Eyes of a Stalker (9 page)

“The author guy who comes to our book club sometimes.” I hesitated, and then told her about his strange behaviour lately.

“Do you think it could be him?” Mom's voice sounded horrified and hopeful all at the same time.

“Webster?” The very idea struck me as ludicrous. “No way.” We'd pulled into our driveway by then and I slid from the car still thinking about it. “At least, I don't think so.”

“When he left by that exit after your meeting last night, was he on foot?” Mom unlocked the door and pushed it open, then stood back and waited for me to go into the house ahead of her.

“No. He was driving his car.” I relocked the door behind me and dropped my book bag onto the floor. “So there's no way it could be him. Whoever heard me talking to Greg couldn't have been in a car. For one thing, we'd have noticed it for sure.”

“But he could have parked somewhere and hidden
near the house.”

“I don't think so. I mean, I know it's possible, but I just can't picture Webster doing that.”

Mom touched my arm and then ran her hand along my face in a gentle stroke. She was looking at me like she might cry, which made
me
feel like crying. “I understand that you feel that way, but I think we should mention it to the police anyway.”

I wasn't exactly keen on the thought of doing that, especially knowing that Webster was already having problems. And what if he thought I was accusing him of something?

I knew there was no sense in arguing about it, and anyway, what if I was wrong? It could be him. It wasn't impossible. And he
had
been acting strange, and had even given me that odd look last evening.

Mom called the police and told them she had some information and asked if they needed to come by or if she could just give it to them over the phone. When she hung up the phone she told me they were coming right over.

“The officer said this is their highest priority case right now,” she said quietly, slipping an arm around my shoulder.

It was Officer Holt who showed up moments later and, oddly enough, I was a bit disappointed it wasn't Mueller. I guess the way he'd handled things after the e-mail gave me confidence in him, even though he'd
been sceptical the time before.

Holt and Mom and I sat in the kitchen and he started out by asking me how I was doing. I wasn't sure how to answer that, so I just said I was okay.

“Now, you have some new information?” he asked, flipping his notepad open.

“Mom thinks it might be important,” I said. I hoped that conveyed that I didn't, and that I was only telling him this to humour her.

“Mothers are very often right,” he said.

“Shelby has good instincts,” Mom said, to my surprise. “But this is a bit close to home, if you know what I mean, so she may not be seeing things as clearly as she normally would.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. He nodded and smiled at me reassuringly. “Thing is, with an investigation like this, the best idea is to give us all the information you can, and let us sort it out from there. Something might not seem important to you, but it could be useful to us.”

So I told him about how Webster had been acting a bit unusual at the book club, and that he'd left the school last evening by the side entrance. I felt like a traitor the whole time I was talking, especially after reproaching Jimmy about that very thing that morning.

“You did just right in telling me about this,” Officer Holt told me. “Now, don't you worry about a thing. We'll take care of it.”

I forced a smile and said thank you.

“There's something else I've been meaning to mention,” Mom said. “As I'm sure you know, Shelby has been instrumental in solving a number of crimes here in Little River in the past. Do you think maybe someone is doing this to her as some kind of payback?”

“Doesn't seem like the kind of thing a person would do who was looking for revenge,” Officer Holt said. “And the fact that this person has easy access to the school makes it unlikely that it's an outsider, but I'll look into that just the same.”

They went over the details of the cases I'd had some luck in solving and Holt jotted down a few things. Then Mom saw him to the door and I went and called Greg and told him the news. It was only after we'd talked that I thought to check the callers list (I'm not yet used to having call display like everyone else in the free world) and when I did, Betts's cell phone number reminded me of what had happened at school.

I glanced at my watch. Drama club should be out by now. Maybe I should call her, I thought. She's probably sick about what she did, and afraid to phone me.

I dialled the number and it rang six times before she answered.

“Hey, Betts.”

“Shelby!” She didn't exactly sound penitent. In fact, she sounded excited and happy. “You won't
believe what happened!”

“What?”

“Kevin asked me if I wanted to go to a party next weekend!”

Not quite the apology I'd been expecting.

“It's going to be at Tyrone Breau's place, back at Standover Ridge. Hey! Maybe you and Greg can come, too. Oh! That reminds me, you can tell Greg I probably won't need his help after all. So, what do you think? Do you guys want to come?”

“I don't think so. But that's really great news. Good for you.”

“Well, it's not an actual date or anything. I mean, he didn't ask me to go with him. It was more like a, ‘Hey, if you're not doing anything you should come' kind of thing. But it's still a good sign, don't you think?”

“Yeah, sure. It's definitely a good sign.”

“Oh!” Her voice changed, dropping from excited to serious. “I'm so sorry. I forgot to ask you what the police found out. I was just so…”

“I know. Don't worry about it. Anyway, all they found out is that the e-mail came from… uh… a public place. So, no help there.” I said a few more vague things and told her I was real happy for her about Kevin. Then, pleading a ton of homework, I told her I'd see her the next day.

I think you can probably understand why I didn't give her specific details!

We'd just finished eating dinner that evening when the phone rang. Normally, I'd be the one to jump up and go answer it, but lately I was finding myself tensing up inside when it rang. When Dad hurried toward the kitchen, it was just one more reminder that my life wasn't exactly normal at the moment.

He came back after a few minutes, his face serious.

“That was Alyson Stark,” he said.

“Looking for a story?” Mom asked.

“What else?”

Alyson Stark is a reporter for the local paper. She's also Nora Stark's mother, and Nora is in the drama club. I couldn't specifically remember seeing her at today's meeting, but she must have been there.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her we'd think about it and let her know.”

I was surprised that Dad had told her we'd even consider giving her a story, and my surprise must have shown on my face, since he immediately began to explain.

“Alyson pointed out that the story is going to get around anyway, and she said there are a few things we should think about before we decide if we want it in the paper.

“For one thing, it might help keep rumours from getting out of hand. You know how things grow and get exaggerated around here.”

I nodded at that. I'd seen it a lot in the last year or so, but it wasn't usually focused directly on me. I have to say it was a whole lot worse knowing that people would be talking about me, spreading stories that were bound to get wilder and wilder as they were twisted and embellished.

“And it could help catch this idiot.”

“How?”

“By having the whole town — and especially this neighbourhood — on the alert. If everyone around is watching for anyone or anything suspicious, someone is bound to see something.”

“That isn't
always
a good thing,” Mom said. When Dad and I both looked at her questioningly, she explained. “Well, the police could be swamped with calls. If their time is wasted looking into every person who happens to walk along a sidewalk in our neighbourhood,
they'll be so busy they might not have time to check legitimate leads.”

“That might happen anyway, once the rumours get around,” I said.

We went over the pros and cons for a while, and then they asked me what I thought.

“You're letting me decide?” I said in surprise.

“Not exactly,” Dad admitted. “We have to make whatever decision we believe is best, but we'd like to know how you feel so we can consider it along with everything else.”

“I think we should go ahead,” I said, relieved I wasn't actually calling the shot.

“So do I,” Mom said. I knew she was reluctant about it, considering the possible drawbacks, but, like me, she saw more good than bad in the idea.

“It's unanimous, then.” Dad got up and headed back to the kitchen. “I'll give Alyson a call and tell her she can come over.”

Mrs. Stark must have had her keys in her hands, waiting for Dad's call, because she drove into our driveway less than ten minutes after he let her know we'd decided to give her the details. She burst into the kitchen trying to keep her face solemn, though there was a spark of excitement in her eyes. I suppose that's what makes for a good reporter: feeling the thrill of a story even if it's about something bad.

“Shelby,
honey
,” she said to me, though I don't think we'd ever actually met before, “I was just
horrified
when Nora told me about this. I mean, this is Little River, right? Things like this just don't
happen
here.”

“Would you prefer to sit in the living room or here in the kitchen?” Mom asked, keeping her voice neutral. Even so, I could tell immediately that she didn't like the breezy way Mrs. Stark was acting.

“Wherever Shelby is more comfortable,” she said.

“I'm afraid we're not quite on the same page here, Alyson,” Dad interrupted. “You won't be interviewing Shelby.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows shot up like he'd just said the most surprising thing ever.

“No. You'll be talking to me and my wife, and no one else.” Dad's voice and expression were both mild, and I wondered if Mrs. Stark would try to persuade him to let her talk to me. If she did, she'd see that his tone and appearance were both deceptive.

She went for a different tactic. “Well,
of course
, whatever you think is best. We'll just get a couple of quick shots of Shelby and then she can run off and do whatever she likes.” A camera materialized in her hand as if by magic. “If she's anything like Nora, she probably has a
truckload
of homework to get done anyway.”

“There won't be any pictures,” Dad said. Same voice, same look. “Darlene and I will give you the details of
what's happened and that will be it.”

“Are you sure about this? I mean, not everyone knows what Shelby looks like. It would be helpful for them to see her. Otherwise there could be calls left, right, and centre about every teenaged girl who happens to be walking down the street with a boy anywhere near her.”

“No pictures,” Dad answered evenly. “The neigh-bours all know Shelby, and they're the ones who are most likely to see and report anything suspicious.”

I saw her weigh whether or not to push any harder for the picture. Maybe she sensed that, if she argued about it any more, she'd blow the whole thing. In any case, she put her bright smile back on and said of course she understood and whatever they thought was best would be just fine.

“So, there definitely
won't
be a picture of Shelby in the paper,” Mom said. “I have no doubt you could dig one up somewhere, so I just want it really clear what we've agreed to. I want your word on this.”

The smile never left Mrs. Stark's face, but it wavered, ever so slightly, for a fraction of a second. “You have my word,” she said. “No picture.”

That satisfied my parents and the three of them sat down at the kitchen table. A tablet and tape recorder appeared, but Mrs. Stark hesitated before she started to ask questions.

It hit me that she'd expected my parents to send me
out of the room or something, and that her hesitation was to give them a chance to do that. As if! My folks wouldn't dream of treating me that way. I knew it was up to me if I wanted to stick around or not. I actually had no interest in hearing the whole thing rehashed, but I stayed for a few minutes anyway before heading to my room to get at my homework.

When I turned on the light, the first thing I noticed was that the curtain was open. Without thinking, I switched the light back off, crossed the room, and yanked the curtains closed. Even so, I decided to use my desk lamp because the brighter overhead light was more likely to show a silhouette of me when I passed the window.

I wondered if he was out there, watching. I wondered if he'd seen what I'd just done, and if he had, how it made him feel. Powerful? Amused? Angry? It was impossible to guess what this guy's reaction might be, although it would be a safe bet that it wasn't normal.

Did he know I was afraid? Would he like that, or would he be angry that he hadn't somehow won me over?

It was horrible to have every move I made governed by fear. Unless you've experienced something like this, you really can't imagine what it's like.

As I booted my computer, I wondered what I'd done that had first gotten this person's attention. Nothing was different about me. If anything, I could be considered a bit on the boring side. I go to school every
week, to church every Sunday. I spend time with my boyfriend and my friends doing very ordinary things. And that pretty much describes my life. Ordinary.

A thought struck me then. The only thing I'd done that was at all different from other years was join the drama and book clubs at school.