“Did you call the cops?”
“What good would that do? He was gone before I could even get to the phone. Besides, the police would only blame the blacks.”
“Why would they do that?”
“There’s a black housing project up on Mount Ida Drive. Lots of low-income black families, lots of crime. The police are always over there about something.”
“This prowler you had, were you able to see him well enough to—”
“He was white. It never crossed my mind that he might be some local kid. Maybe I couldn’t see him well enough to identify him, but there was moonlight, like tonight. I know what I saw.”
“Anything else?”
“You mean other incidents? No, nothing that obvious.”
“Anything at all.”
“Like I told you, I’ve been restless for about a week. Actually, it’s been more than a month now, but for the past week since I talked to you it’s been more…intense. I’m not sleeping well, and that’s unusual. I wake up after a few hours with a feeling that my life’s been invaded. That probably makes no sense at all and I can only tell you that it makes as much sense to me as seeing that man in the yard. I’ll get up at, say, two o’clock in the morning and go straight to the back door, as if someone had knocked on it.”
“But there’s never anyone there.”
“Except that one time, no. But on Tuesday…” She shivered suddenly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I felt it just now. It’s probably talking about it that gives me the creeps.” She got up and went to the window. “See? Nobody there.”
She came back and sat in her chair, but I could see she was still nervous.
“You were about to tell me what happened Tuesday.”
She smiled wanly. “You’re pretty serious with your questions. Almost like a policeman yourself.”
“I was one, for a long time.”
I told her a bit about it, hoping to gain her confidence. Then I asked her again what had happened on Tuesday.
“I went to the store out on the highway to get some groceries. I was gone maybe an hour. When I got home I had a feeling even before I got out of the car. Like, somebody’s here, only it was stronger than just a feeling. For a few minutes I was absolutely certain someone was in my house. I sat in the car for a long time, working up the courage to go inside. When I finally did, there was nothing…and yet the feeling wouldn’t go away.” She looked at the window. “Obviously it never has gone away. I still have it.”
“Did you look through your stuff to see if anything was missing or out of place?”
“I looked through everything. If I’d had a burglar, he was a very good one. Nothing was missing. And the first thing I did was look at the Burton material.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I had a hunch. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I follow my hunches.”
“So you thought all along that this had something to do with Burton and Josephine. Is that what you’re saying?”
“There’s more to it than that. Did Jo tell you about the Tread-wells?”
“She said one of the old Treadwells stole her Burton books eighty years ago.”
“She always believed that. One of the first things that came out of our sessions was the name Treadwell. I was surprised to learn about that store, how it’s still in business, and Jo was haunted by it. I don’t think that’s too strong a word—she was just haunted by the idea that something they did all those years ago might have had such a negative effect on her life. It became such an obstacle that I knew we’d have to confront it, so one day I suggested that we go down there and see the place, look around. She leaped at the chance. I never thought we’d be in any kind of danger.”
“So what happened?”
“One afternoon we went and at first it was just what I thought— a look around. She had me carry her bag, which was heavy. I didn’t know what was in it then. There was a woman running the place. Jo asked if the Treadwells still owned it and the woman said yes. Jo asked if she could speak to them, and a minute later a man came out of the office.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Small…cold.”
“Carl.”
“You know him?”
“I’ve seen him—talked to him, so to speak.”
“Well, at that point I didn’t know what was going to happen, what she was going to do. ‘Show him my book,’ she said, and I looked in the bag and there was this exquisite old book—it turned out to be the African book. I was as surprised as Treadwell; I had no idea she had anything like that. ‘What’ll you give me for this?’ she said, and Treadwell got all shaky and tense. I mean, truly, you could see it all over him. ‘Where’d you get this book?’ he said, and it was almost like an accusation. ‘What’ll you give me for it?’ Jo said again. He looked at her hard, like he was trying to size her up. Then he said, ‘Two thousand.’ Jo smiled. It was a bitter smile, not funny, and she said, ‘I thought so. You’re still a den of thieves.’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. But what happened then still shivers my timbers. He reached over and put his hand on the book and said, ‘I’ve got to tell you something: this looks like a stolen book to me. I’ll have to confiscate it till we learn where it came from.’”
“Wow. Then what happened?”
“I snatched it away from him. Said, ‘Don’t you even think of trying to take this lady’s book. I’ll go to the cops so fast it’ll make your head swim.’”
“What’d he say to that?”
“Nothing. I put the book back in the bag and we walked out. But he saw us drive away, got a good look at my car.”
“And maybe the plate number. So was that when…” “That’s when it started—that spooky feeling I had. For a while I thought it was just nerves, but I’m not usually like that.”
“So that day, when you went to the store, you had good reason to worry about your Burton stuff. But nobody had touched it?”
“I have it well hidden.”
“Here in the house, though, right?”
She took her time answering that. At last she said, “If somebody wanted to tear the house apart, he could find it. Whoever was here had decided—at least for the moment—not to do that. He wanted to keep me thinking no one had been here. I don’t know how he could even get in without breaking something, but somebody was here. That’s what I think, since you asked. I think someone was here. And he looked through my Burton books, the ones on the open shelf. He went through my things, then very carefully he put them all back. Then he left, just a few minutes before I got home. But his aura—his heat—was still here. That’s what I think.”
She looked at me hard. “What do you think? And don’t humor me.”
“No, I think that’s all very possible. People can get into houses— I could pick this lock myself. So I think you’d better get that stuff, wherever it is, and get it the hell out of here. Make copies. Put it in a safe deposit box. You might not be so lucky next time.”
She nodded. “I hear what you’re saying.”
“Good. So what’d you do after the prowler came?”
“I bought a gun.”
I felt my backbone stiffen. “What kinda gun?”
“Little thirty-eight. I had it in my hand when you came to my door.”
“Where is it? Can I see it?”
“Why?”
“No reason. Forget I asked if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, I’m fine with you.” She unfolded her shawl, took out a wicked-looking snub-nose, and put it in my hand. “It’s loaded.”
“I see that. No offense, but do you happen to know how to use this thing?”
“The man who sold it to me told me a few things. About the safety lock or whatever you call it. Other than that, what’s to know? You cock it, point it, and make someone very sorry he’s come into your house.”