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They wrote thick and black, not scratchy pale gray like the
cheap pencils. They even fit her hand better.
Helen took one pencil. Finally, she could complete a sur-
vey in comfort.
She was carrying her prize back to her desk when she ran
into Penelope, stiff as a department-store dummy. Her boss s
tight mouth was crimped in disapproval. What are you
doing with that?
With what? Helen said.
DYING TO CALL YOU 105
That black pencil.
There s a whole box in the lunchroom, Helen said.
You obviously didn t know, so I will excuse you this
time, Penelope said, clipping each word. But you are not
allowed to use a full-size black pencil. Those are for clients
and management only. You may use the black pencil stubs or
the orange pencils provided for you.
Penelope held out her small white hand and Helen sur-
rendered the black pencil. How far she d fallen. In her old
job, Helen had once received a four-hundred-dollar Mont-
blanc pen as a gift. Now she was reprimanded for taking a
pencil.
Everything OK? Nellie asked, when she returned.
Penelope caught me with a black pencil. She acted like I
was stealing the copy machine.
Oh, hell, honey, that s my fault. I should have told you.
Penelope has a bug up her ass about those pencils.
Somehow, those words in Nellie s come-hither voice
sounded elegant. Helen laughed out loud and went back to
asking strange women strange questions about their under-
arm hair.
She was on her tenth survey when Nellie said, Phone call
for you, Helen.
I m swamped. Can you or Berletta take it?
She says she ll only speak to you. Helen heard a slight
curdle of disapproval in Nellie s whipped-cream voice. Per-
sonal calls were forbidden. Helen quickly finished her survey
and picked up the call, her heart beating faster in alarm.
Something was wrong. She never got calls at work.
Helen? said a distraught voice. It s Savannah.
Are you OK? Helen could tell this was no social call.
Helen, I know I shouldn t call you at work, but they got
my trailer. I got home from my office job about five-thirty
and found the door open. Someone jimmied it and trashed
my home. They got . . . She stopped. Helen could hear her
swallowing tears.
Savannah. What happened?
106 Elaine Viets
They tore up everything in Laredo s room. Slashed the
bedcovers. Ripped her Shakespeare book. Smashed a china
ballerina she s had since she was eight. Now I don t have
anything to remember her by. It s all broken. Savannah wept
the hot, harsh sobs of someone unused to crying.
Savannah, please don t cry. Talk to me. Who did this? Do
you think it s the same people who killed Debbie?
Definitely. Laredo s room was hit the hardest, but they
got my whole place. They slashed the couch cushions and the
mattress. They dumped everything out of the drawers and
cabinets. Five pounds of coffee were dumped in the sink.
There s sugar on the kitchen counter and raw hamburger
stinking up the floor.
Sounds familiar, Helen said.
It s just like Debbie s apartment. Except they also kicked
in my TV. Put their foot right through the screen. Somebody
was real mad.
Savannah, I m so sorry. Did you call the police?
Didn t have to. They hit another mobile home in the
same park. The Sunnysea cops were already here when I got
home, talking to my neighbor, Randy. He had ten dollars on
the dresser and nobody touched it. They didn t even take his
camcorder. The police say it was kids tearing things up.
Do you think it was kid vandals?
No. They would have taken the cash. These bustards
were looking for something that belonged to Laredo. Her
room is slashed to pieces. That other trailer was window
dressing to distract the police. Randy s home didn t have
near the damage mine did. They broke in his door and over-
turned a few things.
Savannah, I get off work in half an hour. I ll catch a bus
and come right over.
No, don t. That s not why I m calling. I m warning you
to be careful. They re after us. Both of us. They got me.
You re next. Watch your back.
Helen had a jumpy walk home from work. Why would
Hank Asporth or whoever it was trash Savannah s
DYING TO CALL YOU 107
trailer? What was he looking for? The killer won t bother my
place, she told herself. It made sense to search Laredo s
home. But Helen didn t have anything of interest.
Besides, Margery was more eagle-eyed than any security
service. She knew every alley cat that crossed the yard. No
human would slip by unnoticed. Still, Helen was glad when
she reached the Coronado. She was even happier to hear Cal
the Canadian having a disapproval derby with Fred and Ethel
by the pool.
It would never happen in Canada, Cal said.
You re right, Fred said. America is a violent society.
Rapes and murders are rampant and nobody gets punished.
Why, just the other day. . .
Three people were within deploring distance. They d
come running if Helen called for help. It would give them
more to deplore. She felt safe until she saw that her front
door was slightly ajar. Helen saw the telltale jimmy marks on
the door frame. She slowly opened the door. Something
white floated out.
A feather.
She saw the smashed lamp first. The boomerang coffee
table was overturned. The couch pillows were slashed. Her
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