to read people so be an open book. When he wants back into the apartment, ask Michelle to be present, but let him and his team in. You may not like each other, but he’s an excellent agent. No matter how sarcastic he gets, remember he doesn’t want to convict the wrong person. He wants the real killer.”
She cleaned up the table, then held the door open for me and said, “Have you thought any more about what you’d do in a confrontation with your stalker?”
I must have looked as startled as I felt because she said, “That’s good. Be afraid—very afraid. Between the circumstantial evidence and proof we have that you’re being threatened, it looks to me like someone is diligently trying to frame and frighten you.”
I let her walk away before I called out, “Hey Harper. Would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Would you also take the knife rack into custody?” I asked.
“Newman didn’t take it?”
“No. The thing seriously creeps me out. A stranger stole that knife and used it to kill Mickey. It’s a grisly reminder. I’m afraid if I hide it, Newman will think I’m up to something. The guy doesn’t miss a twitch.”
She took the rack and knives with her, wrapped in a black garbage bag.
I called Newman and told him everything I hoped he needed to know. I flung my words all over him, giving him no opportunity to ask questions. When I was done, he said, “Thanks,” and hung up.
The couch looked like a good resting place. At first I kept the lamp on then decided if someone was watching, the light would make that easier.
My nightmares were full of eyes, ears, and me running down the shores of Lake Superior in my red evening gown, trying to escape into the open. Someone was chasing me, but I didn’t know if it was the murderer, my ghost stalker, Gus, or Newman. It really didn’t matter – they were all terrifying on some level.
Chapter 15
A week later, as I turned down the heat on a pan of macaroni, Harper called.
“I’m in the lobby. We need to talk. Can I come up?” she asked.
“Is it safe to talk up here?”
“I have some questions about your childhood and would like to talk to your unofficially although you’re welcome to call your attorney.”
Momentarily shaken I asked, “What do you need to know?”
“A little more about you and Mickey as kids.”
I invited her to lunch, and called Michelle to let her know if she had time she could join us. My attorney was unavailable and urged me to wait. Instead, I told her I wanted to cooperate as often as possible and agreed to call her later.
Harper watched me drain and then rinse the macaroni before stirring in the powdered cheese. Holding the blue box she said, “Wow, going all out, huh?”
“Sort of. This was Mickey’s favorite lunch. I fixed it for him and my sister a lot. We all loved it. That and canned pasta with hotdogs with a side of cheese curls.”
“Don’t you sort of miss the bread that smelled a little bit like plastic and came out of those white bags with the polka-dots?”
“Yeah. Two pieces with bologna and mayonnaise.” I said.
“And fried SPAM sandwiches.”
“Now that was some good eating.”
As I put the sticky orange pasta in two bowls, I smiled.
Harper asked, “What are you thinking?”
“In my memory, I could hear my sister giggling at Mickey while he made fart sounds with his hand and armpit.”
“Easily entertained, huh?” Harper said with a grin.
I served our lunch with grape juice in the Lyons’ crystal goblets.
“Are we celebrating?”
“Sort of. As kids we pretended our juice was wine and we were pirates reliving a conquest of some kind or another. We made toasts to each other and raised our wooden and tinfoil swords in victory. Mickey even had an eye patch and a beat-up stuffed parrot he carried on his shoulder. I want to honor his memory.”
Harper and I sat down. Before we took out first bite, I held up my goblet of juice and toasted the memory of my friend. “To Mickey.
She cleaned up the table, then held the door open for me and said, “Have you thought any more about what you’d do in a confrontation with your stalker?”
I must have looked as startled as I felt because she said, “That’s good. Be afraid—very afraid. Between the circumstantial evidence and proof we have that you’re being threatened, it looks to me like someone is diligently trying to frame and frighten you.”
I let her walk away before I called out, “Hey Harper. Would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Would you also take the knife rack into custody?” I asked.
“Newman didn’t take it?”
“No. The thing seriously creeps me out. A stranger stole that knife and used it to kill Mickey. It’s a grisly reminder. I’m afraid if I hide it, Newman will think I’m up to something. The guy doesn’t miss a twitch.”
She took the rack and knives with her, wrapped in a black garbage bag.
I called Newman and told him everything I hoped he needed to know. I flung my words all over him, giving him no opportunity to ask questions. When I was done, he said, “Thanks,” and hung up.
The couch looked like a good resting place. At first I kept the lamp on then decided if someone was watching, the light would make that easier.
My nightmares were full of eyes, ears, and me running down the shores of Lake Superior in my red evening gown, trying to escape into the open. Someone was chasing me, but I didn’t know if it was the murderer, my ghost stalker, Gus, or Newman. It really didn’t matter – they were all terrifying on some level.
Chapter 15
A week later, as I turned down the heat on a pan of macaroni, Harper called.
“I’m in the lobby. We need to talk. Can I come up?” she asked.
“Is it safe to talk up here?”
“I have some questions about your childhood and would like to talk to your unofficially although you’re welcome to call your attorney.”
Momentarily shaken I asked, “What do you need to know?”
“A little more about you and Mickey as kids.”
I invited her to lunch, and called Michelle to let her know if she had time she could join us. My attorney was unavailable and urged me to wait. Instead, I told her I wanted to cooperate as often as possible and agreed to call her later.
Harper watched me drain and then rinse the macaroni before stirring in the powdered cheese. Holding the blue box she said, “Wow, going all out, huh?”
“Sort of. This was Mickey’s favorite lunch. I fixed it for him and my sister a lot. We all loved it. That and canned pasta with hotdogs with a side of cheese curls.”
“Don’t you sort of miss the bread that smelled a little bit like plastic and came out of those white bags with the polka-dots?”
“Yeah. Two pieces with bologna and mayonnaise.” I said.
“And fried SPAM sandwiches.”
“Now that was some good eating.”
As I put the sticky orange pasta in two bowls, I smiled.
Harper asked, “What are you thinking?”
“In my memory, I could hear my sister giggling at Mickey while he made fart sounds with his hand and armpit.”
“Easily entertained, huh?” Harper said with a grin.
I served our lunch with grape juice in the Lyons’ crystal goblets.
“Are we celebrating?”
“Sort of. As kids we pretended our juice was wine and we were pirates reliving a conquest of some kind or another. We made toasts to each other and raised our wooden and tinfoil swords in victory. Mickey even had an eye patch and a beat-up stuffed parrot he carried on his shoulder. I want to honor his memory.”
Harper and I sat down. Before we took out first bite, I held up my goblet of juice and toasted the memory of my friend. “To Mickey.
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