"When... will it be time?"
"From now on we will watch the house every night. The first time they leave the boy alone, you will kill him."
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Mr. Bjorklund shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm sorry," he said.
Karyn waited for a moment for him to say something more. When he didn't she looked down at the long wooden counter between them. There, each in its familiar pot, were her three plants. They were barely recognizable. The fern and the spider plant were yellow-brown, shriveled and ugly, dead, ropy things that had nothing to do with the vibrant living greenery they had been. Only the tough philodendron had not given up. With the tenacity of the dying it clung to the mossy post, but its leaves were pale and sickly, splotched with brown like the hands of old people with liver spots.
"I'm afraid they're goners." Mr. Bjorklund said. "There was nothing I could do."
"Thanks, anyway," Karyn said dully.
"What have you been feeding them?"
Karyn looked up at him curiously. "I didn't feed them anything, except what you gave me. I kept them in the soil you blended for me, and I was very careful about watering them."
"Somebody fed them," The nurseryman said. "They've been poisoned."
Karyn stared at him.
"I ran a test on the soil in all three pots. Each one is saturated with enough herbicide to kill a Douglas fir."
"That isn't possible."
Bjorklund shrugged again. "All I can tell you is what the tests showed."
"Is there some way the herbicide could have got into the soil accidentally?"
"Nope. It was added to the soil deliberately and carefully. The concentration was heaviest right down around the roots. The way I figure it, somebody jammed the nozzle of a plastic squeeze bottle down in there and pumped the stuff in."
"Why would anybody want to do that?"
"You tell me."
Karyn looked down again at the sorry shriveled things that had been her plants. "Then they're all... dead?"
"As last winter's corsage," he said. "The philodendron might hang on for a while if we transplant it into some rich new soil and feed it special nutrients, but if you want my opinion, it's a goner too. I'll try to save it if you want me to."
"No," Karyn said abruptly. "No, never mind." She turned and started for the door.
"How about replacements?" Bjorklund called after her. "I can fix you up with three nice healthy plants."
"No, thank you."
"What about these pots? They're yours."
"You keep them," Karyn said without looking back. "I have no more use for them."
The house in Mountlake Terrace seemed painfully empty. Karyn wandered around restlessly, then stopped short as she realized she was avoiding the family room. That was where her plants had been.
For God's sake, they were only vegetables! she reminded herself. And yet she had to admit now that they had come to mean much more to her. Far too much.
She saw the absurdity of her feelings, but seeing it did nothing to lessen her sense of loss. The plants had been hers, and hers alone, and now they were dead. Murdered, if it was accurate to say a plant had been murdered. Who would do a thing like that? And why? It had to be someone who was trying to get at her. The someone who was in her house the other night?
She put aside the suspicions forming in her mind when David came home. She told him briefly that her plants had died, without going into details. There was no way to tell him without sounding more paranoid than ever.
David was very kind. Sensing her mood, he put an arm around her and patted her gently. "You know something, we haven't been out together for a long time," he said. "What do you say we have dinner tonight at Teagle's?"
"But you have to work tomorrow."
"So I'll go in a little late. The business will hold together. How about it?"
"I'd like it," Karyn said. "Very much."
David gave her hand a squeeze. "It will be good for you to get out of the house."
Mrs. Jensen came in and cleared her throat to get their attention. "Will you be wanting an early dinner tonight?" she said.
"We're going out," David told her. "Just make something for Joey."
The housekeeper nodded and turned to leave.
"Oh Mrs. Jensen," David called her back. "There was a ladder left leaning up against the back of the house the other day. I had to put it away."
Karyn looked up quickly. "A ladder?"
Mrs. Jensen made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Ah. That would have been one of Joey's little friends. The Kelly boy."
"I wish Joey would tell his friends to leave things in the garage alone. Or at least put them back when they're finished."
"I'll speak to him about it," Mrs. Jensen said.
It was warm in the house, but Karyn caught herself shivering as though she was caught in a cold draft.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
At first the idea of getting dressed and going out had seemed hardly worth the trouble to Karyn. It could not change anything. Still, it was sweet of David to make the effort to please her, so she went along with it. However, as she sat before her dressing table applying a touch of pale pink lipstick, she found she was truly looking forward to a night out. As David said, it had been a long time.
She stood up a looked herself over in the mirror on the closet door. The long dress clung nicely, flattering her trim figure. Not bad, she decided, for a neurotic lady closing in on thirty. She added a final dab of perfume and went downstairs to where David was waiting.
Mrs. Jensen went to the front door with them as they left.
"We may be home late," David said. He turned to smile at Karyn. "We might decide to go out dancing somewhere after dinner."
Karyn returned his smile.
"I won't wait up, then," Mrs. Jensen said.
"You'll see that Joey gets to bed on time?" Karyn said.
Mrs. Jensen gave her a brief smile that said she had been taking care of Joey before Karyn got there, and could handle it very well now, thank you.
David gave Karyn his arm, and they followed the flagstone walk around to the garage. Halfway there, Karyn pulled up. Had she seen something move in that white Ford parked up the block? Whose car was that, anyway? She was sure it did not belong to any of the neighbors.
"Is something wrong?" David said.
"Nooo," she said slowly. Then more emphatically. "No. I just caught my heel on the edge of the stone. Let's go."
There was nothing moving in the white car now. Probably she had imagined it. The Ford most likely belonged to someone visiting the neighbors. No point in mentioning it to David and getting their evening off to an uncomfortable start.
Mrs. Jensen watched from the doorway as the Richters drove off. It was high time they had an evening out together, she thought. Much of the time she felt Mr. Richter worked too hard. And Mrs. Richter, well, she had her own problems. She closed the door and went inside.
She let Joey stay up to watch Charlie's Angels, which he said he enjoyed because of the pretty girls. Mrs. Jensen left him to enjoy the girls alone while she went to her own room to watch an old Bette Davis movie on another channel. At ten o'clock she sent Joey up to bed, ignoring his pleas to watch Baretta. When the boy was tucked in, Mrs. Jensen resumed watching her movie on the larger set in the Richters' family room.
The movie ended and the eleven o'clock news came on. Mrs. Jensen got up and switched off the set. They never had anything but riots and killings and plane crashes on the news. Mrs. Jensen figured there was enough violence and unhappiness in a person's everyday life without watching film of it every night on the news before you went to bed. She went back to the little bathroom off her room and began brushing out her hair.