The nanny murders by Merry Bloch Jones Page B

I took another look. Somebody was definitely in there. Waving. Or—tapping?
    All the childhood warnings about strangers in cars flooded my mind. I hurried to put my key in the lock, but someone called my name. “Miss Zoe!”
    Charlie peeked through the now open Pontiac window. Hisvoice was hoarse and guttural. My teeth were chattering, but I descended the steps, careful not to slip.
    “No!” Charlie whispered. “Don’t come any closer! You’ll be seen!”
    I continued toward the car, squinting in the sleet, leaning on the rear of Jake’s frozen pickup truck so I wouldn’t slip. Inside the Pontiac, I saw rumpled blankets and a pillow. A box of Ritz crackers. Cans of Dr. Pepper, Budweiser. Was Charlie living in this old car?
    “What are you doing out here?” I asked.
    “I had to get out of the house, miss.”
    “You’ll freeze, Charlie. What happened? Do you need rent money?”
    “Oh no. I’m the handyman, miss. I work for the owner; I got no rent. I just had to get out of there. Things are much worse.” He crouched back into the seat and whispered through the window. “The evil’s growing, gaining power. Now, see, my dreams have been taken over. My thoughts are being monitored. I’m under constant surveillance, see. Because I know what’s going on.”
    He was absolutely crazy. And I was quaking with the cold. I wanted to run inside, to sip hot peppermint tea and take a bath in jasmine-scented bubbles. I had to hurry and get ready for dinner with Detective Stiles. But how could I leave poor Charlie out in the car?
    “Charlie. You can’t stay out in this weather. Go inside. Nobody’s going to bother you.”
    “Miss, I told you I’d watch over you. There’s danger coming your way. Soon, any day now. I’m warning you, there will be terrible consequences. We may be being watched, even now.”
    I was shivering so much that I had trouble hearing. My face was raw and my toes were frozen. Charlie turned away, staring into the street. His face glowed red, then green, reflecting the lights of Phillip Woods’s blinking Santa.
    “... I know what’s really going on. It’s about revenge. Revenge and immortality. But it doesn’t matter why he does it, see, because it’s evil, pure and simple. Evil butchery.”
    He must have heard the news about the finger. He was rambling, tying together loose random thoughts, reminding me of my Institute patients. Maybe Charlie belonged there. A car drove slowly by. Charlie ducked. “See, people think I’m just a handyman. They think I’m old and slow. Well, I’m old, but not so slow. And I can tell he’s used my tools. Downstairs. Takes my lock-boxes. My tables. The space under the floor, below. He comes and goes, moves my things. And now that he listens to my thoughts— he’ll find out that I know. He’ll find out everything. Not only that I’m onto him but that I’m standing against him. That I’m warning you. I’m protecting you. He’ll come after me now, for sure.”
    Charlie stopped for a long, scraping cough. He’d lost it completely, gone over the edge. He was raving. Delusional. He needed help. I wondered if I could get someone to see him at the Institute. Of course, by law, if he wanted treatment there, he’d have to admit himself. But beyond his mental state, Charlie was physically ill. His face glowed, damp with sweat. Red, green. Red. Green.
    “You’re sick, Charlie. You must have a fever. Please go in and have something hot. I can get you to a hospital—”
    “No, miss. No hospitals. I’m staying right here where I need to be. But if I disappear, you’ll know what’s happened. See, he probes my mind. I feel him in my head like a hot wire. It’s his telepathy. In the day, I can fend him off, see. But when I sleep, I can’t be vigilant. So nights, see, I stay out here, where there’s engines and sirens and radio interference, and he can’t probe.”
    “Charlie,” I shivered, “go inside. I’ll bring you some hot tea or coffee. Or how