tell him about the note she’d foundslipped under the door and the second phone call. “But as you say,it’s probably just some joker,” she concluded.Sam didn’t return her attempt at a smile. “I said that one randomcall to the Boston station might not be important. But you’re sayingthat in the last three days you’ve had a second phone call, and a notepushed under the door. How do you think this nut got your address?”“How did you get it?” Pat asked.“I phoned Potomac Cable and said I was a friend. A secretarygave me your phone number and street address here and told mewhen you were arriving. Frankly, I was a little surprised they werethat casual about giving out so much information.”“I approved it. I’ll be using the house as an office for this program,and you’d be surprised how many people volunteer anecdotes or
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memorabilia when they read about a documentary being prepared. Ididn’t want to take the chance of losing calls. I certainly didn’t thinkI had anything to worry about.”“Then that creep could have gotten it the same way. By any chancedo you have the note with you?”“It’s in my bag.” She fished it out, glad to be rid of it.Sam studied it, frowning in concentration. “I doubt whetheranybody could trace this, but let me show it to Jack Carlson. He’s anFBI agent and something of a handwriting expert. And you be sure tohang up if you get another call.”He dropped her off at eight-thirty. “You’ve got to get timers forthe lamps,” he commented as they stood at the door. “Anybody couldcome up here and put a note under the door without being noticed.”She looked up at him. The relaxed expression was gone, and thenewly acquired creases around his mouth had deepened again. You’vealways had to worry about Janice, she thought. I don’t want youworrying about me.She tried to recapture the easy companionship of the evening.“Thanks for being the Welcome Wagon again,” she said. “They’re goingto make you chairman of the Hospitality Committee on the Hill.”He smiled briefly and for that moment the tension disappearedfrom his eyes. “Mother taught me to be courtly to the prettiest girls intown.” He closed his hands around hers. For a moment they stoodsilently; then he bent down and kissed her cheek.“I’m glad you’re not playing favorites,” she murmured.“What?”“The other night you kissed me below my right eye—tonight the left.”“Good night, Pat. Lock the door.”
Pat had barely reached the library when the telephone began toring insistently. For a moment she was afraid to answer.“Pat Traymore.” To her own ears her voice sounded tense and husky.“Miss Traymore,” a woman’s voice said, “I’m Lila Thatcher, yourneighbor across the street. I know you just got home, but would it be
73
possible for you to come over now? There’s something quite importantyou should know.”Lila Thatcher, Pat thought. Lila Thatcher. Of course. She was theclairvoyant who had written several widely read books on ESP andother psychic phenomena. Only a few months ago she’d beencelebrated for her assistance in finding a missing child.“I’ll be right there,” Pat agreed reluctantly, “but I’m afraid I can’tstay more than a minute.”As she threaded her way across the street, taking pains to avoidthe worst of the melting slush and mud, she tried to ignore the senseof uneasiness.She was sure she would not want to hear what Lila Thatcher wasabout to tell her.
74
11
A maid answered Pat’s ring and escorted her to the living room. Patdidn’t know what kind of person to expect—she’d visualized aturbaned Gypsy; but the woman who rose to greet her could bedescribed simply as cozy. She was gently rounded and gray-haired,with intelligent, twinkling eyes and a warm smile.“Patricia Traymore,” she said, “I’m so glad to meet you. Welcometo Georgetown.” Taking Pat’s hand, she studied her carefully. “I
72
memorabilia when they read about a documentary being prepared. Ididn’t want to take the chance of losing calls. I certainly didn’t thinkI had anything to worry about.”“Then that creep could have gotten it the same way. By any chancedo you have the note with you?”“It’s in my bag.” She fished it out, glad to be rid of it.Sam studied it, frowning in concentration. “I doubt whetheranybody could trace this, but let me show it to Jack Carlson. He’s anFBI agent and something of a handwriting expert. And you be sure tohang up if you get another call.”He dropped her off at eight-thirty. “You’ve got to get timers forthe lamps,” he commented as they stood at the door. “Anybody couldcome up here and put a note under the door without being noticed.”She looked up at him. The relaxed expression was gone, and thenewly acquired creases around his mouth had deepened again. You’vealways had to worry about Janice, she thought. I don’t want youworrying about me.She tried to recapture the easy companionship of the evening.“Thanks for being the Welcome Wagon again,” she said. “They’re goingto make you chairman of the Hospitality Committee on the Hill.”He smiled briefly and for that moment the tension disappearedfrom his eyes. “Mother taught me to be courtly to the prettiest girls intown.” He closed his hands around hers. For a moment they stoodsilently; then he bent down and kissed her cheek.“I’m glad you’re not playing favorites,” she murmured.“What?”“The other night you kissed me below my right eye—tonight the left.”“Good night, Pat. Lock the door.”
Pat had barely reached the library when the telephone began toring insistently. For a moment she was afraid to answer.“Pat Traymore.” To her own ears her voice sounded tense and husky.“Miss Traymore,” a woman’s voice said, “I’m Lila Thatcher, yourneighbor across the street. I know you just got home, but would it be
73
possible for you to come over now? There’s something quite importantyou should know.”Lila Thatcher, Pat thought. Lila Thatcher. Of course. She was theclairvoyant who had written several widely read books on ESP andother psychic phenomena. Only a few months ago she’d beencelebrated for her assistance in finding a missing child.“I’ll be right there,” Pat agreed reluctantly, “but I’m afraid I can’tstay more than a minute.”As she threaded her way across the street, taking pains to avoidthe worst of the melting slush and mud, she tried to ignore the senseof uneasiness.She was sure she would not want to hear what Lila Thatcher wasabout to tell her.
74
11
A maid answered Pat’s ring and escorted her to the living room. Patdidn’t know what kind of person to expect—she’d visualized aturbaned Gypsy; but the woman who rose to greet her could bedescribed simply as cozy. She was gently rounded and gray-haired,with intelligent, twinkling eyes and a warm smile.“Patricia Traymore,” she said, “I’m so glad to meet you. Welcometo Georgetown.” Taking Pat’s hand, she studied her carefully. “I
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