Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

armed and ready if need be.
    Before she went to work, she walked around the back of the house. The footprints were still there. Were there more, a fresh set pressed into the dewy grass? She couldn't tell. Leaves had fallen overnight, making a carpet of red and brown. She hoped enough would fall to cover the tracks so that she wouldn't have to see them anymore.
    The day passed swiftly as she wrapped up a couple of articles and sat through a staff meeting with the graphics people. Graphics people always complained that they were pushed up against the deadline by slack advertisers who turned in their copy at the last minute. Poor graphics people. They were artists, while writers were only hacks and glorified typists. In the world of modern media, words seemed the least-valuable commodity.
    Walter's Jeep was parked in the drive when she got home. A little shiver wended through her belly, and at first she thought it was fright. Then she realized she was glad to see him. She and Walter had already shared a mutually embarrassing moment–after all, it wasn’t every guy who came across as a crazed killer on the initial encounter.
    Her front door stood open. Walter was in the living room, kneeling by an outlet, a meter in his hands, wire probes sunk into the outlet slots. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.
    "Hey there, ma'am."
    "Hello, Walter. Have you found anything?"
    The room was dark, and she realized he must have switched off the power main. He stood, his face in shadows, his dark eyes glinting. "Nothing so far. What kind of problems are you having?"
    "Remember the clock?"
    "Yep."
    "It got stuck again."
    "That's weird. But it's more likely the clock than the wiring."
    "It was stuck on the same time. 4:06."
    Walter's mouth twisted sideways. He smelled of sawdust and sunshine, honest, warm aromas. "Hmmm. I'd throw that thing in the weeds. It ain't worth the cost of fixing it."
    She told him about the VCR problem. She showed him that the programming was still set to record the game. Only, instead of taping the game, she had taped God's greatest snake-oil salesman.
    "You like baseball?" Walter asked.
    "I love the Cardinals. Ozzie Smith was my favorite player. Just watching him turn backflips made me happy."
    "I played a little baseball in high school. I could hit like crazy, but I couldn't catch water in a thunderstorm. Anyway, it looks to me like the VCR is set up okay. I tested all the electric lines, and I ain't found any short circuits."
    "Darn. I was hoping it would be something obvious."
    "Maybe it's just a stretch of bad luck. Sometimes it happens that way. They make machines smarter than people these days." Walter put his tools back in his belt.
    Julia looked at his boots, sizing them up. Walter caught her staring.
    "I wiped my feet good," he said. "I noticed you had dogs around the neighborhood."
    "Oh, sorry," she said. "Did you by chance go around back when you were here the other day?"
    "Yeah. I checked the windows inside and out."
    Julia hoped her relief wasn't too visible. "I just saw some footprints around back, and it made me wonder."
    "Don't blame you," he said. "Lots of bums and Creeps in the world nowadays. Too many outsiders. You ought to keep your bedroom window locked, though, if you're so worried about it."
    "Locked?" She had locked it, almost always kept it locked except when she wanted to air out the house.
    "I put the screen back up, too. One of those Tennessee winds must have blowed it off."
    Screen off, window unlocked. Clock stuck on 4:06.
    Suddenly she wanted Walter out of the house, wanted to bar the door, the windows, and never ever ever open them again. But that was stupid. If Walter wanted her in any of a number of Creepy ways, he'd passed up plenty of opportunities. So far, he'd been a tiny island of sanity in this strange sea of uncertainty.
    But he did have several sharp tools in his belt. And Mabel Covington had reacted strangely at the mention of his name.
    "Thanks, Walter," she said. "I appreciate your checking the wiring."
    "Glad to," he said, pushing back his cap. "Sorry I didn't find nothing wrong. Usually its something simple."
    “Nothing’s ever simple in my life.” She followed him to the door.
    "I'll turn your power back on," he said. "Reckon I'll see you later. Lots of things seem to go wrong in this house."
    "I reckon so," she found herself saying. She waited until he drove away. Then she locked the door and went to the bedroom. The window was closed. The clock was