Part 17 (2/2)
He thought about piling his canoe into his pickup and paddling through the swamp. The quiet beauty usually cleared his head.
Or he could visit Angola Prison to see his brother today rather than Sunday. He looked at the clock. He would never arrive in time for visiting hours. And he had to get the books.
He also knew he was stalling. He loved his brother, but G.o.d, it hurt seeing him in prison. It always made Gage feel that he had failed, and that Clint was paying for that failure. He would find those books this afternoon and have them ready Sunday.
He and Beast went outside for a few moments to play with a Frisbee.
But he couldn't get Meredith Rawson off his mind. Nor the Prescott case. Instinct told him they could be related. He didn't believe in coincidences.
”Okay, boy,” he said. ”That's enough.” He tried to ignore Beast's mournful look as the Frisbee hung forlornly from his mouth. ”Foster will come and play with you later.”
Beast was not placated. He tried to push the Frisbee back into Gage's hand. Gage threw it one last time and the dog jumped high in the air to catch it, then proudly trotted back.
”Now that really is enough,” Gage said, scratching an ear.
He went back in, Beast at his heels. As he mentally plotted the day, Gage picked up the file that he'd happened to take home.
The bookstore first for Clint's books. Then he would find an office supply store and copy some of the Prescott files. He didn't know whom he could trust in the office, and he had the feeling that if caught copying the file, he would be told in no uncertain terms to leave it alone. Then he would have no choice.
He would also drop in to see Morris and see whether he knew any more about the attack on Meredith Rawson.
A question. Just one question to ease his mind.
*Chapter Eleven*
'NEW ORLEANS'.
It took until Sat.u.r.day night before her house was habitable again.
Meredith unboxed her new computer after the cleaning crew left and sat down at her desk, one of the few undamaged pieces of furniture remaining in the house. Other pieces were being reupholstered and repaired.
She hadn't had time to replace the paintings or even the ruined drapes in her bedroom. That would have to wait. Other things couldn't, like the mattresses she had purchased on the condition that they be delivered immediately.
But enough was completed for her to go home.
She was tired of the hotel room and had thought she would like nothing better than to be home again. She wasn't prepared for the fear that accompanied her homecoming.
A tremor shook her body. Would she ever feel safe again? She double-checked the locks on both the windows and doors but the sense of violation remained. Every time she looked around, she saw something that needed to be done. A rip along the wallpaper in the dining room. An obviously empty place on the wall that was formerly occupied by her favorite painting.
After completing all the computer connections, she went out to the kitchen, made a sandwich and heated some hot chocolate, then sat at the kitchen table with her mother's yearbooks in front of her. Hot chocolate was her comfort food, an indulgence she rarely indulged. But she needed indulgence tonight.
She was tired, on edge. She'd decided not to go to the hospital tonight; the private duty nurse promised to call if there was even the slightest change. She needed tonight to go through the yearbooks and identify people she knew. Then she would use those people to find others.
Someone had to know whom her mother had been seeing at the time. Once she had her sister's father's name, she could find out what he knew. Surely her mother had told him something. Perhaps he had agreed to the adoption, or had raised the baby himself.
She sipped the chocolate as she studied the yearbook from her mother's junior year. She recognized some of the students as current pillars of New Orleans society. That made sense. They had attended the city's most exclusive private school. By the time she'd finished the chocolate, she had identified nearly a third of her mother's cla.s.s. Then she studied the photos of the cla.s.ses directly ahead and behind her.
She was totally absorbed when the phone rang. She picked it up. ”Meredith Rawson,” she said.
No answer. Heavy breathing. Then 'click'.
She had started to feel safe again. Now she stood next to the phone, the receiver quivering in her hand. She looked at her Caller ID but she knew what she would see. 'Unknown'.
A chill permeated the room. Someone wanted to terrify her.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She sat back down and called the cell phone number Morris had given her. He answered immediately.
”This is Meredith Rawson. I just received an anonymous call. Ordinarily I wouldn't be concerned but--”
”Was anything said?”
”No. Just heavy breathing.” She paused, then continued, ”It could just be an annoying sales call, or a wrong number. I probably shouldn't have called but--”
”You did the right thing,” he broke in. ”I'll send a car over now to search the area and I'll see if we can't have someone there overnight.”
She didn't protest this time. The call had sent icy fingers up her spine.
”When the car gets there, the officer will knock at your door. Don't open it unless you see the uniform and badge. I'll be over in the morning.”
”Thank you.”
”No need, Ms. Rawson.”
She hung up. This was a two hot chocolate night.
She put more milk and powdered Dutch chocolate in the pan and carried it back to the range. The phone rang again, the shrill sound now threatening. Meredith dropped the pan, splas.h.i.+ng milk over the top of the stove.
She hesitated, then went to the phone and picked it up. ”Meredith Rawson.”
Silence.
”You don't frighten me, you coward,” she said. Then hung up.
Brave words. But it did frighten her. Now she was convinced.
Someone was intentionally trying to terrify her. Doing a darn good job of it, too.
Why?
'Dammit, why?'
For the first time, she wished she didn't live alone. She wished there was someone with whom she could share her fear. Her father? No. He hated weakness of any kind, and now she didn't trust him. He wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't stop feeling that he was hiding something she should know.
For a moment, her thoughts went to a tall loose-limbed detective with a shock of sandy hair and piercing green eyes.
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