The other night they'd been watching television in bed and she had fallen asleep. He'd been thinking all night about a get-rich-quick scheme that required a million dollars of the firm's money. Then the commercial for the psychic hot line had come across the screen. A crystal ball and the soothing sounds of a woman's voice saying, "Call us. We'll help you with your problems. We'll help you make your important decisions."
In a trance, Harold had snuck out of bed, slipped into the kitchen, and dialed their number. He'd been hooked up with Esmerelda. Harold remembered how he could barely talk to the woman on the other end with the deep, rich voice.
"I'm considering a business investment," he sputtered.
"Invest. Invest. Invest," she'd said. "I see a wonderful aura around you. Brilliant colors. You will be lucky. It will change your life, you'll see."
The next day Harold bought a million dollars' worth of stock in a company that was supposed to release a secret patent in electronics. At three the stock plummeted. He almost went crazy. Instead he called the psychic hot line that night and told Esmerelda how well he had done with her advice. "I want to take you out to dinner," he'd said.
"We're not supposed to do that," Esmerelda had whispered.
"Oh, come on. What's the harm? Whisper your real name and home number to me. I'll call you there."
Esmerelda relented. "My name is Toni-Anne," she'd breathed.
The next day, Friday, he was practically apoplectic. He called her a number of times during the day but hung up when he got the machine. Finally he decided to leave a message, thinking she might be the type to screen her calls. But she hadn't picked up. He said he'd call back later, he wanted to see her that night. He felt desperate, knowing that the firm would discover the loss the next week. He had to release his anger somehow. The next time he called, Toni-Anne answered the phone and he arranged to meet her in the big parking lot at Ralph's grocery store and walk to a little Italian place nearby.
Instead, he persuaded her to get into his car and let him drive her to a nicer restaurant a few miles down the road. When she got in she seemed pleased. But the pleasure ended abruptly when he pulled over in a park and strangled her, dumping her body in a wooded area.
It was all like a blur to him, a dream.
Now, as he lay in bed, he trembled at the thought of the message he had left on her machine. He had to get that tape. She might not have erased it, because he left it only yesterday, and he couldn't take a chance that his voice would ever be identified. As it was, he was nervous about the call to the psychic hot line, which would show up on his telephone bill.
Luckily he had her pocketbook with her keys in his trunk. He'd even driven by her building on the way home.
Harold gazed at the back of his sleeping wife. I did this all for you and now I'm going to end up in prison for embezzling. Maybe then you'll understand how much I love you. How I risked everything for you. Maybe then you'll love me and understand me and stand by my side. But before that can happen, he thought, I'm going to do whatever it takes to get that tape back tonight so I'm not convicted of murder. Whatever it takes.
Ellie had had a pleasant, relaxing day, puttering around her apartment and getting ready for the group of friends who were coming over for pasta and wine. She did some cleaning, talked on the phone, played with her cat, and even did laundry. It was nice to not go rushing around in the car.
She had been in an acting class for several years and from time to time a number of her classmates, anywhere from three to ten, would get together for some laughs and to gossip about the business. Tonight they would be six.
Ellie cut up some cheese, took out some crackers, and put them on the top of the refrigerator to keep them away from Twister. That all set, she went into the bedroom to get changed, passing her new answering machine that was still sitting cm the shelf unplugged.
I'll have to figure out how it works later, she thought. Or I could always get Toni-Anne to explain it to me. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Toni-Anne all day. Oh, well, she thought, I'll probably hear her later.
Harold glanced at his watch. It was 10:00 p.m. Do you know where your tape is? he thought.
"I'm going out for a pack of cigarettes," he said to Co-rinne as the closing credits of the movie on cable came across the screen.
"Suit yourself," she replied, not even bothering to look in his direction.
He got in the car and drove to Toni-Anne's neighborhood, looking for a parking space that was close to her building but not too close. He didn't have to worry. There were no spaces available in the immediate area. He pulled down the block, turned the corner, and finally found one. Turning off the engine, he exhaled deeply. Here goes everything, he thought.
One minute later he was climbing the creaky outside steps to her apartment. Quickly he let himself in with her keys and sighed with relief. His heart was pounding. The apartment was totally still.
Suddenly something rubbed against his leg and he jumped into the air.
"Meowww." A cat was reaching out its paws in an attempt to snuggle with his leg.
"Jesus!" he murmured as he shook the cat off. He'd always hated them.
A faint glow from the streetlight shone through the window and onto the floor. The dejected cat slithered past an envelope that was marked "Toni-Anne."
Regaining his composure, Harold bent over and picked it up. With the aid of his flashlight he read the contents.
Dear Toni-Anne,
Guess what? Elite from downstairs bought your answering machine. Isn't that great? She was so happy to get the new package of tapes too. The old one was still in there so if you want it just let her know. Enclosed is $25. See you around.
Frances
Harold stood there trembling. Oh, God. Oh, God, he thought. Stuffing the money into his pocket, he shined the flashlight around the apartment, then crept into the bedroom. The empty cardboard box for a new answering machine was on the bed. On the nightstand a machine sat, its red light blinking.
He pressed the rewind button, praying that his message was on this machine. Holding his breath he listened to the first message.
"Toni-Anne, this is Ruthie. I found a good scene we can do for the acting workshop. Give me a call. Bye." An electronic voice recorded the time. "Friday. 8:32 P.M."
It's not on there, Harold thought frantically. I called Friday afternoon. Did she set up this new machine after I called? Or did she erase my message? I have to find out!
Stealing out of the apartment, he went down the steps on his toes. Voices could be heard floating from the window of the apartment below.
"Ellie, that was great pasta!"
Harold stopped in his tracks and crouched down in the heavy bushes outside her window. This must be the apartment!
"Hey, Ellie, can I use your phone? I want to check my messages," a guy's voice was saying.
"At 10:30 on a Saturday night?" Ellie laughed.
"Maybe my agent called with a great opportunity. An actor could have dropped out of a film that starts tomorrow…"
"Sure. Go ahead. One of us has to get a big job soon."
"Your machine here isn't plugged in."
"I just bought it from the woman upstairs today. I've got to figure out how to use it."
"I'll plug it in," he offered.
The next thing he knew, Harold could hear the messages being played.
"Toni-Anne, are you there? Are you there?"
Ellie's guest remarked, "I guess she left the tape with her old messages in the machine."
Then Toni-Anne's voice came on. A rambunctious "Hello. Don't hang up. I'm here." It was followed by that electronic voice. "Friday, 4:30 P.M."
"Hey, guys, we shouldn't listen to her messages," Ellie started to say as the next voice came on.
"Toni-Anne, I've got to see you tonight. I want to reward you for what you've done. Your advice was wonderful. I'll call you back later."