Eye Candy by R.L. Stine Page B

you up!”
    Ann-Marie shuddered. “Do you think it’s one of the guys you just met?”
    I pictured Jack, then Brad, then Colin. And Shelly? I’d just talked to Shelly. It couldn’t have been Shelly. “None of them seemed like a psycho. They all seemed as normal as you and me.”
    â€œUh-oh. You’re in deep shit.”
    I laughed.
    Should I be suspicious of Jack? Did he follow me this afternoon? I had no proof.
    And Brad? I pictured that sudden, violent kiss. But he had apologized, saying he’d slipped.
    â€œI’m just going to ignore it,” I said. “I’m going to erase it. It was probably a wrong number, anyway.”
    â€œNo, it wasn’t. The guy said
Lindy
. He called you by name.”
    I began pulling out white food cartons. “Listen, do you want mustard or duck sauce?”
    Ann-Marie grabbed my arm. “Lindy, you have to call the police.”
    â€œThey’ll tell me to ignore it.”
    â€œThey won’t. It’s a threat. You can’t just sit down and eat
moo shu
pork. You have to report a threat, Lin.”
    I opened the silverware drawer and pulled out chop-sticks. “Well . . . I still have a friend at the Eighty-second Street precinct, remember. Tommy Foster? Ben’s partner?”
    â€œHey, yeah. I remember Tommy. I sorta had a crush on him. Then you said he was married.”
    â€œWell, he’s divorced now. I haven’t really talked to him since a few weeks after Ben . . .” The words caught in my throat. Saying Tommy Foster’s name was bringing back a rush of memories.
    Ann-Marie picked up a rice container and began emptying it on our plates. “Think he’ll be at work on a Sunday night?”
    I shrugged. “Worth a try. If you insist, I’ll call.”
    â€œI insist.”
    Ben had been such a hothead. He probably would have wanted me to start carrying a gun. Or he would have gone after all the guys I’d just met and confronted them. Tommy was older, more mature, calmer.
    I’ll never forget the way he sobbed at Ben’s funeral. He turned away. He didn’t want the other cops to see him bawl. But I saw it—and it made me cry even harder.
    No one can stay dry-eyed during a police funeral. The bagpipes . . . “Danny Boy” . . . There was so much emotion in that chapel, I thought the roof would fly off.
    I thought all that
feeling
might bring Ben back to life . . .
    I still had the precinct phone number stored in my cell phone. I called, expecting to leave a message. But to my surprise, I was put right through to Tommy.
    He sounded very surprised to hear from me. He hesitated for a long moment when I told him who it was. I guessed that my voice made him think of Ben, too.
    â€œWorking on a Sunday night?”
    He snickered. “Always. I’m just taking off, actually. What can I do for you, Lindy?”
    I said I had a frightening phone call I wanted to tell him about. He asked where I was living now. Practically around the corner. He said he’d stop by.
    Fifteen minutes later, he showed up. Tommy is a tall, lumbering sort of guy, slump-shouldered and droopy. A Brooklyn Liam Neeson.
    He was wearing a shiny, brown suit a little too big for him, a pale blue shirt and yellow tie loosened at the collar.
    He looked older than I remembered, forehead creased under thinning hair, tired eyes, flecks of gray in his coppery mustache. I figured he was around forty. Why did he look so much older? Police work? Would Ben have aged so fast, too?
    Would Ben have aged?
    I’d have to nuke the Chinese food later. I pulled out some bottles of Corona from the fridge. The three of us chatted briefly. Ann-Marie flirted with Tommy a little. I couldn’t hide my impatience. I was eager to play the phone message for Tommy and get this over.
    He and I went into my bedroom. I apologized for the unmade bed. Tommy waved a hand, dismissing my apology. He stared at the answering