Approaching Menace (24 page)

By keeping herself occupied, she was finishing the dresses ahead of schedule. She spoke to Andrew almost every evening, but twice he wasn’t home when she called; Johan offered no explanation. Andrew told Josie he missed her too, but she and her mother needed to work some things out. He said Josie had been extra busy with all the sewing she was taking home, and he’d been helping someone with a major problem with a motor. He didn’t offer a name.

Josie was annoyed and concerned, yet she understood. She hadn’t been good company lately.

She arrived home from work one afternoon with yet another gown to alter and found mail on her desk. A manila envelope drew her attention. Her name and address were printed on it.

Steadying her hands that started to quiver, she opened one end.

A small square of royal blue silk was stapled to an unlined page with words penned in black: I’M READY.

Josie’s throat constricted. Who could be sending this? She recalled the note taped to the backdoor that she’d forgotten to ask Sylvie about after she’d seen Sylvie wearing that new jewelry. That sheet of paper had disappeared, and Josie still didn’t know if it had been put there by a man her mother had started dating. Maybe Sylvie just tossed it as trash.

Josie wanted Andrew with her, but lately he hadn’t seemed there for her. She grabbed the phone to notify the police. Holding it in midair, she considered what she would say. “Two scraps of fabric arrived in envelopes. Do you think someone is out to hurt me?” She lowered the phone.

As much as she tried to ignore what she had received as a teenager’s prank, Josie found herself slipping the scrap and envelope into a drawer instead of the trash can.

She collected donations from people who had called the radio station. They’d heard her commercials about becoming organ donors. Most of them mentioned they’d signed to donate their useful organs when their lives ended. Some also gave money.

Cheyenne Moore looked pleased when he handed Josie the checks. “People are listening,” he said, giving her a wink and a big nod.

“I’m glad. They’ll surely help some people.” She left the radio station praying one of those recipients would be in her family.

Doing something for others made her feel better, Josie saw firsthand. She considered another she might help. During a lunch break, she drove a few blocks from the shop and entered a door marked “AA.” Inside she found the same kind of helpful people she’d seen at Gamblers’ Anonymous meetings. Two of them spoke with her, answering questions and giving her brochures.

Back at Ye Bridal Shoppe she found Eve alone, going into the restroom. Neither of their bosses had returned from lunch.

Josie hurried into Otis Babineaux’s office. She pulled out what she’d brought and left it in a stack on his desk beside a folder labeled Tuxedos. Before she ducked out, Josie glanced around the room she hadn’t entered before, taking note of how every object sat in place. On one wall were five pictures of beach scenes. Unusual, she considered. None of their frames hung askew.

On Babineaux’s wide desk a pen with the end flared lay straight against the shut folder he’d worked on. Two similar pens stood in a leather holder. Adjacent to this sat his calendar depicting more beaches.

He must love the water, Josie decided. She scurried out of his office and almost ran into Eve Walker.

The woman gave her a look with raised questioning eyebrows. When Josie offered no explanation for being in the room, her co-worker glanced in. She peered again at Josie, who gave only a shrug and a smile.

Josie allowed herself to feel good, especially a few minutes later, when Otis Babineaux returned. He strode into the shop with a man about his size also wearing a suit, and without hesitation, guided him to his office. Josie was busying herself near hanging dresses, rearranging some so they wouldn’t be crowded. Through the corner of her eye she watched both men sit.

Babineaux spoke, but his words seemed to abruptly cut off when his gaze found something out of place. He grasped the brochures and slipped them beneath the folder at the same moment his gaze turned to Josie.

She moved away from his line of sight and heard his door shut.

Grinning, she knew as soon as the man left his office, Otis Babineaux would uncover what he’d hidden with his folder. He might surmise but wouldn’t be certain of where they had come from.

But it might do him some good to find the pamphlets with titles like
Living with the Alcoholic
and
Co-dependency
. Josie had been given similar material during meetings that helped Andrew, and they had both realized his new chance for a future.

She left the store at five-fifteen hoping she had helped someone, too.

Her feel-good mood remained while she made her way through household duties and paid bills. Afterward she drove to the supermarket. She was strolling through aisles of canned goods when her spirit drained. She was only twenty-three, for God’s sake. Maybe if she trusted Sylvie to take care of more duties, she would begin acting more responsibly and Josie wouldn’t have to. Josie needed to foresee some future. She hoped it included Andrew.

Arriving home, she was thinking of the note that came. I’m ready. What did that mean? With renewed apprehension, she found a cardboard box down where she parked. Leaving her car running, Josie replaced the box on a shelf and pulled in, wondering if Annie’s cat had been up on the shelf.

With arms loaded with groceries, she walked to the patio. The swing was moving.

A pulse strengthened in Josie’s head. No wind blew. Someone had just left this area. And that person had probably been inside the garage.

Whoever sent Josie the note in the mail might be the same person who’d left that note taped to the back door.

Josie peered across the rear lawn.

Night cloaked the area in darkness. She could see nothing stirring. She studied the row of pampas grasses, expecting someone to jump out from them.

She steadied her bags and turned to go inside.

Maurice stepped up.

A cry left Josie’s lips.

“Watching,” he whispered.

Apples shook from Josie’s bag. She smelled his musty suit and backed away.

“Watching,” he repeated, rushing forward. His arm brushed roughly against Josie’s as he scooted beside her. He ran into the dark lawn, shouldered through bushes, and vanished.

She worked to quiet her heartbeat, watching the blade-like long leaves of pampas grasses. Would he come rushing back through them?

What
was
the man capable of doing? Why did he tell her what he did?

Josie’s legs tensed. A knock sounded and she jumped, looking up at the door.

Colin’s grinning face pressed against a glass pane. He tapped on it again and waved.

Josie smiled weakly, fighting to regain her composure.

Colin. That’s who’d been watching.

* * *

Evening had fully descended by the time the man standing in the dark studied Josie through her mini-blinds. Inside her bedroom, she slipped out of her dress. She shook her arm loose from one strap and then the other. Her black slip fell past her hips. Reaching behind for her bra strap, she stopped, her face turning toward the window.

Surely she couldn’t see out into the black moonless night.

She backed away and yanked her purse up from her dresser. Digging through it, she tiptoed toward the window aiming a can of something. As though she could spray through the glass.

The man ducked away from his hiding place. He flattened himself against the brick wall.

Through the spot where she now pulled down the slats, Josie would see movement. It would come only from branches of bushes since a strong easterly wind was blowing. Even the swing on her patio might be in motion.

Her slats dropped. The blinds shut tight and she spoke to someone.

Her mother must have entered or come near the bedroom.

“I still think he’s weird,” Josie said, speaking louder than if someone had been right beside her.

“He just misses his grandmother,” her mother called back. Maybe they were on opposite sides of Josie’s door.

“I guess he had nothing to do,” the mother said, her shadow moving to just inside the window, where she sat.

Josie asked about the smell of seafood, and the man slid away, enjoying the thrill that tingled in his loins from knowing seconds ago she had feared him.

Anticipation stirred, giving him tremors.

He wanted her now!

He stopped. Turning back, he saw more movement in her bedroom.

I
want to be with you
, his thoughts said to her.

He stepped again to her window.

Inside her room, they both laughed. He didn’t want her laughter. The terror that appeared in her eyes was what he yearned for.

Yes, he could give her that look. He’d let her experience foreboding, knowing she was most comfortable wearing worry.

He raised his gloved hand and grabbed her window.

No
, the voice inside told him.
Not yet. Not with others near.

If he went to her now, he would need to dispose of her family. No major problem, but the killing of her mother and young brother would distract him. He yearned to give Josie his full attention.

“Very shortly, Josie,” he whispered, backing from her window. “Very soon you and I will be alone.”

His hand stroked the fabric. Before long he would know total ecstasy.

And she would experience absolute terror.

Chapter 17

Dr. Hanover had taken a stance behind his client, an attempt to rouse him, but the client stared out, holding the draperies parted. Long moments passed in which the doctor drew in sharp breaths and exhaled. Extra loud, for the benefit of his customer.

Finally the space expanded as Hanover stepped away. His footsteps patted through the room, pausing near those blasted plants. He seemed fonder of them than of what he was doing. Or was supposed to.

“Well,” Hanover uttered, pretending he didn’t care if words weren’t forthcoming.

His patient stared at a sky that was too cloudless and blue. This scene with the sun gleaming held no interest. Not like a day filled with rain and storms could bring.

Again Hanover’s feet moved. He proceeded farther away, probably to his desk, where he’d begin to inspect a drawer’s contents. Tapping began, the nail of his fingers against his desk. The taps stopped. Hanover slammed his desk drawer. “Dammit, talk to me!”

The client shook his head. “Doctor, doctor.”

Hanover stormed near huffing. “Not many people make me lose it, but you—” He caught his breath, apparently realizing how it sounded to have a psychiatrist display his temper. His voice lowered. “I know you’re only meeting a condition of your parole from Angola by coming here. And I do appreciate the distance you drive.”

Again he took breaths. “But unless you talk to me…”

“Yes?”

The client’s response seemed to make Hanover less nervous. “I don’t know how we can possibly help to cure what drove you to do that, back in Natchez.”

A guttural growl left his client. “Ah, Natchez.”

Hanover drew up a chair beside him. Maybe we can be best buddies, thought his client. He envisioned the therapist’s mind working.

“When you were there,” Hanover said, “you spied on women. Am I right?”

The client pictured those women he’d watched from a distance. Then from up close. Attractive. Terrified women.

He saw them, and they saw him. Like he’d wanted Josie to do last night. Like she would do soon.

“The courts thought I spied on them.”

“Ah.” Hanover spoke with pleasure. It didn’t take much to make this man happy. “Jody Matthews,” he said, bringing back memories.

Jody Matthews, with lush black hair and green eyes. Those eyes had such wide pupils once she saw him.

“You were found guilty of obscenity,” Hanover said, “after exposing yourself to Miss Matthews one evening in a parking lot.” He waited and watched, probably hoping for a change of expression. Or maybe wishing he could light up the pipe that sat back on his desk.

“And soon afterward Jody Matthews was found strangled.”

Hanover’s statement drew no reaction.

He went on. “You were also seen by Angela Dirkson, the young woman who shared the same fate as Matthews. Dirkson accused you of stalking her and indecent exposure.”

Angela Dirkson. Short blond hair. Mouth beautiful when twisted in anguish.

“You got off on that charge.” Hanover sounded disappointed. “The evidence wasn’t conclusive.”

He studied more of his folder, and the client ran a hand over his cheek. Yes, it felt clean shaven. He had not missed that spot near the mole this time.

“And so you were fined and ordered to get counseling.”

The client yawned. “Oh, sorry,” he said smirking.

The bleached teeth disappeared beneath Hanover’s lips. He raised his eyes, took a breath, and continued. “For one conviction, you could have received three years of hard labor.”

His customer smiled.
But I didn’t
.

Hanover’s hands went to his face. He rubbed them over his high cheekbones and pressed white knuckles against his eye sockets. “I’m trying to prevent you from doing anything foolish again.”

His eyes opened and once more he attempted to peer into his client’s soul. “What about your relatives? Their feelings about your conviction?”

“Never believed it.”

“Ah.” Hanover pondered that statement while he stared outside, or maybe he took pleasure in seeing the sunshine. “You said that whatever you did came from something that drove you, something you wanted so much…so much you could hardly stand it.”

“The fear.” The client grinned and Hanover’s eyes brightened.

“Yes, fear.” Rubbing his hands together, Hanover asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His patient stared out. All that sunlight needing replacing. “Yes,” he said and then heard Hanover’s pleased exhale. Hanover leaned close.

His client strode out the room and slammed the door.

* * *

Josie arrived home an hour late, making her worry about leaving Colin at the Allen house too long. Mrs. Allen might have plans. Maybe sending Colin next door for her to keep until Josie returned was a burden. “Absolutely not,” LauraLee had said after she’d offered to do it. Colin was getting too old to want a sitter when he got home, she’d suggested. Josie had recently realized that new problem.