4th of July - James Patterson [24]
Ms. Abboud left me at the threshold of a bright, many-windowed room, and inside it was Carolee Brown. She jumped to her feet and came toward me.
“Lindsay. Good to see you.”
“I was passing by and, well, I wanted to apologize for being abrupt yesterday.”
“Oh, stop. I surprised you, and you didn’t know me from a tuna fish sandwich. I’m glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I told Carolee that I couldn’t stay long, but she assured me it would just take a minute.
I followed her outside to the playground and saw that we were headed toward a pretty, dark-haired girl of about eight, sitting at a table under a shade tree, playing with her Power Rangers.
“This is my daughter, Allison,” said Carolee. “Ali, this is Brigid and Meredith’s aunt Lindsay. She’s a police lieutenant.”
The little girl’s eyes got very bright as she turned them on me.
“I know exactly who you are. You’re taking care of Penelope.”
“I sure am, Ali, but it’s just for a few weeks.”
“Penelope is so cool, isn’t she? She can read minds.”
The little girl chattered on about her pig friend as she and her mom walked me to the parking area.
“It’s really cool that you’re a policewoman,” Allison said, grabbing my hand.
“It is?”
“Sure. Because it means you’re good at fixing things.”
I was wondering what the little girl meant, when she squeezed my fingers excitedly, then sprinted to my car. Martha wagged her tail and barked until I let her out. Then she danced around Allison and covered her with sloppy kisses.
We eventually separated child and dog, and Carolee and I made plans to get together soon. As I waved good-bye through the open window, I thought, I’ve made a new friend.
Chapter 39
THE WATCHER NERVOUSLY STROKED the steering wheel as he waited for Lorelei O’Malley to leave the house. It was bad news that he had to go in again.
At last, the silly-ass woman exited her house in her shopping outfit du jour and locked the door behind her. She gunned her little red Mercedes down Ocean Colony Road without looking back.
The Watcher got out of his car. He was wearing a blue sport jacket and slacks, dark sunglasses—what a field supervisor from the telephone company might wear. He walked quickly toward the house.
As he had before, the Watcher stooped at the basement window well and pulled on gloves. Then, slicing through the caulking with the blade of his hunting knife, he removed the pane of glass and dropped into the basement.
He moved swiftly through the house, up the stairs to the O’Malleys’ bedroom. Once there, he opened the closet, pushed aside a raft of dresses, and examined the video camera on the shelf attached to the back wall.
The Watcher took the tape out of the camera and slipped it into a pocket. He took another tape at random from a messy stack of tapes on the same shelf, resisting the impulse to tidy the rest. Then he took a packet of photos from the nightstand drawer.
He’d only been in the house for two minutes and twenty seconds when he heard the front door slam.
His mouth went dry. In all his days of watching this house, no one had ever come back after leaving for the morning. The Watcher went to the closet and crouched beneath a shimmying curtain of skirts. He reached up and closed the door.
The carpet dampened the sound of footsteps, and the Watcher was startled when the doorknob turned. He had no time to think. The closet door opened, the clothing parted—and the Watcher was revealed, crouching like a thief.
Lorelei O’Malley gasped out loud and clutched at her breast, then her face darkened.
“I know you,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
The knife was already in his hand. Lorelei saw it and let out a piercing scream. The Watcher felt he had no choice. He lunged forward, the long blade popping buttons off her blue silk dress as it slid into her belly.
Lorelei twisted, trying to escape the knife, but the Watcher held her tightly in what could have passed for a lover’s embrace.
“Oh. God. Why are you doing this?” she moaned, her eyes rolling back, her voice