Jack Murray, Sheriff. Janice Kay Johnson
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her hesitate to touch it. But she knew she had to answer.
Nothing. The response was the silence she had expected. She couldn’t even hear any breathing. It was almost creepier than an obscene phone call. Beth slammed the receiver back down and closed her eyes, breathing slowly to calm herself.
“Who was it?” Steph asked from right behind her.
Beth jumped, but managed a casual mien by the time she turned. “Hm? Oh, nobody. Wrong number.”
“How come there’re so many wrong numbers lately?”
“Heaven knows.” Beth forced a smile. “I think that’s a pun. When we first moved in here, the phone company gave us a number that used to belong to the Assembly of God Church. We got ten calls a day from people wanting the church. Maybe this is something like that.”
Stephanie nodded, satisfied. “What’s for dinner?”
“Meat loaf. Get your sister, and both of you wash your hands.”
Beth made a point of having a sit-down dinner as many evenings as possible. This was the one time they had together when nobody was distracted by the TV or homework or a friend. Working as many hours as Beth did, and with the girls’ nonstop activities, dinnertime sometimes seemed like a peaceful oasis in the middle of their lives.
But tonight she had a hard time concentrating on Stephanie’s complaints about the science teacher.
“Everybody’s afraid to ask him questions. If you do, he just gives you this look and says you weren’t paying attention. I mean, maybe you weren’t, but maybe you just didn’t get it the first time.”
Beth made appropriate noises of sympathy even as her thoughts went back to the troubling phone calls. They’d gone on for a week now, several a day, sometimes two or three in a row like tonight. She’d hurry to answer the phone, but there was never anybody on the other end. It was dumb, petty—but also unnerving.
Should she get Caller ID? She had always thought of it as a nuisance, when ninety percent of the calls were from the girls’ friends. Some of their parents undoubtedly had blocks on their phones, and it seemed so unfriendly to forbid those calls. Caller ID would certainly stop this silent stalker—but then what might he do instead?
She sighed unconsciously. What if she called the phone company and complained? Hadn’t she read there was another technology that allowed calls to be traced instantly? Would they be interested enough to bother, when the caller wasn’t obscene or threatening?
Beth wanted to believe some stranger was doing this to her and her family. Maybe even a teenager, who thought it was funny to scare somebody.
But underneath she couldn’t help remembering what the sheriff had said. If he got some satisfaction from scaring you…he’s going to do it again. Ray knew she didn’t have Caller ID. Had he discovered he liked scaring her? Only, why would he choose a method so juvenile? Did he just hope to unsettle her, eroding her basic sense of security?
What if she asked him outright? Would he let himself smile when he denied making the calls, just to make sure she knew?
Damn it, she could ignore the calls, Beth thought in frustration. They weren’t what really bothered her. It was the motive behind them. If the caller was older than fifteen, he had to be sick. No normal human being enjoyed scaring total strangers. And if it was Ray…
Automatically, Beth took another bite. The meat loaf was tasteless in her mouth.
Dear God, if Ray was the one calling…
Her mind wanted to balk. Not Ray. It couldn’t be Ray. She had loved him once, married him! How could she not have known what he was beneath the facade?
Again she heard, as though as a faint echo, Murray’s voice. How long will just scaring you be enough?
“Mom.”
Beth tuned in to find both girls looking reproachfully at her.
“Are you listening?” Stephanie asked.
“Yes, of course,” she lied. “But let’s hear about Lauren’s day now.”
Her younger daughter wrinkled her nose. “It was boring. But I forgot to tell you….” Strangely, she hesitated, darting a glance between her sister and her mother. “Well, last Tuesday…or maybe it was the day before…anyway,” she finished in a rush, “you know that man who came to our house when Daddy was so mad.”
Stephanie looked down at her plate. Beth nodded. “He’s the county sheriff.”
“Well, he came and talked to our class.”
Surprised and disturbed, Beth said, “About anything in particular?”
“Just what to do when you’re home alone. Stuff like that. He was really nice.”
Nice. If you didn’t mind being treated like a helpless woman who ought to be grateful for “protection.”
No, that wasn’t fair, Beth admitted reluctantly. He was nice. He’d stopped when he didn’t have to get involved, listened patiently, offered sound advice and never given her the feeling that he considered her to blame in any way.
“I’m glad you thought so,” she said neutrally. She tried to make her voice casual, the new subject not an obvious extension of the last one. “Listen, guys, have either of you talked to your dad this week?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie duck her head again. Stick-straight brown hair brushed her cheek, and thick dark lashes shielded her eyes. She crumbled her garlic bread without actually eating any of it.
But Lauren said, “He called last night.”
“Did he have anything special to say?”
A small frown furrowed her brow. “I don’t think so.”
“Did he tell you what time he’ll pick you up Saturday?”
“I don’t remember.”
Without looking up, Stephanie mumbled, “The usual time.”
“Is he taking you anywhere?”
“He said maybe to a movie. Mom—” Stephanie stopped abruptly. “Never mind.”
“Come on.” Beth reached over and brushed her daughter’s hair back from her face. “You can’t start and not finish.”
Stephanie shrugged, looking almost sullen for a moment. “It’s not any big deal. It’s just… He’s always promising to do something with us, and then he doesn’t. I mean, I’d like it if he’d take us to a movie or Art In The Park or someplace, but he never does. I wish he wouldn’t promise something when he doesn’t mean it.”
“Oh, honey.” Beth reached over to lift her daughter’s chin. She struggled to hide her own sadness. “Have you talked to him about this?”
There Steph went again, hunching her shoulders and refusing to meet her mother’s eyes, as she had increasingly often lately. “No,” she mumbled.
“You know, he isn’t a mind reader. Maybe he’s just been tired, maybe having you at home with him makes your dad feel more like you’re a real family. Try talking to him.”
For what good it would do, Beth thought grimly. There had been a time when Ray listened. Now, it seemed as if he was too self-absorbed to think about anyone else’s feelings. Or was she just being negative, projecting her own anger?
Stephanie shrugged and made an unhappy face. “But if I say something, it sounds…oh, I don’t know, like I’m saying he lied! And it’s not that. It’s just that it’s kind of boring at his apartment, and I wish he wouldn’t tell us he’s going to take us somewhere and get us excited and stuff, and then not do it. You know?”
“Sure I do.” Beth stood long enough to give her daughter a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “But I still