ANGELA ARRIVED AT NINE O’CLOCK. JOE DROPPED HER OFF IN the tow truck from his job at Torelli’s Auto Repair, yelling that she should quit her goddam babysitting job until the fucking murderer was caught—she could work at his aunt’s bakery or get a job doing manicures. Angela made a nasty gesture and shouted that he was not in charge of her and should shut his ugly face. He got out of the truck and met her, nose to nose. Gesticulating, shouting simultaneously, neither was listening to the other. I watched from the kitchen window, more aware than ever that I was putting Angela at risk by employing her. Even though he was a flaming hothead, for once I agreed with Joe. I’d ask Angela to take time off until the crimes were solved. I’d take Molly to work with me after school, or shorten my hours.
Outside, Angela ended the argument by turning her back to Joe and stomping up the front steps. I opened the door for her.
“Go,” she huffed. “You’re late.”
“Joe has a point.”
“Don’t you start. Nobody’s gonna mess with me. Not some psycho. Not Joe. And not you.”
“Maybe just take off a week or two.”
“And you’ll do what? Who’s gonna watch Molly?”
“I can manage for a few weeks.”
“Zoe. Tell me. Would you leave your job if some kook was going after art therapists?”
“I might. For a while anyway.”
“Yeah? Well, see? That’s how we’re different. This is my job. My business. No one stops me from doing it.”
A horn honked. My taxi was outside. I had to go.
“What if I fire you? For your own safety.”
Her hands flew to her hips. “Fine. Go ahead. For your information, Miss Bosslady, sitters and nannies are quitting by the busload around here. Those cute little au pairs? They’re running back to Iowa or France or wherever the hell they come from, leaving families in need of experienced childcare professionals like me. So fire me. Fine. I’ll get another job in like four seconds. I bet they’ll pay more, too, with the shortage. I’m in demand.”
“Okay, stop,” I smiled, hugging her. She allowed the hug but didn’t return it—Angela was in her spitfire mode. “Believe me, I don’t want to fire you, Angela. What would we do without you?”
The taxi honked again.
“You’d be lost, that’s what.”
“We would. But I don’t want you to be in danger. And neither does Joe.”
“screw Joe. He gets his way, I’ll never leave the block.” “He wants you to be safe.” Why was I defending Joe? He was controlling, possessive. Basically, a bully. “Too bad. I gotta live my life.” “You’re being stubborn.” “I’m being how I am.”
“Just think about taking off a few days. Will you?”
she crossed her arms, impatient. “Your cab’s waiting.”
Angela had made her mind up. There was no point arguing. I hurried to say good-bye to Molly and ran out the door. Joe had gotten back into the truck but was still parked in front of the house, fuming, dark eyes intensely focused up the street. Was he on a stakeout watching for the kidnapper? A vigil guarding Angela? I followed his gaze, and it led to Jake, who was unloading supplies from his truck. Uh-oh. Did Joe know that Jake had driven Angela home? Lord, I hoped Joe wasn’t going to start something. He sat at the wheel jumpy, about to explode. short and wiry, he’d be no match for a meaty guy like Jake. I made a point of distracting Joe, waving to him, smiling a warm hello. When he saw me, he cursed, gunned his engine, and sped out of the parking spot, tires screeching.
Up the street, Jake stopped unloading and watched the truck careen past. Then, head bent into the wind, he began carrying his supplies inside.
The sleet was turning to snow. Flurries dusted fresh ice on the walk, and more storms were predicted through the weekend. I struggled across the slippery walk to the curb where the taxi waited with closed doors.
Just as I got there, Charlie raced out onto his front porch, waving his arms.
“Miss Zoe! Wait! Stop! Miss Zoe!”
I opened the taxi door, tossed in my briefcase, and hung on to the cab for balance. Sharp flakes stung my face like tiny needles. Damn. What now?
Charlie was coatless, his belt unbuckled. He waved frantically, yelling. “Don’t go out today, miss! stay home!”
He hurried across the street in his slippers.
The taxi driver drummed his fingers on the back of his seat, waiting for me to get in. “Ma’am? Are we going someplace today?”
“Yes, of course—”
Breathless and unshaven, Charlie grabbed my arm. He was unbalanced, sliding, and he almost pulled me off my feet.
“Stay inside today, Miss Zoe!” He bent over and looked inside the cab, whispered in my ear. “It’s too dangerous!”
“Charlie, please stop saying things like that.”
He held my arm. “Listen.” He gestured for me to turn away and covered his mouth so the driver couldn’t hear. “Miss Zoe. Time is short. I’ve seen, I know. I look at things I’m not supposed to look at. But I know. I see where he keeps them, how he sneaks them in. And it’s just the start. See now, now conditions are right. He’s close. Today might be the day.” Spit flew from Charlie’s lips. He spoke in a guttural hush; his eyes were glazed again, delusional.
“Lady, you know I got the meter running, right?” The taxi driver was covering himself.
“Charlie. Listen to me. You need help.” My words weren’t sinking in; his face remained frantic, his grip on my arm tight. “Look. I’m sorry, Charlie. I have to go to work. Please don’t worry. I’m fine.” I started to get into the cab, but he wouldn’t release me. If I were to move, I’d have to drag him with me.
“Listen, miss!” he whispered. “I deciphered the code—when my fever broke, I reversed the spell, changed the current from my brain to his. I’ve read his waves. I know his thoughts. Believe me, you must listen. Today, all day, you must stay put. Stay home. Lie low. Don’t let go of your child. Evil is close—it’s disguised, not as it seems—”
“Ma’am?” The taxi driver was getting impatient. “I’m missing calls here—”
“One minute, please.” I glared at him, then looked poor Charlie full in the face. “Charlie,” I spoke slowly. “You need help.”
“No, Miss Zoe—it’s you who needs help—”
“No. No more. Listen carefully.” I looked into his eyes. “You’re ill, Charlie. The illness is affecting your thoughts. You need to see a doctor. Do you understand?”
“No, miss, you must listen,” he began. Wet snow was clinging to his hair.
“No more, Charlie.” I had to go. “Please, call your doctor. Or call the Family Center for a referral. Tell them I said you need to be seen today.”
I removed his hand from my arm and fumbled in my bag for a card and a pen. “That’s the Center number. And that’s my office number. Call me if you can’t get a doctor’s appointment. I’ll make sure somebody sees you.”
I put the card in his hand, but he didn’t budge. “I told you, miss. I warned you not to go.” He shook his head sadly and stood at the curb, arms by his side. And he stayed there, watching as I got into the cab and rode away. I had no idea how much I would later regret not heeding his advice.