocking her over, and ran for the open fields.
“Guin! No! Guin, come!”
But the dog barely halted to glance back at her before she dashed even farther away. Esther stared after her in despair, knowing there was no way on earth she could catch the Saint Bernard.
Micah came up beside her. “She’ll come back, Esther. She always has.”