Ann sometimes resented the way Karen made everything out to seem so logical. She took a deep breath and said, “Okay, Karen. You’ve made your point. I guess when you put it that way it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. I’ll give it some serious thought-I promise. But don’t get on my case if I don’t go through with it.”
“Ann, I would never pressure you over anything like this and you know it. I’m just trying to encourage you a little-God knows you need encouragement! One last thing before I drop the subject. It won’t hurt anything if you just call this guy and talk to him, just like he suggested. You know-get to know him a little bit and play it by ear. Then, if it looks good, go ahead and let him take you out. If he sounds like a creep, then just ditch him. Simple as that.”
Ann sighed. “I guess you’re right; it’s not like I have to go out with him, right? I could just call and talk to him, being careful not to tell him my last name or anything else that might enable him to find out my phone number or where I live. Then just take it from there. Actually, he didn’t remind me of the type who would hassle me-he was really sweet… Okay. I just might do it! But I’m still going to think about it first.”
“Great! Promise me you’ll let me know the scoop if and when you do call him, okay?” Karen said.
“I will,” Ann replied. “How was the movie, by the way?”
“Pretty stupid, really. We went to see one of those sci-fi action movies-Bill loves them-and I fell asleep. Dinner was nice, though. We went to Angelino’s.”
“I’ve heard that was a pretty decent restaurant.”
“It’s fantastic. Maybe if you hook up with this Jerry fellow, we can double sometime.”
Ann chuckled. “You are unbelievable, Karen!”
“I know it. Well, hon, I’d better let you go. If I don’t talk to you in the meantime, I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
“Okay, Karen. And thanks, again.”
“No problem. Bye.”
Ann hung up the phone and sat for a moment, thinking about what Karen had said. Maybe she was right, she thought. It wouldn’t hurt just to call Jerry Rankin up someday and chat with him. She might even be glad she’d followed through with it.
But right now she had a more important call to make. She stood up and went over to the refrigerator where the card with the emergency numbers was stuck to the door by a pear-shaped magnet, and carried it back over to the phone. Then she dialed the number for the Woodcrest Police Department.
CHAPTER 6
Sam stared blankly out the window at the frost on the ground, the morning rays of sun just now beginning to melt it away. As he leaned over the kitchen sink, he felt a relentless throbbing in his head and wished to hell the coffee would finish brewing and the aspirins he’d taken would start kicking in. He had a hangover of mammoth proportions.
He hadn’t tied one on in a long time. In fact, the last time he’d gotten that shit-faced was the last day he’d stayed over at Roger’s place. Since then, he’d kept sober for the most part-no more than a couple of beers before going to bed. Roger Hagstrom couldn’t stop at two drinks to save his life.
Sam had acquired this little house out in the sticks for a number of reasons. He knew he could never go back to the one he and his family had lived in before-the memories and the ghosts would have made it unbearable. It had been a handsome house-an old Cape Cod on the north end of town that he’d renovated exactly to his and Ann’s specifications. It had been their dream house, and they’d spent nearly as much money over the years making it everything they’d ever wanted as they had on the original mortgage.
Once the divorce proceedings began, he’d moved in with Roger until he could find another place to live. He had learned about this humble abode from one of the employees in the advertising department at the Observer, and had driven out here to the rural countryside to check it out. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on the little cottage nestled in a hollow between two steep hillsides, he knew he wanted it. The asking price was a steal, especially taking into account that the deed included ten acres of nicely wooded land. But the house had been in bad need of repair. This hadn’t been a problem though, he had in fact looked forward to a project that would help take his mind off the divorce.
It was secluded here, and he liked that. The only thing standing between his house and Route 52 was his land and the road linking them together; a quarter mile of winding, bumpy terrain. His closest neighbor was over two miles away, as was the nearest convenient store-the only drawback to the whole arrangement. But he’d learned to deal with it.
The coffee maker fell silent. He took a mug out of the cupboard, filled it up, and carried it with him into the den. Plopping down on the sofa, he took a cigarette out of the pack lying on the coffee table and lit it up before stretching out his long legs.
Sam spent a lot time in this room. Not only was it bright and sunny, it afforded the best view in the house. Outside he could see the brightly colored leaves on the trees that sprawled up the north slope of the hillside and the winding creek that cut between the hills through his backyard, forming a natural boundary between his property and the state forest. He peered across the room at the typewriter on top of his cluttered desk. He had purposely left the last page of his manuscript he’d worked on in the carrier as a constant reminder of yet another ambitious project he’d started up and never finished, hoping that some day he would feel the inspiration to take up where he’d left off. Then he thought about Marsha Bradley’s murder and the article he had to write for Monday’s paper, realizing that his book would remain pigeonholed for at least one more day. Perhaps even forever…
His thoughts shifted to Ann and Amy, wondering what they were doing that very moment. Amy would no doubt still be asleep, he thought with a grin. Ann would be awake though-she was an early riser. He recalled how she was always the first one up in the morning when they were still married, how the coffee would already be brewed, and the way she would be puttering around in the kitchen when he would finally saunter in, still half asleep. And never once had she failed to greet him with her familiar bright smile and cheery, “good morning, dear…”
Sam closed his eyes to blot out the memories. Was he ever going to get used to this? he wondered. Hadn’t he suffered long enough for his screw-up? Hadn’t he been a good husband and father up until that one little fall from grace with Shelley Hatcher? She had meant absolutely nothing to him-she was just a young, perky temptation who had thrown herself at him one too many times until he’d finally given in to his animal instincts. What normal, red-blooded male could have resisted?
This one should have. That was more than obvious now.
He gulped his coffee and took another long drag off his cigarette. Nothing good had come from his romp in the hay with Shelley Hatcher. He had lost his family, couldn’t add a single coherent sentence to his manuscript, and Shelley had ended up losing her job at the paper and leaving town. He felt bad about that-she hadn’t really done anything wrong. But McNary had wasted no time in firing her from the Observer, citing that the publicity of the affair was bad for business. After all, he couldn’t continue employing a young woman who was a bona fide house wrecker. It was a damn shame, too. Shelley had shown great potential as a photojournalist. She was aggressive, creative and a fast learner. Only problem was that she was a fast lay as well.
He hadn’t slept with anyone since Shelley. Six months, he counted on his fingers. Divorced and celibate at forty. And now he was living like a hermit in the sticks of Seleca County. What was his next move in life? Become a monk? Or a hopeless drunk?