“Well, I like that,” he said, putting on a wry face. “I want you to miss me.”
That gave her an excuse for another tiny kiss. “I’ll try to think of you every once in a while,” she promised, and pushed him laughingly away.
She lingered there on the stoop while he walked to the car port and climbed into the car. She watched him back their four-year old sedan down the drive, then waved at him as he turned and headed up the street. Neither of them, however, noticed the strange car as he passed it. They still had no reason to.
When Tony’s car was out of sight, Kit went quickly back into the house again. There was so much to do, and she wanted to get an early start. It took so much work to get really settled in a new house. There were the drapes, and that furniture to re-finish — she could list a hundred things.
The thought that her hair needed attention, too, stopped her as she passed the hall mirror. She ran her fingers through it. It was getting straggly, which meant a trip to the beauty shop, and she didn’t have time for that these days.
Wait a minute, Mrs. Foster, she chided the image in the mirror. You’ve got a husband to keep interested, you know. Interested not just in his home, but in you too. She surveyed herself more closely in the mirror. Oh, you’re all right, Kit, she thought. The hair is dark and glossy, even if it is a bit straggly. Your eyes are still blue — Tony likes blue-eyed gals — and you’ve still got the kind of pert little nose that is Tony’s favorite kind of nose. And although you’ve been working hard on the house and eating too much at noontime, you’ve still got your figure.
The halter and shorts were such that any figure-fault would have been immediately apparent. She backed up a little for a better look. No faults. No bulges around the bare midriff. Hips slim. Well, she didn’t spend much time sitting down, she remembered.
Like any attractive woman, she would have been content to spend more time at the mirror, but the breakfast dishes beckoned. She went into the kitchen, tied an apron around her waist, and started on them.
At least Naomi Simpson wouldn’t interrupt her dish washing this morning. It was a happy thought, but slightly disturbing, too. She still had the nagging, uncertain feeling that she hadn’t done the right thing about Naomi. But then — what else could she have done?
What it all boiled down to was that she hadn’t been quite prepared for life in a subdivision. Their apartment in the staid old neighborhood had been so different. Besides, she’d still had her secretary job then and they’d led very private lives, Tony and she. And it was awfully hard to live a private life in a subdivision.
Naomi made it especially hard. As soon as her own husband left in the morning, as soon as she was sure Tony had left too — slipping over for that second cup of coffee. And sometimes a third and fourth cup. And discussing all of her business, including even her very personal relationships with her husband. And expecting similar confidences in return. Well she, Kit, had too much work to do to waste time that way. Besides, she had no intention of broadcasting her personal life to the neighborhood.
Of course, that hadn’t been the whole of it — just those early morning visits from Naomi. All the women were like Naomi. Their little subdivision was an isolated sixteen-house community in a completely new, still rural area, and all the other fifteen women had their hearts set on living together like one big happy family. There were the afternoon sessions too — sunbathing on the lawns, drinking cokes and talking about husbands and babies. All very uninteresting to Kit, and all very time-wasting. She didn’t have any babies yet, and she didn’t want to talk about her husband with other women.
So she’d finally had it out with Naomi. With Naomi only — because Naomi was the principal offender as far as she was concerned, and had taken such an extra special interest in her. It had been quite a little scene — two days ago — and she still hadn’t had the nerve to tell Tony.
“I don’t have an hour to waste every morning,” she’d said, “and I don’t want to be part of the afternoon sewing circle either. Just because we happen to live close to each other doesn’t mean we have the same interests, you know. I just want to be left alone.”
She’d been so wrought up about it that she’d gotten kind of nasty, and said things she’d never really meant to say. So she really had no right to blame Naomi for getting mad.
“That suits me!” Naomi had flung back. “I guess I know when I’ve been insulted! I guess I know when I’m not wanted!”
Naomi had stormed out then, and the morning visits had stopped. Which was good, which was exactly what Kit had wanted. Except that she would have preferred to have accomplished it in a nicer way. She had abandoned the afternoon group too, and she was quite sure that indignation against her was pretty general. But anyway, she’d had a lot more time to herself in the past two days — and done a lot of things to make their new little ranch home cozier and more liveable...
When she heard the sound at the front door she thought at first that it must be Naomi. But it wasn’t a knock, and Naomi always knocked at least. One of the kids perhaps. Some of them weren’t too well-behaved. They’d been known to walk into people’s houses just as if they were running in and out of their own homes.
She left the water running, and started to dry her hands on her apron as she left the kitchen. She was all the way into the living room when she saw the man.
She wasn’t afraid in that first second — only surprised. He was standing just inside the front door, gazing around the room. It occurred to her for an instant that maybe he’d intended to enter some other house, and — because the houses looked so much alike — had gotten into this one by mistake. He seemed young, about twenty or so, and rather small. He wore a white T-shirt and dark-colored trousers. His expression was vacant, and innocent of guile.
But it started to change the moment she entered, and he turned to face her. His eyes were very pale, and as soon as they focused on her they seemed to get larger, and to roam over her with frank admiration.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
He looked her straight in the eye and smiled. Then, for an answer, and without saying a word, he reached out behind him and swung the door shut.
“I’ll scream,” she told him. “All the windows are open and everybody in the neighborhood can hear me.”
Fear was somewhere in the back of her mind now, but still not pressing. He was small, almost frail looking and she was sure that in a struggle she could more than protect herself.
His smile faded. With a smooth, unhurried gesture, he reached behind him again — to his belt, she thought — and brought out a switch blade knife.
“I’ll kill you,” he said, “if you make any noise.”
Now finally — a few seconds too late perhaps — she was afraid. She knew what kind of man this was, she knew what he wanted, she knew that she was not bigger than he was. Worst of all, she knew that he was quite capable of killing her if she resisted.
Yet despite her sudden and complete fear, she refused to succumb to panic. She did not know exactly what to do, but she knew that there must be something that could be done.
“My husband...” she began.
“Your husband,” the man said, “has just left for work, and he won’t be home for hours.”
Her throat was so tight and constricted now that she could scarcely choke out any words at all. But she had to try, she had to. “He’ll be back any minute,” she lied, desperately. “He forgot something.”
“What?”
“His... his brief case.”
The man smiled, seemingly almost in admiration. “That could be true,” he conceded softly. “But I didn’t see him carrying a brief case when he left. Show it to me, and maybe I’ll get scared and leave.”