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Amy Antrim sat in herfather’s study, her cane propped against the armchair, her modest black dress a stark contrast to her pale skin. Even though months had passed since the accident, she looked as delicate as a porcelain doll. Outside, windblown rain splattered the window and the watery streaks on the glass cast her face in distorted bands of gray.
“We get spam calls all the time,” she said. “Lots and lots of them, trying to sell us things. But Dad insists on keeping his phone number listed, in case a patient needs to reach him. He’s good that way, even if it means we have to put up with nuisance calls.”
“The first call was two minutes long, the other was about thirty seconds,” said Frost. “Both were made in the evening, while your dad was at work. Your mom says she doesn’t remember any unusual calls, so we’re wondering if maybe you answered them.”
“My mom usually picks up first, since I don’t move so fastthese days. Maybe they went to the answering machine?” Amy looked back and forth at Jane and Frost. “Do these calls have something to do with that man in the cemetery?”
“We’re not sure,” said Jane.
“Because I thought that’s what you came to ask me about, that man. He seemed nice enough at the time.ShouldI have been afraid of him?”
“We don’t know that either.” Jane looked down at Amy’s slender hands, the skin so translucent that blue veins showed through. Were those hands strong enough to fend off an attacker? Amy seemed fragile enough to be toppled by a mere gust of wind, much less a man intent on harming her. She was like the lone gazelle at the edge of the herd, the vulnerable one that a predator would pick off first.
“Let’s talk about that man,” said Frost. “Tell us again what he said to you.”
“It was just small talk, really. About the cardinal up in the tree and how it must be defending its nest. He noticed I was wearing black and asked me if I was there for a funeral. I asked him if we’d met before, because I got the feeling that I knew him from somewhere.”
“So you did recognize him?”
Amy thought about it for a moment, her brow delicately furrowed. “I’m not sure.”
“Not sure?”
She gave a helpless shrug. “There was something familiar about him. I thought maybe I’d seen him at the university, but it wasn’t in the art history department. Somewhere else on campus, maybe. Maybe the library. I’ve spent so much time in that library, working on my senior thesis. Or at least I was working on it, untilthishappened.” She massaged her healing leg,something she seemed to do as a matter of habit. “I can’t wait to throw that ugly cane in the trash and get on with my life.”
“About the accident,” said Jane. “How did it happen?”
“It was just bad luck. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember walking out of the library and it was sleeting. I hadn’t dressed for it. I was wearing these silly flats and they got soaked as I walked across campus. I got to the crosswalk and then…” She paused, frowning.
“And then?”
“I remember standing there, waiting for the light to change.”
“This was on Huntington Avenue?”
“Yes. I guess I must have stepped into the street and then the car hit me. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the ICU. Sofia was there, looking down at me. The police said the car hit me, right there in the crosswalk, and then it drove away. They never caught the driver.”
Jane glanced at Frost and wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.Wasit an accident? Or something else?
The door opened and Amy’s mother, Julianne, walked in, carrying a tray with teacups and pastries. “I’m sorry to barge in on you, but Amy barely ate any lunch. And I thought you detectives might like something to eat as well. Tea?”
Frost brightened as he saw the plate of lemon bars on the tray. “Those look great, Mrs. Antrim. Thank you.”
“Everyone else has left for the hospital,” said Julianne. “But there’s plenty of food in the dining room if you’d like something else. I always seem to lay out more than everyone can eat.”
“Old habits,” said Amy with a smile. “My mom used to work in restaurants.”
“And every cook’s worst nightmare is running out of food,”said Julianne, pouring tea. “I’ll never stop obsessing about whether I’ve made enough for everyone.” Julianne handed out teacups with the efficiency of a seasoned hostess, then settled into the chair next to Amy. They might be twenty years apart, but mother and daughter had the same slender figures, the same jet-black hair cut in identical bobs. “So what is this all about? Who was this man at the cemetery?”
“A man who seemed to take a very special interest in Amy,” said Jane. “We’re wondering if it’s something we need to pursue.”
Julianne looked at her daughter. “You didn’t recognize him?”
“I thought I might know him from somewhere. Or he was just trying to be friendly. But now that everyone’s asking about him—”
