Maybe they had been an item, both on and off duty.
“Deana,” Leigh put in. “How about some coffee?”
Trying to get rid of me, Mom? Okay, but please don’t make a fool of yourself. I’m not jealous. Just don’t want you getting hurt…
“This is my first day back at the restaurant,” Leigh was telling Mace.
“That so? Sure you’re up to it?”
“Yeah. Got to make a start sometime. Besides, what else can I do to solve the mystery of Nelson’s disappearance? It’s up to you guys now.”
She changed the subject.
“Seems like the new chef is shaping up real good. Thank heavens.” Leigh gestured toward the remains of their meal—and the wine.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mace. Would you have preferred a glass of wine rather than coffee? I do apologize. But, naturally, I thought you were still on duty…”
“I’m not, as it happens. But coffee’s fine. Just mighty pleased to see you and Deana are coping so well. Under the circumstances.”
“Well, we’ve felt better, I can assure you. But we’re getting there. We’ll be okay when you find Nelson. He seemed like a man at his wits’ end—so maybe he won’t be much of a threat to us anymore.”
“Can’t be too sure about that, Leigh.” Mace met her eyes candidly. For a moment, her heart warmed. He was being very thoughtful. And she was grateful for that.
Briefly, she considered the yawning gap in her life. The space that one day, she hoped, a partner would fill.
Admit it, Leigh, she told herself. A man in your life could be a lotta fun.
Yeah. In my dreams!
There had been guys.
After Charlie.
A handful. Maybe even more. But her life had always been too busy for a full-on relationship.
Because there’d been Deana. Not counting the restaurant. Plus the hard work that went with all of that.
The late nights. Early mornings.
There’d been no time, no place for a permanent man in her life.
Looking back, there’d only been one who’d even remotely fitted the bill. He’d have married her like a shot if she hadn’t been so goddamned intent on her career.
Ben.
What a fool I’ve been.
He’d have made the perfect partner.
Meeting Cherry today brought all those memories flooding back…
“Something on your mind?” Mace placed a warm hand over her cool one.
She started. “Sorry. I…met someone today. Someone from the old days. Triggered off a few memories, I guess. A blast from the past, you might say.”
She smiled into his eyes. They were dark; she hadn’t noticed how dark before. Looking into them now, she saw warmth and concern—and behind that, a raunchy twinkle.
He likes me, Leigh told herself.
Mace likes me.
A squirm of excitement stirred between her thighs. It had been far too long…
“Come and get it!” Deana bustled in with the coffeepot, cream, and sugar on a serving tray. She paused, sensing the atmosphere.
Seems like I’m interrupting a special moment here.
Good.
“Uh-huh.” Clearing a space on the table in front of them, she plonked the tray on it.
“I feel a date with my TV coming on. According to TVS, Sleepy Hollow’s showing after the news. So it’s coffee for two, I’m afraid, folks.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Mace almost sounded sorry. “Well, don’t wait up. I’ll stay and chat with Mom a while longer.”
Deana threw Leigh a questioning glance.
Is this really what you want?
Leigh’s face stayed bland.
“Okay, honey. Try to get some rest, now. I won’t be long.” With a thoughtful face, Leigh watched Deana go.
“Hey. The kid’ll get over it. Kids do. It’s been a real bad experience for her—for you both—but she’s a survivor. She’ll be okay.”
“Think so, Mace?” Leigh seemed unsure. She concentrated on pouring the coffee. Black for Mace; white, no sugar for herself.
“Right on. Few weeks from now and it never happened.”
She still wore a worried frown, and he took her hand in his.
“Nice place you got here, Leigh. Great view of the Bay. I’d sure like to take some shots. All that perspective, sweeping down to the Gate. Wonderful vantage point—best I’ve seen.”
“Shots?”
He laughed. “Not those kinda shots. Shots as in photographs.”
“Oh, you take pictures. Professionally?”
“Nah. Just a hobby. But I like to think, once in a while, they’ll be good enough for exhibition. Had one or two in an L.A. gallery last year. Got some okay reviews.”
“Nice going, Mace. And sure. Feel free. You’re welcome to take shots from my window anytime!”
They exchanged glances and smiled.
Sharing the joke.
They lapsed into silence. It was one of those rare, comfortable moments when Leigh felt at peace with the world.
It was a good feeling.
“Mace?”
“Uh-huh?”
“This is great. Y’know that?”
“Mmmm…Yeah. Suits me, too.”
“Do you…have anyone? I mean, anyone special?”
“Me? Nope. Girl I met at college was the last special one that I recall. Wanda Baker, her name was. Yeah. She was something special. Till she got herself carved up, that is.”
“Mace! Whatever happened?” She glanced at his face. It looked dark. Closed. She shivered a little, then said, “There’s no need to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have a problem with that. Not anymore.”
He leaned forward, studying his Nike sneakers, arms resting on his knees, hands hanging slack between his thighs.
“She was the prettiest little thing,” he said. “Blond. Five two and a bit, and neat with it. Y’know? Her dad died when she was a year old. Her mom committed suicide, so she was brought up by an old aunt.
“Wanda was an old-fashioned kinda girl. Quiet. Kept to herself.” He eased back into the sofa, staring through the glass wall into the night.
“Oh, Mace. What a terrible story. And for her to get murdered…”
“You move on, Leigh. Have to. Otherwise you break. Anyway,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, “you said you met someone from your past. Tell me about it.”
“How about a Courvoisier?” Leigh asked him.
“Long story, huh?”
“No. That time of night, is all.”
“Sure. I’m not on duty. A drink’d be fine.”
Leigh stepped over to the bar and decanted cognac into two balloon glasses. She handed one to Mace, took the other, and sat sideways on the sofa, facing him.
“It was eighteen years ago. I was pregnant with Deana. Mom and Dad sent me to an aunt in San Diego…” She caught the question in his eyes. “I was eighteen and single,” she explained. “I needed somewhere to have my baby.”
Mace frowned.
“I had my baby. Made a life for myself. Oh, I was capable, all right. Knew it all. Rebellious. Anti-everything, so Dad said. Practically a member of the Great Unwashed…” She grimaced at the thought. “I went on marches, though. Did demos.”
Mace grinned. “You were a hippie?”
“Looking back, I suppose you could say that. But it wasn’t all flowers in the hair, peace, man, and all that jazz. Sure, I did demos. Got involved with the cops.
“Anyway, that was here in Tiburon. Before I got myself pregnant. After that…” She paused. “When I went to San Diego, I met a young art student, Cherry Dornay. She was a great kid. Free as the wind, happy, and a real pleasure to be around, I guess.
“She had a brother, Ben. Now, he was a real hippie. Long hair, beard, wild shirts, Jesus boots. Into the Beatles. The works.”
She broke off, embarrassed. She felt awkward. Guilty, divulging this piece of her personal past to a comparative stranger. She hadn?
??t even told Deana about her friendship with Cherry and Ben.
Mace was smiling at her. She relaxed again. The mood was just right: warm, friendly, with more than a hint of sexual awareness, which she knew they both were feeling. Her heartbeat quickened, bringing a flush to her cheeks.
“Sounds like you really enjoyed life back there,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“And you met this girl again, today?”
“Right. It was a…wonderful surprise. We had a lot of catching up to do.”
“You never kept in touch?”
“No,” Leigh gave a wistful smile. “I guess I was too busy. Too busy making plans. Set my heart on having my own restaurant. Not easy, with a baby. But I managed; Mom and Dad helped me financially. Kept us both clothed and fed…”
“You didn’t go back there. Home, I mean?”
“Not straightaway. I was proud. Wanted to prove myself. Wanted to redeem myself, I guess. Show Mom and Dad I could be a success. Show them I’d grown up and could look after my daughter okay.”
“You’ve sure done all of that, Leigh. You’ve got a great kid who’s going to college in the fall, and a successful restaurant. Your folks must be real proud of you.”
Leigh saw a shadow cross his face.
Maybe not. Trick of the light, she guessed.
Sighing, she glanced at her wristwatch.
Almost midnight. Deana’s probably asleep by now.
“I can take a hint. Time I was somewhere else, Leigh. Thanks for the drink. And your company,” he whispered. “My treat next time. You choose the place—and we’ll make a date.”
“I’d like that, Mace.”
“You would?” He smiled eagerly.
“Yes, I would. Very much.”
He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“ ’Night, Leigh. Take care, now.”
Her heart raced again.
She saw him to the door, then watched the taillights of his black Trans Am snake away into the night.
TWENTY-THREE
Deana lay in bed.
Listening to Mace go.
She heard Mom’s voice. Light. Laughing a little. Then Mace’s, low and intimate.
Looks like he got Mom on the hop.
Bastard!
It was one of those nights again, hot and muggy.
I sure could use a shower.
She shoved the sheet down with her feet and lay still.
Feeling the sweat go cold on her body.
She lifted her nightgown away from her breasts and blew down inside the bodice. It made her feel hotter.
“Phewww!”
A night like this when I had my dream…
That was no dream. It was the real thing.
Nelson and his hatchet.
Sorry. Meat cleaver.
What’s the difference?
Either way, you end up the same—a chopped-up body.
Could’ve been my chopped up body.
Oh God. Let them find him soon.
Mom thinks he threw himself off the bridge.
Hope so.
Then we’d all be safe.
But he was out of his tree.
Anyone could see that.
Those wild eyes. Mistake. That wild eye. Slobbering mouth.
Uhhh. Yuck!
She swung her legs out of bed and stood up.
The breeze whispering through the open window felt good. Lifting her nightgown over her head, she let it drop to the floor—changed her mind, picked it up, wadded it, and tossed it in the hamper.
She looked down at her body, pale and slick with sweat. Her full, firm breasts, flat belly, and long, muscular legs.
Gleaming in the darkness.
No full moon tonight.
Not like the night Nelson paid me a visit.
Nelson. Fucking maniac.
If it weren’t for him, Allan’d still be here…
She opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out Allan’s gym shorts, and buried her nose in them.
She took a deep, deep sniff.
And couldn’t believe it.
Allan’s smell was gone.
So soon.
How could a person’s smell disappear like that? It was like it had died with him.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, Allan was going away.
Leaving her behind.
This is how it’s gonna be. I’ll forget what he looks like next. Except I have that photograph of him I took at Stinson Beach a couple of weeks back.
The one where he looked like a young Robert Redford. Tousled blond hair, broad smile, gorgeous teeth, eyes crinkled up against the sun.
He was wearing those tight, shiny swim trunks…
Oh God, Allan. I’ll never forget you. Never. I promise!
Knowing that Allan was gone forever hit her hard.
Again.
Tears stood in her eyes, then coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the shorts.
She sighed, fighting back a sob. Gently, she folded the shorts and replaced them in the nightstand drawer.
Allan’s smell may have disappeared, but she would always have his shorts to remind her of the good times they’d had.
Could still be having—if it weren’t for that sick fuck Nelson.
Loud, hurting sobs broke through, bursting from her throat.
She threw herself on the bed and lay weeping into her pillow, drawing up her knees till they touched her chin. She rocked and sobbed, her tears drenching the pillow, hopelessness sweeping over her like a tidal wave.
Allan was gone.
Forever.
I’ll never forget you, darling…
The tears gradually subsided. She felt calmer now and turned over on her back.
Staring at the ceiling.
Watching the shadows from her tree spread across it like giant fingers.
If I could find Nelson, I’d kill him. That’s what I’d do. If I saw him tonight and killed him, nobody would know.
I could slit his goddamn throat. Stab him to death. Then hide the body.
Roll it away into someone’s garden.
Or into the stand of redwoods, back of the house.
Nobody’d ever think of looking there.
She leaned over Nelson’s body, blood streaming from the wound in his gut, pouring from his mouth. Sobbing and choking at the same time, he pleaded with her to stop, get help.
He hadn’t meant to do it.
Oh no?
He was sorry—he hadn’t wanted to kill anyone…
She laughed at him scornfully, kicked the knife into the bushes, and strolled back into the house.
She sat back on the bed, planning her next move.
Knife. That’s what I need, a knife.
Her mind flew to the kitchen.
Mom’s vegetable knife.
It was lethal. Short, strong, with a pointed blade. You could lose a finger and not even notice.
I could handle it, though.
Deana pictured Mom holding the knife.
Chopping carrots.
Quickly, expertly, like a machine, the root falling away from the knife like small orange counters.
Yes, Mom’s vegetable knife could kill Nelson okay.
No problem.
Deana swung herself off the bed, shivering with excitement. The idea of killing Nelson was scary, but it was turning her on.
It would be so easy.
And she’d get away with it.
Nobody’d suspect her.
If they did, well, she was a girl, wasn’t she—still distraught at the death of her lover.
They’d say she didn’t know what she was doing.
Maybe they’d think a young girl like her wouldn’t have the courage, the strength to kill a grown man…
Nelson won’t be hanging around, though, waiting to be killed.
Not if he has any sense.
Or would he?
Maybe he has got this fatal attraction for Mom and me.
&nb
sp; Maybe he won’t be able to stay away.
She crept to the door.
Listening out for Mom.
Seems like she’s already in bed. Having cleared away the supper things, got into her nightgown, cleaned her teeth…
Probably went to sleep thinking of Mace.
Yuck.
The silence was everywhere, except for the rustling tree outside her window.
Reminding her of Nelson, the way he’d scared the daylights out of her…
I’ll scare the butt-ugly bastard shitless. If and when I find him.
She dressed quickly, her resolve to find Nelson growing by the second. She pulled on a black, long-sleeved sweatshirt and matching tights.
Bundled her thick hair into a knot.
Dragged a black knit cap over her head, safely anchoring the hair in place.
No black sneakers, though.
Damn! Then:
“Yes!”
Brilliant!
A brain wave…
She picked out black knee-length wool socks from her drawer and pulled them over her white Nike running shoes.
I look like a cat burglar!
Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.
Slipping quietly into the kitchen for the knife, she felt like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief.
Holding her breath, she stood still, listening.
No sign of Mom stirring.
Tiptoeing over to the cutlery drawer, she pulled it out carefully.
It rattled slightly. Drawing in a quick breath, she held still for a moment. Then she took out the vegetable knife and ran her fingers lightly over the steel blade.
Wow!
It was really sharp.
She closed the drawer, freezing as it rattled, louder this time, on its way back into the cabinet.
A gurgling sound belched behind her. She caught her breath again—and let it out with a gasp.
Phew…
Water in the pipes.
I think.
I hope…
Through her soft sweatshirt, she fingered the door key on its chain, lying in the deep cleft between her breasts.
Might need this in a hurry if things go wrong.
Like I’m standing over Nelson’s bleeding body…and someone sees me holding the knife dripping with blood…and I have to run like crazy to make it home before they call the cops.
Must be an idiot to think that Nelson’d be hanging around.
Waiting to get stabbed to death.
But you never know.
I got this feeling I could be in luck tonight.