“Becky and I thought this dream was just a simple nightmare, we knew such a thing couldn’t happen. But then it did happen,” Morgan said. “The afternoon and night I was drugged? Sammie, at the exact same time, reacted in the same way; she was groggy, she kept falling asleep, she couldn’t stay awake.”
Lee said nothing. To believe in the ghost cat was one thing, and to know the dark spirit was real, he had learned to adjust to that unseen world. But to bring alive the future as Mae had done, to reach forward into unformed time—that bruised something young and painful in Lee, brought back an unsteady fear he didn’t want to deal with.
“Yesterday,” Morgan said, “Sammie told me that when she dreamed of you in the shop, you dropped your handkerchief on the floor. She said when you picked it up, you picked up a metal nut off the shop floor, that you made sure it was hidden in the handkerchief that you put in your pocket.”
Lee choked, couldn’t swallow. When at last he got the coughing under control, Morgan said, “Come on, Lee, humor a little girl. What can it hurt to meet her, to spend a little while with us next visiting day?”
Lee knew now that he’d better do that. This kind of thing would turn a man crazy unless he knew what it was about.
15
BECKY LEFT THE drugstore at five feeling good after her first day at work. She’d found a bookkeeping job at last, after multiple tries. She liked the people she was working with; she liked the fact that the Latham family had slowly, over the years, established a small chain that gave five areas of Atlanta excellent pharmacy service. She would be paid at the end of each week and she badly needed the money to pay their attorney. The shop windows along Peachtree were bright with Thanksgiving color, a hint of Christmas scattered among them, and the air had turned crisp and chill. She had started to cross the street to the department store meaning to buy some stockings before her last pair gave way when she thought she saw Brad Falon.
Catching her breath, she drew back into the shadow of a doorway. The man moved swiftly away from her; she could see only his back, a slim man, Falon’s height. Same narrow head, light brown hair combed into a thick ducktail. He turned the corner and was gone and she hadn’t seen his face. Had he seen her, was that why he hurried away? She wanted to follow him, but that wasn’t wise. Instead she returned to the pharmacy, stood in the shadow of the doorway for a long time watching the street.
He didn’t return. Maybe it wasn’t Falon, maybe only someone who resembled him. The man had been visible for only a minute, and was half hidden by shoppers. How could Falon have found out so soon where she’d gone? Moving on into the drugstore as if she had forgotten something she smiled at Amy, the small, blond clerk, and went on into the back office. She sat down at her desk, feeling shaky. She stared at the neatly stacked ledgers, at the chrysanthemums that Mr. Latham had brought from his garden to brighten her first day on the job, a homey, kindly gesture.
The Latham’s pharmacies were small shops selling prescriptions only and over-the-counter medications, no ice cream counter, no magazines or toys. The plate-glass windows were kept sparkling, the marble floors immaculate. Near the front door were two benches where customers could wait for their orders. Behind the pharmacist’s counter was a large safe where cash and a few narcotic drugs were kept, a refrigerator, and shelves of prescription medicines. The inner office was lined with file cabinets facing the two desks. Becky’s job was to keep daily accounts for the five stores. Invoices and sales records were put on her desk each night, after John Latham had made his rounds. Latham was a slim, quiet man, with a habit of smoothing the top of his head, where his hair was thinning.
Becky had found the job through an agency after two weeks of looking on her own. She had chosen the agency with the most comfortable atmosphere, and had indicated on her registration forms that she was a widow. Two days later she had the job. The previous bookkeeper, who was leaving to have a baby, had interviewed her, and then Mr. Latham had talked with her. Her salary was more than she had hoped, and this downtown branch was a five-minute drive from Anne’s, an equal distance from the grammar school. Sammie should already be in school, but Becky was still reluctant to send her off by herself. Now, if she had seen Falon, she would have to keep Sammie home.
If he had tracked her this far, he would find the house—or had already found it, was already watching the Morningside neighborhood. Fear and anger made her heart pound. She breathed deeply, trying to relax. She couldn’t let panic paralyze her, she had to think what to do, had to watch more carefully around her, further caution to her aunt and Anne’s housekeeper to be aware, to keep the doors locked. And she’d have to carry the .38. An empty gun was no good, lying in the bottom of a suitcase.
She waited at her desk for twenty minutes, then left by the back door, crossing the small parking area to her car. She drove home to Anne’s by a circuitous route, watching for Falon’s black coupe. The next morning when she dressed for work she unlocked the .38 from her battered overnight bag, loaded it and put it in her purse.
Leaving Sammie at home with Mariol, Becky drove to work, warily watching the streets. Pulling into the narrow parking area behind the redbrick building, she left the gun under the seat of the locked car. Maybe she was being paranoid, carrying a gun, and maybe not. Falon had been in their house more than once. He had killed one man that she knew of, and he had nearly killed bank teller Betty Holmes. He might well have killed her and Sammie that night when Sammie was small, when he broke into their house and Sammie’s good cat attacked him. Sammie was so little then. Neither of them had forgotten Misto’s bravery and the terrible shock of his death.
Could she shoot Falon if she must? Oh, yes. If he came at Sammie, she’d kill him. She had warned Anne and Mariol about Falon, though she wasn’t sure that either one took the threat seriously enough. She had made them promise not to open the door to any stranger and not to let Sammie play outside alone.
On her second day, arriving at work, she didn’t glimpse Falon or his car, and when she didn’t see him the next day or the next, her tension began to ease. Very likely that wasn’t Falon she’d seen, but a stranger, a coincidence not a threat. She had been at work a week when she came out of the drugstore at four feeling good, her first week’s pay in her purse, feeling strong and secure to be making a regular salary again. Things were better at Anne’s, too; something was changing that puzzled her, Anne seemed almost pleased that they were staying there, she wasn’t nearly so grim and cold as when they arrived.
To further lighten her mood, Quaker Lowe had called not fifteen minutes ago, just before she left work. He said he should know about the appeal within the week, and he had sounded hopeful. That cheered her considerably. She didn’t let herself think they might be denied. Leaving the pharmacy by the rear door, she checked the alley, glanced between the parked cars, then moved toward her own car. She unlocked the driver’s door, tossed her purse on the seat—and was jerked backward. Hard fingers dug into her shoulder, jerked her off balance, she hit her head on the door frame. Falon spun her around, threw her to the ground, the rough surface ripping her outthrust hands.
He crouched over her, pawing at her dress. She tried to shout but was mute with fear. When he shoved his hand under her skirt she clawed him and tried again to scream. It was broad daylight, four o’clock, there were people on the street, people in the drugstore, someone had to hear her if only she could make some sound. He grabbed her hair, jerked her up so hard blackness swam, pulled her close, pawing and stroking her. When he leaned down as if to kiss her she bit him in the throat. He struck her hard across the cheek. She grabbed his face, dug her fingers in his eyes. He let go, knocked her hands away, and bent over, pawing at his eyes. Free of him, she pulled herself up into the car, but again he lunged at her. She kicked him in the crotch and reached frantically under the seat, feeling for the gun.