15
Kate approached the door cautiously. Who could be knocking? No one had buzzed from the vestibule. She peeked through the keyhole, half-expecting to see Jack. Instead she found a heavyset man in coveralls.
"Yes?"
The voice filtered through the closed door. "Bell Atlantic, ma'am. We got reports of line trouble all through the building. Any problems?"
"No. I don't think so."
"It's with incoming calls."
She wished he'd speak louder. Did he say incoming calls? How would she know if an incoming call hadn't got through? What if Jeanette or Jack—or, dear lord, one of the kids—were trying to get through to her.
Kate reached for the knob, then hesitated. She'd heard horror stories about situations like this—rapists posing as servicemen. She slipped on the chain latch and opened the door a few inches.
He looked convincing with his gray coveralls and toolbox.
"Can I see some ID?"
"Sure."
He undipped the badge that hung on an elastic tether from his pocket and handed it through. It certainly seemed authentic, and identified the man as Harold Moses, Bell Atlantic employee. But the photo…
Kate looked up again, comparing the picture to the real thing.
"I know, I know," he said with a sheepish grin. "I quit smoking and I'm the size of a house."
The smile did it for Kate—the same as in the photo.
"Is there any way you can come back later? It's not my place and—"
"Well, it's late and if I don't do it today it could be another week. We've got trunk line problems all over the city."
No incoming calls for a week? Kate unlatched the door and handed back the badge.
"Okay. I guess you'd better check it out."
"Only take a couple of minutes," he said, stepping past her and looking around the front area.
Immediately Kate wished she hadn't let him in. She hadn't sensed it when he was in the hall, but now, enclosed in the same room with him, she found him frightening. He seemed so tense and he radiated… something. She couldn't put her finger on what it was but it seemed malevolent, as if his overstuffed coveralls were bursting with rage instead of flesh. And those narrow eyes, darting everywhere, as if searching…
But when he spoke he was all business. "How many phones you got, ma'am?"
"Three," she told him. She wanted to run out into the hall but kept her cool. "One in the kitchen and two more in the bedrooms."
He placed his toolbox on the kitchen counter and she noticed for the first time that he wore an oversized work glove on his left hand—only his left.
"Okay. I'll work through this one; but I'll need you on one of the others."
"Any particular one?"
He shrugged. "Your choice."
He barely looked her way, didn't seem at all interested in her. Kate began to relax. This strange business with Jeanette seemed to have shifted her imagination into high gear.
After an instant's hesitation she started for the bedroom. "Okay. What do I do?"
"Just pick it up and keep talking. Don't dial—just talk. Count from one to a hundred if you want. Anything."
He waved his left hand as he spoke and Kate saw that some of the fingers of the glove looked empty and others looked stretched to the limit.
Wondering if his deformity was congenital or accidental, Kate entered the bedroom; she picked up the receiver and started counting.
She heard the kitchen phone come off the hook. "That's good," the serviceman told her. "Keep it up. Don't stop."
Through her receiver she listened to him whistling softly as he rummaged through his toolbox. She heard tape rip and wondered what he was doing, but the phone cord didn't stretch far enough to reach the door. She looked around for her pocketbook and saw it on the dresser. At least she knew he wasn't pilfering her wallet.
After three minutes or so she heard a series of beeps through the receiver, then the man's voice.
"Okay, ma'am. All set."
Kate hung up and returned to the front room to find the man snapping the clasps on his toolbox.
"That's it?"
He nodded. "Yours was okay. Have a nice day."
"You too. Thanks."
As she closed the door behind him she wondered at her earlier apprehensions. Just now he'd seemed a different man, calm and serene, as if he'd been relieved of a great burden. Almost… happy.
How silly she'd been.