"I hate this job," she muttered when she was close to him. She was looking for any way possible to restart what to her was the most interesting conversation of the night with the most interesting person. However, if he had heard her, he didn't care to acknowledge. His continued interest in Paula Gilbert convinced her he was just another dickhead, just one better dressed and with better manners.
Despondently, she returned to the end of the bar where her sometimes boyfriend Dave Taylor and two of his fellow carpenters sat. Every once in a while, she looked toward the stranger. He nursed his drink and avoided conversing with anyone around him. When the Outlaws took another break, he slipped off his stool and walked over to Paula, who seemed to be expecting it. Darlene watched them converse and saw Paula's eyes light up with interest as she laughed at something he had said.
The break in music produced another run at the bar, so she didn't have much time to watch the stranger in action, but when she looked at Paula a while later, she was surprised to see her sitting with the other members of the trio and the stranger gone. She stopped and looked around the Inn. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom, she thought and watched for him, but he didn't appear and the Outlaws began their final set for the evening.
"What the hell? I knew he was too good to be true," she muttered to herself, smiled, shook her head, and returned to heed the call of another customer.
Terri pulled into her driveway slowly, her eyes more on her rearview mirror than her garage door. Since she had made a turn off Highway 17, she no longer saw Clark Kent's car behind her. Maybe, she thought, I just imagined it was that man. She decided to stop at a 7-Eleven to get some fresh milk for the morning. After she emerged from the store and started for home again, she watched for him, studying every vehicle behind her or coming toward her. Although she didn't see him and kept telling herself it had really only been her imagination after all, her anxiety level didn't diminish.
Still concentrating on the rearview mirror, she studied the road in front of her home carefully as the garage door rose. Remembering a documentary on selfprotection she had seen recently, she did not get out of her automobile when she had driven into the garage, and kept the car locked until the garage door was fully descended and locked in place.
She could hear her phone ringing inside and hurried out of the car and into the house, seizing the receiver in the kitchen so forcefully and quickly, she nearly ripped the phone off the wall.
"Doctor Barnard," she said.
"Terri, Will Dennis. I got your message and I have a sheriff's patrol car on the way to your home. Are you all right?"
"Yes. I thought he was following me for a while back there, but..."
"But what?"
"But I'm not positive it was the same man."
"Someone was following you, though?"
"No, I don't know. No," she concluded. "I'm not thinking like a rational person at the moment."
"Just sit tight anyway. Keep every door and window closed until the officer arrives. Did this man threaten you in any way at the hospital?"
"I felt he was trying to intimidate me. He was certainly more demanding than he was the first time we met at my office."
"What did he want from you exactly?"
"He was very interested in whatever I might have learned from Kristin Martin. He seemed so positive I had something. I didn't let on that I knew he wasn't really a law enforcement officer, but he said one strange thing, I thought. Among many, I guess."
"What was that?"
"He said he was the only one who could prevent this from happening to someone else. When I asked him why, weren't there other police officers on it, he said he was most familiar with the M.O."
"That might be very true, but not for the reasons he's implying." The light from the headlights of a car turning into her driveway washed over the wall.
"Someone's here!" she said.
"Check to see if it's the sheriff's car. I'll hold on," Will Dennis said. She went to the front window and breathed relief when she saw the sheriff's logo and the bubble light on the roof. Then she returned to the phone.
"It's the sheriff's car."
"Good. Tell him what happened and let him look around. He'll check everything for you and help you feel more comfortable. I'll call again in twenty minutes."
"Okay," she said and hung up.
The door bell rang, and she went to greet the officer.
"Dr. Barnard?"
"Yes," she said, "please come in."
"The district attorney contacted our dispatcher, who got to me just a while ago. Someone threatened you at the hospital parking lot?"
"He didn't exactly threaten me, but, well, didn't they give you any more information?"
"I was just told to get here quickly and make sure you were all right, Doctor," he replied dryly.
This police officer has a really robotic military demeanor about him, she thought. He stood firm, straight at six feet two and looked at her with a stern face of granite, his features sharp. Normally, she would not appreciate him, but at the moment, he gave her a sense of security, and that she did appreciate. Combining her spat with Curt with her terrifying moments, she felt drained of any energy and resistance. It was good to have someone else upon whom she could lean.
"I just spoke with the district attorney. There's a man going about impersonating a state investigator. He came to my office and he just confronted me in the hospital parking lot. He didn't attempt to harm me in any way there, but I thought I saw him following me when I left."
"Can you describe the vehicle driven by the man following you?" he asked.
"Actually, no," she said, a bit ashamed and disappointed in herself for being so distracted by her own fears. "I mean, it was a dark color, but I didn't take note of the make or model."
He nodded, not showing any disapproval.
"Perhaps I should check around the house first," he said. "Just precautionary."
"Yes, of course," she said. It had never occurred to her that the man impersonating a state police investigator would not need to follow her home to know where she lived. That added a new dimension of terror to the situation.
"That stairway goes..."
"To the bedrooms," she said. "Downstairs is the living room you see here on my right. The dining room is straight ahead and after that is the kitchen and pantry. There's a bathroom just before the kitchen."
"Backdoor?"
"Through the pantry. It's an old house. It was my grandmother's," she added. He finally broke into a smile.
"I like these older homes. They have character," he said.
"A character living in one," she muttered to herself as he walked on through. She brought the milk into the kitchen and then thought about making some herbal tea.
When the rear door opened, she nearly jumped over the table, but it was only the police officer. She had thought he had gone directly upstairs.
"It's quiet out back," he said. "I'll look through the bedrooms and closets upstairs. Is there an attic?"
"Yes, but you have to pull down one of those ladders to get to it."
"Yes, I understand."
"Would you like something to drink? I'm making myself some tea," she said.
"No thank you."
He went to the stairway. She made the tea and sat with her hands around the cup, watching the steam rise out of it. She almost didn't hear him return.
"Everything looks fine, Dr. Barnard. You should just lock up. Is there an alarm system?"
"No," she said. "I haven't gotten around to adding that yet. My grandparents never even considered having one."
"I understand. Well, I'll have another patrol car make a sweep by here tonight and of course, if you hear anything or for any reason want us to return, please don't hesitate to call."