“We’ll circle around.”
They crossed back into the kitchen, the offending bare table on their left, pantry on their right. Past the pantry and down the hall. Kaycee remained there while Mark checked the half bath on their left, then the utility room. “All clear,” he announced.
In the hall to the right was the door to Kaycee’s office, where she wrote her newspaper columns — thanks to Mandy Parksley. Four years ago Kaycee read Mandy some excerpts from her diary about struggling with the paranoia of being watched. Mandy knew someone at the Jessamine Journal, a local weekly paper, and made a phone call. “You’ve got something here, Kaycee,” she urged. “And that knack of yours for seeing a fear in others, even when they won’t admit it. The way you saw through mine. You can help people.”
It turned out that the only way Kaycee could publicly write about her fears was to inject a sort of self-deprecating humor. The technique was a hit. Within six months Kaycee’s local “Who’s There?” had gone national.
Kaycee pressed against the wall as Mark checked under her desk, which sat in front of a window facing Mrs. Foley’s house. His gaze roved around her filing cabinet, a table, an old stuffed armchair that used to belong to her mother.
The office led into the den at the house’s front corner. Not much furniture to check behind there. A couch, a TV, some tables and lamps. Most of Kaycee’s house was furnished sparsely. Five years ago the down payment alone had taken everything she had. Since then she’d added what pieces she could.
From the den they climbed the stairs and turned left. The upstairs area only covered the middle part of the house, leaving downstairs “wings.” Mark searched through the two bedrooms and the adjoining bath in the middle. He checked in the closets, under the beds, and behind the shower curtain. Kaycee hung back, feeling awkward and vulnerable as he looked through her private spaces.
We see you.
How would she ever sleep here tonight?
Back in the hall, Mark gave her a nod. “Everything’s clear.”
Kaycee didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
They descended the stairs in silence.
Mark unlocked the front door and walked outside. Kaycee turned on the porch lights and followed. Her white-columned porch wrapped partially around the side of the house, ending at the set-back dining room. From that part of the porch a sliding door to the right led into the living room, and a second one at the end led to the dining area. Mark inspected the locks on both doors. They were secure.
Back inside, Kaycee relocked and bolted the front door. She faced Mark in her living room, arms crossed. The worn hardwood floors and the comfy sofa in her peripheral vision didn’t feel so homey now. The walls pulsed with unseen threat.
“That camera was here, Mark. Somebody put it in my house.”
He nodded. “You want to make a statement? I’ll add it to the file.”
“Bet that file’s getting pretty thick.” Kaycee couldn’t keep the defensiveness from her tone.
Mark looked at a loss for words — almost as if he wanted to believe she wasn’t crazy but couldn’t find the evidence.
Kaycee’s heart panged. She shifted on her feet. “So what do we do now?”
“I’ll be on patrol all night. You can have my cell phone number. And I’ll drive by here often.”
“And what if whoever brought that camera comes back between drives?”
“Call me and I’ll come — ”
“I could be dead by the time you get here.”
Mark pulled in a long breath. “Kaycee, I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe. I am taking this seriously.”
“Really? Or are you thinking, ‘Sure, sure, this is just crazy Kaycee.’ ”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.
Maybe sometimes your fears make you see things . . .”
“I told you that camera was here.”
Mark held up a hand. “Okay.”
For a moment they faced off, his hurtful words from last month echoing in her head. Even if they had revealed more about his own issues than hers, they still hurt. Kaycee swallowed. “And I am not making this up just to give me fodder for my next column.”
“I never said anything like that.”
“Close to it . . . last month at the birthday party for Chief Davis. You told me all my column does is stir up other people’s fears, and I don’t really want to overcome my own, because then what would I do for a living?”
“If I said that, I didn’t mean it.”
“You did say it. You know you did.”
Mark looked away, forehead creasing. Kaycee continued to eye him. Why couldn’t he just admit he had fears like everybody else? His were written all over him. Ever since his fiancée broke their engagement and moved away three years ago, he’d kept his distance from women, clearly scared to death of being hurt again. But no, he had to put on this act like he didn’t need anybody.
Mark swung his gaze back to her. “I’m sorry, Kaycee. I’d had a bad day. I don’t really think that about you.”
Kaycee’s eyes burned. She didn’t care what most people said about her — Kaycee Raye’s whole life was laid out in “Who’s There?” But this man was different.
She lifted a shoulder. “Never mind. It’s okay.”
Silence ticked by. Mark cleared his throat. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay alone tonight. Is there somewhere else you can sleep? A friend’s house?”
Kaycee glanced at her watch. Going on ten o’clock. Not too late to call Tricia. Kaycee certainly didn’t want to stay in this house. The very thought of turning out the light, trying to sleep . . .
A terrifying thought flared. “Mark, the words on that photo said, ‘We see you,’ ” Kaycee blurted. “Could somebody have hooked up video cameras in here?”
Great, now he really would think she was crazy.
He spread his hands. “I searched all over the house.”
“You were looking for people.”
“You want me to look again — for cameras?”
“Well, if I’m in a starring role, at least I should know about it.”
“Was that a yes?”
She nodded tightly.
Again they walked through every room. Mark searched corners, window sills, within the leaves of plants — anywhere a tiny video camera might be hidden. He found nothing. By the time he finished, Kaycee’s nerves sizzled.
Mark stood in her kitchen, hands on his hips. “So how about that friend’s house?”
Kaycee crossed her arms. How she wanted to leave. The darkness beat giant wings against her windows. But there was nothing in this house. No intruder. No lens. If she stayed with someone she’d be giving in. How would she ever regain the strength she’d had before Mandy’s death if she caved in to her fears?
“Kaycee, you don’t have to fight this one,” Mark said, as if reading her thoughts.
That one sentence, coming from Mark, was all it took. Any resolve Kaycee could find within herself melted away. “Maybe I’ll just . . . call somebody.”
“Good. I’ll escort you wherever you go. Tomorrow you can come down to the station and fill out a report. And if you want an officer to come back into the house with you, whoever’s on duty will do that.”
“Okay.”
Soaked in defeat, Kaycee picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. Tricia Goodwin answered on the second ring. “Of course you can come,” she said. “What happened?”
“Tell you when I get there. Don’t freak when a policeman pulls up behind me.”
Mark waited in the living room while Kaycee threw some clothes and toiletries into a small bag upstairs. The dead man’s face throbbed in her mind.