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  Gloria put down her pole, tangle and all. “Harry printed that last batch of flyers. I didn’t think he would, but he did. Do you remember what I told you they were about?”

  Cutter nodded. “Kind of coincidental, you writing about how these nonprofit groups are making millions, and now this thing with Benny.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think I’m being followed.”

  The next day, Wanda was in a fouler mood than ever, so when Gloria heard the cheerful voice of Harry Grizwald booming over the phone, she was grateful for the interruption.

  “Congratulate me, Gloria! I finally did it. I finally got Dorie to say she’ll marry me.”

  Gloria let out a loud whoop, then covered her mouth and scrunched lower in her chair when Wanda gave her a dirty look. “I never doubted for a second you’d win her over.”

  “I don’t know. Dorie can be pretty stubborn. It wasn’t an easy sell.”

  “What finally convinced her?”

  “I think it was my cooking.”

  “No, I’m serious, Harry.”

  “So am I.”

  Oh, how she missed Harry and Dorie and Perth. It had been a while since she had seen them.

  “Why don’t you come up this weekend? We’re all getting Gloria withdrawal,” Harry said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Gloria watched Wanda tie string tightly around a box of Sam Hidel’s flyers as though wishing it were her husband’s throat. “I’d like nothing better. But I can’t this weekend. We’re swamped here, getting ready for the Apple Festival.”

  “Then how about next weekend?”

  A quick mental run-through of her schedule told Gloria she was free. “That would be perfect.”

  “You could hop the early bus and—”

  “I have a car now, Harry.”

  “Well, well, well. Now aren’t we the up-and-coming yuppie? Okay, so hop in your car, and we’ll see you and your new car next weekend. Got any other surprises? Anything else going on in that life of yours?”

  “It will keep till I see you.” She didn’t have the heart to spoil Harry’s happy announcement by telling him about Sam Bryce or Benny Holt, or about the man who was still following her—who, in fact, had stood right outside the print shop door this morning and glared at her as she passed.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE TRAFFIC WAS CRAZY—congesting normally quiet roadways all over Appleton and leaving a lot of townspeople feeling frazzled. But not Gloria. The congestion was child’s play compared to working with Wanda these past few weeks. This morning, Wanda had already chewed through two packs of spearmint, and Gloria dreaded seeing what she was going to be like by quitting time.

  A second pass in front of Tad’s Ice Cream Parlor convinced Gloria there were no empty parking spots to be had anywhere. She pictured herself driving around endlessly in a circle like a moving figure in a cuckoo clock.

  Wanda would sure love that.

  During her third pass, Gloria spotted a car fifty feet in front of her, pulling out of a space. She managed to slip into it just before an SUV did and felt only mildly guilty at her lack of graciousness. This was too much like jousting with cars. She couldn’t imagine having to fight for a parking space every day like they did in Eckerd City. It would hardly be worth owning a car then. Gloria turned off Bluebird, scooped up Tad’s flyers and his rush order of sweepstakes tickets, and got out.

  The sidewalks were as jammed as the roads, with people everywhere. But that was to be expected. This was the end of town where most of the tourists congregated—though the rest of Appleton managed to get in on some of the action too, because a portion of the visitors inevitably wandered past Brandise and Larkspur and Baker Streets. Some even went as far as the elementary school and beyond that to Railroad Avenue. It was strange seeing them by the Wilson Brothers Funeral Home or the Western Union office or Carpet King—peering into windows or sitting on benches or standing in groups on the corners.

  The tourists were as welcome as refreshing rain to most of the locals. Charlie Axlerod called them manna from heaven. Some, though, like Gloria’s mother, called them a giant bother. But bother or not, the tourists were needed. Many merchants claimed that if they didn’t score big financially during the Apple Festival, they wouldn’t make their year.

  Gloria squeezed past a family of four devouring triple-scoop cones just outside Tad’s, the bundled boxes of flyers and tickets feeling heavy in her arms. She was glad Tad’s promotion was going so well that he needed this second printing. Tad’s place always got a lot of traffic and was one of the favorites with tourists during the Festival. Even in the fall, ice cream was a big seller.

  Inside, people were jammed like pickles in a jar, making it difficult for Gloria to get to the counter. “Here’s your stuff,” she said to Tad when she’d finally pushed through. She almost choked when she saw that he was busy building one of his Banana Big Boats, called Triple B by the locals. It was a treat for two that held six scoops of ice cream, two different toppings, at least two tablespoons of nuts, a mound of whipped cream and a maraschino cherry, all on a bed of cut bananas. In Gloria’s senior year, Tracy had dared her to eat one all by herself. And she did. But not without having to end her victory by going home and crawling into bed with a stomachache.

  Ever since that dare, Gloria had not been able to look at a Triple B without wanting to gag. “Where should I put these?”

  Tad squirted a mound of whipped cream over his creation. “Just stick them in the back.”

  Gloria slipped into the back room just as Tad placed a dripping red cherry on top of the whipped cream. She passed the batch freezers and one old Taylor soft-serve machine. Tad’s newer soft-serve—his prized Taylor 772—and his Taylor 444 shake machine were in front, behind the counter. She found a cleared space on one of the tables and emptied her arms.

  “I thought Wanda was gonna deliver them,” Tad said when she returned.

  “She was. That was before she started breathing like a goldfish because Paul hadn’t started Pearl Owens’s Fall Clearance Sale flyer. When Wanda actually turned orange—I’m not kidding you, bright orange—I offered to drop off your stuff.”

  Tad laughed as he handed the customer his change. “Yeah, I heard she’s been pretty stressed. Guess we all have. I don’t know why she and Paul just don’t sell the place and retire. ’Course, I can’t imagine anyone around here wanting to buy it.”

  Gloria shrugged, then waved good-bye, all the while thinking that she knew just the person who did, and marveled that the knowledge hadn’t taken her by surprise.

  When Gloria returned to the print shop, she noticed a man dressed in a black leather outfit and heavy black leather boots sitting on a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. The crowds here were not as thick as those near Tad’s, but there were enough people around that she normally wouldn’t notice someone unless he stood out. Black leather stood out in Appleton. So did motorcycles with chrome trim and gleaming pipes and custom wheels and fourteen-karat gold “Born to ride” emblems that caught the sun.

  The man’s face was turned to the side as he fiddled with something on the handlebars. Gloria had the vague notion she knew him, and she walked close to the curb hoping to get a better view. When a child’s cry made him turn his head, she understood why he seemed so familiar. It was the same man she had seen lurking in the shadows so many times this past week and a half. When he saw Gloria, he cranked up the Harley and sped away.

  Maybe it was time to report this to the sheriff.

  Gloria watched J.P. Gordon, Ivy Gordon’s husband and sheriff of Appleton, frown, then shake his head. “I always get nervous this time of year with all the strangers milling around, but so far I’ve only had to worry about shoplifting, traffic accidents, littering, maybe some vandalism. Never expected we’d get ourselves a stalker.”

  “I’m not saying he’s stalking me.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

 
“I’m saying he’s … following me.”

  J.P. raked stubby fingers through his salt-and-pepper crew cut. He was an ex-military man who still kept his hair short, his body trim, and his life disciplined. “Seems like stalking and following are about the same thing. But I won’t split hairs. You know this guy from anywhere?”

  Gloria shook her head.

  “Any idea why he’s following you?”

  Gloria looked at J.P.’s kind face. She had known him all her life. What’s more, she trusted J.P. He was a deacon at her church, and he walked the talk, just like his wife, Ivy. But for some reason she didn’t want to tell him about Santa Claus or the Slone Foundation or the C&C flyers. She didn’t know why, exactly. Maybe because, even to her, it all sounded too fantastic, too ridiculous to have anything to do with Gloria Bickford from Appleton.

  “Any idea what he’s after?” J.P. repeated.

  “Two weeks ago I never knew he existed,” Gloria returned truthfully, but feeling like she had deceived her old friend.

  It was almost dark when Gloria got home, so at first she didn’t notice that her front door was open, just a crack. But when she went to insert her key and the door swung away, she knew that someone had been there. She called out in a shaky voice, then realized that if anyone was inside, he certainly wouldn’t advertise the fact. She reached in with her hand and flicked on the light, then slowly pushed the door open all the way.

  Her tiny apartment was quiet. Nothing looked like it had been disturbed, at least not the parts she could see from the door—her living room and half of the kitchen. Even so, she was hesitant to go inside. There was still the bedroom and bathroom. Someone could be hiding.

  “If anyone’s here, you better come out,” she yelled, then realized that was foolish too. Did she really want to come face-to-face with an intruder? Maybe she’d go around to the front and get Sam Hidel. There was safety in numbers.

  She was about to do just that, then stopped. If nothing was disturbed and nothing was taken, then the natural assumption would be that she’d just forgotten to lock her door and it had blown open. If she got Sam involved and the gossip wheel got hold of it, the whole town would get the idea that Gloria was not only forgetful about things like locking her door during Apple Festival season, but had an overactive imagination to boot.

  Better keep this to herself.

  She stepped into the living room, listening for sound. Nothing. Then she crept to the bedroom and flipped on the light. All was as she’d left it this morning. Then she checked the bathroom. Nothing wrong there either. She sighed with relief and was glad she hadn’t involved Sam. That piece of news would have spread around quick enough and reached her mother in no time. Then she’d have had to listen to stories of all the people who had gotten murdered in their beds over the last fifty years within a radius of five thousand miles.

  Mother could be relentless.

  Gloria went to the front door, closed and locked it. That guy in the black leather must have rattled her more than she’d realized. She headed for the kitchen, thinking she’d eat a sandwich, then take a long, hot bath to relax. With a flip of her hand, she turned on the overhead fluorescent, then walked to the pantry and opened it. First, she’d feed Tiger. With a start, she realized he had not met her at the door with his usual greeting. In fact, she hadn’t seen him anywhere in the house. He’d probably slipped past her and out the door without her noticing. She hadn’t exactly been thinking straight when she first got home. He’d be back when he got hungry. She headed for the corner where she kept his bowl. She’d wash it and have it ready.

  When she bent over to pick it up, something behind the nearby garbage pail caught her eye. A paper of some kind, and some fluff … orange and brown and … Tiger? Her heart thumped as she yanked the tall pail away from the wall, revealing her cat, motionless and stiff as a flagpole, a blank three-by-five card tied around his neck. Her hand trembled as she tried feeling for any signs of life—a breath, a heartbeat, a movement—but found none. She reached for the card. A hole was poked through one of the corners. White string threaded through the hole was tied around Tiger’s neck. Slowly she turned the card over and was startled to see big, sloppy red lettering.

  “STOP SNOOPING OR ELSE.”

  Gloria watched Sheriff J.P. Gordon push his gun to the side so it wouldn’t catch in the bend of his thigh as he took the empty space next to her on the couch. Even so, he didn’t seem comfortable and stretched out his right leg to reposition his weapon. As he did, Deputy Charlie Watts walked past, carrying something in a black plastic garbage bag, and Gloria knew it was Tiger.

  “You ready to tell me what’s going on here?” J.P. said.

  Gloria nodded, swallowing the walnut-size lump in her throat and fighting back tears. She let her head fall back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “But you might not believe it.”

  Cutter lay prone on the posh leather couch, dangling his legs off the end and watching the Giants make the winning touchdown in the final five seconds of the game. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening, except maybe to go fishing.

  With Gloria.

  Ever since that night they’d gone to Spoon Lake, he had tried to think of some excuse to visit her or ask her out but hadn’t come up with a single thing. You don’t need an excuse, Press. Just do it.

  It wasn’t that easy. He was walking a fine line here. He’d have to take it slow, give himself time to build her trust.

  Oh, you just don’t want her to think you’re an idiot.

  But he was an idiot. Had been one for years. Why else would he have come back to Appleton? He had returned on a fool’s errand, but now … now maybe it wasn’t so foolish. For the first time he had begun to hope, had actually begun to see the faintest possibility that Gloria’s heart could change toward him.

  He heard the sound of a doorbell and thought it was the commercial. When he heard it again and then again, he quickly rose from the couch and answered it.

  “Gloria!” Cutter felt his cheeks burn, as though she had been standing there reading all his thoughts. But her face told him that something far more troubling than his thoughts was on her mind. He invited her in, then directed her to the living room.

  “Sit down,” he said, pointing to his favorite spot. Then he turned off the TV. “You look like you could use a drink. A strong one. What can I make you?”

  Gloria shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t want anything except to talk.”

  “Okay … sure.” He hadn’t seen her this upset in a long time. “Go ahead. Tell me what’s on your mind.” He eased himself onto the couch next to her.

  “I want you to call off the investigation. I want you to tell Sam Bryce to forget about it.”

  Cutter pushed forward, leaned his elbows on his thighs, then tented his fingers. “Why do you want to quit, Gloria? Tell me what’s happened.”

  “I was right about someone following me.” She quickly told him about the man in black leather, about her open apartment, her cat, and the note.

  Cutter sighed. “I’m sorry about your cat. But for too many years you’ve let people bully you, Gloria. You can’t let that happen now. You’ve got to stand. Don’t let whoever is trying to intimidate you succeed.”

  Gloria shook her head. “At Mattson Development I saw firsthand what these people can do. And from the people I’ve talked to since Harry and I started putting out those flyers, I’ve seen and heard even more. Lives have been destroyed, homes and families damaged. I know The Lakes is valuable real estate, but you’ve got to find another way to develop—”

  “The Lakes? You think that’s the reason I don’t want to call off Sam?”

  “You stand to lose a lot of money. And I know you feel responsibility to your partners, but—”

  “I guess you haven’t changed as much as I thought.” Cutter rose to his feet. “You still can’t see beyond your nose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you don’t know anyt
hing, Gloria. It means that you’re clueless.”

  “If it’s not The Lakes you’re thinking about, what then?”

  “I told you.”

  “You didn’t tell me anything.” Gloria grabbed Cutter’s hand and pulled herself up, obviously tired of having a conversation that required her to crane her neck. She stood so close he could see the tiny scar on her chin, the one he had given her when they’d had that mudball fight years ago and he had cut her with a small piece of glass he didn’t know was mixed in with the mud. She tried to let go of his hand, but he wouldn’t release her. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer other than to say that I was only thinking of you.”

  Gloria nodded, but Cutter could tell by the look on her face she didn’t believe him. “I want you to stand firm on this because … I love you. Is that clear enough?”

  He had never seen a look like the one he now saw on Gloria’s face. It was a mix of utter shock, fear, and … something else he couldn’t quite identify. Disgust? He didn’t think he’d ever forget it as long as he lived. He watched her go without saying a word.

  You really are an idiot, Press.

  Gloria sped along I-80, her radio blaring, and knew she should slow down but didn’t. She was glad it was Saturday and she could finally leave Appleton. Ever since finding Tiger in the kitchen with that note tied around his neck, and ever since her visit to Cutter’s, all she’d wanted to do was get out of town. She knew it was akin to running from her problems, but she didn’t care.

  She pressed her foot on the gas and watched the turning leaves on the trees along the side of the road become a blur of red and yellow and brown. Faster. Faster. Her foot pressed harder. With every passing second, she was leaving her concerns farther and farther behind: the stalker … Tiger … Cutter.