Stillwatch/Proof [antikvár]

CHAPTER 1 Pat drove slowly, her eyes scanning the narrow Georgetown streets. The cloud-filled sky was dark; streetlights blended with the carriage lamps that flanked doorways; Christmas decorations gleamed against ice-crusted snow. The effect was one of Early American tranquillity. She turned onto N Street, drove one more block, still searching for house numbers, and crossed the intersection. That must be it, she thought—the corner house. Home sweet home. She sat for a while at the curb, studying the house. It was the only one on the street that was unlit, and its graceful lines were barely discernible. The long front windows were half hidden by overgrown shrubbery. After the nine-hour drive from Concord, Massachusetts, her body ached, but she found herself putting off going inside. It's that rotten phone call, she thought. I've let it get to me. A few days before she'd left her job at the cable TV station in Boston, the switchboard operator had buzzed her. "Some weirdo insists on talking to you. Do you want me to stay on the line?" "Yes." Pat had listened as a soft masculine voice came on and murmured, "Patricia Traymore, you must not come to Washington. You must not produce a program glorifying Senator Jennings. And you must not live in that house." She had heard the audible gasp of the operator. "Who is this?" Pat asked sharply.