Eyes of a Stalker Read online

  EYES OF A STALKER

  Also by Valerie Sherrard:

  Shelby Belgarden Mysteries:

  Out of the Ashes (2002)

  In Too Deep (2003)

  Chasing Shadows (2004)

  Hiding in Plain Sight (2005)

  Other Books:

  Kate (2003)

  Sam’s Light (2004)

  Sarah’s Legacy (2006)

  EYES OF A STALKER

  A SHELBY BELGARDEN MYSTERY

  Valerie Sherrard

  Copyright © Valerie Sherrard, 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Editor: Barry Jowett

  Proofreader: Rochelle Blaak

  Design: Alison Carr

  Printer: Transcontinental

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Sherrard, Valerie

  Eyes of a stalker / Valerie Sherrard.

  “A Shelby Belgarden mystery”.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-55002-643-6

  ISBN 10: 1-55002-643-7

  I. Title.

  PS8587.H3867E94 2006 jC813’.6 C2006-904262-4

  1 2 3 4 5 10 09 08 07 06

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Printed on recycled paper

  www.dundurn.com

  Dundurn Press

  3 Church Street, Suite 500

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  M5E 1M2

  Gazelle Book Services Limited

  White Cross Mills

  High Town, Lancaster, England

  LA1 4XS

  Dundurn Press

  2250 Military Road

  Tonawanda, NY

  U.S.A. 14150

  For Andrew & Shelley

  with much love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Grade eleven! All through the years — and right up until now — it’s seemed as if school would just keep going on and on — like that cute pink bunny in the commercials. Then, all of a sudden, it’s the year before graduation and whole weeks are just sliding away like crazy.

  The main reason time seems to be zipping past might be that my boyfriend, Greg Taylor, is in grade twelve this year. I try not to think about it too much, but once in a while it’s impossible not to wonder what it will be like next fall, when I’m in my last year of high school, and he’s away somewhere at university.

  I mentioned this to my best friend Betts once, but she wasn’t exactly a comfort. All I’d been thinking about was how little Greg and I would see of each other. Betts had a whole different slant on it.

  “I guess you’re worried about him being around all those university girls, huh?” she said sympathetically.

  “Not really,” I said. “I was just…”

  “It’s like a whole new world out there,” Betts said, cutting me off. “No parents looking over your shoulder at every last thing you do. No curfew. No rules. Just parties… and freedom. It’s almost enough to make me think about going myself.”

  “Betts, that is not what university is about,” I said, but I was already picturing throngs of party girls throwing themselves at Greg.

  “And co-ed dorms,” she went on, like I hadn’t spoken at all. She had a happy, faraway look in her eyes. “Just imagine.”

  “Betts! We were talking about how I was going to miss Greg,” I snapped.

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry.” She offered a crooked smile and then tried to look sympathetic. “Of course, Greg wouldn’t get into any of that stuff.”

  This last comment on the subject was delivered with such a complete lack of conviction that I thought I’d better let the whole thing drop. Betts isn’t always that insensitive, but she’d recently broken up with Derek, a guy she’d been seeing for a while, so her views on relationships were a bit sour. I cut her a little slack.

  So… where was I? Oh, yes — early into grade eleven. In fact, it was the last week of November, long after I’d settled back into the routine of homework and studying and all that stuff, which is always an adjustment after summer holidays. One thing that was different about this year was that I knew my marks were going to count toward university entrance, so I’d made up my mind not to slacken after the first burst of energy wore off, like I usually do. So far so good with that.

  I’d considered getting a part-time job for the school year, but in the end I decided against it. For one thing, my parents thought I should concentrate on school (because of the marks, as I just mentioned), but I also wanted to enjoy the last couple of school years before heading off to university.

  It didn’t take long for me to be glad I wasn’t working! I’d never have had time to do some of the other things I got involved with this year. I usually didn’t get involved in extracurricular activities, unless you count volleyball — that’s the only sport I was ever any good at — but I’d kind of lost interest in it, too. So, it looked as though it was going to be a pretty laid-back year outside of regular class stuff.

  Then I joined the drama club. I almost didn’t; the idea of performing in front of a bunch of people didn’t appeal to me that much. But Betts talked me into it. Not that Betts herself is particularly keen on drama, but she’s definitely interested in one of the guys who’s into it.

  Like I said, Betts and her boyfriend had broken up, so she was doing what she always did under those circumstances: looking around for someone new. Betts doesn’t like being unattached for very long.

  Anyway, she’d decided that Kevin Montoya would make a suitable boyfriend, which happens to be an idea shared by a lot of girls in Little River High. In fact, the drama club would have had a lot more members this year, except for the fact that Kevin’s name wasn’t on the sign-up list during registration week.

  There are sheets for the different clubs posted outside the office at school during the second week of September, and you can’t get in later on unless you have a legitimate reason for missing the registration period. Kevin had been out sick and had missed the registration, but since he had a good excuse he was able to sign up the next week. But because he was late joining, all the girls who would have signed up for drama when they saw his name on the list missed out.

  Except for Betts, that is. She’d overheard him and his best friend, Edison Hale, talking about what they planned to join when she was behind them in the cafeteria line-up.

  “This is so meant to be,” she’d told me in her usual excited way. “It’s like fate is putting us together.”

  Then she’d got that dreamy look that told me there was no sense in talking for the time being. Betts was off on one of her happy fantasies, eyes drifting and mouth just slightly turned up at the corners, like a smile had got stuck halfway onto her face.

  I wondered what her chances were of snagging Kevin, fate or no fate. She had a lot of competition, and no one had pinned him down yet. He dated a lot, but n
ever the same girl more than a couple of times.

  Kevin used to be one of those guys no one paid much attention to: a bit chubby and babyish looking right up until last year. Then he must have started working out or something, because he got in really great shape. It was like everything about him changed with the new look, even the way he walked and talked. Girls started noticing him big time.

  Anyway, all of that aside, the bottom line was that Betts pestered and begged and finally dragged me with her into the drama club.

  There were seventeen of us in the club, not counting the teacher who organizes it — Miss Lubowski. She teaches grade twelve English, wears high heels and skirts, and drives a really cool car. (A guy could probably tell you what kind of car it is, but all I know is that it’s black and sleek.)

  I’d expected most of the drama club to be girls, so it was a surprise to find that it was almost evenly divided, with nine girls and eight guys. It would have been nine and nine if I’d been able to persuade Greg to join, too. He said there was no way he’d have time for learning lines and rehearsals and all that stuff.

  Greg did join one club this year, though, and I signed up for that with him — but only because I was honestly interested myself. The club was a book club, but was a bit different than most. It was more like a combination book and writing club, and a local author joined us some weeks. On those nights, he’d talk about writing, give us tips, and have us do little assignments and stuff. I’m not going to tell you his real name because he always insisted he liked to keep a low profile. I’ll just call him Webster.

  The book club was small and predominantly female. Besides Greg and me there were seven other girls and four other guys for a total of thirteen students. (A few of the kids were also in the drama club, which makes sense since both clubs are about stories in one form or another.) Then there was the teacher, Mr. Grimes, and, when he could make it, Webster.

  It didn’t take long to see that there was going to be a little conflict between Mr. Grimes and Webster. It started pretty much the first time Webster joined us, and kind of took over.

  Not that Mr. Grimes was exactly the group’s leader or anything. He really tried to stay in the background and just offer comments or help if we asked for it. But the way Webster jumped in and took over, kind of assuming centre stage and acting like he was the single and sole authority on all things written, well, that got under Mr. Grimes’s skin pretty fast.

  I remember how taken aback I was the first time this happened. It was right after Ellen had shared a short piece she’d written with the group. When she was finished (and after we all clapped, because we always do that after someone is brave enough to read their work) she looked around shyly, waiting for some feedback.

  It was then, during the usual pause (when everyone was trying to think of something to say) that Webster pounced. He leapt to his feet and wrung his hands, pacing back and forth with this strangely anguished look on his face.

  “No, no, no, child!” he cried, turning to meet Ellen’s startled eyes. “Your sentences are loose in places and tightly bound in others. And you’ve used several words that, quite frankly, do not fit what you’re trying to say!”

  It’s hard to know how much more he’d have said, but for Grimes getting to his feet and clearing his throat. Webster paused, his hand stopping on its upward journey to some kind of artistic gesture.

  “Our focus is on creativity, not syntax,” Grimes said in the mildest possible manner. Mr. Grimes is a quiet man, not the sort you could picture in any kind of disagreement, so it was a bit surprising that he spoke up at all. Still, I’ve seen him become quite impassioned about literature in class, so I guess there’s depth there that you wouldn’t see under normal circumstances.

  Anyway, from that moment on there was an undercurrent between the two men. Nothing really overt, but you could sense tension between them at times, especially in the way Mr. Grimes would stiffen ever so slightly whenever Webster walked into the room.

  I may have been the only one who even noticed the animosity, but I watched it with interest. I’d been thinking that I’d like to study something related to human behaviour after I finish high school, with the idea of going on to work in law enforcement and eventually becoming an investigative profiler.

  I couldn’t know that what was about to happen would convince me once and for all to either follow that dream or give it up forever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The first meeting of the drama club had almost been enough to make me quit! Ms. Lubowski started off by announcing that we were all going to try out for a leading part in one of the plays the group would be performing over the school year.

  “Not everyone will get a leading role,” she said with a bright smile, “but it will help me to see your strengths and cast each of you in a part that’s suitable.”

  The thought of getting up on the stage and doing even one scene in front of the whole group was enough to make my stomach queasy, and I told Betts as much while we gathered books from our lockers afterward.

  “So? Just make sure you don’t get a part.” She shrugged in a way that told me she’d already figured that out. “I don’t want to be in any stupid play either. Unless, of course,” she smiled and her eyes lit up, “I was starring in a romantic role with Kevin.”

  “You told me we could just sign up and ask to work on lights or scenery or something,” I said, ignoring the way she’d changed the subject.

  “Yeah, well, when they see how lousy our acting is, we’ll be lucky to be assigned to parking cars on performance nights. Just relax. No one’s going to cast you as Queen Macbeth or anything.”

  “Lady,” I said. It didn’t surprise me that Betts had it wrong, even though we’d taken that play last year. English isn’t her best subject, and Shakespeare isn’t exactly easy.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s Lady Macbeth. And anyway, I wouldn’t even play her for a tryout. She was horrid.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I remember she was mean. Bubble, bubble, double trouble,” Betts chanted. “Burn the stew and… uh, I forget the rest.”

  “You forget more than ‘the rest,’” I laughed. “It’s ‘Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble.’ But anyway, that’s not Lady Macbeth, it’s the three witches. Ms. Lubowski said we had to do something from one of the main characters.”

  “Well, there are other plays to pick from,” Betts said. “What did she say they were again?”

  “There’s A Doll’s House or Glass Menagerie.” I sighed. “I wish she’d picked at least one play that isn’t depressing.”

  “I thought plays were supposed to be depressing,” Betts said.

  “That’s because the only ones we ever take are so gloomy. Maybe they think we’ll learn more from them than we would from something funny and happy, but this is different. It’s a club, not a class. And I bet we’d sell more tickets to something cheerful.”

  “Such as?” asked a voice from behind me. I spun around and discovered that it belonged to Ms. Lubowski. My face instantly began to burn.

  “I, uh…”

  “Really, Shelby, I’m interested.” She smiled, but her smiles are always hard to read. “Our play schedule is hardly written in stone. If you have an idea for something different, I’d be happy to consider it.”

  “Or, we could vote,” Betts said.

  “Vote?”

  “Yeah, like, let the group decide what plays to do.”

  “Well, that’s certainly a thought,” Ms. Lubowski said. She did a good job of hiding any enthusiasm she had for that idea, and she turned back to me almost immediately. “So, did you have something specific in mind?”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted. “At least, not yet.”

  “Well, think it over. Our next club meeting isn’t until Thursday, so if you bring something to me by Wednesday I’ll have time to think it over.” After a pause she added, “And, of course, I’ll give some thought to your suggestion as well, Betts.”

&n
bsp; At home later that evening, I wondered why I hadn’t just kept my opinion to myself. I knew nothing about plays and couldn’t come up with a single idea for one the drama club could perform, no matter how hard I thought.

  It was Dad who rescued me, though I might not exactly have deserved it. He’d come into the TV room where I was sitting with Ernie, our newly adopted cat, and clicked on the set. This did nothing to help me concentrate, and it startled Ernie so that he jumped down, scratching my arm in his panic.

  I glared at Dad.

  “Now there’s a happy face if ever I saw one,” he said. Dad is a good guy, but sometimes he has the sensitivity of dust.

  “I was trying to think,” I said.

  “Ah ha! I thought I smelled something burning.”

  “Aren’t you just the master of wit,” I mumbled. (There’s no reason to go overboard with the enunciation when you’re being rude to your parents.)

  It doesn’t matter, though. If they don’t hear you the first time — and it’s amazing how often they do, no matter how indecipherable you are — they’re sure to make you repeat yourself.

  In this case, there was no need for repetition. Dad raised an eyebrow (never the best sign with him) and very deliberately lifted the remote and clicked the TV off.

  “Care to tell me what’s making you so charming at the moment?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “I didn’t ask for an apology,” he said, “not that it wasn’t due. I asked what the problem was.”

  “Betts made me join the stupid drama club,” I said crossly. “And now we have to try out for a part in front of everyone, which I don’t want to do. And on top of that, I said something that the teacher overheard about the plays being depressing, and now I have to come up with one that isn’t. Only I don’t know any.”

  “Seems like a good reason to snap at your father,” he said, nodding.

  “I said I was sorry. And anyway, you were annoying me.”

  “Well, take me out and pistol-whip me,” he said. Dad says weird things sometimes. “Anyway, I might be able to help.”