Play Dead (16 page)

She gasped and touched her lips. “But,
that’s crazy. Why would Bill come here and go through your stuff? Are you sure
it was him?”

“Yes. I’ve seen your wedding album.” More
than once, in fact, she had commandeered my attention to her album, not to
mention the unavoidable fifteen-by-seventeen glossy of the two of them in the
living room. “He said he was looking for information about me so that he could
contact me privately to enlist my help in convincing you to sell. He also told
me I couldn’t trust Doppler around you, because of something that happened with
your puppy.”

She looked utterly confused. “But—”
She stepped around the nearest suitcase and grabbed my arm. “Allida, I swear to
you. I’ve never had a dog, or puppy. Neither has Bill. He’s lying to you. I don’t
know why, but he is.”

She slowly released her grip on me,
letting her arms drop to her sides.

“I don’t feel safe here, and neither
should you, as long as Bill is willing to march in here whenever he pleases.”

“Bill would never hurt you, or me!”

I scanned her angst-ridden face and could
only wonder if it were even possible for her to see how much he already
had
hurt
her. “Kaitlyn, please listen to me. You’re crying all the time, and you’ve told
me yourself that you’re depressed. Why don’t you find a therapist? Even if I’m
wrong, what’s the harm in giving therapy a try?”

Kaitlyn was staring at me with a wide-open
jaw and now started to sputter, “Why...you...you’re a monster! I was so wrong
about you! I thought you were a nice person! How can you be so cruel?” She
started to cry.

I felt sorry for her, but her reaction was
too extreme to feel much more. I’d lived here for less than a month. She was
acting as though I were her best friend—and judging from what I’d seen of
her social life, that could be the case. “I’m not trying to be cruel, Kaitlyn.
I’m truly not. I’m just telling you the truth.”

“So that’s it?” she shrieked. “You’re all
packed and you’re leaving?”

“I’m taking what I can for now, and I’ll
be back for the rest before the end of the month.”

“You’re acting just like Bill did! I
should do the same thing I did then and just...burn all of your stuff!”

I picked up my suitcases and shuffled
toward the door. “Well, we all gotta do what we gotta do. It’s mostly just
laundry I’ve got left here anyway.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”

I sighed and said, “Kaitlyn, all I know is
that I have to take care of me and mine. Look at it this way. Our deal was that
I’d be here on a month-to-month basis until your husband returned, right? Well,
Bill’s back. So, good luck to both of you. I hope you can work something out.”

She sobbed noisily, but said nothing and I
made it to the car without her grabbing hold of one of my legs. My head and
back muscles were aching as I drove to my office and pulled into my space.

Doppler trotted inside my office amicably,
then I made a couple of trips to the car, collecting one suitcase, a blanket,
and my dog’s things. I put his carrier in the corner, along with his water and
food dish. He lapped up some water, then curled into his bed and promptly fell
asleep. Oh, to have one’s needs so easily met. As for me, I used the bathroom’s
limited facilities—dripping sink and all—then draped a blanket on
the couch. I could already tell that sleep was going to be a struggle. Though
this was essentially a basement with small, below-ground-level windows, a
streetlight outside poured light on the couch, and there were no curtains.

The phone rang, and I answered without
thinking, anxious to stop the shrill noise. There was such a long pause that I
was about to hang up, when a woman said, “My gosh. Is this Allida Babcock?”

“Yes, it is. Who’s this?”

“I’m terribly sorry. Here it is nearly
midnight. I thought I was calling your office number and I’d get your recorder.”

“This
is
my office number.”

“My gosh, do you ever keep long hours!”

I said nothing.

“This is Sarah Adams. Remember me?”

“Yes, and Mugsy as well.” This must be an
emergency for her to be calling at this hour. Mugsy must have bitten someone. “How’s
she doing?”

“Fine, actually. That’s why I’m calling.”
I breathed a sigh of relief while she continued, “You know, ever since your
visit, I’ve been seeing her in a new light. She really is just trying to find
her role within the family. I was watching the news tonight and John had to go
out, and you know what Mugsy did? She lay down on my feet, just like she always
does with John when he’s here. I spoke to John just now, and we’ve decided we
want to keep her. Can you help us work it out?”

I smiled and felt a surge of gratitude at
this well-timed reminder that my work had meaning. “I’d be delighted to. When
do you want me to start?”

“Would tomorrow work?”

We set a time, then I set about trying to
force myself to sleep. Every now and then, I’d glance at the illuminated clock
just to verify that, yes, time was passing and, no, I was still not asleep.
Finally, I shut my eyes and counted English sheepdogs.

Somebody was pounding on the door to my
office. I sat up a little on the couch, considering what to do, too groggy to
be quick about it. I blinked at the clock. A few minutes after one
a.m.
The pounding stopped. Suddenly, a
pair of bare ankles appeared in the tiny semicircular window at ground level.
Startled, I strained to get a better look. Those ankles seemed to be attached
to feet wearing fuzzy pink slippers. But the only full-sized person I knew who
wore fuzzy pink slippers was...

I jumped and stifled a scream as a face
appeared in the window.
No! Please tell me this is just a nightmare!
But
it wasn’t. Kaitlyn Wayne was outside my office. Even in the muted external
lighting I could see how puffy and tearstained her features were. She must have
seen me, for she clutched her hands together in mock prayer and pointed in the
direction of the door.

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded and
rose, and switched on a light to search for my keys. How did she know I was
here? I told her I’d be at my mom’s. “I’m in hell!” I muttered to myself. “This
is the worst day anybody has ever had since the dawn of time!”

Doppler stepped out of his carrier and
cocked his head at me. The sight of my beloved dog answered for me that my
laments weren’t accurate. Somebody I knew had had a decidedly worse day than
mine—Beth Gleason.

I eventually found the keys, told Doppler
to get back to bed and shut Russell’s door behind me to encourage my dog to
sleep. I stumbled through my office and to the front door, and unlocked it.

Kaitlyn appeared to be hyperventilating.
She gasped for air, sobbing, shaking. Despite this, she managed to step inside
and shove the door closed behind her. “Oh, Allida.” She took a couple of deep
breaths, unable to continue. I knew I should offer her a drink of water to help
her calm herself. But I also knew that I’d be far too tempted to throw it in
her face.

She finally collected herself enough to
speak. “You’ve... got...to help me! I can’t take this...not again! I saw it!
The white car. There’s this man...in a white car. He’s following me!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, immediately
on edge and yet thoroughly confused.

Kaitlyn merely gasped for air, still
sobbing.

How on earth could she have been “followed”
at this hour, when here she was in her slippers and nightgown? “Kaitlyn,
please. What did you mean when you said, ‘I can’t take this
again?’
Was
somebody following you before?”

She shook her head and buried her face in
her hands, leaning back against the door. This was like dealing with a
histrionic teenager—and I wasn’t up to the task. I’d had only ten minutes
of sleep and had to work in the morning. If only she were a dog, I might be
able to teach her to bark once for yes and twice for no.

I grabbed both of her upper arms and
guided her toward my desk chair. “Kaitlyn, sit.” She obeyed. I managed not to
say, “Good girl.” In the absence of a paper bag for her to hyperventilate into,
I ran off to get her some water, remembering too late that I also didn’t have a
cup for her.

The moment I opened the door to Russell’s
office, Doppler leapt at me, his claws reaching only mid thigh, but since I was
wearing only a T-shirt, this was decidedly uncomfortable. “Not now,” I snapped.
My feet were freezing from padding around on the office linoleum. Judging by
the volume of my ex-roommate’s sobbing, she wasn’t going anywhere soon, so I
yanked on some socks.

Doppler had picked up on my anxiety and
was underfoot as I entered the bathroom—but then, I’m sure child
psychologists’ children aren’t always perfect little angels either. I grabbed
my coffee cup out from under the leaking pipe, rinsed and filled it. What
Kaitlyn didn’t know about where my cup had been wasn’t going to kill her.

I juggled, pushing Doppler back with one
foot while passing through the doorway and balancing the water, then thrust the
cup into Kaitlyn’s hands. “Drink this.”

With trembling hands, she took a couple of
dainty sips. Her auburn hair was unkempt and her eyes so red and swollen from
this latest crying jag that—with facial fur and some floppy
ears—she could have been a poster puppy for the ASPCA.

The moment she settled into a normal
breathing pattern, I said, “It’s after one
a.m.
Why would anyone have the opportunity to follow you any place at this
hour?”

“After you left, I remembered what you
said about a white car. I happened to look outside, and I saw a car with a male
driver slowly driving past our house not just once, but twice.”

“Can you describe him?”

She shook her head. “It was too dark.”

“Then how could you be sure the driver was
male?”

“I could tell from his silhouette. He wore
one of those old-fashioned hats. A fedora.”

My interest piqued. “What time was this?”

“About a half past midnight, the first
time. Then he drove by again fifteen minutes later. I got really scared, being
home all alone with someone watching the place, so I tried to call you at your
mother’s house. She suggested I try–”

“You
called
my
mother
at
one
a.m.?”
I grabbed my hair in
frustration. “Why? If you were scared by this car driving by, why didn’t you
call the police? Even if you
had
reached me at my mom’s house and I’d
had some means of helping you, I would’ve been an hour away.”

Kaitlyn whimpered and rotated her chair
around so that her back was toward me, but this was the final straw to an
emotional, havoc-wreaking day. “You must have scared my mother horribly. I’m
just surprised she hasn’t—”

The phone rang, right on cue. I picked it
up and said, “Mom? Is that you?”

After a pause, my mother said, “Would you
believe me if I said ‘no’?”

“Not really.”

“Allie, what on earth is going on? First
you and now your roommate are going bananas over sightings of white cars. Two
women are dead who owned the collie now sitting next to me, which my daughter
is currently training. Do you have any idea what it’s like having your phone
ring at one
a.m.
under these
circumstances?”

“I’m sure it was very unpleasant. By the
way, did Sage eat his dinner tonight?”

“Yes! Never mind that! I’m so upset I may
not be able to keep
mine
down, but both dogs are fine!”

“Sorry, Mom. If there’s any way I can make
this up to you...”

“Not unless you’d consider getting your
pilot’s license. All this goes to show that you’ve chosen the wrong occupation.”

“That’s something to think about,” I
answered, rolling my eyes.

“Meaning, ‘Mind your own business, Mom.’
Well, all I can say is I’m glad you’re still alive. And I’ll make up the guest
room for you.”

“Thanks.” I hung up quickly, because
Kaitlyn had risen and was now heading toward the door. I didn’t want her to
leave without giving me some answers. “Kaitlyn, did you see the car at all when
you drove here?”

She shook her head, sniffling, her back
still toward me.

“Have you been followed before? You said
something about not wanting to go through this again.”

She nodded and turned to face me. “Three
years ago. Just before Bill left me, I was sure I was being followed. I told
him about it, and he acted so weird, I asked him if he’d hired a private
investigator. He denied it, but from then on, the guy quit following me. But
this time it couldn’t be someone Bill hired. Otherwise, he’d be following
me,
not you, and Bill doesn’t have any reason to hire a P.I. this time.”

“This
time? Meaning he
did
have cause the last time?”

She clicked her tongue. “Jeez, I don’t
know. Why do you have to take every little thing I say so literally?”

My first reaction was to growl at her, but
that wouldn’t be to either of our benefits. “Are you going to call the police?”