“She’ll show up, sooner or later,” Lacey said with false cheerfulness.
“Yeah, you know Marnie, she’s a wild woman,” Thayer agreed.
“And her car is gone, her purse is gone, right? That’s what my dad said,” Lacey added encouragingly.
“Speaking of cars…” Sam murmured suddenly. “Where is yours, Thayer? How did you get here?”
“Oh—I didn’t bring my car.”
“You walked down here?” Sam asked, frowning.
“No, I came by boat.”
“Boat?” Rowan said sharply. Once again, he looked at Sam, and she at him. It suddenly occurred to them both that someone could have come by boat, taken Marnie, her purse, and her car, and driven off, then returned via the water—or even on foot—to retrieve the boat.
And Thayer had come by boat.
“You like boats?” Lacey asked Thayer.
“Boats, water, on it, in it, diving, sea creatures, you name it.”
“That’s great.”
“And you?” Thayer asked her.
“I adore the water. Next to dancing, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”
Arm in arm, the two wandered on toward the rear of the house. Adelia looked at them, then at Rowan and Sam.
“It’s possible, isn’t it?” Sam said.
“Sure, of course, almost all things are possible,” Rowan said.
“I’ll put water on to boil for more pasta,” Adelia said.
“No, no, you sit, relax—” Sam said, turning to her quickly.
“No, you sit, relax,” Adelia advised. She walked on back toward the kitchen.
Rowan was glad to see that Sam seemed to be regarding him with a shade less suspicion and hostility. Except that he felt the same unease she did. Their little tip of the peninsula had seemed entirely private and secure. Easy to see a car come in or out. But the bay stretched behind them, made even more elusive by the darkness of night.
“Sam,” Rowan said, looking at her, “we have no way of knowing that Marnie even disappeared from here.”
“I thought you were convinced she was off on a weekend fling.”
“I was.”
“Well?”
“The weekend has been over,” he said quietly.
She turned around, heading for the kitchen, aware that he followed her. She didn’t try to take over from Adelia, who was stirring sauce while water bubbled in a pot. Lacey and Thayer were seated in wicker chairs by the doors, leaning toward one another, deep in conversation. They’d found the red wine, which Sam picked up to pour for Rowan.
“Red again?” he queried pleasantly.
“Shut up, and don’t tease me when I’m being sober and logical,” she said, handing him a glass of the wine.
He drank his wine, watching her. She cared, really cared. Naturally, he cared as well, but if something had happened to Marnie, it wouldn’t affect his life the way it would hers. The only people who would really care about her as a person would be Sam and maybe her brother.
If he hadn’t been instrumental in her disappearance. “I’m sure the police will be doing more and more now that time is going by,” Rowan said. It was a lame assurance. “You have to mist their methods.”
She swallowed her wine suddenly as if it were a shot of tequila. Tonight it didn’t seem to faze her. “Everyone was convinced that she was off for a wild weekend.”
He swirled the wine in his glass. “Sam, the police are on it.”
“But maybe the police just don’t see all the possibilities. Maybe somebody came in by boat, kidnapped her with her purse and car, and then—”
He put a hand on hers. She stared down at it. For a moment he thought she would jerk her hand away. “You can’t make yourself insane over this.”
She kept staring at his hand. He wanted to tighten his hold on her, but he didn’t dare. There was such a pulse of life to her, such a warmth. Just touching her so, he felt a white-hot poignancy tearing through him, a sense of déjà vu. He felt a yearning to enfold her in comfort and assurances, and he also felt alive with a desire to physically retrace the past, really remember, lie down with her, be with her. It was frightening how he could remember her scent, the feel of her flesh, the way she moved, the things she did. It would be incredibly easy to forget that time had passed at all, to touch her cheek, stroke her lips with his thumb, give up the present, let the darkness and the night hide them from all that plagued them.
That, and the pure forgetfulness of sexual gratification.
If only…
God, he still loved her.
“I, uh, dinner,” she said.
She freed her hand and, turning, pulled plates from cabinets and called to Lacey and Thayer to come serve themselves.
At least she hadn’t forgotten him. She piled pasta high on a plate—a little too high—and brought it over to the counter.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I ate with Adelia.”
The pasta was delicious. And thankfully, the conversation did turn from Marnie. Lacey was elated because she and her friends were going off on their New York jaunt. Thayer talked about some of his works, and then they plagued Rowan about when he was going to play again himself.
“I’m retired,” he said, curious to find that Sam seemed to be studying him intently.
“You can’t just retire!” Lacey told him. She was a stunning girl, filled with the beauty of her enthusiasm and love for life. “Artists—of any kind—don’t just retire! You have to die in the creation of art, surely you know that! But you do, of course. My mom said your house is full of musical instruments.”
“I’m writing. I just don’t want to go back to the circuit your brother is getting into now. You know, it’s one of those ‘been there, done that’ kind of deals.”
“You really had a great group. A great group. The Blackhawks!” Thayer told him earnestly.
“Group. We were a great group. The group can no longer exist.”
“Your drummer died,” Lacey said. “Surely there are other great drummers around! Sam, I remember when you used to play the drums. We all loved it. My brother thought you were the coolest relative that it was possible to have. You were so little and yet so awesome with those drums!”
Sam looked frozen. She answered casually, “Well, I’ve retired, too. And I can retire. I never thought of myself as a great artist. I like what I do now… Whoa, look at the time, will you? It’s getting late, you know. Adelia, no more washing dishes. I can do that myself. Lacey, you’ve got school tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to go,” Lacey said regretfully, looking at Thayer. “Thanks for the pasta, Sam. Thayer, it was great to get to know you.”
“You, too, Lacey. You, too.”
“Rowan… thanks!” Lacey said and kissed him on the cheek.
“Oh, Lacey! What about your neck?” Sam asked.
“It’s…” She shrugged, smiling. “It’s fine now!”
They started for the door. Adelia was still trying to wash dishes, but Sam stopped her firmly. “No more work! Go home. And if I can help you with anything, with your husband, with anything at all, you let me know.”
“Gracias, muchas gracias!” Adelia said. “I can finish these dishes—”
“No! Doesn’t that retired musician you work for now ever wash a few of his own dishes?”
Rowan smiled, determined not to take offense. So Sam was touchy about not playing the drums anymore. If she felt that way, why had she quit?
“Alas, poor Adelia! Come back to your wretched place of employment, get your things, and be gone for the night!” Rowan said.
Adelia laughed, her cheeks were rosy. She’d had a good time, so it seemed.
Lacey was already out the front door. Thayer saw her to her car. “I’ll just go get my things and go home for the night,” Adelia said.
“Come see me anytime!” Sam called to her.
“Si. Maybe I come to the gym and you make me a skinny girl again, eh?”
br /> “Hey, we can do it if you want.”
Lacey’s car was backing out. Thayer had a hand up, waving to them as he started off toward his sister’s yard.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Rowan said, determined to follow Thayer out back and get a look at his boat.
“That’s all right—I’m going in, locking up,” Sam told him quickly. “Thanks for scouring the bushes. Good night—”
“No. Lock your door, but wait for me,” he said firmly.
He didn’t let her answer but quickly followed after Thayer. He moved slowly, quietly. Thayer walked along the edge of Marnie’s property, along the hedge line. At the dock, he slipped the rope on a small motorboat.
The motor revved, and Thayer was gone, shooting across the bay.
Rowan walked on over to the dock. It was larger than Sam’s. At low tide you could probably slip a couple of small boats beneath it and they’d never even be seen.
Of course, once out on the bay…
But most of the time, even at night, there were boats out on the bay. On a sunny day there were dozens at any given time. On a Friday night…
Yes, even on a Friday night, a boat could easily come and go from anywhere in this area and barely be noticed.
Fine. A boat could have come and gone. Great. What did that mean? Had Marnie disappeared from the house? Or had she kept a date with someone and then disappeared? And if so, and if she had met with foul play, why hadn’t her car been found? Or her purse? Or…
Her body.
Adelia came around the back of the house and stepped into it, humming. She’d had such a nice evening. Once, she had dreamed that she would have a nice house herself, children underfoot, and a life of cleaning and cooking for her husband, Julio. But soon after they were married, Julio had been arrested for his public dissidence, and when the opportunity had come about in 1981 for her to slip aboard a boat, he had insisted that she leave, swearing he would be right behind her.
But now no one in Cuba knew where he was. The people who had tried to help her from the United States had been able to discover very little. She was really not that old, not forty yet. There had been a time when she could have gone out with other men. Now she never thought about it. She had loved her Julio, and maybe it was best just to remember those good times.
She walked through the kitchen and picked up her old leather handbag. It was so big, and so nice. She had bought it at a church fund-raiser. America. She loved this country.
Her compact was in her purse. She took it out, opened it, and checked her nose. Shiny. She had gotten a little round. Maybe she would take Miss Sam up on her invitation to come to her exercise place. Maybe one day Julio would come home.
Suddenly, out of the blue, she felt as if ice water had been poured down her spine. Was that a shadow that flashed past the mirror? A moment’s blackness, someone there…
Instinctively she spun around.
Nothing.
The house seemed empty. Silent. Still. Dead still.
And yet…
She was frightened. Her mouth was dry, and her palms were all sweaty.
She had to get out of the house. Her mind began working. Even here, on this private little piece of peninsula, they always kept the doors locked. But Mr. Rowan had come out just to see who was next door. He must have left the house without locking up.
Panic seized her. She didn’t want to know if someone was or wasn’t in the house. She snapped her compact shut, thrust it into her purse, and went straight to the front door. She unbolted it quickly and hurried out.
Once she was outside, the urgent sense of fear began to fade. She was no longer trapped with the shadows of what might or might not be. Starting for her car, she thought about telling Mr. Rowan that she’d imagined that maybe someone had slipped into his house while they were both out. Then she felt silly, like a coward; chicken, as the Americans liked to say. She didn’t want him to think that she was silly and scared. And she had already said good night. She walked on resolutely to her little red Honda.
The night wind began to whisper through the trees and the bushes. She looked up and around her, afraid of the shadows once again.
She felt as if someone were watching her.
Just watching…
Waiting.
Breathing…
Eyes in the night.
“Mr. Rowan? Mr. Rowan?” she called out.
No answer.
She slid behind the wheel. And she did something that a matronly Hispanic lady never did—she jerked into gear, slammed on the gas, and burned rubber.
Rowan walked along the hedges out of Marnie’s yard and around the front of Sam’s house. He tapped lightly on the door. No answer. He tapped harder. Still no answer.
He hesitated.
Well, he could hang around a while longer. Bang on the door, create more of a disturbance. He had told her he was coming back.
And that was probably why the door was locked and bolted, he thought. Apparently, tonight, sober, and without benefit of outside stimulation, she just hadn’t felt that same undeniable spark of electricity that had zapped him, that longing to touch again, feel again, breathe again…
Go home, he told himself.
If and when she was ready, she would call.
He lifted his hand, tempted to knock one last time. He knotted his fingers into his fist, but he didn’t knock.
He turned around, crossed Marnie’s yard, and came to his own front door.
He’d left by the back.
He tried the knob, noticing that Adelia’s compact car was gone. To his surprise, he found that she had left the front door unlocked. He opened the door hesitantly, thinking that it was unlike her not to lock the door. But then, they had both left the house by way of the back, and so that had been open—why lock the front?
Still, he walked into the house uneasily, disturbed by a gut feeling that things just weren’t quite right. How to search it out? he asked himself. The problem with a fairly large house was seeing it all at once. Top to bottom, he decided.
Treading softly, he took the stairs to the top. He went to his room first, glad for once that he had a bag of golf clubs. He had a set of Pings sitting just inside his closet. There was nothing like a good golf club in his hand to make him feel a little safer.
He walked through the upstairs rooms in the darkness, his eyes adjusting, daring the shadows. That level was clear. Down to the kitchen and public rooms. All clear as well.
So much for gut feelings.
Finally he headed down to the basement level. There, all of his instruments stood in shadow, wrapped in a strange silence.
There was nothing so silent as an instrument waiting to be played.
And nothing so quiet as shadows that only hinted of a noise that might have been.
But there was nothing here. No one lurking in those silent shadows. He walked around the entire area, making certain that no one was waiting silently, protected by darkness and the night.
His house was empty.
But it hadn’t been.
The last time he had played the drums, he had left his drumsticks sitting on the stool. They now rested on the snare.
How could he be so sure where he had left them?
He knew, he just knew.
As he pondered the problem, the phone began to ring.
She had been certain that it would be Rowan, and so she had answered the phone. At first she hadn’t been going to do so. She didn’t want to talk to him, to hear his voice, to let herself be swayed…
To become involved.
But after it had rung a few times, she told herself that she had to pick up the phone. It wouldn’t be fair to let him worry about her.
And so Sam answered her phone on the fourth ring, right before the answering machine would pick up. “Hello?”
Nothing. She almost hung up. Then…
Breathing. And a soft warning: “I can see you.”
“Rowan?”
“I can see you.”
/>
“Who is this?”
“Leave it alone. Do you hear me? Leave it alone.”
“Leave what alone? Who is this?”
“Leave it alone. Just leave it alone.” The voice was husky, hoarse, a croak. Disguised.
A prankster?
No, she didn’t think so.
Not the way fear seemed to touch her. Like the tip of an icicle drawn down her spine, so sharp, so cold it burned…
A whisper now, barely discernible. “I can see you. Leave it be. I can see you.”
“Who is this? What are you talking about?”
“Just remember that I know what you do, and where you go. Leave it alone.”
“Who are you?”
“I’ll be watching.”
“Damn you—”
The phone went dead in her hand.
For a moment she was afraid. More than afraid. The icy chills continued to race along her spine, then sped throughout her limbs. Her throat was constricted, her breathing sounded like the wind in a hurricane.
Then she was suddenly furious, thinking it might well have been a prankster, or someone who had been trespassing, running around the houses. Someone trying to scare her. She hated being afraid, hated people who did things like that…
Being angry had brought warmth. Strength. Indignation.
But not enough.
Her anger and warmth were fickle; they began to fade.
The chills started up again. Like icy-cold fingers, slipping around her neck, stroking downward along her collarbone, touching her spine with tentacles of fear.
Then the phone started to ring again…
Chapter 12
She let it go, waiting for the answering machine to pick up.
It wouldn’t be him again, she told herself. Teddy had informed her once that hundreds of people received obscene and threatening phone calls every day. There was little the police could do about it, not unless they got persistent, not unless…
The machine picked up. She heard Rowan’s voice.
“Sam, are you all right? Did you just call here? Damn, Sam, answer me, are you all right? Hell, I’ll be going insane here all night worrying.”