Pillow Stalk (A Mad for Mod Mystery) by Diane Vallere Page A

considerably. A three-inch long scratch and a purple bruise already showed on my cheek. I started to cry, my already red face turning crimson. I muffled sobs and splashed cool water over my face, my hands, my wrists. It revived me temporarily. I raked wet fingers through what remained of my hair to keep it back.
    My shirt had torn during the fight, exposing part of my bra. The knee of my Capri pants was shredded and blood had caked to the frayed edge. I looked more punk rock than sixties sex comedy, like I was wearing a makeshift Halloween costume. I blew my nose three times, picked up Rocky from the toilet, and flushed the tissues.
    There was a tap on the door. “Madison? You okay in there?” asked Hudson.
    I opened the door.
    He held a wine glass in one hand and a plastic bag filled with ice in the other.
    I took the wine glass and gulped it too fast. Almost immediately my muscles felt sluggish, like a paper towel that’s been used to mop up a spill. When I pulled the glass away from my lips he gently pressed the ice against my cheekbone. “There are a couple of officers out here that want to talk to you.”
    I looked past Hudson and saw Officer Nast and a short, squat male officer standing in Hudson’s living room. I ran my fingers through my hair again and hobbled down the hallway to meet them. Halfway there I stumbled and bumped into the wall, knocking an abstract painting askew. When I righted it, I noticed a small HJ in the corner.
    “Ms. Night, this is Officer Clark. Can you tell us what happened out there?” Officer Nast said. With the hand not holding her notepad, she fed her hand between her neck and her long unbound brunette hair, and flipped it out, away from her collar.
    “I didn’t think it would be you.”
    “Who’d you expect?” Officer Nast said, obviously annoyed.
    “I-I don’t know.” That was a lie. Tex hadn’t made a secret that he thought Hudson was guilty of something. I’d been certain he’d grab the opportunity to come, invited, into Hudson’s house.
    I relayed the little that I could remember. “He came from behind, he knocked me around, and he ran away. I don’t know where he came from, and I don’t know where he went. I don’t know what he wanted.”
    Officer Nast jotted some notes into a small spiral top notepad. “You didn’t see anything but you keep saying ‘he’. Why?”
    “He was a man, Officer. I’m sure of that.”
    “But you can’t tell us anything about him?”
    “No, I can’t. I felt him. I smelled him. I heard him. But I didn’t see him.”
    “What do you mean, you heard him? Did he say something?”
    “He said—he said sounds. Not words. I don’t know.” I stopped talking, and closed my eyes, trying to remember. “I think he said my name. I’m not sure. It could have been another language, maybe German, or Japanese,” I said, cradling my cheek with the plastic bag of ice.
    “Ms. Night, don’t play dumb. I’m sure you can tell the difference between German and Japanese.”
    I slammed the ice bag down on the coffee table. “It could have been Esperanto for all I know. Everything happened too fast. I couldn’t understand him.”
    Officer Nast stared at me for a couple of seconds. Officer Clark stood behind her. “Let’s go outside,” she said, and led the way to my truck. I looked at Hudson, in the corner of his living room. His hands were deep inside the front pockets of his jeans. He had been listening, I could tell, but not interrupting. It had to be hard, having these cops here, having this attack happen in front of his house. I tightened a blanket around my shoulders even though it was warm, and followed the officers out front, leaving Hudson inside with the animals.
    Officer Clark shined a flashlight around the ground, looking for evidence to corroborate my claims. There was nothing.
    “Ms. Night, let me ask you this. Why would someone want to attack you?” asked Officer Nast.
    “I don’t know.”
    She watched me closely. I felt