Watching for Willa Page 6

  “What are you going to do?” Starla asked, as if sensing Willa’s inner battle.

  “What can I do? He has the note. Probably’s destroyed it by now. No police officer’s going to take me seriously if I make an accusation.” She shrugged, intensely aware of her precarious situation. “I’m stuck. I’ve invested too much money in this place to try to sell right away. And damn it all, I like it here.” She sighed and lifted her cup in a noble, if shaky, salute to herself. “All I can do is wait and see what happens.”

  “But, Willa…” Starla bit her lip. “What if it is a coincidence—only a dangerous one? What if you have attracted the attention of the stalker?”

  “I have to put my faith in the theory I haven’t.”

  Starla didn’t look pleased. “Only this afternoon another employee at the mall told me that she thought she’d been followed Saturday night after work.”

  “And I heard a psychologist state on the radio that if they don’t catch this guy soon, he’s liable to do more than stalk and frighten women half to death,” Willa admitted, meeting Starla’s worried gaze. “He’s bound to actually hurt someone. You be extra-careful, too. Okay?”

  “Yeah. That’s one thing you don’t have to tell me twice.” Starla glanced back toward Zachary Denton’s house. The hint of light behind the draperies suggested activity in one of the first-floor rooms. “Was he home Friday night?”

  Willa sighed, wondering who his visitor was, and what was going on in there. “That’s the big question. I don’t know.”

  Although he and Roger Elias had a standing appointment for every Wednesday and Sunday, Zach didn’t feel like playing chess tonight. But having set his plan in motion, he knew if he wanted it to work, the spider had to keep building his web.

  Six months ago he’d advertised for a chess partner—or more accurately, an instructor—and had been disappointed with the results. Apparently not many Texans were into the game, at least not anyone in Vilary. Or so he thought, until Felix brought him a piece of fan mail from an aspiring writer who actually lived in town. What’s more, it turned out Elias played chess, but had missed the ad. And although Zach would prefer to eat tabbouleh three times a day rather than critique another writer’s work, particularly an oversensitive, unpublished one, he agreed that if the department store manager had something for him to read, he would take a look at it. If there was a shadow of talent to work with, they had a deal.

  Now he knew that Felix was wrong about the bookish thirty-year-old. Roger did have talent, coarse and largely untapped, but clearly evident. However, Zach hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those nights when the ambitious fledgling wanted feedback. It would be challenge enough to keep focused on the game…well, on both of them.

  Roger followed him into the study, and while Zach positioned his chair at his usual spot behind the field of black marble combatants, Roger set his designer leather briefcase beside the couch. Zach indulged in a silent sigh of relief.

  The briefcase was as much a part of Roger’s uniform as the suit and tie, and his Italian loafers. Practicing a yuppie version of eastern visualization, Roger believed that dressing as a successful writer would serve to make him one that much faster. Thus the case went everywhere he did, and it was only when he set the thing out of reaching distance, that Zach knew he had a reprieve. If Elias had something to share, he would have carried it to the table, much like the poor soul who follows the president, toting the country’s defense system codes.

  “Help yourself to the bar.” Zach wanted a moment to watch the younger man and gauge his mood.

  Murmuring his thanks, Roger headed with surprising eagerness to the well-stocked, mahogany armoire, his slacks flapping comically around his broomstick legs. A good thing he was only average height, Zach mused, and not for the first time, otherwise the kid would have looked like one of those walkingsticks that peered at him from the window screens throughout the summer. It didn’t help that Roger was also almost as colorless, having been cursed with nondescript brown hair, sallow skin and unremarkable, twitchy features. It was only when you looked beyond the glasses, into his indigo blue eyes, that you picked up on the seriousness and intelligence of the man inside. If he’d been prone to religiousness or politics, he could have been a fanatic. Instead, the demon tormenting his soul was his ambition to be a famous writer.

  And an interesting demon it was, Zach thought lifting an eyebrow, as Roger poured himself a particularly generous amount of his V.V.S.O.P. brandy into a snifter. It wasn’t the portion that bothered him, it was the reason behind the splurge. Usually, it was all Roger could do to sip his way through a single, weak Scotch and water, and then Zach suspected it was more for appearance’ sake than a genuine liking for alcohol.

  “Bad day?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” As he approached the table, Roger ran a hand through hair too conservatively short to have been mussed. “If we’re going to play, let’s play.”

  Zach was too amused to be offended. “Isn’t that my line?” Then he saw the man’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Between the dim lighting and Roger’s protective movements, it was only as he took his seat that Zach saw the raw scrape that went from cheekbone to chin.

  “I fell,” Roger replied, avoiding Zach’s narrow-eyed inspection.

  But the hand that set the snifter on the table was unsteady. Growing more intrigued by the minute, Zach murmured, “Whatever you did, at least you did a good job of it. You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?”

  “No, you don’t have to worry that I’ll bleed all over the furniture. It’s already scabbed over.”

  Snide pup. Zach watched him down a good third of the expensive liquid in one inexperienced gulp. “Have I ever voiced a concern about my material possessions?” he asked, relying on the quiet tone and cold smile he knew would have the desired effect on his guest.

  It didn’t seem possible that the man could grow paler, but he did, and after easing the crystal glass back onto the table, he bowed his head, the image of a guilty schoolboy. “It happened last night, as I came home from work. The light outside my apartment had apparently burned out and…and I slipped on the top stair. Brick,” he murmured, touching the raw skin on the left side of his face.

  Bull, thought Zach. If that were the truth, he would have indulged in the drinking last night, and he’d be long over the shakes. Something more serious than a fall had occurred; the question was, why was he lying about it? Had he gotten into a fight and was too embarrassed to admit it?

  “Better be careful. I’d hate to lose my chess instructor.”

  “At least you’d be spared having to read my crap anymore.”

  He sounded as pouty as a six-year-old. “Oh, I doubt it,” Zach drawled, in no hurry to let the matter drop, or to hurry with their game. “There are plenty more where you came from. They’d be bulldozing dirt into your grave, and I’d already be hounded by requests to take your place.”

  Wounded, stunned eyes stared at him over the board—and then for a brief flash there was hatred, pure and raging. Zach almost nodded in satisfaction.

  As quickly as it came, the temper vanished and Elias refocused on the board. When he reached for a white pawn, he trembled so badly, he almost knocked it over. Withdrawing his hand, he barely managed to choke out, “You’re in rare form tonight.”

  “You know the house rules, Roger. Only one self-serving, embittered bastard allowed in this domicile, and I’m it.”

  “How inconsiderate of me to forget.” This time when the man reached for the brandy, he only shivered after swallowing. “Is this outpouring of compassion my doing, or does it have anything to do with the fact that you’re about to lose your privacy?” he asked, as soon as he regained the ability to speak. “Couldn’t help but notice the lights on next door. What’s the matter? Do your new neighbors have a herd of kids that are already driving you nuts?”

  Well, well, Zach mused, finding this increasingly entertaining. His protég�
� had a temper, and a taste for revenge. That’s what he’d been wanting to find out, but he’d expected it to take much longer. That scrape on Elias’s face couldn’t have occurred at a more opportune moment.

  “Don’t you know?” he drawled, sitting back and steepling his fingers. “It’s a cohort of yours.”

  The finely aged cognac was working fast; Roger was slow to respond. “Mine?”

  “In a manner of speaking. At the mall. Isn’t your store near that place called Whimsy something or other?”

  “Someone at Willa’s is moving next door?”

  “Its namesake herself.” He watched closely, but saw nothing that would suggest he wasn’t chasing an empty hunch, so he decided to ask outright. “You didn’t know?”

  “No.” A brief, incredulous laugh burst from his lips before Roger Elias rubbed at his forehead. “Amazing. I swear it’s utterly amazing.”

  “What?” Zach asked, perplexed.

  “You. Your luck. You write a book, it becomes a bestseller overnight. Crash a plane, you survive. You get a neighbor you don’t want—she turns out to be a widow with no children. Me? I can’t even—” Looking positively sick with fear, he suddenly didn’t seem to know where to look.

  “Relax, Roger,” Zach soothed, wishing his visitor hadn’t been quite so successful at checking himself. “I’m sure you’ll get your…due.”

  Going from green to red, Roger muttered, “Let’s play,” and moved the pawn he’d fingered before forward by two squares. “I thought I’d try a strategy that won a Moscow tournament a few years ago.”

  Zach smiled coolly. “I can’t wait.”

  Long after the lights went off at 11 Raven, he stood in the darkness and thought about her. It was one way to get his mind off his mistake. The only way.

  It had been a difficult weekend, stressful and confusing. He’d barely been able to work, and he couldn’t sleep. He wondered if he ever would again.

  Something had gone wrong. He hadn’t meant to do what had happened. It wasn’t his fault. He’d been expecting Judith…Judith, wanting to tell her he wouldn’t go through with it. She’d been there instead. The one. He’d had no choice.

  If only she hadn’t resisted, then she wouldn’t have suffered so. He would have done what he had to do, what she should have enjoyed. It wasn’t his fault! But she’d been too suspicious. Worst of all, there had been no release.

  Would Willa make that mistake? He had to warn her not to when her time came.

  From his pocket he drew out the handful of silk and stealthily approached her house.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She was midway down the stairs Monday morning when the sound of squealing brakes, shouts and screams had Willa rushing the rest of the way. A glance out the living room window told her the commotion was coming from next door, and she hurried to the dining room window, where to her amazement a police car, as well as a sleek white convertible were parked in the front of Zachary Denton’s house. Two men, one in uniform, were grappling with a hysterical woman.

  “Monster! You’re finished now! This time you’ve gone too far!” she screamed toward the house.

  The sound carried easily through the storm windows. But what really shocked Willa was that she recognized the woman as a customer. Judith Somebody. Not one of her fav—

  “Oh my goodness!”

  It finally hit her. The woman’s last name was Denton. That was Zachary Denton’s ex-wife!

  She’d never cared for the woman because of her pretenses and attitude, not to mention her tendency to pass hot checks. When she came into the store, Willa slipped back to her office as often as possible to avoid waiting on her. But she’d never considered the significance in the names. After all, Denton wasn’t that uncommon. Texas even had a college town using it.

  Her guess had been that Judith Denton was the wife of some Houston oil executive or real estate wheeler-dealer. However, now that she knew the connection, she still couldn’t believe it.

  What on earth was going on over there? Too curious to resist, she decided her morning coffee could wait and headed for the front door. At least she’d dressed better this morning. In anticipation of the movers who she needed to meet across town in a matter of hours, she wore jeans and one of A.J.’s shirts over a loose salmon-colored T-shirt. Covered from neck to ankle as she was, this time there was no way she could give out unwanted messages, she thought, opening the front door.

  The splash of bright red against the white door was totally unexpected. She stared for several seconds before it registered that this was not good, not good at all.

  Not again. Please, not again.

  What was it this time? She hesitated in reaching for it, eyeing the thing—she thought it was a scarf, but if so, there wasn’t much to it—between the knob and door as if it might sting or bite. Most important, though, she wondered who had put it there? When. Why?

  Prompted by the continuing ruckus next door, she cautiously tugged the item free.

  Her surprise deepened into shock. It wasn’t a scarf, but a pair of women’s lace-trimmed, bikini briefs. Not hers, but she recognized them just the same. She’d sold out of them at Whimsy for Valentine’s Day.

  “Open up, damn it! The police are here with me!”

  The shrill voice snapped her out of her stupor. Crushing the silky material in her hand, Willa continued on her way next door. But her insides were quaking, her mind reeling because there was no way to accept, let alone convince herself that this latest message, and what was happening next door, was pure coincidence.

  “Excuse me?” Willa carefully made her way through the two overgrown yards. “Mrs. Denton?”

  Leaving the ex-Mrs. Denton to the suited man, the uniformed police officer stepped away from the over-excited woman he’d been trying to draw back from the stairs, and blocked Willa’s path. “Who are you, ma’am?”

  “Willa Whitney. I live next door—just moving in, actually—and I heard the commotion. I was wondering if I could be of some help.”

  Judith gave up her struggles with the other man, and focused on Willa. Her expression and tone were suddenly blank, almost trancelike, and her eyes…

  Despite the warmth and humidity of the morning, Willa experienced a sudden chill. Judith Denton had blue eyes, and hair that though bleached nearly white, and cut extremely short in a spiky punk style, was still blond.

  Oh, God, please let this be a dream. Let me wake up now.

  “You…” Judith Denton murmured through barely moving lips. “You’re moving in there? Don’t. You’ll be putting yourself in terrible danger. Don’t do it!”

  “All right, Mrs. Denton,” the man in the already-limp and wrinkled business suit interjected. “You don’t want to say anything that—”

  “Don’t call me that! Don’t ever call me Mrs. Denton again!” Judith shrieked, turning on him like some wild thing.

  “Why not? You went to all lengths to acquire the status.”

  Everyone turned to stare at the man who glared back at them with disgust. Willa didn’t know how Zachary Denton had managed to open the front door without anyone hearing the bolt, but there he was on the other side of the screen door, looking fierce and untamed himself. Definitely ready to do battle. When his gaze settled on her, she had the strongest urge to hide behind the uniformed officer. “Arrest him!” Judith cried to the two men, as she pointed at her ex-husband.

  Gently urging down her arm, the middle-aged man in the suit said, “Mr. Denton? I’m Detective Jack Pruitt, Vilary P.D. I’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.”

  “What for?” Zachary Denton demanded, making no attempt at civility.

  “You monster, you know what for!” Judith shouted back. She wrenched free of the uniformed officer’s hold and charged for the stairs again.

  The uniformed officer, younger and more agile, especially since he wasn’t wearing strapless red high-heeled sandals like Judith, reached her first. But the woman had no intention of being held, let alone calmed; she didn’t even se
em to care that her twists and lunges were parting the front of her matching red jumpsuit and offering quite a view of Whimsy by Willa merchandise. Blushing, the officer cast Willa a look of desperate appeal.

  “Maybe you could help her, ma’am?” Detective Pruitt added, providing the unwelcome second to the motion.

  Wishing she hadn’t been so hasty in coming out here, Willa followed him up the stairs, and did what he’d asked, while the detective continued across the porch.

  “May we come in, Mr. Denton?” Pruitt asked again, still painstakingly polite. “We really do need to discuss a few things.”

  “Only if you insist, Detective. But understand that I haven’t had time to lock away my valuables. Therefore, I’m holding you responsible for my ex-wife’s behavior. She has a penchant for taking what’s not hers.”

  “Bastard,” Judith spat at him.

  Willa didn’t know whether to feel sorry or embarrassed. Although she already had experienced a taste of how rude Zachary Denton could be, she couldn’t believe he would be so blatantly cruel in front of two strangers, let alone officers of the law. However, her objective study ended the instant she again found herself under his scrutiny.

  “I see your experiences haven’t left you any the wiser,” he muttered to her as they filed into the house.

  However disheveled, Zachary Denton looked confident and in control as he wheeled his chair back several yards. Willa understood quickly that it was so he could see them all at the same time—perfectly logical for a man who was an expert in providing surprises in his stories, but didn’t like them happening to him.

  “All right, what’s this about?” he demanded, folding his massive arms across his chest.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Judith flung back at him. “You thought it was me you were getting, didn’t you? Were you at least sorry when you realized it was Nancy instead?”

  Sighing and combing his hands through the wild tangle of his hair, he glanced at Detective Pruitt. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  If it was an act, Willa decided he belonged onstage. He appeared as confused about all this as she felt.