“Hi,” Gillian called.
“Hello,” he said. He was slim, dressed in dark slacks and a sport shirt, and appeared to be in his mid- twenties. He had a friendly smile.
“I’m Gillian,” she said. “Glad you came by. I’ll be staying at Uncle Fredrick’s place till he gets back. You know, house-sitting?”
“Didn’t know he was gone,” the man said.
“Well, I was afraid he might’ve mentioned he’d be away, and maybe forgot to tell you I’d be watching the place for him.” She grinned. “Didn’t want you thinking I was a burglar or something.”
“You don’t look much like one,” he said. “I’m Jerry Dobbs.”
Gillian offered her hand, and he shook it. “Nice to meet you, Jerry.”
“From around here?”
“I’ve got a cramped little studio apartment in West LA. Which is why it’ll be so nice spending a few days here.”
“I can imagine. I was an apartment dweller myself till I scraped up enough to get this place. Hated every minute of it. Confining, no privacy ...”
“Exactly,” Gillian said. “Well, I’d better let you go. It was nice meeting you.”
“Same here. Look, you need anything, just drop over.”
“You mean like a cup of sugar?”
“Or company. Whatever.”
“Thanks. Maybe I will.” She backed away, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you around, Jerry.”
“Right. So long.”
Gillian headed across Jerry’s lawn. She felt him watching, so she glanced over her shoulder and smiled, then continued toward the house. That had turned out great. Seemed like a nice guy, Jerry. If he’d been suspicious at all, he sure hadn’t shown it.
Now, Gillian would be able to make herself at home without worrying about what the next-door neighbor might see or hear. A terrific development.
Inside the house she made her way through the darkness to a table lamp. After turning it on, she knelt on the floor beside the lamp that had gone off. She followed the cord, pulled the plug for the small plastic timer unit and inserted it into the wall socket. The lamp came on again. She turned off the other one.
After securing the door, Gillian carried her suitcase, purse and high-heeled shoes into the bedroom. She removed a few items from the suitcase, then packed her sweater and skirt.
She made a detour into the living room to pick up her wine glass.
In the bathroom, she had a few sips while she undressed and waited for the tub to fill.
She set the glass on the edge of the tub. She stepped into the water, sat down, and sighed with pleasure as the heat wrapped her to the waist. She stretched out her legs.
Flinched rigid as a bell jangled somewhere in the house.
Someone at the door?
Oh, Christ. And me in the tub.
She braced herself, ready to spring out, but the ringing came again and she realized it was the telephone.
A call. At this hour.
Her skin crawled. She saw goosebumps rise on her submerged thighs, felt her nipples tighten and pucker.
Calm down, she told herself. One thing’s certain, it isn’t for me.
Unless it’s Jerry.
But it’s not, she thought.
Each bray of the phone scraped her nerves.
It’s not for me. That’s the main thing. It’s not bad news. Shit, there’s nobody to get bad news
Maybe a neighbor, someone from across the street who saw me come in. Maybe just a wrong number.
At her apartment it was almost always a wrong number when it rang late at night.
Why doesn’t it stop!
Gillian gritted her teeth.
Maybe an obscene caller, she thought. Maybe a burglar checking to find out if anyone’s home before dropping by.
Maybe Fredrick Holden, calling in to ask what the hell I’m doing in his house. A pretty thought.
Gillian realized that a few seconds had gone by since the last ring. She sat motionless in the tub, her back rigid, her heart thudding, and listened. There was silence except for the slow drip of water near her feet.
Okay, she thought, he finally quit.
Or someone picked up the phone.
Charming idea.
Absurd.
She strained to hear a voice.
Your damned imagination is running haywire tonight. What are you, going paranoid? The house is empty,
Shit.
Gillian thrust herself up and climbed out of the tub. She rushed to the bathroom door, jerked it open, then ran dripping through the dark hall.
This is great. If someone is ...
Even before she reached the kitchen, she could see the pale shape of a wall phone just beyond its entrance. Nobody there. Of course.
But the house had phones in the den and bedroom.
She reached for the handset. Stopped.
Drips of water trickled down her legs.
What if you pick it up and hear voices?
That’s easy. You beat it the fuck out of here.
Or drop dead of cardiac arrest.
She snatched up the phone. A dial tone buzzed in her ear.
Of course.
Still shaking, Gillian returned to the bathroom. She locked the door, then stepped into the tub and sat down. She took a few swallows of wine.
Now just relax, she told herself. Nothing’s wrong.
She set aside the glass and lay back. The water washed over her, covering her to the neck, its warm caress soothing, but not enough to make the gooseflesh go away. She rubbed her thighs. The skin felt tender and achy at first, then better. She rubbed one arm, then the other. She massaged the back of her neck. She covered her breasts until the tightness faded and the flesh was smooth again. Letting her arms sink into the heat, she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.
As the fear seeped away, a heavy weariness settled into Gillian.
She moved her arms and legs, sending gentle currents rolling against her body. Her mind seemed vague. She could almost fall asleep. The water bed would be nice.
She was back in her own apartment, lying on the sofa.
Feeling pleasantly warm, her limbs all lazy and limp. Suddenly, she was flotsam; drifting, floating beneath clear sparkling water. She felt so-ooo peaceful ... Sunlight glittered like diamonds through the rippling waves above. Below, a mass of dark swirling weeds undulated in the current. Reaching up, but not
With a gasp of fear, she swam up toward the sunlight.
She was back on the sofa, the TV on, the sound turned low. Shadowy images flickered across her vision. Her eyelids closed ...
