Dying to Know by T. J. O'Connor Read Free Book Online

…”
    “No, Angela. No.” Ernie guided her to the kitchen and into a
    high-back kitchen chair. “No one was here. You’ve had a very
    tough couple of days.”
    “No.”
    Ernie sighed and went about making tea. I sat at his kitchen
    table beside Angel. She gazed vacantly out the breakfast nook
    windows, shaking her head in slow, almost imperceptible move-
    ments. She was pale and her eyes dull with the battle between
    self-doubt and disbelief. When Ernie placed the steaming cup in
    front of her, she took it and sipped it.
    “I know what I saw and heard, Ernie. A man—a tall man—
    was trying to get into the house. I heard someone moving around
    outside, rattling the windows. I thought it was you or André.
    When I looked out, I saw a tall man.”
    “Can you describe him more?”
    She shook her head. “No, I just saw him walk around the cor-
    ner of the house. I couldn’t see much from the window.”
    47
    “Wel , I suppose it could have been André. I left earlier this
    morning and he was still here. His car is gone now. I can find out when he left if you like.”
    “It wasn’t André.” She peered into her cup and the memory
    seemed to scare her again. “When … when I went to the top of
    the stairs, I heard someone in the living room. I called out but no one answered. I got frightened. When I turned to go to my room,
    I caught sight of someone passing through the foyer.”
    I leaned in close to her. “It’s okay, Angel. There’s no one here.”
    Angel turned and looked right at me as though she could see
    me. The thinnest of smiles edged the corners of her mouth. She
    glanced down; perhaps embarrassed at any whimsical notion I
    was close.
    “I saw him twice. I’d swear …”
    “Did you phone the police? Bear?”
    She shook her head. “No, my phone is in my purse in the liv-
    ing room. There’s no phone in the guest room.”
    “Yes, yes, of course.” He sipped his tea, reaching out and tak-
    ing her hand. “Angela, perhaps—just perhaps—it was a bad
    dream. Perhaps you were thinking of the other night. You said a
    man was in the foyer. Just like when Tuck …”
    “No. Call Bear. Please. First Tuck … now someone was here.
    Maybe …”
    Ernie shook his head but didn’t respond.
    “Listen, Ernie,” I said. “Call him. It’ll make her feel better.”
    Angel’s eyes glistened. “Please.”
    He relented. A few moments later, he was repeating the story
    for the second time. When he quieted to listen to Bear, he went
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    into the living room to finish the call in private. Five minutes
    later, he returned to the kitchen. He poured himself more tea and
    sat down beside her.
    “There. We had a good chat. He’ll come over, but he felt there
    was no rush. He believes it’s stress.”
    “No rush?” Angel frowned and went to the sink with her tea
    mug. She was biting her lip and swirling the remnants of tea in
    her mug—a sign she was confused and questioning herself. The
    fear was passing and anger was filling the void.
    I didn’t see any intruder or feel any danger when I’d found
    Angel. It was her fear—her terror—that summoned me. Perhaps
    her hold on me blocked any other sense or sight I might have
    had. Her fear was real enough to her—real enough to reach from
    her world to mine and pull me to her.
    The reality of fear is that it need not be justified. Fear is fear. If a tal man was in Ernie’s house—for whatever reason—he terrified Angel. If no man rounded the corner of the house outside, if
    none passed through the foyer, if it were all a manifestation of
    shock and trauma, Angel was just as terrified.
    At that moment, I doubted any of us knew the truth.
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    nine
    “I’ve got deputies checking the neighbors,” Bear told Angel,
    pulling into our driveway. “There’s not a house within a mile.
    We’ll be lucky if anyone saw anything.”
    “Do you believe me, Bear?” Angel didn’t look at him. “Ernie
    doesn’t.”
    “It’s not that. He thinks you had a bad