Stillwatch Read Free Page B

answer.“I did call you,” he said, “a number of times, but I had the guts tobreak the connection before your phone rang. Pat, when I met you,you were about to become engaged. I spoiled that for you.”“With or without you it wouldn’t have happened. Rob is a niceguy, but that’s not enough.”“He’s a bright young lawyer with an excellent future. You’d bemarried to him now if it weren’t for me. Pat, I’m forty-eight yearsold. You’re twenty-seven. I’m going to be a grandfather in threemonths. You know you would want to have children, and I simplydon’t have the energy to raise a new family.”“I see. Can I ask you something, Sam?”
     
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“Of course.”“Do you love me, or have you talked yourself out of that too?”“I love you enough to give you a chance to meet someone yourown age again.”“And have you met someone your own age yet?”“I’m not seeing anyone specifically.”“I see.” She managed a smile. “Well, now that we have everythingout in the open, why don’t you buy me that nice gooey dessert I’msupposed to crave?”He looked relieved. Had he expected her to badger him? shewondered. He seemed so tired. Where was all the enthusiasm he’dhad a few years ago?An hour later when he was dropping her at home, Pat rememberedwhat she’d been meaning to discuss. “Sam, I had a crazy phone callat the office last week.” She told him about it. “Do people in Congressget much hate mail or calls?”He didn’t seem especially concerned. “Not that many, and noneof us takes them very seriously.” He kissed her cheek and chuckled.“I was just thinking. Maybe I’d better talk to Claire Lawrence andsee if she’s been trying to scare off Abigail.”Pat watched him drive away, then closed and latched the door.The house reinforced her feeling of emptiness. The furniture willmake a difference, she promised herself.Something on the floor caught her eye: a plain white envelope. Itmust have been slipped under the door while she was out. Her namewas printed in heavy black lettering that was sharply slanted fromleft to right. Probably someone from the realtor ’s office, she tried totell herself. But the usual business name and address were missingfrom the upper left-hand corner, and the envelope was of the cheapestdime-store sort.Slowly she ripped it open and pulled out the single sheet of paper.It read: “I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME.”
     
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The next morning the alarm went off at six. Pat slipped willingly outof bed. The lumpy mattress had not been conducive to sleep, and shehad kept waking, aware of the creaking, settling sounds in the houseand the thumping activity of the oil burner as it snapped off and on.Try as she would, she could not dismiss the note as the work of aharmless eccentric. Somebody was observing her.The movers had promised to arrive by eight. She planned to movethe files stored in the basement up to the library.The basement was dingy, with cement walls and floor. Gardenfurniture was stacked neatly in the center. The storage room was tothe right of the furnace room. A heavy padlock on its door was grimywith the accumulated soot of years.When Charles had given her the key, he’d warned, “I don’t knowexactly what you’ll find, Pat. Your grandmother instructed Dean’soffice to send all his personal effects to the house. We never did getaround to sorting them.”For a moment it seemed as though the key would not work. Thebasement was damp, with a vague smell of mildew. She wondered ifthe lock had rusted. She moved the key back and forth slowly andthen felt it turn. She tugged at the door.Inside the storeroom, a stronger smell of mildew assailed her. Twolegal-size filing cabinets were so covered with dust and cobwebs shecould barely determine their color. Several heavy cartons, haphazardlypiled, stood next to them. With her thumb she rubbed at the grimeuntil the labels appeared: CONGRESSMAN DEAN W. ADAMS,BOOKS. CONGRESSMAN DEAN W. ADAMS,