Page 76 of Joker in the Pack

“Christopher Johnston’s a bust. He’s out of juvie now, but on the first night you were burgled, he was in hospital having his appendix removed.”

Dammit. I’d hoped we were finally getting somewhere. “Thanks for letting me know.” Nye stayed on the line, but the silence grew painful. “Is there something else?”

“Have you met a guy called Laurence Hazell? Larry?”

“The name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Son of Betty Hazell.”

“Betty in the post office?”

“Yeah. Do you talk to her much?”

“We chatted most days when I first arrived, but she gave me the cold shoulder like everybody else after the rumours started. Why?”

“Be careful what you say to her for the moment. Larry’s had a few issues with the police up north.”

“What kind of issues?”

“He developed a fixation with a girl in his class at uni, and it escalated.”

“What do you mean, escalated?”

“The cops found him hiding in her bathroom one night with a pipe wrench.”

I sagged back onto one of the kitchen chairs and gripped my phone harder. “What was he doing there?”

“According to his police statement, she’d mentioned her tap was leaking, so he decided to pay her a surprise visit to fix it. Found the door allegedly unlocked, so he let himself in and got on with the job, which is bullshit. He didn’t turn any lights on, for starters. But he did have a good lawyer, so he got six weeks of psychiatric treatment and a restraining order, and then they let him go again.”

“Where is he now?” I couldn’t keep the quake out of my voice.

“We’re not sure yet.”

I thought back to my conversations with Betty, but try as I might, I couldn’t recall her saying anything about her son. Had she mentioned me to him? Had I seen him in passing and not realised? What if he’d been one of the strangers standing in the post office or browsing in Floyd’s grocery store?

“How scared should I be?” I asked Nye.

“I didn’t call to worry you. The patrol car will be back tonight, and chances are, Larry isn’t even in the area. Just don’t open your door to any strangers.”

After that piece of news, I baked a fruit cake and made a batch of stew. I kidded myself that it was a cost-saving measure, that by cooking in bulk and freezing portions I’d save money, but really it was just to keep myself busy. If I concentrated on measuring and chopping, my mind couldn’t drift to more sinister affairs.

Like the person out there, watching me. Where were they right now? The trees at the back of the garden seemed to close in, dark and foreboding. A stalker could easily hide there, and I’d never notice. They’d know I was alone, and…

Olivia! Stop it.

Twiglet wove through my legs, providing a welcome distraction. When he wouldn’t stop miaowing, I gave him a spoonful of stew, and he licked it up then brushed against me, pleading for more.

“Okay, okay. Here you go.”

He’d gone off cat food in the last week, probably because I kept giving him leftovers, but he was such a sweet cat, and when he turned those big eyes on me, I couldn’t resist.

He repaid that generosity by nearly breaking my neck as I climbed the stairs to bed, but at least when we got there, he climbed under the covers with me like a feline hot-water bottle. The good news was that I had something to keep me warm at night without running up a huge electricity bill, but I couldn’t help wishing it were someone.

As I closed my eyes, I found myself thinking of Tate. Handsome, well-bred, wealthy—he was perfect for me, on paper at least. But when I was with him, why didn’t my pulse race? Like the way it did with Nye, for example. Now, there was a man unsuitable in every way, but whenever I got within three feet of him, my heart pounded like a jackhammer.

Thoughts of Tate turned into dreams of Nye as sleep claimed me. And thanks to my conversation with Sophie, those fantasies didn’t feature him wearing very many clothes, merely a smile, a pair of tight briefs, and that leather jacket I absolutely didn’t like. What was wrong with me?

I woke with a start just as he was about to peel the briefs off, and I cursed into the darkness, angry with myself for waking up and also for having had that filthy dream in the first place.

---