Anne felt the muscles in her face tighten as she glanced down at the message once more. This was a threat. She had to ascertain its source.
But at the moment, Anne had to put this mysterious problem aside and take care of her ordinary business. That was what a blameless person would do, Anne imagined.
The other messages were more mundane. One was from the parents of a student who might not qualify to graduate in May. Another was from the school nurse, who needed to talk to Anne about the extensive time she was having to spend with one student. Anne had also received an invitation to speak at the Newcomers Club, and a request to use the school auditorium for a fund-raiser. Anne had to talk to the parents and the nurse, and she noted that. She decided to accept the speaking invitation. She’d approach the school board about the use of the auditorium.
After disposing of those matters, Anne gave herself permission to look again at the message from her “first husband.” She found she was quite angry. She turned again to look at “Clark.” Over the years, she’d worked out what he’d been like. It had been fun.
“Good morning,” said Christy from the doorway.
Of course, Christy had noticed that Anne had been looking at the picture of her deceased husband. “I’m sorry about the phone call,” Christy said somberly. She clearly mistook Anne’s barely controlled rage for deep grief. “I didn’t know you’d been married more than once?”
Anne considered, briefly and rapidly. She could make up a back story for this first husband — really young, didn’t know what I was doing, never think about it now — and Christy would believe her.
Or she could stick to the legend and hope for the best.
Anne made a quick decision. When in doubt, stick to the legend.
“Clark was my first and only husband, Christy,” Anne said. “I have no idea who Tom Wilson is or why he wants to see me. Or why he’s claiming we were married. But I guess I have to lay eyes on him to find out who he is and what he wants.”
Christy gasped dramatically. “Shouldn’t you call the police?” Carried away by the exciting situation, Christy offered advice to her boss.
Yes, if I were a real person with no secrets, Anne thought. “I hate to draw that much attention to it,” she said, sounding anxious. Anne was sure Christy would enjoy seeing her boss show vulnerability. (Anne was right. Christy was clearly eating this up.)
“Maybe this is someone who’s made an honest mistake,” Anne continued earnestly. “That’s hard to figure out, but I guess it’s possible. After he sees me, he’ll realize he’s got the wrong woman and exit with an apology. Quiet end of a minor problem.”
Very tentatively, Christy said, “You don’t think... maybe we should have the security guard around?”
Delicately put. “I think that’s a great idea,” Anne said. “Paul is on today. He should be outside in the hall.” It would be a cold day in hell before Anne relied on Paul, retired patrolman, to defend her.
“I’ll talk to Paul now. I won’t leave the office until this Wilson guy is out of the building,” Christy said stoutly.
“Thanks, Christy. I guess I’d better get some work done before he gets here.” She nodded at Christy in dismissal.
Christy closed the door behind her. Anne heard the distinctive groan of Christy’s office chair as the secretary settled into it.
Anne speed-dialed a number on her cell phone. “Hey,” said Coach Holt Halsey. “Anne.”
From the outer office, with the door shut, Christy could hear well enough to know Anne was talking, but she couldn’t pick out specific words. Anne knew this from experimentation. Nonetheless, she was careful.
“Coach Halsey,” she said, “you’ll call me a silly bird. But a man who says he was my first husband is going to drop into the school at ten. He left a message with Christy yesterday.”
“That’s very interesting,” Holt said, after a moment’s silence.
“Um-hum.”
“He tell Christy his name?”
“Apparently, I was married to a Tom Wilson.”
“I don’t have a class then. I’ll be waiting.”
“Good.” Anne returned to her work, no longer anxious. Holt would position himself to watch the arrival of this mysterious player. He was the only person on the eastern seaboard who knew about Anne’s past.
Anne DeWitt (originally Twyla Burnside) had been forced into retirement because of a fatal incident at the training course she’d run, which taught intensive survival training for the best and brightest... which could translate as “toughest and most lethal.” She’d been given a new name, a new past, and a job at Travis High School because there were strings her agency could pull in Colleton County. Plus, the probability was low that anyone would recognize Anne in North Carolina. She had a new nose, a new set of diplomas, a new haircut and hair color, a family, and a very different wardrobe.
After a month in her new job, Anne had loved the challenge, to her surprise. She began laying out her personal program to make Travis High School shine. Her high school was going to be the best public high school in the whole damn state.
There was one obstacle: Principal Delia Snyder. Snyder had not shared Anne’s vision. Furthermore, Snyder was involved with a married teacher, and that was bad for Travis High. So Delia Snyder had a carefully engineered tragic suicide.
Anne had many skills.
With her customary discipline, Anne kept her mind occupied until ten minutes before ten. Then she opened the locked drawer in her credenza, removed her purse, took out a Glock and put it in her top right drawer, and returned the purse to its accustomed place.
At 9:55 A.M., Anne switched on a recorder in a drawer in her desk, leaving the drawer partially open.
Promptly at ten, Christy appeared in the doorway. “Tom Wilson to see you,” she said, doing a creditable job of sounding calm. She stood aside to let Anne’s alleged ex-husband enter.
Anne had been curious to see what her first husband looked like. She found herself disappointed. Wilson was about Anne’s height (five foot eight), with sandy hair, black-rimmed glasses, and a slight build. Anne had never seen this man before. Not in this life, or in her previous one.
If Tom Wilson had proved to be a graduate of her training school, she would have had to kill him as soon as possible.
Now she had options.
Christy pulled Anne’s office door almost shut behind her with a last, lingering look and a vehement nod, meant to reassure Anne that the security guard was on hand. The man calling himself Tom Wilson sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “No kiss for your husband?” he said. “Anne, you haven’t changed at all.”
Anne said, “I was only married once, and you’re not him.”
“You’re going for total denial,” he said. “Too bad.”
“Why claim to have been married to me?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d aged.” The smile faded from his face. “You have. I was lying when I said you hadn’t changed.”
Anne shook her head, thinking about how to handle this.
“You’re thinking, How ungallant he is!” Tom Wilson said. “And you’re right, Anne.”
Anne had been wondering if she could break his neck and cram his body into her personal bathroom. With some regret, Anne discarded this idea. “Tom Wilson” needed to leave here in plain sight, visibly intact and healthy. The security cameras had recorded his entrance.
She said, “Who told you to come here?”
“You’ll find out,” Wilson said. “I’ve made friends, see? They know who you are.”
This was his real face: This small man with his bad James Cagney imitation was mentally disturbed.
While she debated her next course of action, Wilson got up and left without another word.