Cheated By Death (9 page)

“It took six years for me to come home to my
children, my husband, but my life was never the same, never as
good. I tried to save my parents and lost a part of myself.”

Her voice broke—her anguish tearing at me.
She stared at nothing, cleared her throat and continued.

“I always wondered . . . did I wait too long
to go? Could I have made a difference some other way? Were their
deaths easier because I was with them—or did I make it harder
because they never knew I survived?”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured.

“There was a purpose,” she said, nodding
vigorously. “I survived. I helped others survive. My own mission
failed, but a greater good came out of it. I have to believe
that—and you must, too.” Her brown eyes pierced me. “Family is
everything
, Jeffrey. Do what you must to protect those you
love.
All
those you love.”

Her words filled me with apprehension—and
determination. “I will. I swear.”

I awoke
the next morning feeling
surly. I couldn’t decide if my migraine was the usual
post-fractured-skull type or that tumbler of Mr. Jack I’d had after
talking with Sophie.

Maggie knows I’m no fun under those
conditions. After a make-shift breakfast of toast and tea, she left
with a feeble excuse about a shopping date with her sister.

To make it to work later that day, I needed
to get rid of the pain in my skull. I swallowed a couple of pills,
heading back to the bedroom when the telephone shrieked.

“Jeffrey? It’s Patty.”

The last person I wanted to talk to. “Oh.
Hi.”

“Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“Just another one of my headaches.”

“Do you think you’ll be better by
tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Aunt Ruby’s having a party, remember?
We all want you to come.”

Oh. That party. Richard’s warning about my
father’s health had finally sunk in. I realized I had a lot of
unanswered questions I wanted—needed—to ask before he died. Much as
I didn’t want to go . . . .

“Okay. Where and when?” I jotted down the
address and the time. “Can I bring my girlfriend?”

“Oh, sure. The more the merrier. Bring your
brother Richard if you want.”

A flicker of annoyance coursed through
me.

“I’m so glad you’ll be there,” Patty
continued. “It means a lot to Dad. Now, don’t forget to bring your
camera.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up, stared at the note on the pad,
trying to decide what kind of impressions I’d received.

None.

My head ached and I crawled back to bed to
hide from it in sleep.

That evening
, the bar was filled with
men whose wives or girlfriends had spent the day shopping, leaving
them to watch football games on the tube. Escaping from leftover
turkey, they scarfed up happy hour wings and pizza.

It was another early evening—only
midnight—when I got home. I showered, sat in my robe in front of
the tube with a beer, letting myself unwind with CNN. It must’ve
been a slow news day. My eyes glazed over during an item on the
state of the Japanese yen. I dozed off, but when I awoke with a
start a couple hours later, the same financial clip was playing.
Though groggy with sleep, I had a vague feeling something was
wrong.

The clock on the wall read three twenty one.
My back ached, either from standing for hours behind the bar or
lying scrunched on the couch. I got up, stretched, and wandered
into the kitchen, trying to pin down the feeling of unease. I put
the empty beer bottle under the sink, went back into the living
room and looked out the window toward Richard’s house where lights
glowed. The place had been dark when I’d gotten in from work.

I grabbed the phone and dialed.

“What the
hell
do you want?” Richard
demanded, before it even rang once.

“I saw all the lights on. What’s up?”

He exhaled loudly. “Sorry. Some prankster’s
been calling and hanging up. Calling and breathing. I was about to
unplug the damn phone.”

“Have you pissed off anyone lately?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.”

“It’s probably just a kid fooling around. Is
Brenda all right?”

“Just frazzled—like me. Why would anyone do
this?”

“Do you think maybe Brenda’s ex—?”

His voice grew cold. “I thought of that, too.
Caller ID said it was a blocked call.”

The answer seemed simple. “Forward your calls
to me.”

“What good will that do?”

“You’ll get some peace and maybe I’ll pick up
something from the caller.”

“Did you ever get anything over the phone
before?”

“No. But there’s always a first time. And if
it’s an emergency with one of your patients, I’ll come over and get
you. Okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Don’t sweat it. Now hang up and do the magic
with the phone.”

“Okay.” There was a sharp click. About a
minute later, the phone rang. “It’s me,” Richard said.

“Okay, it should be set. Go back to bed and
I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks again, Jeff.”

“Go to bed.” I hung up the phone.

Wide awake and restless, I wandered the
apartment, wondering if the phone would ring. I grabbed a writing
tablet, my box of contact prints, and settled on the couch to sort
through the photos.

I studied the shots I’d taken a week before
outside the Women’s Health Center, remembering that I still hadn’t
gotten back to the darkroom to process the last roll. One shot in
particular looked interesting. Though taken on an overcast day, I
figured I could burn in the clouds and—

The phone’s jangle broke the silence. The
clock read three forty six. The phone rang again before I grabbed
it. The caller breathed loudly, in an exaggerated way. I shut my
eyes, willing myself to connect with the person on the other end of
the line.

Long seconds passed.

Was that muffled traffic in the background?
Caller ID gave me a number, which I jotted down.

Heavy breathing isn’t an original idea. I did
likewise and the sound abruptly stopped. The connection broke.

I hung up the receiver, grabbed the tablet
and pen, wrote down the time and approximate length of the call. A
good investigator writes down everything. That I was no longer an
investigator hadn’t dulled my instincts or training.

I sat back, thinking. No insight, not that
I’d really expected any. But it bothered me that someone was
playing this prank on my brother.

Could it be Willie Morgan? After twelve
years, was the man petty enough to aggravate the woman who’d left
him? I thought back to our brief meeting. I’d gotten no
impressions, intuition—whatever you want to call it—from him,
either. Was that why the call had given me no insight, or was the
telephone a poor conductor? One thing was certain, I could never
work for a psychic hotline.

I puttered around the apartment for another
hour, but the phone didn’t ring again.

It was nearly five when I finally hit the
sack, hoping I wouldn’t be plagued with dreams of the dead,
white-haired old man.

CHAPTER

6

“I don’t think those calls were a prank.”

Richard looked up at me from his seat at the
kitchen table. The phone book was open before him. A pad with notes
scribbled on it sat beside it.

“Here’s what I got last night.” I plucked a
sheet of paper from the large Kraft envelope I held, and gave it to
him. “Mind if I bum a cup of coffee? I’m out.”

“Help yourself. How many calls did you
get?”

“Just one.” I got a mug from the cabinet and
poured the coffee, took a sip and remembered they’d switched to
decaf.

I explained what I’d heard in the background
the night before. “I’d guess each was made from different public
phones. The phone company should be able to verify that Monday.
That could make it hard to pin down the bastard.”

Richard’s grim expression hardened as he
stared at the paper.

“Take a look at this,” I said and tossed him
the envelope.

He sifted through the stack of photographic
prints—duplicates of those I’d given Sam Nielsen, only these had
Post-It notes identifying each person. I told him what I was up
to—and why.

“I appreciate you looking into this,
Jeff.”

“No sweat.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you available
Monday morning? I need another favor.”

“Sure, what?”

“Unless they can get someone to cover for me,
I have to be at the clinic every day this week. But I’ve called a
couple of companies for estimates on security systems for the
house. We’re probably the last holdout on the street.”

He was right. Every other home in this
expensive neighborhood boasted a sign for the firm protecting it
from mayhem.

“Has this got anything to do with those calls
last night?”

“Everything. That and the fact Brenda’s ex is
in town. What do you think?” He looked like he expected an
argument.

“It’s a good idea. Amherst may be one of the
safest towns in America, but why take chances? I could handle the
whole thing for you—it would be a piece of cake.”

“Thanks. I don’t care what it costs. I want
Brenda to feel safe here at home. I’m also getting an unlisted
number. Now all I have to do is get her to quit that job. She
respects your opinion. Do you think you could talk to her about
it?”

“Sure. But I doubt she’ll listen.” I studied
his guarded expression. “She’s worried about you, you know—besides
the crap that’s already hanging over your head.”

“Making sure she’s safe is more important
than anything I’ve got going.”

I wondered if I should push him for a better
explanation, but he looked like he didn’t need another problem
right then.

While I drained his coffee pot, we discussed
various security options. It stroked my ego to know he trusted my
judgment.

“In the meantime, do you think Maggie would
let us borrow her dog? Just until we get a system installed,”
Richard said.

I thought about Maggie’s Golden Retriever.
“Holly’s not what I’d call guard dog material. Guard your
refrigerator maybe.”

“She’ll bark—that’s all we really need,” he
said.

“It’s a good idea. Sometimes the best
security system
is
a dog.” I considered the extra yard work
that accompanied a large dog—which would be my responsibility.

He closed the phone book, and put it back on
the counter as Brenda came in with a stack of mail. “Hey, Jeffy,
what’s new?”

“Looks like I got suckered into going to that
party tonight.”

“The one Patty told you about?” she asked,
sorting through the envelopes and opening one.

“Yeah. I’d rather have a tooth pulled.”

Richard smiled. “You’ll survive.”

Brenda stared at the paper in her hand,
suddenly radiating tension.

“Is something wrong?” I asked

She frowned. “Look at this.” She handed me a
creased sheet. A chill ran through me as I studied the one-word
message in large type: YOU.

Richard sidled closer, his expression
darkening. “Who was it addressed to?”

“Me, I guess.” She handed him the envelope.
It said: Brenda Alpert.

“But that’s not your name,” he said.

“Whoever sent it obviously didn’t know she
kept her maiden name.”

“What do you think it means?” Brenda
asked.

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it.”

“Me, either,” Richard agreed.

I studied the cheap business-sized envelope
that could have been purchased in just about any store. A Buffalo
postmark canceled the stamp. No return address, of course. The note
looked like standard twenty pound copier paper. The font was
common, from a computer laser printer, also standard in any office.
Neither the note nor envelope gave me any kind of impressions.
Damn.

“If you get another one of these, wear latex
gloves to open it,” I warned her. “Just in case there’re any
fingerprints.” Or Anthrax, or some other nasty substance manic
pro-lifers have sent to pro-choice doctors and nurses in the
past.

“Do you think this could be something
serious?”

“I don’t mean to scare you, love, but yes, I
do.”

She stared at the sheet of paper, chewed at
her lower lip. “Why would somebody do this?”

“It’s that damn health center you work at.
Those protesters are dangerous,” Richard said.

“We all know your opinion on that subject,”
she said.

“Well, now will you take it seriously? These
nuts have targeted clinic staff before.”

“Not in a long time.” She turned away from
him. “Jeffy, should we call the police?”

“Right now you haven’t got enough that’ll
interest them. They’d rather wait until someone gets hurt before
they waste valuable tax dollars on protection. But I’d definitely
tell your supervisor at the clinic. You’re probably not the first
to get a note like this.”

She nodded and I felt her tension ease.
Apparently being a singular target was more frightening than
sharing that privilege. But how did the protesters know her
husband’s name? And if they did, would using it divert suspicion
from them? Or was Willie Morgan playing games?

“Brenda, why don’t you call Maggie, ask her
about the dog. Maybe she’d bring her over this afternoon,” Richard
suggested.

“Okay,” Brenda said, forcing a smile. “I’ll
call from the phone in the living room—this could be a marathon
session and I may as well be comfortable.”

“I have to go out for a while,” Richard said.
“Will you be okay for a couple of hours?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t open the door to anyone while I’m
gone, okay?” She nodded, gave him a quick kiss, and headed down the
hall.

I waited until she was out of earshot before
speaking. “You’ve got a stand-up lady, there, Rich.”

“I know. Come on, let’s take a ride.”

“Where to?”