The pen Julie had been holding slid to the floor along with her letter as she lurched to her feet, staring at the television. Fighting for control, she raked her hair off her forehead and picked up the letter and pen. It was a hoax, she told herself. It had to be a hoax! Some maniac was pretending to be Zack just to scare people and make news.

Of course, a hoax, she decided as she turned off the television and went to bed.

But when she finally slept, her dreams were filled with faceless specters who hid in shadows, calling out warnings and screaming threats.

The sun was rising when she finally tore free of the nightmare. Afraid to close her eyes again, Julie got up and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of orange juice. She drank it without tasting it, then she braced her hands on the Formica counter and her head fell forward. "Oh, Zack," she whispered, "what are you doing? Call me and tell me everyone is lying about you. Please … don't let them torture me like this."

She decided to go to church, then spend the day at school, catching up on paperwork there, just in case Zack heard what was happening in Los Angeles and wanted to call her to explain. He couldn't call her at home. He'd try her at the school. Surely he'd realize she'd go there to wait, even on a Sunday, if something important like this happened.

Chapter 57

"Julie, are you all right, honey?" Flossie Eldridge tapped on the car's windshield as she spoke. "You've been sitting out here in the dark for almost a half hour with the engine running."

Julie's gaze jerked to her plump, concerned face, and she groped for her car keys, turning off the ignition and hastily getting out. "I'm fine, Miss Flossie, really—I was thinking about something—a problem at school and I forgot where I was."

Shivering in the frosty night, Flossie pulled her coat around her. "You'll catch your death of cold, sitting out here."

Mortified at having lost track of where she was, Julie pulled her briefcase out of the back seat and tried to smile at her elderly neighbor. "I had the heater on in the car," she said, although she wasn't completely certain now that she had.

"No, you didn't," Flossie said. "Your windshield has frost on it—look. You're working awfully late tonight, and on a Sunday, too!" she said, noticing Julie's briefcase.

"There's always a lot of work to do," Julie said. "Here, let me walk you back to your house," she added, putting her hand beneath Miss Flossie's elbow and walking her slowly across the lawn that separated their houses. "It's hard to see with no moon, and I don't want you to stumble in the grass."

"Julie," Miss Flossie said hesitantly when she'd stepped into the circle of yellow light spilling from the porch, "are you all right? You look peaked. You can tell me the truth. I won't tell Ada. Are you pining away for Zachary Benedict?"

The state of lethargic distraction that had plagued Julie all day gave way to alarmed awareness in the second it took Flossie to pronounce Zack's name. "Why on earth would you think a thing like that?" she said with a laugh that sounded choked and forced to her own ears.

"Because," Flossie said as if the answer should be obvious, "you were sitting in your car in your own driveway and staring into space. When I was a girl and I was pining away for Her—for someone, I recollect doing just that."

"You mean," Julie tried to tease, "you drove into your driveway and sat there for a half hour?"

"No, of course not," Flossie said with a girlish giggle that crinkled her eyes. "You know I never learned to drive. I meant, I stared off into space, just like you were doing tonight."

Trying to avoid lying or answering, Julie evaded the question by saying brightly, "I don't believe in pining away for something, Miss Flossie. If I can't have it and I know that, then I face it and try to put it out of my mind forever and I go on as best I can."

Instead of accepting that or returning to her original question, which Julie half-expected her to do, Miss Flossie put her hand on Julie's arm and said, "What would you do if there was something you've always wanted, and you could have had it—maybe you still could—but you're afraid that everyone will laugh at you. And you're afraid if you get it, you might be sorry?"

Julie's laugh was more genuine than her last one, and she shook her head. "That's a tough one," she admitted. "If I wasn't happy without it, I guess I'd want to take a chance on being happy with it."

"It's a him, not an it," Miss Flossie confided.

Julie had figured that at the outset of the conversation. "Who is it?" she asked in case Miss Flossie wanted to confide. "I mean, who is he?"

"Oh, that's a secret."

No, it's not, Julie thought sadly, and then because she had nothing to lose and Flossie had everything to gain, she said, "I think that what Herman Henkleman needs is a good woman to believe in him and stand by him and give him a reason to be proud. Of course," she added to the mortified Flossie, "Herman will never take the risk of asking the woman he used to love to take a chance on him, not after the mess he's made of his life so far. The woman will have to make the first move, and that takes a lot of courage."

Impulsively, Julie leaned down and pressed a kiss on her parchment cheek. "Good night," she said. Good-bye, she thought. Six of the eight days Zack had allotted her were up.

On her own front porch, she fumbled for her keys in her purse, inserted the right one in the lock, went inside, and closed the door behind her. She was reaching for the light switch when a male voice said, "Don't turn on the light." The scream of terror caught in her throat when he added, "It's okay, I'm a friend of Zack's."

"Why should I believe you?" she said, her voice shaking as hard as her hand.

"Because," Dominic Sandini said with a smile in his voice, "I came to have a look around and make sure you're clear to take a little trip if you should suddenly decide to."

"Damn it, you scared the hell out of me!" Julie exploded half in anger and half in laughter as she collapsed against the door.

"Sorry."

"How did you get in here?" she said, feeling a little absurd talking to an invisible man in the black dark.

"I came in the back after having a look around. You've got a tail on you, ma'am."

"A—a what?"

Julie was so disoriented she actually started to reach for the back of her skirt to check for a tail before he clarified, "You're being watched. A blue van parked down the street covers the house and a black pickup truck follows you wherever you go. It's gotta be FBI—they use cars that ain't worth stealin', but they're better at surveillance than the local yokels. Cars," he added proudly, "are a specialty of mine. Take yours, for example, you got a 1.5-liter engine, probably a factory radio, no telephone, so it's worth mebbe $250 stripped for parts."