Season Of Strangers. Kat Martin
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ran the length of the house, and the privacy of the property that had seduced her into buying it. That and her friend, Babs, nagging her that with the money she was earning, she needed the tax deduction.
Julie thought of the evening she had spent with her friend. A pleasant dinner at The Grill after they’d worked late at the office, though later she had suffered another migraine headache. It was a bad one, leaving her weak and drained, but once she got home it had disappeared. She had slept for a while, then awakened abruptly from an unpleasant dream. Now she was finding it impossible to go back to sleep.
She rolled onto her side, pulling up the covers, plumping her pillow, trying not to think of the work piling up on her desk and hoping the sound of the ocean would lull her as it usually did. Her love of the ocean was one of the reasons she had bought the expensive beachfront property. She had stumbled on to the place while working with Owen Mallory, showing him a series of luxurious homes, hoping he would add one of them to his worldwide collection.
This little house sat next door to the vast estate he had finally chosen, which meant, at his insistence, she had access to a long stretch of private white sand beach.
Julie fidgeted and turned just as the phone began to ring on the nightstand beside the bed. Sitting up quickly, she reached for it with a suddenly unsteady hand. She had always hated late-night calls. They were usually nothing but bad news.
“Julie, are you there?” Her sister’s trembling voice crackled over the receiver. “Julie?”
“Laura, what is it? What’s happened?”
“I-I’m frightened, Julie. I think somebody is outside my window.”
Julie tensed. “Did you call the police?”
“No. The last time I called them, no one was out there. I’m afraid they won’t come if I call them again.”
“Of course they’ll come. It’s their job to protect you. Hang up and call them right now. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“Julie, don’t hang up. I’m afraid they’ll come if you do.”
Julie’s fingers tightened on the phone. “You’re afraid who will come? The people outside your window?”
“No…I…I don’t know who they are.”
A knot balled hard in Julie’s stomach. Laura had been acting strangely ever since the day they had spent on the beach. Still, her sister lived in a small apartment in an older section of Venice, not the safest place for an attractive single woman. Julie had seen some of the oddballs and riffraff who frequented the zany beach town. She had tried to persuade Laura to move somewhere else, but her sister had refused.
“Listen to me, Laura, do exactly what I tell you. As soon as you hang up, call 911. Make sure the doors and windows are locked, then stay inside until the police get there. I’ll be carrying my cell phone. You can call me if you need to. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Steeling herself against her sister’s protests, Julie hung up and jumped out of bed. In minutes she was dressed in jeans and Reeboks and a navy blue sweatshirt, racing down the front steps and into the garage.
The powerful engine of her silver Mercedes SL convertible, her pride and joy, fired up when she turned the key. It sat next to a nearly new, four-door Lincoln Town Car she used when she wanted to show property.
Julie grabbed her scarf from the passenger side of the sports car and tied it around her bouncy, just-above-the-shoulders dark red hair. Then she jammed the car into reverse, slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, and peeled out of the driveway. In minutes she was flying down the Pacific Coast Highway, headed toward her sister’s apartment, her heart pounding like a drum inside her chest.
She dialed 911 on her hands-free cell phone, confirmed that her sister’s call for help had been received, and hung up, praying nothing would happen to Laura before she could get there.
Laura Ferris finally opened her front door. The officer on the other side had been pounding, cajoling, trying to convince her he was really with the police department but Laura was too afraid to believe him.
She sagged with relief when she saw his billed cap, dark blue uniform, and the shiny chrome badge that glittered beneath the porch light. “I’m sorry, Officer, I was just so frightened.”
“It’s all right, Ms. Ferris. Why don’t we go into the living room?” He urged her in that direction and Laura let him guide her, feeling weightless with relief.
“Did you see anyone? Did you catch them?” She brushed past the big leafy philodendron that had outgrown its pot, and sat down on the sofa. The orange floral fringed throw was a little crooked so she nervously began to straighten it.
A few feet away, the tall thin policeman stood in front of her, a man in his forties, a man with experience, she thought. A man who could protect her.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ferris. We saw no sign of an intruder, nothing at all that would indicate a presence outside the apartment.”
Laura frowned. Surely she couldn’t have been mistaken. She glanced up at the sound of the door swinging open and saw her sister rush in, a small bundle of energy beneath a cap of glossy red hair.
“Julie—thank God you came.” Laura shoved a tousled blond curl behind her ear. “This is Officer—” she read the nameplate over his badge “—Ferguson. He says they’ve checked things out but they didn’t find anyone. You’d think the guy would have left footprints or something, but I guess he didn’t. Anyway, I guess he’s gone.”
“You’re related to Ms. Ferris?” the policeman asked.
“I’m her sister. I’m Julie Ferris.”
“Could I speak to you a moment? In private?”
Julie glanced at her slightly disheveled sister, noticing the pallor of her skin and the tic that had surfaced beneath one dark brown eye. “Yes, Officer, of course.” They made their way into the cozy little kitchen, dodging potted plants and ducking behind the red beaded curtain that clattered in their wake.
“You weren’t able to catch the man?” Julie asked worriedly.
“There was no man, Ms. Ferris. Are you aware this is the fifth 911 call we’ve received from your sister in the past two weeks?”
“No…I…I had no idea. She mentioned that she’d called once before, but I didn’t know there had been others.”
“The dispatch says each call’s the same. Your sister’s frightened voice coming over the phone claiming someone is trying to break into the house.”
“Maybe someone is trying to get in and you’re just not here quickly enough to catch him.”
“Prowlers leave traces, Ms. Ferris. Footprints, loosened window screens, tire tracks—something. There’s nothing of that sort here. I hate to have to ask this, but has your sister had any kind of psychiatric problems?”
A tightness pinched in Julie’s chest. “She’s been to counseling. Her childhood was extremely difficult. She had occasional bouts of depression, but she’s never seen a psychiatrist. Are you implying my sister may be suffering from some sort of mental disorder?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m simply telling you that no one is trying to break into this apartment. It seems to me your sister may need psychiatric help a lot more than police assistance.”
Julie mulled that over. Laura had been acting strangely. “I’ll speak to her, Officer. It was my fault she called you again tonight. I didn’t realize she had done it four times before.”
“No problem. Besides, it’s always better to play it safe. At any rate, good luck with your sister.”
“Thank you.” They returned to the living room. The policeman said his goodbyes to Laura, and Julie sat down beside her on the sofa.
“Feeling