did he look like?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.
Tag frowned. Was Linda scared of someone? Scared for a reason? “Like a fish out of water, to be honest,” he said slowly, watching her closely as he spoke. “When I heard him come in I thought you were back, but then I didn’t hear Tippy and something felt off-kilter. Anyhow, I came in here to see what was going on and the look on that guy’s face when he saw me was almost funny. He mumbled something about being in the wrong apartment and took off so fast he practically left skid marks. Kind of strange, don’t you think?”
“Yes…strange,” Linda murmured thoughtfully. Was she wrong about having locked the door? Could she recall with detailed certainty stepping outside, inserting the key in the lock and turning it? Try as she might, she couldn’t. It was possible that she hadn’t locked the door.
Which didn’t explain someone off the street taking a notion to just walk in.
“Maybe you should call the sheriff and file a report,” Tag suggested.
Linda mulled that over for a moment. “I don’t know. No harm was done.”
“Meaning you’d rather not involve the law. Why not, Linda? Is it because that guy could be someone you know?”
Tag’s suspicion rubbed her wrong. If she did have a male friend with a key to her apartment, it would really be none of Taggart Kingsley’s business.
“No, not because he could be someone I know,” Linda snapped with biting sarcasm, immediately regretting her feisty comeback. She liked Tag, and she didn’t want him thinking that she was morally loose, although to be perfectly honest she wasn’t sure what she would like him to think about her.
“Look,” she said in a more normal voice, “no one has a key to this place but me, and probably Heck. Since I like my doors locked, I assumed I had locked it when I left. Obviously I hadn’t.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Tag said, still frowning.
“Was the man short, tall or somewhere in between?”
“Around five-eight, I’d have to say. Kind of short for a man.”
“Considering your own height, five foot eight probably looks short to you. What color was his hair?”
“I think his hair was dark. No, you’d better scratch that. He was wearing a stocking cap and sunglasses. I couldn’t say with any certainty what color his hair or eyes were.”
Oh my God, was that another disguise? Was today’s visitor the same guy who came to my door twice before? Did he simply walk in today because I left the apartment unlocked? Is this something I should be concerned about?
For some reason, Linda couldn’t quite believe the poor sicko, whoever he was, was someone to fear. Twice she had opened the door for him and twice he’d immediately run away. If he had meant her any harm, it would already have happened. She just had to be more careful about locking the doors and windows, although the more she thought about it, the odder it all seemed. Did he want to rob her? She had some nice things, but a robbery in broad daylight in Rumor would not go unnoticed.
“Are you positive you’ve never seen him before?” she asked.
“I know everyone in town, Linda.”
“You didn’t know me. He could have recently moved here.”
“I suppose that could be true.” He could have reminded Linda that while he hadn’t actually met her until today, he’d heard about the great new art teacher from a number of sources. Strangers normally did not go unnoticed in Rumor.
Linda squared her shoulders. “He merely walked into the wrong apartment,” she told Tag. “When he saw you he realized his error and left. Let’s both forget it.”
Tag felt uneasy about the incident, particularly Linda’s cavalier attitude toward it. “Are you sure it should be forgotten?” This time he couldn’t resist warning her. “The guy’s a stranger, Linda.”
“So am I, Tag.”
“Not the same thing. You’re new to the area, but you immediately went to work as a high-school teacher. You’re a respectable member of the community.”
“Maybe he is, too. He might be from somewhere else and is in Rumor now to visit someone.”
“Or to walk into other people’s homes just because the front door isn’t locked. Hell, Linda, I leave my doors unlocked most of the time. So do a lot of other folks around here.”
“Well, they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t! Who can tell when some awful person might decide to walk in?” She realized what she’d just said at the same moment it registered with Tag. He grinned, and she grinned. “I think I’m losing it,” she said with a shake of her head, and headed up the stairs again.
Tag watched until she reached the second floor and went into her bedroom. He wasn’t completely comfortable with her attitude toward a stranger walking into her house, but he had to admire her spunk. She wasn’t a coward, that was certain. Of course, a woman living alone didn’t dare cringe in fright at every little thing. She’d drive herself batty if every noise and shadow scared her.
He liked Linda Fioretti, he thought again. He liked her more than any woman he’d ever known on such short acquaintance. She was a pleasure to look at, intelligent, independent and talented. Yes, really talented. Her paintings were incredible. Samantha might be a good artist someday. She loved to draw and color pictures. If she had a teacher who knew art the way Linda did…?
“That’s a darn good idea,” Tag said under his breath as, whistling and, pleased with himself, he returned to the kitchen and his bucket of paint.
The sun beating through the panels of glass of the telephone booth was so unbearable that Alfred Wallinski, aka Al Wallinski, aka Al Malone, had to leave the door open while he talked. Alfred’s favorite alias was Max Malone, just because it sounded tough and together and perfect for a guy with his natural abilities. He wouldn’t waste that great name on this crappy little job, though; he was saving it for the day when he’d finally made the grade and ranked as one of Paul Fioretti’s pals. It would happen very soon, Alfred was sure, if he could just finish up in this ungodly wilderness and get back to Los Angeles.
“Paul, I got into her apartment today, but there was a guy there and I had to beat a hasty retreat.”
“You’re always beating a hasty retreat,” Paul said disgustedly. “Alfred, if you can’t handle one simple little job, why don’t you just say so? I can’t believe you’ve been in that town for weeks and still don’t have the book. What in hell’s wrong with you? Was your mother a jackass? ’Cause you sure are.”
“Ma was no jackass,” Alfred said huffily, defending his mother’s honor. “And I ain’t either. I’ll get the book. You got no idea how crappy this town is. I can’t just up and leave my motel room whenever I feel like it. Someone’s always around, and when I finally do give everyone the slip and get near her apartment, there’re people there, too. I know every bush and tree on this damn street, ’cause I’ve hidden behind every one of ’em. And before you get too mad at me, answer me this. Have you ever come face-to-face with a bull or a bear on a dark night?”
“Oh,
