Frances snatched the afghan back. “The murderer just called. He said, ‘Millicent Weatherby, Emily Peacock, Laura Stamps, Mary Alice Crane.’ And then he laughed.”

Mary Alice and I both sat down. Frances disappeared under the afghan, forcing me to snatch it away again.

“What are you talking about?” Mary Alice asked. “That’s all he said? Just the names?”

“And then he laughed. Like this.” Frances gave a very credible creepy laugh. “It was a warning. No doubt about it. You’re after Laura Stamps, Mary Alice.”

“Did you say anything?” I asked.

“I just said ‘what?’ and he said the names again and then laughed. God! You should have heard him!” Frances shivered and reached for the afghan.

A banging on the door made us all jump.

“Don’t open it!” Frances said, covering her head.

“It’s Laura,” I said, looking through the peephole and opening the door.

“Phone call!” she gasped, almost ricocheting off the walls in her hurry to get into the apartment. “God! I’m next.”

“Told you,” came from under the afghan.

Laura plunked down into a wicker rocker and leaned over, her head between her knees. “Woozy,” she said.

I brought her a glass of water and glanced over at Sister who seemed to be taking this remarkably well.

“He laughed like this. Heh, heh, heh,” Frances said.

Laura looked up. “He called here, too?”

“I’m fourth on the list,” Mary Alice said.

“Tell them about his laugh, Laura,” Frances mumbled.

Laura took a sip of her water; the glass was shaking. “It was awful. And, believe you me, I’m taking it seriously. I’m getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as I can, and I suggest you do the same, Mary Alice.”

“I’m reading tonight,” Sister said, remarkably unconcerned, “and Millicent’s funeral is tomorrow. Maybe then.”

“What did the voice sound like?” I asked.

“Like a robot,” Frances said. “You remember the tall robot in Star Wars? Him.”

I thought about this for a moment. “Exactly what did he say, Laura?”

“He said, ‘Millicent Weatherby, Emily Peacock, Laura Stamps, Mary Alice Crane.’ And then he laughed that god-awful laugh.”

“Could it have been a tape?”

Frances stuck her head out from the afghan. “I asked him ‘what’ and he said it again.”

“So did I,” Laura said.

Sister got up. “He could have planned on that. Anybody want anything from the kitchen?” None of us did.

“Come walk to my apartment with me, Patricia Anne,” Laura said. “And then I’m going to lock myself in. I’m going to call the police, too.”

“Sure,” I agreed. And I did. When I came back, Sister was coming out of the kitchen with a ham sandwich.

“Want one?” she asked.

I shook my head no. “How come you’re not more worried about the phone call?”

“Well, Lord, Mouse. I’m fourth on the list and Laura’s still fine.”

Chapter 12

Chapter 12