The Man in the Woods by Rosemary Wells

Author:Rosemary Wells [Wells, Rosemary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4532-6593-2
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2012-10-12T15:54:00+00:00

Chapter 7

HELEN WATCHED MR. BRZOSTOSKI’S eyes. He had switched the tape to the beginning again and was listening intently. She worried that although he had no foreign accent whatever, he might have been born in Europe and the words to the song would not come easily to him as they had to her and to Pinky.

When he’d heard it through once more, he took the orange sponge earphones off his head and asked, “Who did the police tell your father it was?”

“Some old singer called Bing Crosby who used to whistle on the radio,” said Helen. “Ryser thought it was ‘White Christmas,’ which it isn’t.”

“Did your father point that out? Did he show Ryser the envelope?”

“He said it was done on a toy set.”

“Voiceprints? Fingerprints?”

“Can’t voiceprint whistling. Aunt Stella, me, my father had all handled the cassette. Mr. Bro, I told you they thought it was a joke.”

“And you think I will look at this differently?”

“Well ... do you?” Helen asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

“At least,” said Helen, “will you help me, Mr. Bro? You’re a history teacher. Will you tell me how to go about looking for a hundred-and-forty-year-old writing machine?”

“Not if it’s in the hands of some maniac, I won’t.”

“Then you do believe me?” Helen asked, unable to keep either the sharpness or the honey out of her voice.

Mr. Bro did not answer until he had finished an entire banana. He folded the skin neatly on his blotter. “Yes,” he said, just as neatly. “But I can’t help you.”

Helen stood. “Then I’ll do it myself,” she said. “I’ll find a way.”

“Sit down. No, you won’t,” said Mr. Bro. “Helen, I’m a teacher. A responsible adult. I can’t let you go off the deep end looking for an old typewriter with some nut who uses it. Some nut who pokes out eyes.”

“You think that’s what he means to do to me?”

“Of course that’s what he means to do. He’s telling you, you better be good and you better watch out. He has quite deliberately punched out the eyes in the photograph, then placed red paper, cut out exactly in the shape of the locket, behind the picture to give the impression of ... forgive me, gouged out eyes. If this had been simple backing paper, both papers would have holes in them. Beside that ... Mr. Bro removed the photo of Helen’s mother carefully and set it on the desk. He took out the red paper behind it, touched his finger to his tongue, and rubbed it across the tiny scarlet scrap. “Ink,” he declared, looking at his reddened thumb. “Ink. Somebody’s gone to the trouble of coloring that bit of paper with red ink. If it were backing paper or anything else manufactured or printed, it wouldn’t come off with a lick of my finger, would it? So. That’s a warning. It’s clear as day.”

“If it’s so clear to you and me and to Pinky, how come they won’t listen? Why, Mr. Bro?”

Mr. Bro smiled a little bitterly.

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