The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [68]
Though it is sad to see some of the older folks leave, Dina thought as she paused in front of the Petersons’ house at the end of the block. No surprise, of course, everyone had been expecting it, since old Mr. Peterson died last year. Too big a house for one person, the widow had said when she announced her plan to move to Ocean Pines to live with her sister. The house would be snapped up in no time, Dina reflected as she stood on the corner. Needs work but has that great yard, and Mr. Peterson always did keep up with the mechanics.
Dina crossed the street and looked back to the Peterson property as Waylon sniffed the calling cards left behind by the other neighborhood dogs. In the light from the street lamp she could see the thick frame of the grape arbor that surrounded the rear portion of the corner property. Jude had recalled only days before that the spring Mr. Peterson had planted the first of his grapevines was the year that Jude had moved to Henderson to take the job as librarian. Dina had been a shy toddler with dark ringlets, Jude had told her, and it seemed like only yesterday that both Dina and the grapevines had stood on spindly legs. . . .
Tugging on the leash, Dina followed Waylon along the edge of the park, then started back across the street again, lost in thought and oblivious to the dark van that crept from the shadows of the parking lot, its lights off. It gained speed as it stealthily approached, so Dina failed to see the vehicle until it was almost upon her. Leaping for the sidewalk, jerking on Waylon’s chain to pull him along with her, Dina found herself scrambling onto the Turners’ lawn as—incredibly—the van jumped the curb and appeared to almost be following her before heading back to the street and disappearing around the corner.
Terrified, heart pumping way too fast, Dina crouched behind the Turners’ hedge and tried to catch her breath, a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Clinging to a confused Waylon and trembling all over, she remained in the shelter of the boxwood till the gasping stopped. But as she sought to stand, she heard the hum of an engine idling nearby. On her hands and knees, a tight grip on Waylon lest he slip through the hedge and into view, Dina crawled to the end of the hedge to peer out at the street.
The minivan lurked several houses down from where Dina and Waylon hid. It must have gone around the block and circled back, she thought as she watched its slow but steady prowl. Holding tightly to the dog’s leash, Dina leaned forward hoping to catch a glimpse of the license plate as the vehicle passed, but something—mud perhaps?—smeared the plate. Nor could she get a good look at the driver, whose face was hidden in the dark and further obscured by a hat pulled low over the forehead.
The van made one more reconnaissance, then finally turned right at the stop sign as if heading for town. A long ten minutes later, convinced that the van was not coming back, Dina emerged from the hedge and ran past the six houses to her mother’s. Rushing through the front door, she slammed it behind her and leaned back against it, blood swirling in her ears. Snapping off the hall light to cast the foyer in darkness, still shaking, she attempted to gather her wits.
“Dina, my God . . .” Jude flew in from the living room.
Dina ran into the kitchen, removed the cordless phone from its handset, and dialed the number for the local police.
“Someone tried to run me down,” Dina panted, pointing to the darkened street. “Can you believe it? Someone deliberately tried to hit me!”
For the first time in Jude McDermott’s life, she fainted.
Tom Burton, who’d been on the Henderson police force for nearly as long as Jude had been the town’s librarian,