“Yes?”
He clears his throat and speaks warily. “Mrs. Slade…” He sounds young. Mid-twenties, maybe. “You say the man broke into your house?”
“Yes! He broke in downstairs. I called out his name, and he…” I pace, irritated, swearing under my breath. “Well, he…”
“And did you get a good look at the man?”
No. I didn’t.
“It was dark,” I admit. “But I called out Jeff’s name, and he…well, he stopped.”
“So, you saw his face?”
No. I didn’t.
I exhale impatiently, swatting my hair away from my face. “He stopped when I called his name, okay? He’s the same height as Jeff.” I’m breathless now, frantic. I have to make him understand. “He’s mad that I bought my house. He wants me out. He—”
“Mrs. Slade.” The young man sighs. I can see him sitting at his cramped desk strewn with manila folders and a stapler he never uses. He’s rubbing his head with his fingertips, wishing someone else had answered my call.
“Mr. Johnson says you’ve been harassing him.”
I’m so stunned that I stumble over my feet. “What?”
“He says you went to his house this week, uninvited.” He pauses, then asks gently, “Is that true?”
I fumble for words, outraged. Why the hell amIthe bad one here?
“Yeah, I went there,” I say hotly. “But I—”
“He said you were harassing him,” he continues in his gentle, persuasive voice. “That he asked you to leave but you refused.”
No. No, this is all wrong. I sit down heavily, elbows on my knees, tears springing into my eyes. God, I’m tired. I’m so tired of this shit. “I wasnotharassing him. I—”
“What were you doing there, then?”
I was accusing him of murder, actually. “I just…” I stare out the window, eyes on Susan’s grave. A black cockatoo’s perched on her headstone like a terrible omen. “I was just introducing myself,” I murmur.
Silence. My lie lingers, and it’s loud.
“He said he asked you to leave,” the cop says bluntly, firmer this time.
“Ididleave.”
“Only after he ordered you,several times,off his property.”
That’s bullshit. I press my palm to my forehead. They’re both clammy, sticky.
“He’s not pressing charges,” the policeman says.
“He was in myhousetonight,” I say tiredly.
“And did you see the man’s face?”
“No,” I choke out. “I didn’t. But Iknowit was him. And my cat, Reaper.” I breathe in sharply. “He threatened my cat.”
“What did he say?”
I want to reach through the phone and grab this guy by the collar. Make him understand. “He told me he can’t stand cats,” I say, realizing how weak it sounds. “You have to believe me. He needs me out of Black Wood so he can get it bulldozed. Ask anyone,” I say, voice rising. “He did something to the last owner too.”
