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.Carol's so sure it is, maybe you should listen to her.She never did think I was much of a father.”“Was it a bitter divorce?”“Is there any other kind?” Then Guy frowned, annoyed with his own plunge into irrelevancy, and said, “The only thing I know is that whoever is behind this knows how to push my buttons.I can take care of myself, but he brought my family into it.I'm not going to have other people put in danger because of me.”Long nodded.“Like I said, I don't think anyone is in danger yet, and most likely nothing will come of this.But it's best to be on the safe side.Have you thought any more about the 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' connection?”“I haven't thought of much else.” Guy walked with him toward the door.“I figured it might have something to do with a story I've covered, but I've been in this business a long time.I can't remember every single story.”“That's funny,” said Long.“What?”“It’s a nursery rhyme, something most folks would associate with their kids.But you think it’s related to work.” He opened the door and paused, looking at Guy.“You really don't want to believe your daughter is involved, do you?”Guy had no answer to that.Long put on his hat, nodded to Guy, and left.~Chapter ElevenBy the time Carol got home that evening, her back was hurting so badly she could barely climb the stairs.After leaving Carlton in Laura's hands after lunch, she had spent the next three hours pushing through brambles and picking sand spurs out of her clothes, showing property to two rather unpromising prospective buyers.Midafternoon she had rushed home to meet Deputy Long, who wanted to install a tap on her phone and show her how to work it.His attitude, as it had been before, was condescending, and he left her with the distinct impression that, if her ex-husband had not been a reporter whose favor he wished to curry, he would have considered the wiretaps an unnecessary extravagance.He left her feeling furious, patronized, and uncertain.To offset her own sense of growing impotence, she spent the remainder of the day combing the island, leaving photographs of Kelly with realtors, shopkeepers and transient vendors who had already begun to set up booths on the streets.Between herself and Laura, they had covered all but the west side of Main Street and, of course, the seasonal lessors who hadn't opened their stores yet.Every single query had been met with a blank look, and Carol had never felt more foolish, more tired and defeated, in her life.Maybe Guy was right, maybe the police were right.She was wasting her time.After all, if anything could be helped by circulating a few photographs, wouldn't the sheriff's department have done it already? Wouldn't the previous fliers have brought Kelly home?Carol turned on the light and stepped out of her shoes, wincing a little as she shifted her weight from her right foot to her left and a spasm of pain grabbed at her waist.Even after all this time she couldn't get used to coming in to an empty house, especially at night.The bank of windows was like the eyes of a monstrous giant, giving back her own reflection in prismed fractions and distorted pieces.The sterile silence was unwelcoming, and seemed to overwhelm even the background sigh and splash of the surf.When Guy and Kelly lived here, there was never a silent moment; it used to drive her crazy, the noise they made.She moved forward to draw the blinds over the beachside windows, and stopped, her heart leaping absurdly to her throat when the phone rang.Her eyes went quickly to the instrument and the ugly police machinery attached to it and for a moment she was gripped by a paralysis of indecision, of anticipation, dread, hope, and reluctance.Her phone rang all the time, eighty percent of her business was initiated through the telephone and there was no reason to believe that this call would be different from any other.That just because the police had installed a tracing device only hours ago, she might have a chance to use it with the first call—there was no reason to believe, none at all, that it might be Kelly.Energy galvanized her limbs in a rush and she went quickly to the desk that held the telephone attached to the machine.Her finger was poised over the activation button as she picked up the receiver on the third ring and said breathlessly, “Hello?”***From the beach below he watched, his shoulders hunched against the wind inside his nylon jacket, resentment rising inside him like bile with each passing moment.It never failed to irritate him, walking down the beach and looking at the big gaudy houses that rambled over the dunes, each one of them representing an investment of a million dollars or more.Who the hell made that kind of money? Who the hell deserved that kind of luck? And the worst of it was, for most of those rich assholes the million-dollar piece of real estate was just a part-time residence, a weekend retreat, something they barely thought about until it came time to pay the taxes.Hell, most of them didn't even bother paying taxes.Sometimes he'd walk for hours up and down the beach, looking at the big houses and wondering about the people who were in them, trying to figure out why they deserved everything and he ended up with nothing.Sometimes he'd walk right up the boardwalk and try the doors and windows, and sometimes—he himself was amazed at how often—a door was left unlocked or a window open and he'd just walk right in and make himself at home.Marble foyers, Jacuzzi tubs, expensive scotch, he was no stranger to any of it.He had to be careful though, and he couldn't enjoy his forays into the upper crust as much as he might have liked because the last thing he needed was to be hassled by the cops for small shit when he was working on something big.He walked mostly at night, when lighted windows turned those expensive beachfront homes into fishbowls and their aristocratic occupants went about their business completely oblivious to any other life form, supremely confident that their money could protect them from anything.He liked to stand on the beach and watch them, taking a kind of scornful satisfaction in nothing more than the fact that they didn't know he was watching.He always ended up here, in front of the gray castle.He would have done so even if he hadn't known who lived there.Because it was bad enough to have to deal with the rich arrogant assholes who had more than they knew what to do with, but when the bitches started taking over.well, that was when something had to be done.This one, he knew, would have to be taught a lesson.He watched her come in, turn on the lights, and stand illuminated in front of the bank of multishaped windows that faced the beach.He watched her kick off her shoes and run her fingers through her hair.He watched the way her shirt tightened over her breasts when she lifted her arm and that made him smile.He watched the way she moved in those tight jeans, slim hips, small waist, tapered legs.Showing off.It was almost as though she knew he was there watching, wanted him to see, and the thought both irritated and excited him.When she moved toward the window, for a moment, he was convinced that she could see him, and then she stopped, and turned away.He realized a moment later that it was the telephone that had distracted her.She went to answer it, and he smiled, his mind made up.He waited until she had finished her telephone conversation and started up the stairs.He knew if he stayed where he was and waited long enough, he could watch her undress in front of the second-floor window, but he had more interesting plans.Tonight's the night, baby, he thought.Payback time.He moved, boldly and silently, toward the steps that led to her private boardwalk from the beach.***The call was from a customer who was driving down from Atlanta over the weekend to look at property.Carol hung up the phone feeling disappointed and impatient
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