“There’s something down here,” she said, fingers tenderly picking at something stuck under my desk.
I groaned. “Pam! Can you get up off the floor? What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?”
My words were awful, laced with anger and fear, but if Pam noticed, she didn’t react.
Slowly, she plucked something off the underside and crawled out from under the desk with it in her hand.
“What the hell is that?”
It was a thin wire, like a miniature charging cord. It was gripped in her right hand as she struggled to climb out from under the desk and get back on her feet. I gripped her forearm and helped her up, pointing at the strange wire. “Did you just break my computer?”
Pam panted, “This doesn’t belong on any computer. Regardless, it wasn’t attached to the modem; it was taped underneath.” She handed it to me.
“What for?” I pinched the tiny cord and held it up for a better view. It did sort of look like a phone charger. It was thin and white, but instead of a USB on the end, there was an egg-shaped object with holes.
“I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure someone’s been spying on you.”
“Huh?” I tapped the tiny egg thing and examined the shortened cord it was hooked to.
“I think that’s a listening device. I only know because I looked into getting one for work,” Pam admitted.
“Why in the hell would you do that?”
“Not at the office, at the shelter. You know Randy, my boss? He’s always harassing me and the other girls who work there.”
“Oh. Gosh, I’m sorry, Pam. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pam shrugged. “Look, I’ll show you.” Pam leaned over and pulled up the Google search bar. Images of listening devices flooded the screen.
“Well, some of those look like everyday objects,” I said, chilled by what I was seeing. There were devices that looked like everyday pens and plugs; there were even a few that came with light domes or switches to make them look like part of the house.
“This looks like an old one. Or one someone made themselves. Who’s been in your room?”
“No one.” I guarded this place like Fort Knox because it was always a mess.
But that wasn’t true anymore, was it?
My mind instantly went to Ben, sitting at my desk only a couple days earlier. I’d even left him alone for a while, while I primped in the bathroom like a complete idiot.
“Oh my God …”
“What is it?” Pam’s eyes were wide with concern.
“This guy I’ve seen a few times … Ben. He said he works in computers. And he’s been here, twice. He’s even been on my computer alone in here. But why … why would he do that?”
Pam glanced over at the dead bodies. “I’m not sure. But I’m guessing it might have something to do with those guys.”
Chapter 34
BEFORE
I didn’t expect to hear from Ben. The last time we’d seen each other had gone so well, but so had the time before that, and he’d ghosted me then.
When he didn’t message me all day, I wasn’t surprised.
I have enough to worry about. And do I really have time for a boyfriend anyway?
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wash the towels too?” I was standing in Fran’s living room, a laundry basket full of folded shirts and pajama bottoms. She’d been too proud to let me wash her bras or underwear.
Fran shook her head, turning the page in a new book I’d brought her: Peril at End House by Agatha Christie. Ashamed to admit I’d never read a Christie novel, I’d assured her it was a good one when she’d asked me what I thought about it.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you getting out of the tub and having to drip dry …”
Fran rolled her eyes. “If anyone should understand my towel situation, it’s you. Now that I’m all alone, it takes me a month to go through all the towels. I still have a dozen clean ones in my linen closet.”
Is that how Fran sees me, like her, sad and alone?
“Well, I guess I do sort of get it. But you forget that I have a teenager. She needs one towel to dry herself with, a second to wrap her hair in, and a few to mop up the floor with …”
“She hasn’t been home lately, though, has she?” Fran challenged.
There was something refreshing about her blunt personality, but it was grating on my nerves too. She’d never once thanked me for helping, but then again, I had run her down with my van.
“Actually, she messaged this afternoon. She’s riding the bus here after school.” That reminded me, I had very little food in the fridge.
What could I make for dinner tonight?
“I suppose our late-night visitor will be back then, too?”
I shrugged. I was certain that the stalker was Timothy McDaniel, and after Ben’s phony phone call and my conversation with Samantha yesterday, I was confident he’d be gone for good from Delaney’s life.
“Hopefully not. Want me to put these away for you?”
“No, that’ll be alright. I think I’ll take a break from you and read my book now if that’s okay,” Fran said.
“Yes, of course.” I tried not to smile as I watched her, eyes jerking rapidly from line to line.
I picked a good one for her, or so it appears …
I let myself out and crossed the deserted street back to my house. It was dark and lonely inside, but not for long. Delaney would be home soon.
I’d left my cell phone on the table when I went to Fran’s. Picking it up, I quickly scanned for missed calls, texts, or social media notifications. I had two.
Unfortunately, neither were Ben. The first was a message from Max.
Miss you, hottie. Can I come by tonight?
Rolling my eyes, I clicked on the next one. It was from Rich007:
I’m sorry about how I acted on our first date. I just really didn’t want you to go …
Richard. I’d nearly forgotten about that atrocious meet-up and the twenty-dollar mozzarella sticks. I had no plans to contact either of them, but if Ben didn’t call soon, maybe I would schedule another fun night with Max …
***
When the bus grinded to a halt out front, I was picking through the cabinets and freezer for a good dinner option.
Maybe we should go out for dinner tonight.
The thought of having a fancy dinner with Delaney was appealing but the truth was, I couldn’t afford it right now. With the missed worked days over the last few weeks and the second half of school tuition due next month, I couldn’t really afford much besides McDonald’s or Wendy’s.
The front door creaked open. Excited to see Delaney, I strolled out of the kitchen wearing a smile. It melted when I saw her face.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes flaming.
I know that look. She’s furious.
“What happened?” I asked, my thoughts initially leaping to another bullying incident.
But I should have known better: Delaney’s rage was almost always directed at me.
Delaney threw her backpack across the living room. It landed with a loud thump next to the stained coffee table.
“What the hell, Laney?”
“You.” She pointed an accusatory finger at me. She was so mad, she was shaking.