âYou didnât tell him, did you?â
âHim?â Annie, too, looked toward the dining room.
Mrs. Fosterâs words were hurried, desperate. âHeâs in charge at night. Please donât tell him. Please.â And she lurched away from Annie.
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Annie placed her cup and saucer on the mantel, held out her hands to the fire, but the cheerful warmth didnât touch the core of coldness in her mind. Despite a wonderful dinnerâMax loved to cook, and tonightâs beef fillets with stuffed artichokes had been spectacularâAnnie felt hollow. She stepped away from the fire, began to pace. âIâm going over there tomorrow and find out whatâs what.â
Max frowned. âWe need more information, Annie. Why donât you call Mrs. Foster? That protects her from anyone knowing sheâs spoken to you. It seems pretty clear sheâs scared of the guy whoâs there at night. Let me get the number.â He strode to the breakfast room, reached for the telephone book drawer.
Annie picked up the cordless phone.
Max scanned the directory. âOkay.â He read off the numbers. Dorothy L., her white fur winter-thick, jumped up on the kitchen counter, batted at Maxâs fingers. He picked up the chunky white cat, nuzzled her ruff.
Annie punched the phone. It rang twice, then a faint voice answered, âHello.â
âMrs. Foster?â Annie spoke fast. âThis is Annie Darling, Deniseâs friend. Tomorrow Iâm going to talk to the people in charge thereââ
Max cradled Dorothy L. in his arms, listened.
âNo.â The cry was so sharp, Annie held the phoneaway. She reached down, clicked on the speaker, and the frightened voice spilled into the peaceful room. âPlease, Mrs. Darling, donât do that. Tonight after dinner, he demanded to know who you came to see. No one answered. He said that when he found outââher voice brokeââheâd have a little talk with that person. When anybody does anything he doesnât like, he comes to your room late at night. No one knows heâs there andâoh, itâs so awful. Donât do that to me. Please.â
Annie held the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt. âMrs. Foster, thatâs dreadful. He canât get away with hurting you.â
âYou donât understand. He doesnât hurt anyone. But he talksââthere was a shudder in her voiceââand he makes you listen. One night I went to dinner and I forgot my key. I had to ask him to open my door. You see, he has a master key. He can go in any room whenever he wants. I knew what would happen, but I had to ask. I didnât have anywhere to go. When I asked him, he waited and waited, and then he said in this awful voice that heâd open my door, but I had to stop being so careless. He walked with me back to the room and he held onto my armââthere was a sob in her voiceââand I hated the feel of his hot fingers, tight on my skin. He came into my room and closed the door and he started talking. He said I must apologize. I did, and he said I had to say I was sorry again. And he made me go stand in a corner, and he kept talking in that soft voice, and he said I was nothing but trouble, that Iâd been trouble ever since I moved there, and people who caused trouble, sometimes they died in their sleep. And he rattled his chain with the keys, and he said he could come in my room any time. When he left, I couldnât stop shaking.â There was a choking sob. âDonât you see, thereâs nothing to be done. It doesnât sound like anything, but you donât know how he acts or hear his voice. Sometimes I wake up in the night and heâs standing there at the foot of my bed. Once, I screamed, and the next morning they told me Iâd had a nightmare. Thereâs nothing anyone can do. Please leave me alone. Donât tell anyone what I told