Bookman's promise

“How much of a look did you get?”

“Not much. He was back there in the trees, just for a moment.”

“What time of day was it?”

“Middle of the night. Just about this time.”

“How’d you happen to see him?”

“Felt a cat cross my path. Went to the back door and there he was, in the yard.”

“Did he see you?”

“Oh yes. He was crossing the yard, looking toward the house when I came to the door. I couldn’t have been more than a silhouette from where he was but we saw each other. He stopped in his tracks, then he veered into the trees and ran off that way.”

“Did you call the cops?”

“What good would that do? He was gone before I could even get to the phone. Besides, the police would only blame the blacks.”

“Why would they do that?”

“There’s a black housing project up on Mount Ida Drive. Lots of low-income black families, lots of crime. The police are always over there about something.”

“This prowler you had, were you able to see him well enough to—”

“He was white. It never crossed my mind that he might be some local kid. Maybe I couldn’t see him well enough to identify him, but there was moonlight, like tonight. I know what I saw.”

“Anything else?”

“You mean other incidents? No, nothing that obvious.”

“Anything at all.”

“Like I told you, I’ve been restless for about a week. Actually, it’s been more than a month now, but for the past week since I talked to you it’s been more…intense. I’m not sleeping well, and that’s unusual. I wake up after a few hours with a feeling that my life’s been invaded. That probably makes no sense at all and I can only tell you that it makes as much sense to me as seeing that man in the yard. I’ll get up at, say, two o’clock in the morning and go straight to the back door, as if someone had knocked on it.”

“But there’s never anyone there.”

“Except that one time, no. But on Tuesday…” She shivered suddenly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I felt it just now. It’s probably talking about it that gives me the creeps.” She got up and went to the window. “See? Nobody there.”

She came back and sat in her chair, but I could see she was still nervous.

“You were about to tell me what happened Tuesday.”

She smiled wanly. “You’re pretty serious with your questions. Almost like a policeman yourself.”

“I was one, for a long time.”

I told her a bit about it, hoping to gain her confidence. Then I asked her again what had happened on Tuesday.

“I went to the store out on the highway to get some groceries. I was gone maybe an hour. When I got home I had a feeling even before I got out of the car. Like, somebody’s here, only it was stronger than just a feeling. For a few minutes I was absolutely certain someone was in my house. I sat in the car for a long time, working up the courage to go inside. When I finally did, there was nothing…and yet the feeling wouldn’t go away.” She looked at the window. “Obviously it never has gone away. I still have it.”

“Did you look through your stuff to see if anything was missing or out of place?”

“I looked through everything. If I’d had a burglar, he was a very good one. Nothing was missing. And the first thing I did was look at the Burton material.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I had a hunch. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I follow my hunches.”

“So you thought all along that this had something to do with Burton and Josephine. Is that what you’re saying?”

“There’s more to it than that. Did Jo tell you about the Tread-wells?”

“She said one of the old Treadwells stole her Burton books eighty years ago.”

“She always believed that. One of the first things that came out of our sessions was the name Treadwell. I was surprised to learn about that store, how it’s still in business, and Jo was haunted by it. I don’t think that’s too strong a word—she was just haunted by the idea that something they did all those years ago might have had such a negative effect on her life. It became such an obstacle that I knew we’d have to confront it, so one day I suggested that we go down there and see the place, look around. She leaped at the chance. I never thought we’d be in any kind of danger.”

“So what happened?”

“One afternoon we went and at first it was just what I thought— a look around. She had me carry her bag,