“No problem,” she said. “Hey, just in case someone really was following you, how about if you walk me to my car and then I’ll drive you to yours?”
“It’s a deal,” I said.
She deposited her garbage bag in the Dumpster and locked the back door of the diner behind her.
When we got to the mouth of the alley, I paused to look up and down the street. No one visible. Plenty of places to hide.
But was there a reason someone had left a brick lying on the snow just outside the mouth of the alley?
“From the construction site three blocks over,” Muriel said, seeing me studying the brick.
“But what’s it doing here?” I asked.
She looked at the brick for a few long moments.
“My car’s this way,” she said.
I was glad when we reached her car, and even gladder that she waited until she’d seen me start my car and drive off.
But I hadn’t gone more than a few blocks before I began to suspect that a car was following me. A car with oddly distinctive headlights. Two sets of headlights, one on top of the other, with the bottom set slightly farther apart. And there was something on the inside of each top headlight that made it seem as if the car was looking at me cross-eyed. And frowning.
Maybe I’d been listening to the boys too much. Lately they’d developed very strong automotive likes and dislikes, based mainly on their impressions of the cars’ faces, as they called the headlights and front-end decorations. Some cars looked as if they were smiling, others frowning. Some were sad, some happy. Josh was particularly fond of Corvettes, and Jamie thought most Audis looked mean. Once he’d burst into tears because a “mean car” was following us.
Was a mean car following me now? All I could see was those odd double headlights. Could be just a coincidence—there weren’t that many streets in Caerphilly.
I took a leisurely detour through a residential neighborhood. The distinctive headlights never turned off, and never got any closer, even when I idled for a couple of minutes in front of a house well known for having some of the most over-the-top holiday lights in town.
Before moving on, I pulled out my phone. And then hesitated. Should I call the police?
I called Randall instead.
“What’s up?” he said.
“Are you still at the show house?” I asked.
“For another minute or two. What do you need?”
“Could you stay there a few minutes longer? I think someone’s following me. I’d call the police, but maybe everything that’s happened lately has just got me jumpy. I don’t want to look like a nervous idiot.”
“What can I do?”
“Get in your truck, but don’t leave yet. I’ll drive by the house in a few minutes. If there’s someone following me—”
“I’ll get the license, call 9-1-1, and follow both of you till the police get there.”
I felt better already. I took off again, and the headlights that had been stationary the whole time I’d pretended to enjoy the light show continued to follow me.
I cruised slowly past the show house. It was completely dark, but I spotted Randall sitting in his truck.
I went up a couple of blocks, then went around a block. Just as I was about to make a left turn to go past the show house again, the car behind me suddenly speeded up. It passed me, then turned sharply so it blocked the whole street. The driver’s door popped open and a man jumped out and ran back toward my car.
I clicked the button to make sure all four doors were locked and then put the car in reverse and began slowly backing up as I picked up my cell phone to dial 9-1-1.
The man ran up to my window and banged on it, hard. Startled, I slammed on the brakes.
“Where is she?” he yelled. “I know you know.”
“Meg, help’s on the way,” Debbie Ann, the dispatcher, said. “Randall just called to tell us about the guy who’s following you.”
“He’s not following me anymore,” I said. “He’s banging on my car.”
“I’ll kill that bitch when I find her!” the man was shouting.
I turned my cell phone toward my window and took a picture of the angry red face pressed against it. But while I was still figuring out how to e-mail it to the police, the man suddenly flew backwards away from my window and landed in a snowdrift. Randall now stood just outside my window. I could hear sirens in the distance.
“Don’t move,” Randall shouted to the man. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Randall Shiffley’s here,” I said to Debbie Ann. “He’s … confronting the guy.”
The angry man was trying to struggle up.