by Norma Lehr
Abby stood at the open door with crossed arms.
He stretched out his free palm and squinted. “Don’t move. What a picture! You look like a silent movie queen painted gold.”
“What are you doing here?”
“If Mohammed can’t go to the mountain, then … well, you know the rest, except the name in point happens to be Abby.” He opened a corner of the large square carton and took a deep breath. “Hungry? You promised to come by the Caliente for snacks tonight, remember?”
Abby stepped off the porch and walked out to meet him. “I do. And I just left a message on your cell. Need some help?”
“Yep. Wine’s on the back seat.”
Her hip bumped against him as she reached over. The old pulse-quicken thing happened again. When she straightened, holding a bottle of fine red wine in each hand, her bare shoulder brushed against his deeply tanned arm, causing her to falter. He put his free arm around her waist to steady her. “Why the off-balance?”
He studied her eyes. “Is it because you’re glad to see me?” He shot her one of his lecherous smiles. “Or could it be that your blood sugar’s low from lack of food?”
Abby couldn’t trust herself to meet his eyes for long. “How did you know I was here?”
“Your Aunt Ginny said you were headed out of town on the freeway. The rest was deduction.” He patted the left pocket of his blue golf shirt. “In this keep track notebook right here next to my heart, woman, you have a special page.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Okay, drama king, who’s on the other pages?”
He raised one brow. “No one. The other pages are all reserved for you.”
Abby sniffed her reply before she leaned over and raised a corner of the box. She took a whiff. “Well, whatever you brought smells divine.”
His smile widened. “Then, come on, baby, let’s eat!”
And she did, with great gusto. Sitting on the sofa, munching on an assortment of delicious snacks from The Palm Springs Deli, she temporarily let go of what she had found on the computer regarding her mother’s past. She relaxed and allowed herself to be here in the present with a man who kept track of her—who thought she was a golden queen. Right! She smiled to herself. If it turned him on, she’d be his queen. Abby watched as Blade savored a scoop of chopped salad. Silly, but it pleased her that he enjoyed his food. Sitting next to him on the sofa, she felt a calmness spread through her for the first time since her search for Trish had begun. In this moment, she was glad he’d come looking for her.
Blade set his plastic plate on the end table and stood. “Let’s have music while we dine. I’ll take a look at what your mom has on her portable turntable.” He crossed over and opened the case. “Well, of all the ….” He glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “Okay, okay. I won’t go all Bogie on you. I promise this won’t be music from his era. There’s a platter on here ready to go.” He pushed a button. The strum of a bass guitar led into the strains of “I Only Have Eyes for You.” Blade turned around and offered in a deep voice, “The Flamingos.” By now the golden sunset had turned to dusk and the office walls were cast with warm shades of lavender and deep purple. Abby leaned over to switch on a table lamp.
Blade’s voice lowered. “Don’t. Please.” He moved silently across the smooth hardwood floor and grasped her hand. “The light is perfect … for dancing.”
She set her glass on a chair, stood, and relaxed into his arms, swaying to the slow beat of the music. Do-bop-d-bop. He hummed along with the Flamingos as he slid his hands down her bare arms and drew her in closer. Feeling his warm breath on the back of her neck, she ran her fingers through his thick hair and gently kissed his forehead. He kissed her cheeks and finally her mouth. His arms encircled her waist and they kissed fearlessly, leaving her feeling transformed. They both trembled and Blade’s deep voice cracked as he tried to get it under control. “Abby ….”
Abby awoke to a darkened room and the weight of Blade’s arm across her naked waist. She blinked, and for a moment felt disoriented—but sated. The warmth of his skin against hers felt oh so right. She didn’t move. Didn’t care to. She could stay here in this room with him for days, feeling safe, removed from the problems that awaited her. The clock in the front office chimed three a.m. Reluctantly, she eased out from under the pink comforter. Her mother’s bed! Who would’ve thought? Blade stirred in a tangle of sheets. He reached for Abby’s pillow, ran his palm across the satin case and murmured something unintelligible. Without opening his eyes, he smiled crookedly, breathed deeply, and crushed the pillow behind his head.
In an attempt not to wake him, she stood and felt around on the dark floor for something to wrap herself in. Last night, after he had carried her to the bed, she vaguely recalled in the heat of the moment, him undressing her and tossing things—his clothes as well as hers. In a sort of embarrassment, she smiled. It had been a long, patient wait since her aborted plan to spend a night with him at the Caliente. She glanced back over her shoulder at the guy deep in sleep with a whisper of a snore. The wait had most certainly been worth it.
Feeling around on the dark floor, Abby picked up the first piece of clothing she found: her sleeveless top. It didn’t offer much coverage, but she stretched at the sides of the knit fabric and held it down to cover her hips. Feeling around in the dark, she found her underthings and her pants and headed to the bathroom, silently closing the door.
Minutes later, she entered the front office and sat in front of the computer. She searched through her mother’s Favorite Files, skipping chapter headings of Sterling Stamm’s final days. After she located Trish, and all this hullabaloo in Palm Springs was over, there would be plenty of time to read the chapters. After she located Trish. Abby leaned back on the computer chair. There was one more thing to read. She began a search for the last bit Trish had written before she dealt the cards that dreadful night at the Springs poker game.
Abby scrolled down through the novel file. Last chapter listed. CHAPTER 7. GAME
Must be it. She opened the file. Trish had covered past poker meets with her old pals since the ’90s, when Sterling was still alive. She’d also recounted fond memories of being the card dealer once a month for the men who played at the dentist’s villa. Nothing surprising happened. The games had been uneventful, even a little boring … until the end. Halfway down the page, Abby read the jarring note Trish had posted to herself:
NEXT SCENE: REVEAL JEALOUSIES/RIVALRIES & PENDING REVENGE
Abby blinked and moved back away from the screen. Revenge? By whom? To whom? Obviously Trish knew a lot more about these poker men—her so-called friends—and had plans to reveal the bad stuff as well as the good. Logan told her that after the surgeon had keeled over Friday night, Trish had gotten hysterical. Pointed her finger at all of them. Called them bastards, then vanished into the night.
Abby shivered and shook her head. Vanished. But why? The big question. Had it been too traumatic for her losing the surgeon? Had he meant so much to her? Maybe because he was Abby’s biological father? If so, she hadn’t alluded to it in the chapter. Another theory. Maybe she was afraid that if she stayed, she would start drinking again. Whatever the reason, Abby could only hang on to the hope that Trish had choreographed her own abduction from her car and then found a safe place to go. She nodded to herself. But the old niggling fear overtook her again. What if one of the players had followed her into the night? Perhaps to calm her down. Or do something else. Something! The alternative was too horrifying. Abby shut down the computer and pulled out the flash drive to take with her. Enough for tonight! Tomorrow, back at the Springs, she’d ask to borrow Logan’s laptop. Then she could search around in the preceding chapters for whatever caught her eye. She hurriedly crossed to the sofa and rubbed her brow while trying to sort through the information she’d already garnered.
Tired and frustrated, she leaned her head back and gazed at the dark ceiling. Her nose started to drip, and she coughed. Some kind of allergic reaction. Triggered by what?
Reaching into her bag for a Kleenex, Abby’s fingers rubbed against the cloth covering the horseradish Dorie had forced on her. Blade had mentioned the herb was good for a cold. She wrinkled her nose. Might work on allergies. She opened a corner of the cloth and took a tiny sniff. Whooeee. Strong! She quickly rewrapped the smelly root, tempted to toss it. Nope! Better keep it. Dorie might ask for it back.
She shoved it deep into the big black bag.
She wiped her nose and realized the attack had mostly subsided. Well, sometimes they happened like that. A delayed reaction to something she had eaten, perhaps.
From the sofa she could just reach out to the bookcase. Mostly real estate books and manuals, no mystery or any kind of fiction, but wait …. What was this? She pulled out the paperback, read the title then started to put it back. Deadly Doses: A Writer’s Guide to Poisons. Poisons! What was Trish doing with this? Running her fingers over the shiny, dark purple cover, she gazed out the front window. Still dark. Still the middle of the night. And still wide-awake with serious questions milling around in her brain. Deadly Doses might pass the time. She leaned over and switched on the lamp.
CHAPTER 15
As the first light of dawn peeked in, she had just finished reading the first three chapters of Deadly Doses. She found the book fascinating and wondered if her mom would mind if she took it with her. The ME’s report to the sheriff stated that the doctor had succumbed to nicotine poisoning. Maybe she could find info on how Levine himself or someone else had ended his life. She stuffed the paperback into her bag. Now she needed to drive back to the Springs.
As she drove away from her mother’s office, she left a message for Blade on his cellphone telling him it had been a spectacular evening. She explained that he was sleeping so soundly she hated to wake him. She also mentioned Renee was due in soon, and she wanted to pick her up at the airport. Her message wasn’t completely accurate, of course. Renee wasn’t coming in so early, and Logan was going to pick her up. Still, Abby was eager to see her.
She knew in her heart if she had stayed until Blade awoke, she would be tempted to spend the entire day with him. Possibly another night. Most certainly another night! With a deep sigh, she knew her own vulnerability. Wouldn’t take a hell of a lot to lure her back. Especially if Blade offered dinner, another awesome desert sunset and more romantic music. Besides, she had another dinner engagement with the dentist. Her foot tapped the brake. The car slowed. Nope. Not the time to turn around. Her mother’s safety came first. She clicked off the smartphone.
Cruising the highway in her aunt’s rented Lexus, Abby frowned as her mind raced back to a half-hour ago. A car with darkened windows had cruised past the office as she was leaving. After carefully closing the front door, she had hesitated on the front steps waiting to see if the car stopped at the curb. It didn’t. In fact, it seemed to speed up. Strange. If it had been Heath, and he was out and about looking for Trish, why wouldn’t he stop and ask Abby if she had any important news? Or even see if Trish was inside?
Maybe it wasn’t Heath driving. His teenage son? But why would his son even be in Yucca Valley? Abby tapped the steering wheel. Crazy thought, Heath’s son. Then again, Logan wouldn’t let go of the idea the driver of the car had purposely tried to hit her last Sunday. And later, Dawson informed them the kid had been driving. She took in a deep breath to center herself. More important issues awaited her in Palm Springs. She sped along, deep in thought, following the highway signs that led in that direction.
“Where have you been?” Ginny stood at the front door of her bungalow with her arms stiffly crossed, her lips set in a firm line. “You didn’t say you’d be gone all night. I don’t appreciate spending a sleepless night worrying about where you are. Or what kind of dangerous situation you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Abby guiltily took her aunt in her arms. “I’m sorry. I should have called.” She took a step back and held Ginny at arm’s length. “But you knew where I had gone. Right?”
“No. You didn’t tell us. You said you needed the Lexus to drive the freeway.”
Dorie padded down the hall in soft leather moccasins. “Oh, thank the gods you’re back and safe.” She winked knowingly. “I really wasn’t too terribly worried. I tried to explain to Ginny you had the herb root with you.” She gazed up at Abby. “You still have it, right?”
Abby nodded. “Yes, I do. And I used it last night when I had an allergy attack. Now,” she dug into her bag, “I’m returning it.”
Dorie held up her palm. “No, no. The herb is your protection. Keep it. Use it.”
Oh yeah. Protection. Whenever she opened her designer bag, anyone within six feet would avoid her. She sniffed, wondering if she would ever be able to get the stink out. No sense in arguing with Dorie. Abby knew better.
Ginny widened the door. “Well, get on in here.” She moved aside and Abby stepped in. “You’ll be interested to know a dangerous troublemaker came to see us after we got home from the rehearsal last night.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Right, Dorie? A real troublemaker.”
Dorie nodded and steepled her fingers. “You shouldn’t have allowed him entry into your home, Ginny. His aura was a smoky gray.”
“Well, hell. He said he was a friend of Trish’s. I didn’t recognize him after all these years. Back then he was a snot-nosed teenager with a crush on Trish.”
Dorie pursed her lips in an attempt to hide a wicked smile. She whisked a strand of hair back over her ear. “Well, he’s certainly not a kid anymore. Kind of handsome, I thought.” She looked at the others. “Well, what I mean is, in spite of his murky aura, he’s handsome in a dangerous, masculine sort of way.”
Abby rubbed her forehead. Michael Heath. “What did he want?”
“Her. You. When I told him you had left to who-knew-where, and that no one still knew where Trish had gone, he started the old blame game on us.” She stepped back and took hold of Dorie’s arm. “Tell her.”
Dorie took in a deep breath. “Seems he blames us for everything bad that ever, ever happened to Trish, and it most certainly is not true. He’s the one who chauffeured our young sister around in Atlantic City. We didn’t force her to go with that old crook boss of his.” She looked wide-eyed at her sister. “Did we?”
“I most certainly did not! When the old mob-guy offered our trio a chance to perform in Las Vegas, we took it. That’s all.” Ginny looked at Dorie. Then at Abby. Then at the floor. “It was a professional nudge we couldn’t pass up. You can understand, can’t you?”
“If you’re so innocent, then why does Michael Heath hate you both?”
“Because we packed up and left Atlantic City. Took Trish away from him. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough after what happened.”
“What exactly did happen?”
Ginny turned and started for the kitchen. She waved her hand back over her shoulder. “Nothing.”
Dorie scuffed along behind her. “Ginny. We’ve got to tell. Abby has a right to know. She’s the only one who can stop this. If Trish writes it, we’re all in danger. Heath made it clear.”
Abby waited for the kettle to steam before she followed them in. “I know what went down back then. Michael Heath told me the whole story.”
Ginny gasped and wheeled around, the handle of the steaming hot kettle grasped tightly in her hand. “We swore to your mother we would never tell. You’re the last person she ever wanted to hear about that gruesome night.”
Abby began to pace. “Well, I do know. Now. Did Heath threaten you in any way?”
Dorie looked horrified. “What do you mean, threaten?”
“The two of you look like you haven’t slept all night.”
Ginny set the kettle down and slumped into a kitchen chair.
Abby studied her aunts’ troubled faces. She knew she needed to ease up a bit. Her voice softened. “Let’s sit and we’ll all have tea while we talk. Decide what steps we’re going to take to keep the Malones safe. How about it? Are you two up for a family council?”
Ginny and Dorie wiped away the occasional tear as they went back over the events leading to that dreadful night. Ginny told how Trish had rushed into their room at the hotel, apparently in shock, and collapsed at their feet. Dorie added how Trish, her eyes wide and frightened, had sobbed that she’d witnessed the murder and burial of a mob boss.
Abby felt satisfied now. Her aunts had owned up to their part in the tragedy. Even though now they were both sniffling and scared. She studied their faces before she got up and went to them. With a firm hand on each of their shoulders, she promised: “Not a word of this will ever be printed. When I find Trish and explain what the consequences could be for everyone involved, she’ll never write it. I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
Abby pushed her chair back. Sure. Sure she would. A diddly promise at best. In the past, there had never been any way to stop Trish from doing exactly as she chose. But maybe if she was made to realize that lives were at stake, she’d listen to reason.
Abby left her aunts in the kitchen, discussing past events. Dorie had insisted she take the car instead of the red buggy. “Less conspicuous, darling.” She reached for Abby and gave her a squeeze. “Be careful.”