Protector - Laurel Dewey [115]
Emily turned around. “It says, ‘Just Call Dan—24-Hour Home . . . Main. . . . Main . . .”
“Maintenance,” Jane said. “So why in the hell is he sitting there?”
“He’s eating lunch.”
“It’s way past lunch.”
“Is something wrong?”
Jane turned back around. She recalled Chris’ comment, “Just because people call you paranoid does not erase the fact that certain other people aren’t out to get you!” Jane accused Chris of being paranoid and now she was proving to have the same behavior. Furthermore, she worried her paranoia was causing her to turn everything into a conspiracy and everyone into a conspirator. But still, it was her job to keep her eyes open to anything and anyone. “Let’s wait here and see what he does.”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Can’t you hold it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jane looked into the rear vision mirror and assessed the situation before they got out of the Subaru and headed toward the front door. The sound of a ringing cell phone could be heard coming from the parked truck. Jane spun around. The man inside the truck answered the phone and said, “I can be there in five minutes.” With that, he turned on his ignition. A loud, whistling sound emitted from his engine as he put the truck in gear.
Emily turned to face the truck. The whistling sound drew her in as a trancelike expression descended. In her head, the whistling sound melted into a bloodcurdling, high-pitched scream. Her eyes filled with fear.
“Emily?” Jane said, unlocking the front door.
Emily slipped out of her daze. “Did you hear someone screaming?”
“Screaming?” Jane regarded Emily with care. “No, that’s his truck whistling.”
“Right. The truck.” Emily tried to rectify what she heard as the truck sped up Main Street toward the mesa.
Jane entered the house followed closely by Emily. The place was outfitted with sturdy furniture, some of which looked as though it had seen better days. The walls were covered with framed prints of birds, paintings of fruit and needlepoint landscapes safely pressed between glass. A narrow hallway greeted them and led directly to a small bedroom. If you walked down the hall to the right, you’d find the only bathroom in the house. The living room was to the left of the front door. Just past the living room was a short hallway that led into the kitchen, which was decorated in bright shades of yellow. To the right of the front door was a hall closet and smaller bedroom with a window that overlooked the front yard.
The place felt like a tight box to Jane. But still, the house was clean and appeared to be well taken care of by the owners. While Emily went to the bathroom, Jane checked out the aged radio console next to the television. Scanning the dials, she discovered only a handful of static-free stations, only one of which featured a talk radio format. No chance of tuning in the velvet-voiced Tony Mooney late at night when she couldn’t sleep, Jane thought to herself. Turning on the old television, Jane was greeted with one snowy picture after another.
“What’s wrong with the TV?” Emily said, bouncing back into the room.
“It seems we have an amazing three channels to choose from. But before you get too excited, Channel 5 is the crop report, Channel 2 is the weather report and Channel 7 seems to be one of the networks. But that’s only an assumption since there’s no picture on Channel 7, just sound. So, basically, this thing is one big radio.”
Jane and Emily dragged their bags into the house and did “Rock, Paper, Scissors” to determine who got the back bedroom down the hallway. Jane, as always, won the game. Checking the refrigerator, Jane found a lonely box of baking soda. The shelves were also bare, save for canisters of salt and pepper, a frying pan, two saucepans and assorted mismatched silverware. Jane jotted down a list of items to purchase at the local market.
“Hey, Jane!” Emily excitedly yelled from the backyard area. Opening the sliding glass door that led into the tiny backyard, Jane found Emily pointing eagerly across a thicket of tall grass. “I hear a creek running!” Emily said