He walked through the living room to the front door. Nobody there. He looked up and down the street but saw no one who looked interested in his house. He closed the door and turned to go back to the kitchen. On the floor of the entrance hall was a small, yellow envelope. Somebody had apparently put it through the mail slot. He picked it up. A Western Union telegram. He walked back into the kitchen, tossed it onto the table, sat down, and picked up his coffee, which was getting cold. “A telegram,” he said, picking up the envelope.

“That’s odd,” Joan replied.

“How so?” he asked, opening the envelope.

“There are no telegrams anymore. I mean, you can send a mailgram, I think, but I thought fax machines put telegrams out of business a long time ago.”

Stone unfolded the single sheet of yellow paper. It was an old-fashioned telegram, with strips of message glued to the paper. It read:

SORRY I MISSED LAST NIGHT. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.

BY THE WAY, DID YOU KNOW THE POLICE ARE WATCHING YOUR HOUSE?

YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE

Stone stared at the message, rereading it.

“Mr. Barrington,” Joan said. “Are you all right? You’ve turned pale.”

Stone realized that he felt pale. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Is it bad news?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Will you wait right here, Joan? Whatever you do, don’t leave the house or go near the front door.”

“All right,” she said, looking at him curiously.

Stone went to his study and called Dino on his private line.

“Bacchetti.”

“Dino, it’s Stone.”

“Morning. You feeling better?”

“I was until a minute ago.”

Dino’s voice changed. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve had a message from our perp.” Stone read the telegram. “It was pushed through the mail slot five minutes ago.”

“Hang on,” Dino said, putting him on hold.

Stone waited, feeling a little sick at the thought of what he might have gotten Joan Robertson into.

“You there?” Dino asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve put out a new APB in your neighborhood,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“There is something else,” Stone said.

“Shoot.”

“I’ve made a big mistake. When Alma was killed, Bill Eggers offered to send somebody over to help out until I can hire a new secretary. She arrived this morning; I had completely forgotten about it.”

“Oh, shit,” Dino said.

“Exactly.”

“We’re going to have to get her out of there,” Dino said.

“What do you suggest?”

Dino thought for a minute. “Can a car get into that garage of yours?”

“Yes. I was thinking of buying a car, and I moved a lot of boxes out of the way.”