interested, and the answer is no,” the amazon barked, slamming the door.
For a second, Kate stood speechless. She almost left, then decided she wouldn't be put off so easily. She knocked again.
“Are you deaf, dumb, or both?” Josephine yelled, jerking the door back and waving the bat.
“My name is—” Kate stopped short as the door swung toward her again. She needed to get Josephine’s attention, fast. She flung her purse at the woman. “Listen, dammit . I need to talk to you.”
Josephine, startled, let go of the door to catch the purse, and Kate, with one hand on the door and the other on the bat, shoved past her into the room. “Sit down, Jo.”
“Who are you? You just go around throwing things at people or what?”
Kate took the purse out of the woman’s hand. “One thing at a time. I need to talk to you about your roommate.”
“You and the rest of the world.”
“I hope you can answer some questions for me.” She softened her tone. “Please, I only want to help Kelly.”
“Why? You a friend of hers?”
“No. I just can't explain right now. I need to know if Kelly went to a lake near here for any reason. Maybe to run? Walk?”
“Are you a cop?”
“No.” Kate sighed. “Please, just tell me if there was a lake, or even a pond, where she often went.”
“ Went ? I don't know what you're getting at, but you had better ask the police. Now get out.” Josephine took Kate's arm and pushed her into the hall.
Kate heard the click of the lock. “Damn!” She thumped the door once with the side of her fist. “Now what?”
A chiming clock made her decision. “Nine-thirty! Mrs. Armstrong!” A couple of students watched curiously as she raced down the stairs and back to her car. She had visions of the bank president's wife, a nice commission, making the perilous journey in the freight elevator only to find the studio locked and empty. Maybe she'll like my dress.
When Kate left the parking lot, she saw that a crowd had spilled into the street in front of the building where Martin Carver had an office. The road was blocked by two police cars. Kate slowed and rolled down her window, waving to a police officer. “What’s wrong? Can I get through here?”
“It’s the Prophet from the Mountains, Ma’am,” he said as if she should know the name. “He’s here because of the—”
“The sinner shall die.” A deep voice rolled over the officer’s words. A tall figure in a long, dirty robe strode out of the crowd, came toward Kate. “Thou shalt not hearken unto the dreamer of dreams: for the Lord your God will smite you with thunder and stones.” He stopped a few feet from her car and raised a long wooden walking stick in the air. His dark eyes stared into hers, his face contorted in anger.
Kate quailed in the face of his fury. The man must be crazy!
“ And I shall not spare thee, sinner, neither will I have pity: thou shalt be punished in fire, according to thy false words and the evil in thy heart.” He sliced the air with the stick.
“Sir, you’re creating a disturbance here.” The policeman stepped in front of him, motioning Kate to drive on.
She did, as quickly as she dared through the crowd of students. Those words had been meant for her, she knew. She vaguely remembered hearing or reading something about the man, but it wouldn’t come to her . Dreamer of dreams? Did he know who she was? His deep-set eyes stayed with her. Probably the same look Charles Manson had. Her skin crawled.
She had to put him out of her mind. Later she’d figure it out, but right now she had to get back to the studio and Mrs. Armstrong.
* * *
The phone rang for the third time as John jumped off the ladder. He dropped the paint roller into the tray, silenced Pavarotti in mid aria with his left hand, and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah,” he said, trapping the receiver between his chin and shoulder, trying to avoid transferring salmon-colored paint from his hands to the telephone.
“John, it's
For a second, Kate stood speechless. She almost left, then decided she wouldn't be put off so easily. She knocked again.
“Are you deaf, dumb, or both?” Josephine yelled, jerking the door back and waving the bat.
“My name is—” Kate stopped short as the door swung toward her again. She needed to get Josephine’s attention, fast. She flung her purse at the woman. “Listen, dammit . I need to talk to you.”
Josephine, startled, let go of the door to catch the purse, and Kate, with one hand on the door and the other on the bat, shoved past her into the room. “Sit down, Jo.”
“Who are you? You just go around throwing things at people or what?”
Kate took the purse out of the woman’s hand. “One thing at a time. I need to talk to you about your roommate.”
“You and the rest of the world.”
“I hope you can answer some questions for me.” She softened her tone. “Please, I only want to help Kelly.”
“Why? You a friend of hers?”
“No. I just can't explain right now. I need to know if Kelly went to a lake near here for any reason. Maybe to run? Walk?”
“Are you a cop?”
“No.” Kate sighed. “Please, just tell me if there was a lake, or even a pond, where she often went.”
“ Went ? I don't know what you're getting at, but you had better ask the police. Now get out.” Josephine took Kate's arm and pushed her into the hall.
Kate heard the click of the lock. “Damn!” She thumped the door once with the side of her fist. “Now what?”
A chiming clock made her decision. “Nine-thirty! Mrs. Armstrong!” A couple of students watched curiously as she raced down the stairs and back to her car. She had visions of the bank president's wife, a nice commission, making the perilous journey in the freight elevator only to find the studio locked and empty. Maybe she'll like my dress.
When Kate left the parking lot, she saw that a crowd had spilled into the street in front of the building where Martin Carver had an office. The road was blocked by two police cars. Kate slowed and rolled down her window, waving to a police officer. “What’s wrong? Can I get through here?”
“It’s the Prophet from the Mountains, Ma’am,” he said as if she should know the name. “He’s here because of the—”
“The sinner shall die.” A deep voice rolled over the officer’s words. A tall figure in a long, dirty robe strode out of the crowd, came toward Kate. “Thou shalt not hearken unto the dreamer of dreams: for the Lord your God will smite you with thunder and stones.” He stopped a few feet from her car and raised a long wooden walking stick in the air. His dark eyes stared into hers, his face contorted in anger.
Kate quailed in the face of his fury. The man must be crazy!
“ And I shall not spare thee, sinner, neither will I have pity: thou shalt be punished in fire, according to thy false words and the evil in thy heart.” He sliced the air with the stick.
“Sir, you’re creating a disturbance here.” The policeman stepped in front of him, motioning Kate to drive on.
She did, as quickly as she dared through the crowd of students. Those words had been meant for her, she knew. She vaguely remembered hearing or reading something about the man, but it wouldn’t come to her . Dreamer of dreams? Did he know who she was? His deep-set eyes stayed with her. Probably the same look Charles Manson had. Her skin crawled.
She had to put him out of her mind. Later she’d figure it out, but right now she had to get back to the studio and Mrs. Armstrong.
* * *
The phone rang for the third time as John jumped off the ladder. He dropped the paint roller into the tray, silenced Pavarotti in mid aria with his left hand, and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah,” he said, trapping the receiver between his chin and shoulder, trying to avoid transferring salmon-colored paint from his hands to the telephone.
“John, it's
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