Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

He suddenly glanced at his watch. “Listen, Ann. I’m running late for an appointment and I know you must go back inside, but I would be delighted if you’d reconsider my offer.”

Before Ann could object, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to her.

“If you should change your mind, or simply want to chat sometime, just give me a call, okay? No catch, no strings.”

Ann stared at the card for a moment, then took it from his proffered hand. “I’ll think about it, Jerry. But I can’t make any promises.”

He smiled broadly and said, “I understand, Ann. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll only feel regret that we never had the chance to get to know each other. You’re a lovely woman, as well as kind.”

His flattery made Ann melt a little. “Thank you, Jerry. I’ll think about it-I promise. I’d better go back inside now.”

“Nice meeting you, Ann. Good day,” he said and stepped into his BMW.

“Goodbye,” Ann said, then turned and walked away.

When Ann returned, the checkout girl had already bagged her groceries and was standing patiently by the register.

“Did you catch him?” she asked.

Ann nodded. “He was very grateful. How much do I owe you?”

“Sixty-seven forty-two,” the checkout girl replied.

Ann quickly wrote out a check for the amount, feeling the eyes glaring at her from behind. She handed the check over and showed the girl her driver’s license.

“Thanks,” she said as she cleared the register and gave Ann her receipt.

“Thank you.”

Back in her car, Ann took Jerry’s business card from her purse and studied it. He was a real estate broker, apparently working independently, and the card listed a Dublin address with a local phone number. She wondered if she’d made a mistake in accepting it, then decided that she hadn’t; the ball was in her court, after all. She stuck the card back into her purse and started up the engine.

When she got home, she could hear the television coming from the family room as she carried the grocery bags into the kitchen. After setting them down on the table, she decided to go in and see if Amy wanted any breakfast.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said as she entered the family room. Amy was sitting on the sofa watching cartoons.

“’Morning, Mom,” she mumbled, not taking her eyes off the tube.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“You need to start eating, young lady. Let me fix you a bowl of cereal,” Ann insisted.

“I’ll eat later, Mom. Let me wake up first, okay?” she whined.

“All right-but don’t forget. Any calls while I was gone?”

“Karen called. I told her you’d call her back.”

“Speaking of calls, who was it that called in the middle of the night?” Ann asked, suddenly recalling the phone ringing at three a.m.

Amy glanced over at her. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Amy. I know damn sure it wasn’t for me!”

“Really, Mom-I don’t know who it was. Some crank caller.”

Ann immediately sensed there was more to this. “What do you mean? Did they say anything?”

“He sure did-it was some pervert!” she replied with a scowl.

Ann winced. “What did he say, Amy?”

Amy’s eyes returned to the television. After some hesitation, she said, “He just breathed really hard at first-you know. Then he said something…”

Ann felt her pulse quicken. She strode over so she could face her daughter. “Tell me what he said, Amy.”

Amy was silent for a moment, and then she looked directly into her mother’s eyes. “He said, ‘I want to fuck you.’”

Ann recoiled, but kept her composure. “Is that all he said?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?” Ann asked, her hands beginning to tremble.

Amy leered at her. “Nothing, Mother! Do you think I’m crazy? I hung up the phone right away!”

“Well, you did the right thing, sweetie. And if he ever calls again, just hang up on him again. Don’t stay on the line.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Ann could see that Amy was upset about the call but was trying her hardest not to show it. “Do you have any idea who it could have been, honey?” she asked.

Amy’s eyes had returned to Bugs Bunny. “No.”

Ann couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or not, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Did he sound young or old?” she asked.

“I couldn’t tell, Mom. I was half asleep, you know.”

Ann stared at her a moment and could feel her nerves becoming taut as she thought about her little girl being traumatized by an obscene phone caller. Once again, she wished Sam were here to help her now-he’d know what to do. But he wasn’t here, and it was just two of them.

Then she recalled the sounds she thought she’d heard in the backyard as a huge wave of apprehension swept over her. Maybe it hadn’t been her imagination after all. And the front porch light…

The floodlight! she thought. She must call Mr. Ogilvy right away.

But first, she sat down beside Amy and asked, “Are you all right, honey?”

Amy looked directly into her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom.”

Ann embraced her. “I love you, sweetie,” she whispered, feeling a sudden urge to cry.

“I love you too, Mom.”

Ann hastened to compose herself and started to get up, but Amy held onto her. “Don’t worry, Mom. Everything’s going be all right,” she whispered gently.

Ann rested her head on her shoulder. “I know.”

She hugged her a few moments longer, then stood up again. “I think I’ll go call Karen back.” She started to leave, then stopped herself, and turned to Amy. “I really wish you’d wear a robe or something to cover yourself up,” she said, regarding her daughter’s scanty attire: a threadbare tee shirt and panties.

Amy looked at her, her mouth agape. “God, Mom-don’t be so paranoid!”

Ann stared at her reproachfully, let out a sigh and left the room.

She stopped in the living room to get her address book out of the end table drawer, and took it with her into the kitchen. After finding Mr. Ogilvy’s telephone number, she picked up the phone and dialed. He answered after the second ring.

“Mr. Ogilvy, this is Ann Middleton.”

“Yes? How are you, Mrs. Middleton?”

“Fine, thank you, but I have a little problem. The light in the backyard is acting up again.”

“What’s that? Is the bulb burned out?”

Ann could almost see the crotchety old man’s dour expression as he spoke. “I don’t think so, Mr. Ogilvy. It must be shorting out again because it goes on sometimes, then goes out for a while, and then comes on again. Just like it was doing before.”

There was a pause. Then, “Can’t be-I fixed that wiring last time I was there. Must be something else.”

Ann didn’t want to argue with him. “Well, whatever it is, I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at it. As soon as possible, if you don’t mind.” she asserted.

Another pause, then he said, “All right, Mrs. Middleton. I’ll stop by sometime this afternoon and take a look at it.”

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Ogilvy. I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he grunted, and hung up.

Ann pushed down on the button and dialed Karen Walker’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Karen. Amy told me you called while I was at the supermarket.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Not real great.”

“What’s the matter? Is it Marsha?” Karen asked, concerned.

“No, not that, something else… Last night I thought I heard a prowler in the backyard-two different times, as a matter of fact. Amy was at the movies-at least she was the second time-and I was here all alone. Anyway, I looked out the window to see what was making the noise, but that damn floodlight that’s always acting up wasn’t working. I could see fairly well though, and didn’t notice anything unusual, so I figured it must have been either an animal or just my imagination. I didn’t mention this to you last night, but the front porch light was off when we got back from Smithtown, too. It looked like someone had screwed the bulb out partially, because it was loose in the socket and not burned out. Again, I thought it was just pure coincidence and didn’t give it much thought at the time.