Free The May Day Murders by Scott Wittenburg Page B

you.’”
    Ann recoiled, but kept her composure.
“Is that all he said?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ And what did you say?” Ann
asked, her hands beginning to tremble.
    Amy leered at her. “Nothing, Mother! Do
you think I’m crazy? I hung up the phone right away!”
    “ Well, you did the right
thing, sweetie. And if he ever calls again, just hang up on him
again. Don’t stay on the line.”
    “ Don’t worry, I
won’t.”
    Ann could see that Amy was upset about
the call but was trying her hardest not to show it. “Do you have
any idea who it could have been, honey?” she asked.
    Amy’s eyes had returned to Bugs Bunny.
“No.”
    Ann couldn’t tell if she was telling
the truth or not, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Did he
sound young or old?” she asked.
    “ I couldn’t tell, Mom. I was
half asleep, you know.”
    Ann stared at her a moment and could
feel her nerves becoming taut as she thought about her little girl
being traumatized by an obscene phone caller. Once again, she
wished Sam were here to help her now—he’d know what to do. But he
wasn’t here, and it was just two of them.
    Then she recalled the sounds she
thought she’d heard in the backyard as a huge wave of apprehension
swept over her. Maybe it hadn’t been her imagination after all. And
the front porch light …
    The floodlight! she thought. She must
call Mr. Ogilvy right away.
    But first, she sat down beside Amy and
asked, “Are you all right, honey?”
    Amy looked directly into her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Mom.”
    Ann embraced her. “I love you,
sweetie,” she whispered, feeling a sudden urge to cry.
    “ I love you too,
Mom.”
    Ann hastened to compose herself and
started to get up, but Amy held onto her. “Don’t worry, Mom.
Everything’s going be all right,” she whispered gently.
    Ann rested her head on her shoulder. “I
know.”
    She hugged her a few moments longer,
then stood up again. “I think I’ll go call Karen back.” She started
to leave, then stopped herself, and turned to Amy. “I really wish
you’d wear a robe or something to cover yourself up,” she said,
regarding her daughter’s scanty attire: a threadbare tee shirt and
panties.
    Amy looked at her, her mouth agape.
“God, Mom—don’t be so paranoid!”
    Ann stared at her reproachfully, let
out a sigh and left the room.
    She stopped in the living room to get
her address book out of the end table drawer, and took it with her
into the kitchen. After finding Mr. Ogilvy’s telephone number, she
picked up the phone and dialed. He answered after the second
ring.
    “ Mr. Ogilvy, this is Ann
Middleton.”
    “ Yes? How are you, Mrs.
Middleton?”
    “ Fine, thank you, but I have
a little problem. The light in the backyard is acting up
again.”
    “ What’s that? Is the bulb
burned out?”
    Ann could almost see the crotchety old
man’s dour expression as he spoke. “I don’t think so, Mr. Ogilvy.
It must be shorting out again because it goes on sometimes, then
goes out for a while, and then comes on again. Just like it was
doing before.”
    There was a pause. Then, “Can’t be—I
fixed that wiring last time I was there. Must be something
else.”
    Ann didn’t want to argue with him.
“Well, whatever it is, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at
it. As soon as possible, if you don’t mind.” she
asserted.
    Another pause, then he said, “All
right, Mrs. Middleton. I’ll stop by sometime this afternoon and
take a look at it.”
    “ Thanks a lot, Mr. Ogilvy. I
really do appreciate it.”
    “ You’re welcome,” he
grunted, and hung up.
    Ann pushed down on the button and
dialed Karen Walker’s number.
    “ Hello?”
    “ Hi, Karen. Amy told me you
called while I was at the supermarket.”
    “ How are you
feeling?”
    “ Not real great.”
    “ What’s the matter? Is it
Marsha?” Karen asked, concerned.
    “ No, not that, something
else … Last night I thought I heard a prowler in the
backyard—two different times, as a matter of