Because I'm Watching Page 27

  In his tiny walk-in closet, he pulled the chain that turned on that light. He looked around at the chaos of clothes and bags. He extricated his overnight case and in a return to his military training, he precisely folded and packed a change of clothes. He found his cell phone. The battery was dead; he hadn’t charged it in months. So he plugged it in. Going out to the living room, he picked up the old push-button phone and put the receiver to his ear. The dial tone hummed in his ear, waiting for instruction. He pushed zero and waited.

  Did directory assistance still exist?

  To his amazement, an operator answered, albeit an automated electronic operator. He got the number for Alaska Air, called, and made his reservations.

  That evening he visited Dr. Frownfelter and borrowed his computer, joined him for pizza and beer, and went home to bed. He climbed between the sheets and slept the sleep of the righteous.

  In the morning, he shaved, showered, and dressed in travel clothes. He opened the top drawer and pulled out his revolver. He checked it, made sure it was clean and loaded and the safety was on. He slid it in the leather holster, strapped the holster around his chest, and shrugged into his jacket. With one call to the police department, he discovered that early this morning Dr. Frownfelter had posted bail and Maddie had been released. Jacob walked across the street, knocked on the door, and called, “Maddie, it’s Jacob. Let me in.”

  No answer.

  In his firmest command voice, he said, “Madeline Hewitson, if you don’t let me in, I will break down the door.”

  He heard the rattle of the chain. The door opened a few inches. She peeked out.

  Her eyes and nose were red. She had been crying, probably in jail, probably all night.

  He gently pushed the door the rest of the way open, shoving her back far enough to slip in. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around.

  Packing boxes filled the house. Books and belongings were strewn everywhere. “What are you doing?”

  “Moving out. Moving back. Giving up. I had to promise the judge I would commit myself to a mental asylum within seven days. It was the only way she would release me. And I … I guess I’ll be in there forever.” Maddie’s voice wobbled.

  He took her in his arms. “Honey, don’t beat on yourself like this.”

  She burst into tears. “I l-liked that dog. He was such a gr-rumpy old thing. Now he’s half dead and everyone thinks it’s … it’s me, and I don’t know how the poison got in the dog treat! Poor Mrs. Nyback is so hurt. She was n-nice to me and I guess I killed Easton…” Frantically she shook her head. She grabbed Jacob’s collar and gripped it hard, and she talked faster and faster. “I don’t remember killing him. I don’t remember … I remember being afraid. I remember seeing him dead, seeing the man in the hat and coat. But then, I don’t remember buying poison, but I tried to poison you and me and the dog is sick so…”

  He walked her to her desk chair and pushed her into it, got her a handful of tissues, and pushed them into her hands. “You didn’t poison the dog.”

  She pushed him away, stood up, and with her shoulders hunched, went back to her packing. “I didn’t? Really? I saw myself. How is it you missed it? Apparently the rest of Virtue Falls saw it.”

  “Let me check.” He looked under the kitchen sink first, then the bathroom sink, then did a search of all her cupboards. Then he went out in back to her garage and glanced around at the empty shelves. He rummaged through her recycling—glass, paper, and plastic carefully placed in separate bins—and at her garbage can he pulled out the lone bag of trash and sorted through it. He came back in and washed his hands, turned to her, and said, “You don’t have any poison here. If you did the poisoning, what happened to the package?”

  “I … threw it into the ocean?”

  “Yes. Ruthless recycler that you are, you sullied the environment and killed fish by tossing a container of poison into the sea.” He scanned the walls.

  She stood with a pile of office supplies in her hands and a box in the other and watched him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for cameras that spy on you, and projectors that could produce an illusion of something attacking you.” He was disgusted that he hadn’t searched before.

  She blinked at him. “I never installed anything like that.”

  “I didn’t suppose you did.”

  Maddie might be mad, but she wasn’t stupid. “You think someone is picking on me.”

  “Picking on you?” His voice rose. Carefully, he lowered it. “No, I think someone is torturing you. Creating ghosts … spying on your nightmares and creating monsters to match. Someone knows far too much about you.”

  “Why? And who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  She stood and thought, and answered slowly. “My brother was unhappy when I moved to Virtue Falls. He said he wanted to keep me close where he could watch over me, protect me. He thinks I could write more if I didn’t have to worry about, you know, life.” She put down the box and loaded it with books and pictures. “Maybe … maybe he … but no. He wouldn’t do that to me. He loves me.”

  How telling. When asked for a suspect, she immediately thought of Andrew. “When did you last talk to your brother?”

  She shrugged one shoulder, picked up her house phone, and made a call.

  Jacob came over and pushed the button for speakerphone.

  It rang five times; the answering machine picked up. This is Andrew Hewitson. I’m not available right now, please leave a message.

  Jacob already didn’t like that cheerful, smarmy voice.

  “The new book is out. He’s probably at an autographing.” With more confidence, Maddie hung up. “That’s why he took over as the author. Because I can’t … I’m too scared to go out and see people.”

  Jacob took her hands and looked into her eyes. “Maddie, once this torture is stopped, your confidence will rebound. Then you can decide whether you want to make appearances. You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Andrew said the publishers pressure you.”

  “You’re an adult. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  Clearly she was troubled. “He couldn’t do what you think he’s doing to me. He could never dream up a scheme like the one you’re describing. He has no imagination at all. And he does love me!”

  This is where it got sticky, where she had to weigh her brother’s greed against his love. “He wants you close so he can keep you working to support him.”

  “I’m not supporting him! He owns a firm. He trades stocks.” She fetched another box and began to fill it with the contents of her desk.

  “Stock trading is an iffy proposition, and your books make a lot of money.”

  Her packing got faster, more frantic. “But they don’t. He told me—”

  “Dr. Frownfelter loaned me the use of his computer so I could look up A. M. Hewitson.” Last evening had been both busy and revealing. “Your publishing contracts are very profitable.”

  “How much?”

  “Millions.”

  She flung the last of her drawing pens in the box. “Of dollars?” She looked around at her little house. In the voice of an author who recognized a plot when she saw it, she said, “Money is always motive.”

  “Yes. Did you never think to check?”

  “No, I … I don’t read reviews, either. I used to and if they were bad I’d cry, so Andrew forbade me to look up my books online…” Her voice faded as evidence piled up against her brother.

  Jacob ran his hand along the bottom of kitchen cabinets, found a small lens of some kind, and detached it. He showed her the miniature piece of electronics. “Wireless. I suspect someone placed this and occasionally activates a program that projects your boogie man into the room with you.”

  She put her hand to her throat. “No one could set that up. I keep my house locked.”

  “Locks can be picked. Keys can be copied. Does your brother have your house key?”

  “Yes.” Wearing a
truculent expression, Maddie called Andrew’s cell.

  Still no answer.

  “He’s not home. But he’s not in Virtue Falls. He can’t be doing this to me. He loves me,” she said. “I know he does.”

  “This torture was designed to keep you frightened and dependent. But perhaps he hired someone for this job and doesn’t realize how terribly you are being persecuted.” Jacob made excuses to ease Maddie into the truth. Yet even if Andrew wasn’t personally putting her through this ordeal—and Jacob judged that Andrew would never dirty his hands with the menial labor involved—he was sure no one else could know her well enough to pick apart her fears and play into them so successfully. And no matter how much money was involved, no reason was good enough to justify the maggots, the poison, and this program that projected horror into Maddie’s front room. This persecution showed a malice Jacob had glimpsed only once before in his life.… At least Dr. Kim had not been a relative. “I’m going to pay your brother a visit.”

  “You cannot go to beat him up.”

  “You said I’m skin and bones. Out of shape. A teenage girl could break me.”

  “Yes, but you’re a soldier. Andrew never exercises and the only time he ever fought anybody was in middle school and he got his glasses crunched.”

  Jacob grinned. “I’m flattered. But I intend to find out who’s behind this, and if Andrew is indeed ignorant, enlist his help.”

  “You’re going to Colorado Springs to talk to Andrew?” She mulled that over. “But you’re a hermit.”

  “That’s a life choice I’m choosing to abandon.”

  “You are turning to face your nightmare monster.”

  Her insights sometimes struck him as almost too acute, too personal. And yet, who else could have dragged him from his self-imposed hell and back to life? Only someone who had lived in hell herself. Only someone he could rescue in return. “With luck I’ll be back late tonight. I’ll call Sheriff Kwinault, see if she can find you somewhere safe to stay.”

  Maddie frantically shook her head.

  “You don’t want to stay here, knowing someone can watch you, listen to you.” Again he started scanning her little house, looking for more electronics. “With my cursory search, I can’t be sure I’ve found all the electronics used to create these illusions and spy on you.”

  She hugged herself. “I love my house. This is my sanctuary.”

  “Right now, someone could be listening to us talk.” He pulled a tiny wireless microphone out from underneath her desk and showed her. “Whoever this is will try different and more desperate ways to torment you.”

  “But if I know what’s going on—”

  He took the microphone into the bathroom and flushed it. When he came back, she was huddled in her desk chair with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms hugging them.

  He knelt beside her. “There’s an element of madness about this campaign. I’m afraid of escalation. I’m afraid that when whoever is doing this realizes you have escaped from the terror they are imposing, they’ll try to do you physical harm.”

  “All this stuff reminds me of the things that used to happen in the mental institution. Sometimes the attendants weren’t … kind. Sometimes they liked to pick on the patients, make them crazier. This is … like that.” She hugged her knees tighter. “Do you think this person killed Mrs. Butenschoen?”

  “I think it probable. Someone who is entering your house to drug you, plant poison in your coffee and your dog treats, and perform unspeakable cruelties would not appreciate a busybody like Mrs. Butenschoen.”

  Maddie shivered and lowered her chin onto her knees.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you sooner. I could have saved you so much suffering.” Leaning in, he kissed her.

  Her lips clung to his, her arms loosened around her knees and wrapped around his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to look for … I’m sorry I was gullible.” She looked ashamed.

  Then Jacob did want to beat up the brother who had so destroyed her confidence. “If you won’t stay in police custody, will you at least stay at my house? It’s closed in now. The doors lock. The construction crew will be there soon and they’ll be another layer of safety for you. You’ve slept there overnight so you should be comfortable. Will you do that for me?”

  She looked relieved. “I can do that.” Then she flinched. “I don’t want the crew to know I’m there, though. Last night I saw the look on Web’s face.” Emotion closed her throat again, and she barely managed to squeak, “He thought I’d poisoned the dog, too.”

  He squeezed her again. “Stay in the bedroom, then. And one last thing.” He took off his jacket.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of his holster.

  He unstrapped it and adjusted the buckles. “Do you know how to use a revolver?”

  “Yes. When I met Easton, he thought it would give me confidence if I learned to shoot.”

  “God bless Easton.” Jacob slipped the holster on her; even at the smallest setting, it was too big for her. The woman was skinny.

  She slipped it off over her head. “Why don’t I use this?” Going to her bookcase, she removed half a shelf of books and from behind them pulled a Smith & Wesson 642 revolver in a snapped leather holster.

  “Wow.” He took the weapon from her, admired it, checked to see that it was loaded and the safety was on. “Why, when you were so frightened, did you put this out of reach?”

  “The first time I saw an illusion, I shot it.”

  “Ah. I remember the story now.” He had heard it from Officer Moen on the day Maddie had driven into his house.

  “The bullets went right through that … mirage … and buried themselves in the wall. After I was arrested and charged with shooting a firearm in the city and a few other things, I lost my license to carry.” Maddie’s color was high; she was embarrassed or incensed or both. “I was kind of okay with that. I mean, it made sense in light of the fact no one else saw what I saw. Plus I was afraid I might accidently kill someone in the neighborhood. I couldn’t take that chance.”

  “Now you know the illusions are not in your mind, so if someone comes at you, you know what to do.” He helped her strap on her holster; this one fit.

  “Point and shoot.”

  “Right.” Belatedly it occurred to him: Maddie was in a fragile mental state. “Be careful not to hurt yourself, and only use the revolver as the last possible resort.”

  “As the last possible resort,” she repeated, “and only for someone who has physically threatened me and proved to be real.”

  Her fierceness gave him comfort. “Have you got a sweater or a jacket you can use to cover this?” He gestured at the holster and gun.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  He pulled the key off his ring and pressed it into her hand. “I have to go or I’ll miss the plane. Can you get over there by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise me you’ll go. I won’t worry quite so much.”

  “I promise.”

  He started to stand.

  But she caught his arm. “Jacob, if what you say is true … that means when Easton demanded to see my publishing financials, Andrew hired someone to kill him. Is that what you believe?”

  “It’s not important what I believe. What do you believe?”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes hot. “I believe I am getting angry.”

  Wait. What? You can’t be serious. What happened to the money?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Jacob presented himself at the gate of Andrew Hewitson’s upscale condominium development and considered the call box. Pressing the button for Andrew’s place, he waited while it rang five times. The answering machine picked up, and a warm, pleasing man’s voice said, This is Andrew Hewitson. I’m not available right now, please leave a message.

  That got Jacob nowhere, but another car drove up, and in the rearview mirror, he saw the driver lift a remote control. The gate opened and Jacob followed that car in. The GPS
sent him through the winding streets to an all-brick patio home; he parked in front and surveyed the property. The house was large, prosperous, but the yard looked ragged, while all around it, the lawns and flower beds were pristine. He got out, stood at the picket fence, hands in his pockets, and looked around. Nice neighborhood. Nice place. Really nice place. Andrew must do really well as an investment consultant. Or, if Jacob’s suspicions were correct, Andrew was nothing without his sister.

  But A. M. Hewitson novels were selling briskly. Andrew should be rolling in money. What reason did he have for the disintegration of the yard?

  Jacob walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell.

  No answer.

  He leaned on the doorbell.

  No answer.

  A window from the house next door creaked open, an elderly gentleman leaned out, and in the loud tones of the deaf, he said, “They’re not home.”

  They?

  Jacob matched him in volume. “My name is Jacob Denisov, and—”

  “Are you a bill collector?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Who are you, then?”

  Jacob gave the story he’d planned before he arrived. “I’m Maddie Hewitson’s husband.”

  The elderly gentleman lit up. “Maddie’s married? At last!”

  “Yes, sir.” Jacob observed the old man’s posture and took a chance. “I’m retired U.S. Army, back from a tour of South Korea. I met Maddie in Virtue Falls, where she lives, and convinced her to marry me.”

  “She’s an odd one, our Maddie. You sure you can handle her?”

  “I’m a little odd myself, sir—spent time as a North Korean POW, didn’t come out so well.”

  The old man studied Jacob. “I didn’t know North Korea still took POWs. Wait there.” He pulled his head in and shut the window, then came out the front door and down the ramp for the handicapped, using his walker. “I spent some time in Korea myself, back in ’52. Didn’t love it.” He offered his hand. “Cyrus Caron, first lieutenant.”

  Jacob shook. “Good to meet you, sir. I came to meet Andrew, talk to him about Maddie. Do you know where he went?”

  “Nope. I was up real early one morning—I can’t sleep sometimes, need a hip replacement, but they don’t dare put me under for fear I won’t wake up—and I saw them. They loaded their bags into a cab and headed off, I figured for the airport. Haven’t seen them since.”