Anonymously Yours (6 page)

I didn’t move. I just continued to stare at the empty lot.

What is going on? my mind screamed. Why is this happening?

I knew what I had seen. I wasn’t crazy.

I shrugged his hand from my shoulder. “It’s Michael Black’s house,” I said again. “A woman’s been murdered there.”

I searched his face for signs of acknowledgement, but saw nothing to indicate he believed me.

Across the street, an outside light flashed on. A gray haired woman rocked gently on her front porch while her slender fingers sailed across a pair of knitting needles. “There’s no Michael Black on this street,” she yelled. “That house has been gone for ten years.”

My heart sank. I glanced at the officer, tears running down my cheeks. I had to make him understand. “I’m not crazy!” I insisted. “It was there. I was just in that house. A woman needs our help!”

When he removed his cap, a bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, illuminating his expression. My heart stopped. Those eyes! Those same coal black eyes devoid of humanity that now seemed to follow me wherever I went. I backed away slowly, then spun around and started to run.

The house had reappeared. In the doorway, a silhouetted figure surfaced, her long, thin arms motioning me back inside. I tried to scream, but no sound emerged. My legs like wings, I flew down the street, right into the glare of two approaching headlights. With my hands, I shielded my face against the bright lights, mentally preparing myself for the torturous crunch of flesh on metal. But the deafening sound of screeching brakes mingled with the wake-up call of my alarm clock.

My eyes flashed open. I bolted upright, clutching my pillow to my chest. Fear gripped me as I leaned into the soft fabric trying to quell my pounding heart.

I blew out a long, deep breath, then focused my attention on the stuffed animals piled high on a trunk in the corner of the small room. But it was only when the reflection of my tortured, pale face in the mirror on the triple dresser came into view that I realized I was still in the safety of my own bedroom.

A dream! I realized. Tears of relief crawled down my face. It had all been just a terrifying nightmare.

I continued to grip the pillow as I rocked gently back and forth. When my eyes finally adjusted to the dark room, I threw back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet against the soft carpet sent a jolt of welcome familiarity throughout my body. I was home. I’d been home all night in the safe comfort of my own bed. It had been nothing more than a dream.

I stood up and crossed the room. Locating the light switch on the wall near the door, I flipped it on. Bright light filled the room. No monsters crouched in narrow corners. Everything was as it should be. I was safe.

From the closet, I retrieved a pair of blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt and placed them on the bed. In the bathroom, I flipped on the shower faucet and stepped inside. I leaned against the stall, luxuriating in the pelt of the cool water against my skin.

At the bathroom sink, I brushed my teeth and fingered mousse into my wet hair before getting dressed.

I stepped into the dark kitchen just as the icemaker dropped a cycle of ice. I clutched my chest and screamed.

It’s that darned thing with Michael Black and his wallet, I realized. I wish I’d never laid eyes on that man. But thank goodness I had turned it over to the cashier on duty before I left the diner yesterday. As far as I was concerned, that concluded my involvement in the Michael Black mystery.

Outside, patchy morning light sparkled against the morning dew. A warm breeze tickled against my arms, the promise of another hot day in Clayfield. The next two days were work-free for me. Justin and I had made plans to spend the day together to try and work through some problems. I hoped we could. His arrival at the diner the other night made me realize how much I’d missed him.

Near the shrubbery at the edge of the lawn, I caught a glimpse of the morning newspaper. I had just knelt down to retrieve it, when I noticed a slow-moving car approaching. Its headlights were off, making it difficult to get a good look at it in the dark. I scooped up the paper and stood watching as it moved closer.

Something similar to fear caught in my throat. I shuddered, backing away. Squinting, I strained for a better view, but in the dark early morning, it was almost impossible to make out.

I continued backing away until my heel brushed against the edge of the front step. The car’s engine revved, but the vehicle remained still. My heart pounded. One foot, then another backed onto the front porch. Behind me, my hand fumbled for the doorknob.

The engine revved again, then the car suddenly sped past my front yard. A flash of red caught my eye.

My knees buckled from the weight of my fear. I yanked the door open and dashed inside, bolting the locks. I turned my back to the door then slid my body slowly to the floor.

“Why is this happening?” I said out loud. “What did I do to deserve this?”

I put my hands over my face and shook my head. When my hands slid down to my chin, my gaze settled on my purse on the coffee table by the sofa. My gun! I thought. I could protect myself if the need arose.

I stood up and crossed the room and removed the gun from my purse. The small weapon felt heavy in my hand. I’d learned to shoot when I’d purchased the gun several years ago. I’d taken several safety classes. I’d attended a conceal and carry seminar. I knew how to handle a weapon in the face of danger.

But I’d never expected to need it.

I carried the gun into the kitchen and placed it on the table along with the morning newspaper. I was just turning on the coffee pot, when the shrill ring of the house telephone made me jump. I raced for the phone on the counter and picked it up.

“What’s going on, Denise?” My mother’s concerned voice greeted me from the other end of the line.

Her question caught me off guard. There was no way she could know what had happened at Michael Black’s house yesterday. She and Dad were miles away in Florida.

“What do you mean?” I asked, hoping the guilt in my voice didn’t reach her end of the line. “Everything is fine here.”

I heard a sigh of relief. “Your uncle Bob called this morning,” she said. “He’s been trying to call your cell since yesterday, but he says he can’t get an answer.”

It was my turn to sigh with relief. I’d been so worried that, somehow, word of yesterday’s events had reached her, although I couldn’t imagine how that could have happened. The only people that knew about it were Justin and me. And whoever had set it up in the first place.

“Oh that,” I responded. “I lost my cell phone yesterday. I’ll call Uncle Bob later and tell him what happened. I hope to have a new one very soon.”

“Please do,” Mom said. “He worries about you, you know.”

“He could have called the house,” I said, then instantly regretted my harsh words. I didn’t want to get into an argument with my parents about Uncle Bob. Not now. Not when they were miles away from home, enjoying a long overdue vacation. And certainly not when I had a pressing matter of my own to concentrate on.

“Denise,” Mom said, as if reading my mind. “I know you’re still upset about not getting the job with your uncle. But believe me, there are good reasons your father and I didn’t want you working with him. Maybe someday you’ll understand.”

I doubted that, but I didn’t want to dwell on such a sore topic of conversation.

I decided to move to a safer subject. “Are you and Dad having a good time?”

“Oh my, yes.” I could hear the joy in her voice. “We wake up each morning to the sounds of the ocean. I can’t begin to tell you how peaceful it is. Maybe someday you’ll be able to visit Florida. It would be a great place for a honeymoon.”

I wondered how long it would take her to get around to that. She had to know that Justin was back in town. Both of our parents had kept in touch over the years. I was well aware that my parents still held out hope that Justin and I would reconcile. Now that he was back in town, I realized I wanted the same thing. But only if we could work through the problems that had torn us apart the first time.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom,” I answered with a smile. That was all I was willing to say about that subject. Especially since Justin and I were still at the beginning stage of our renewed relationship. “When are you two coming home?”

“We’ll be home in about four days,” she told me. “Please call your uncle and let him know you’re okay.”

“I promise,” I told her. I disconnected the call, and placed the receiver back on the charger. At the kitchen window, I pulled back the flowered curtains and peeked outside. There was no sign of the red Toyota. The streetlights flickered as the morning sky brightened. I let the curtains fall back in place when a beep from the coffee machine announced it was ready.

Removing a cup from the ceramic tree on the counter, I poured myself some coffee, then sat down at the table. Taking small sips, I spread open the morning paper to catch up on the news. Justin would be here soon. We hadn’t set an exact time for today’s outing, but he did mention he wanted to get an early start. I wasn’t sure what he meant by early, but the terrifying dream this morning had prevented me from sleeping in any later.

The cup was to my lips when I suddenly gasped. The hot coffee rolled down the front of my shirt. I reached for a napkin, dabbing at the stain, then leaned over the table for a closer look at the paper. My gaze riveted to the morning headline. The face of the woman I’d seen in Michael Black’s house stared back at me. I knew it as sure as I knew my own name. I’d never be able to erase the memory of her sliding down the overstuffed chair onto the carpeted floor. Despite the heat of the coffee, my body shivered.

My heart racing, I skimmed through the article next to the picture. According to the reporter, the woman’s name was Angelica Belmont. Her body had been discovered washed up at a local river by two fishermen. She was clothed only in a bathrobe. The cause of death was presumed suicide, but an autopsy was planned for later in the day.

Suicide? I thought. I knew she hadn’t killed herself. I was there! Angelica Belmont had been murdered. But how could I possibly prove it?

Then I remembered the red Toyota. Did the car from earlier have something to do with my visit to Michael Black’s house yesterday?

A sudden knock at the front door startled me. I jumped, sending the cup of coffee spinning across the table. I leaped to my feet, snatched a dishtowel and sopped up the contents from the paper. Taking a deep, calming breath to settle my nerves, I tossed the wet rag into the kitchen sink. I started for the living room, when my gaze settled on the gun on the kitchen table. I picked it up.

“Who’s there?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“It’s me, Justin,” a familiar voice answered. “Who were you expecting?”

I blew out a long breath and lowered the gun. Opening the door, my gaze peered over Justin’s broad shoulder, searching for anything that seemed out of the ordinary.

Justin stepped through the doorway, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” he asked. His gaze followed mine to the street. “What are you looking for?” He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him. “Denise, have you been watching scary movies all alone again?” His mouth curved into a knowing grin. Then his gaze fell to the gun in my hand.

And his mouth dropped open.

“Where did that come from?” He pulled his hand away and stood back.

I knew he’d find out about the gun sooner or later, but I never dreamed it would be because of something so frightening.

“It’s mine,” I said. “And before you go getting all crazy on me, I know how to handle a gun.” I shot him a warning look. “It’s kind of required training for anyone who wants to pursue a career in law enforcement.”

He rolled his eyes and put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, you’ve made your point. You want a career that requires you to carry a gun. I get it.” He put his hands back down and nodded at the weapon still at my side. “But why now?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “Why did you feel you needed to have it with you when you answered the door just now?” His gaze softened. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Denise, you’re acting crazy. What’s going on?”

Bolting the locks on the door, I motioned him into the kitchen. I placed the gun on the table and went to fill him a cup of coffee. “Sit down and I’ll tell you everything,” I said. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”

I placed his coffee in front of him, then took my seat in the adjacent chair. “Have you seen this?” I asked him. My finger tapped on the picture in the damp newspaper.

Justin sipped his coffee and stared at the picture. “So?” he said, with a shrug. “Did you know her?”

I pulled my eyelids tight and sighed. “Not exactly. But I do know she didn’t kill herself like the article says.”

He sipped his coffee again. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “If you didn’t know her, how could you possibly know whether or not she killed herself?”

Leaning forward, I lowered my face into my hands, combing my fingers through my hair. When I looked up, my palms were wet from my tears. “Because that’s the same woman I saw at Michael Black’s house yesterday,” I snapped. “The same woman the police never found.”

He looked up suddenly. “What?”

I didn’t respond. I just rubbed my eyes, trying to clear away the awful memory.

“Denise, are you sure about this?” Justin asked. He reached over and put a comforting hand on mine. “You said it was dark inside that house. Maybe it’s not the same woman.”

“Trust me, it is,” I said. “I’ll never forget that face as long as I live.”

Justin placed his cup on the table, then leaned back in his chair. “Okay, wait a minute,” he said, putting up a hand. “If this is the same woman—and I’m not convinced that it is—isn’t it possible that she was at Michael Black’s house yesterday morning, then got up and left, and drowned herself later?” He seemed determined to find another explanation.

“Except that she was found in a bathrobe,” I said. “And she was wearing a bathrobe when I saw her at the house.” I held his gaze, trying to make him see my point. “People don’t leave houses in bathrobes, then drive all the way to a lake to kill themselves. That doesn’t make any sense.” I folded my arms on the table. “There’s something else,” I said, softly.