The Third Eye (13 page)

Huddled close to the side of a building under the protection of an overhang, Karen put the plastic, hood-like scarf over her head and fastened it under her chin. She was irritated at herself for not just asking her mother for a ride. To reduce the friction between them, she had been trying lately to make as few demands as possible, particularly in connection with her job. The day care center opened so early that Mrs. Connors was usually still sleeping when Karen left in the morning, and to wake her with a request for transportation had promised to produce more problems than it would solve. She hadn’t realized that the rain would pick up again so quickly. Now that it had, the idea of a six-block hike through a steady downpour was not at all enticing.

She was in the process of reminding herself that she wasn’t going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West just because some water fell on her when a car with a Texas license plate pulled to a halt in the lane across from her.

The woman who was driving rolled down the window.

“Excuse me,” she called. “Do you know the way to the Heights Day Care Center?”

“Yes,” Karen told her. “In fact, I work there. You’re on the right street, but you’re headed in the wrong direction.”

“You mean I’ve already passed it? I didn’t see a sign out front.” The woman sounded exasperated. “Are you headed there now? If so, hop in, and I’ll drive you. You can give me directions.”

“That would be fantastic,” Karen said gratefully. “I wasn’t looking forward to a six-block swim upstream.”

She hurried across the street, dodging puddles and ducking her head to prevent the rain from pelting her face. As she opened the car door, she peered automatically into the back, expecting to see a car seat and a diaper bag.

To her surprise, the seat was empty.

The woman caught her glance and interpreted it correctly.

“I’m not looking for child care. I have an appointment for a job interview. The girl I talked with on the phone said the center was hiring new staff.” She waited until Karen had pulled the door closed and then pushed a button to activate the lock. Throwing the car into gear, she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. “I’m going to be meeting with a Mrs. Dunn. She’s the director, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Karen said. “You’ll like her. She’s a great person to work for.”

“I hope I have a chance to find that out,” the woman said. “I’m new here, and I’m discovering that finding a job in an unfamiliar city is a lot harder than it used to be.”

Leaning back in her seat, Karen regarded her companion
with casual curiosity. She was an ordinary-looking woman, in her middle to late thirties, with blunt, nondescript features and the sort of milky, lightly freckled skin that usually belonged only to redheads. Her hair, however, had no hint of red in it. It was the same pale shade as Karen’s and fell loosely to the shoulders in a style that seemed too young for the face it was framing.

Sensing the friendly inspection, the woman glanced across and smiled.

“Have you worked at the center long?” she asked conversationally.

“This is my third summer,” Karen said. “I went out job-hunting so I wouldn’t have to go to tennis camp. The timing was lucky. The girl who helped with the two-and three-year-olds had decided to go to summer school, so Mrs. Dunn hired me to take her place. The next year, she made me the assistant in the Baby Room, and this year she’s put me in charge there.”

“The Baby Room,” the woman repeated. “That’s cute. How many infants do you have to take care of?”

“It varies,” Karen told her. “We’ve got ten or so regulars, but you can never be sure about the drop-ins. There are some parents who drop their kids off for just an hour or so every now and then when they have things to do or need a break.”

She realized, suddenly, that she had become distracted and had not been paying attention to where they were going.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot I was supposed to be giving directions. You’ll want to turn around and head back north
again. The center’s up Hill Street, a block past the public library.”

“We don’t need to worry about that just yet,” her new friend told her. “First I have to swing by my apartment.”

Karen looked at her with surprise.

“I thought we were going straight to the center.”

“We were,” the woman said. “But I just realized that I don’t have my résumé with me.” She gave a short, apologetic laugh. “I feel so stupid. I stayed up half the night writing and typing that thing, and then I must have walked out this morning and left it on the table.”

“Is it far?” Karen asked apprehensively. “I was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago.”

“It won’t take any time at all,” the woman told her. “My place isn’t far from here. Besides, that clock on the dashboard isn’t accurate. I don’t think it’s even seven yet.”

She had turned the car east, now, onto a side street.

“Tell me more about the day care center, Karen. Are you in charge of the Baby Room by yourself? If I do get hired, do you think I’ll become your assistant?”

“Probably not,” said Karen. “There’s a girl named Deedee who’s working with me already. What’s most likely is that you’ll be put with Jane Roebuck, who’s got the kindergarten kids. She has no one to help her, and she really needs somebody.”

It was a trivial exchange, but something about it disturbed her. Karen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unable to pinpoint exactly what it was. The woman’s question had certainly
been reasonable, and the answer had been a simple one to give. Why was it that she had the disconcerting feeling that she had allowed something of real significance to slip past her?

Something had been said that shouldn’t have been said, something that had caught at the edge of her consciousness but hadn’t fully registered.

She let her mind slide back over the woman’s side of the conversation.

Swing by my apartment…. I don’t have my résumé…. I feel so stupid…. My place isn’t far…. Tell me more about the center, Karen. Are you in charge of the…

Something clicked. She ran that sentence through again.

Tell me more about the center, Karen.
That was it!

That was the word that shouldn’t have been there—her own name!

This stranger had called her “Karen,” but she had never introduced herself!

Something cold touched her spine—the chilly finger of fear.

None of this is what it seems. This woman knew who I was before she picked me up. She knew that I would be there, on that particular corner, at that particular time.

Karen drew a long, slow breath, trying to still the sudden pounding of her heart.

“You haven’t told me who
you
are,” she said, struggling to make the statement sound natural. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Betty Smith,” the woman said easily.

“That’s simple to remember.”

It was almost
too
simple. It was the kind of name that one might snatch at random out of nowhere when asked suddenly to produce one.

The traffic light at the intersection one block ahead of them had just changed from green to yellow. That meant that by the time they reached it, it would be red. Karen’s purse lay on her lap, and both her hands had been resting casually on top of it. Now, she lifted her left hand slightly, causing the purse to tilt sideways and block the view of the driver. Surreptitiously, she began to move her right hand along the seat. She kept her eyes carefully focused upon the road.

“It’s just a couple of blocks now,” Betty Smith said.

She was slowing the car in preparation for the stop at the light. With her left hand, Karen tightened her grip on her purse. She did not change the direction of her gaze, for fear of alerting her companion to her intentions, but she did let her right hand drift up from the seat until it hovered opposite the handle of the door.

The light changed to red, and the car rolled to a complete stop.

Karen’s hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra and closed upon the cold metal of the door handle. She gave it a hard thrust downward, at the same time hurling the full weight of her body against the door. She did not worry about trying to retain her balance; with the traffic halted around them, she
was prepared to roll straight out onto the street if she had to in order to escape from the car. Her shoulder struck the door with bruising force, but it did not fly open as she had expected. The handle had not responded to the pressure of her hand.

“What did you want to go and do that for?” Betty Smith asked quietly. “You could hurt yourself that way. That door isn’t going to open unless I press the button.”

“Then press it!” Karen demanded. “I want to get out!”

“You can, very soon now. We’re almost to my apartment.”

“I don’t want to go to your apartment,” said Karen. “I want to get out here, right here, at this traffic light!”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” her companion told her.

The light had changed to green now, and the car was again in motion.

The chill that Karen had experienced a few moments earlier had by this time spread throughout her entire body. She could feel it from her scalp to the soles of her feet. It took effort to keep her voice steady.

“How did you know what my name was? I never told you.”

There was a slight pause.

Then Betty Smith said, “That wasn’t difficult. All I had to do was phone the center and ask them.”

“Ask them
what
?”

“I said that I was a working mother in search of day care for my three-month-old daughter, and I asked who the person was who would be taking care of her if I brought her to the center. They said it would be Karen Connors. I asked if that
was the older woman with the gray hair, and they said, no, Karen was young and blond.”

“Then all the things you told me before were lies!” Karen exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t really have a job interview lined up today! You didn’t forget any résumé! You never had any intention of driving me to the center.”

“That’s true,” the woman said without apology.

“You must be crazy!” said Karen. “Why would you want to go to so much trouble just to find out who was in charge of the Baby Room? Why did you pick me up this morning? What are you planning to do?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” Betty Smith told her. “Here we are at last. Behold, the exotic Tumbleweed Apartments!”

Karen turned to stare through the side window at the long row of brown stucco buildings. In front of one of these there stood a crudely printed sign reading, V
ACANCIES—
B
EST
R
ATES
I
N
T
OWN—
A
PPLY
W
ITHIN
. Dull, peeling paint that might once have been bright turquoise hung in weathered strips from the wooden roof trim and from the frames of the windows. There was no landscaping, though the small patches of dirt that served as front yards separating the line of faded blue doors from the street were dotted occasionally with tufts of dry, unwatered grass.

“They’re not exactly luxurious,” the woman said lightly. “They do have their advantages, though. The neighbors don’t bother you, and neither does the manager. If you pay your rent
in advance, you can expect to go indefinitely without being bothered by anybody.”

She continued to drive on past the line of buildings to the end of the block, where she turned right onto a side street and then immediately right again in order to enter an alley behind the apartment complex.

A delivery van with the name
SANICARE LAUNDRY
lettered on its side was parked some fifty yards up the block. Betty Smith pulled up behind it and stopped the car. Before she had even had time to switch off the ignition, the door of the van swung open and a stocky, bearded man climbed out of it. He glanced quickly up and down the alley and then, apparently satisfied that they were its only occupants, came swiftly over to the car.

Betty pressed the button by the steering wheel that released the locks. The man pulled the door open, reached in, and seized Karen’s arm.

“Come on,” he said. “Get out.”

“Let go of me,” Karen said shakily. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I said get out!” the man repeated. “Move it! We don’t have all day!”

His strong, stubby fingers bit cruelly into the soft flesh of her upper arm.

“Leave me alone!” Karen cried. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

In a desperate attempt to break his grip, she swung around to face him, clawing at his fingers with her free left hand and kicking out frantically with her feet. As she struggled, she drew in her breath in preparation to scream.

Before she could get the sound out of her throat, however, her assailant realized her intention and clamped his other hand across her mouth with so much force that her upper teeth sliced into her lip. Stunned by the shock of pain and gagging on the sudden rush of blood that filled her mouth, Karen found herself being hauled bodily out of her seat. An instant later, she was being propelled through the open back door and into the kitchen of one of the apartments.

Betty seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Following them in, she threw the door closed and locked it, and then leaned back against it, breathing hard.

The jarring slam was followed by a long, strange moment of silence.

The man was the first to recover.

“The girl’s a damned wildcat!”

“Surprise, surprise!” Betty seemed amused by his statement. “She doesn’t look much like one, does she? Appearances can be deceiving. She even tried to jump out of the car while I was driving!”

“Great,” the man said sarcastically. “That would’ve been just great. People screaming, police cars, ambulances—!”

“Get over it, Joe,” Betty said. “There was no danger of
that; I had the doors locked. Tie our little friend up, and let’s get going. You did get gas, didn’t you, and the road map?”

“You don’t have to worry about things on my end,” the man told her. “You just concentrate on taking care of your own job. It’s time to make that phone call. We don’t want the director calling the girl’s home to check on why she hasn’t come in yet.”