The notes were short, brutal, and graphic ditties; a rhyming hodgepodge of sexual threats offensive enough to embarrass an Elks meeting. I wrapped them in my handkerchief and put them in my pocket. “Why didn’t you call us?”

I held her elbow as she sat back down. She smiled again and sighed. “I did.”

It was my turn to be embarrassed. “Did you tell them the notes were found in the house?”

“They weren’t. They were phone calls.” She closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. “I’m not making sense.”

I took her hand in mine. “My fault. You mean the notes didn’t start until after you called us?”

She nodded.

“And when you told us about the calls, you were told there was nothing much we could do about them.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about that.” I let a few seconds go by. “So then he attacked your cat?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. Poor Albert… What had he done? What had I done? Poor kitty. He was all I had.”

“When did you find him?”

“Tonight. I’d stayed out all day. I knew the notes would be there… I couldn’t stay inside-I was so scared. I went to the library, I went to the movies, to the store. I tried to stay out as long as I could, but it was cold, and places kept closing and then it snowed. I had to come home. I had nowhere else to go. That’s whenIhat’s I found Albert. And that’s when he called-right at the same time-as if he were standing there seeing everything I did. He said I wasn’t home when he’d visited, and that’s why Albert died. And then he said he’d come back later-tonight-to do the same thing to me. And when I didn’t say anything, he said, ‘What’s wrong, Thelma-the cat got your tongue?’”

She stared hard at me suddenly, the tears finally pouring down her face in earnest. The piano wire was broken, and her voice was ragged and full of pain. “It made me mad-so mad. I told him, ‘You come. I’ll be here,’ and I got my husband’s shotgun out of its box and I waited-a long, long time. And then I killed him-that… bastard.”