by Lisa Jackson
“Umm . . . sure . . .” Elizabeth gave in with good grace and moved with the flow of them into the dining room. She was seated next to Gil on one side, Nadia on the other. When she just ordered the mushroom soup, everyone tried to get her to get something more, but she wasn’t hungry and stayed firm. Gil asked her about her work, and though she didn’t really want to talk, she also didn’t want to be rude, and she found herself telling him about her plans to sell the house and maybe find an apartment.
“I own a fourplex in Corona del Mar,” he told her. “One of the units is coming up this spring.”
Corona del Mar was known for its pricey living spaces. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said honestly. “I’ll be looking for something fairly reasonable.”
“You could take a look at it. I wouldn’t gouge you. Scout’s honor.” He lifted two fingers in the Boy Scout symbol and smiled.
“I’m not really sure when I’ll be putting the house on the market,” she said as away to dissuade him.
Tara leaned over from across the table “Take your time, Elizabeth.” She shot a look of annoyance at Deirdre who lifted her hands in a who me? gesture.
They ordered their entrées and the conversation turned to Dave Hofstetter and his golf game. He’d entered an amateur tournament and won. While Elizabeth spooned up her mushroom soup, he regaled them with a hole-by-hole recap that had Tara groaning and covering her ears in mock torture, saying, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard this?”
As they were looking over the dessert menus, Elizabeth got up to go to the women’s room.
“I’m coming, too,” Vivian said, dropping her menu and hurrying after Elizabeth.
Outside the restroom door, Vivian said, “Don’t be mad at Deirdre. I know it’s too soon, but she just wanted you to at least meet Gil. I guess women are all over him all the time, and he’s a great catch. None of us know exactly what you’re going through. We just want to help.”
Elizabeth pushed through the door. “I feel guilty that I don’t feel worse.” Once they were alone in the room, she stood near the counter and admitted, “I just kind of wanted to get away from the table for a few minutes.”
“You mean get away from Gil. I kind of figured.” Vivian hesitated, glanced into the mirror, her gaze meeting Elizabeth’s in the glass. “I was going to talk to you. You know that other group I go to? Where I met Nadia?”
“Yes.” It was a grief counseling group. Vivian had lost her first child to SIDS and had joined after the little boy died.
“It’s all women, and we only go by first names, but we’ve all suffered in some way, whether it’s abusive relationships or sudden tragedy. It’s kind of loosely formed, but it’s really helpful. Maybe you want to come with me tomorrow.” She offered a tentative smile.
“Tomorrow?” Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “I don’t know if I really qualify for your group. What I’m feeling seems more guilt than grief.”
“It’s all mixed up together. Survivor’s guilt and sadness and regret and grief. You know that.”
“Yeah, but . . .” She trailed off as she thought about her daughter and what she’d said earlier about Court not loving her—which reminded her . . . “Chloe asked me about the woman Court was with, the one he killed was how she phrased it.”
“What?” Vivian said.
“I was trying to figure out where she heard that. I asked her, but she wouldn’t say.”
“Oh, God. I think it was Lissa.” Vivian held her hand to her mouth for a moment, then bit her lip. “She overheard Bill and me talking about the accident and asked us who was killed. I thought I explained it, but she must’ve got it wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth said.
“It does. I’m so sorry.”
“Chloe doesn’t think her dad loved her, and I was trying to tell her that I missed him, too, and that he missed her and . . . I don’t know. I’m worried about her. She seemed to be taking his death too well, so it’s good that she’s talking a little bit about her feelings. I don’t know what to do.”
“Come to the meeting,” Vivian insisted. “This is exactly the kind of thing we work out as a group.”
Elizabeth held up her hands, palms out. “I’m not that great with groups.”
“Are you kidding? You’re totally great. You’re a founding member of our Moms Group!”
Elizabeth half-laughed and decided that she should do something, anything to help her get past Court’s death and the guilt surrounding it. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll come tomorrow?”
“Talk to me in the morning.”
“I will.”
Vivian went into a stall and Elizabeth washed her hands. She returned to the table alone, walking past the outdoor bar, glancing around the benches and fire pits. Night had long descended. The shadows beyond the flickering flames were deep.
A cold frisson slid down her spine, a warning that someone was watching her, someone hidden in the unfathomable umbra. She shivered a little, then sharply scanned the people on the patio. No one seemed to be paying her any special attention. She squinted into the gathering darkness but saw no glint of hidden eyes.
Huh, she thought, ignoring her accelerating pulse. Now you’re getting paranoid.
The uneasy feeling chasing after her, she returned to the table and tried not to look over her shoulder to reassess the crowd, but she felt more than a little relief when Les rose to his feet and declared it was time to get going. Of course, no one would take any money from her for the meal, though she tried to pay, and soon she was heading into the cool evening air and across the parking lot to the Czurskys’ car.
She never shook the feeling that someone was watching.
Rex’s cell phone buzzed around midnight. He was still awake and on his laptop, seated in the leather recliner in his den with one light on and CNN on mute. He picked up the phone and recognized the number.
Ravinia.
“Where are you?” he asked, glancing at the clock.
“Costa Mesa.”
He wasn’t surprised. She gave him the cross streets to her location and added, “Are you going to come and get me or what?”
“How did you get here? I told you to stay in Santa Monica.” He was already up and heading for the entryway table where he swept up his keys, then grabbed his jacket from the back of the overstuffed chair where he’d tossed it earlier. The chair was a bit of a relic, in his opinion. It was a piece of furniture the woman he’d dated before Pamela had talked him into buying, claiming his house was too “bachelor.”
“I came by bus. And what good would it do me to stay?”
“I don’t know. Save you bus fare.” He was relieved she hadn’t hitchhiked.
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” he said shortly. Again, he felt responsible for her, which really pissed him off. “Don’t talk to anybody. Nobody out this time of night is worth talking to.”
“It’s not that late,” she said on a snort, then hung up.
Feeling like he was being swept along by forces beyond his control, he headed to the garage and his waiting Nissan.
Darling Elizabeth,
I saw you tonight and you sensed that I was there, didn’t you? You’re beginning to know how I feel about you, and you’re feeling it, too. It’s glorious. I’m almost in your sights as you’re in mine. The waiting is excruciating, but that’s what makes it so wonderful. But you’re looking for a sign of my love. I know you are.
Soon . . . soon . . . I will send you a message. I will take care of you and you’ll know we’re right for each other. We’re meant to be together. It’s just us against the world.
Watch and see what happens. A bright, shining flame will write across the night sky. A message meant for you.
My love . . . my fairest love . . .
The hand paused, the point of the pen digging into the vellum, but it wasn’t the time to write a signature. Not yet. There was too much to do. Carefull
y, the nib of the pen was pulled away from the page, leaving a small hole that almost looked like a heart. A growing stack of notes lay on the side of the desk and the latest missive was placed gently on top.
Thump, thump, thump.
The prisoner was angry.
Again.
Well, it was past time to take care of that loose end, too, wasn’t it?
Pieces of fate were swirling in the atmosphere and slowly coming together, linking their past, present and future.
Soon, Elizabeth. Very soon . . .
Chapter 18
Monday morning and the sky was deep gray and oppressive. Traffic was moving steadily, but if the rain should fall, who knew what the other California drivers would do. Rain didn’t bother Rex much, but it seemed to paralyze half of the other drivers on the road.
“Far be it from me to tell you what to wear, but do you have anything else?” Rex asked Ravinia as he drove them to the strip mall he’d visited on Sunday, the building that housed Harper Insurance Agency.
In the passenger seat, Ravinia glanced down at her wrinkled blouse and made an effort to smooth it out with her hands. Her jeans had a dark stain on one leg that he hadn’t noticed when they’d been at the Ivy, but at least they weren’t full of holes . . . although with current fashion trends that would undoubtedly be more acceptable. As it was, she looked like she’d been camping for a month . . . which was close to the truth.
“I don’t have a lot of clothes. And I don’t have time to get them clean.” And I don’t care, she could have added.
“I could have thrown them in the wash last night if I’d known.”
Ravinia turned her blue-green eyes his way but said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her cool gaze said it all. There’d been no time to do much of anything but pick her up and take her back to his house, which of course, he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do. But finding her a place to stay at nearly one in the morning had felt like a chore he wasn’t up for, so he’d taken her back and shown her the couch in his family room as there was no second bed. She’d curled up instantly, still wearing her clothes and fallen fast asleep whereas he’d spent a fitful night feeling like a heel, wondering if he should have at least offered to swap the couch for his bed.
He’d heard her get up early in the morning and had tensed, but she’d just used the bathroom. After he’d showered and dressed for the day in casual slacks and a dress shirt, he’d found her standing in the middle of his family room. She’d been staring outside to the leaf-carpeted patio, the last stubborn leaves hanging tenuously to bare branches etched against a gray sky.
“I like your kitchen,” she’d said, still looking through the window.
He’d glanced at her in surprise, then taken a harder look at the kitchen with its basic U-shape and the island that divided it from the family room. “Thanks.”
“Where I come from, we add conveniences at the speed of snail,” she said, still gazing outside.
She’d washed up in the bathroom and then they were on the road. Their only stop had been at a diner where he’d ordered huevos rancheros and watched her tuck into a pile of pancakes that looked fit for Paul Bunyan. That her slim body could eat so much defied the laws of nature. While he sipped coffee, she drank a tall glance of orange juice and another of water.
“How much do I owe you?” she’d asked after he’d paid and they were walking back to the car.
“I’ve got this one.”
“Just put it on my bill,” she said stubbornly.
He’d shrugged, in no mood to fight with her. At that time, he’d tried not to comment on her clothes, but they were about to walk into an interview that could net them information . . . or not.
“We’ll throw ’em in the wash when we get back,” he said as he parked the car.
“When we get back. So you’re not putting me on a bus to somewhere else?”
“Would you go, if I did?”
She smiled. “Maybe, but now I know where you live.”
“That makes you sound like a stalker. People get arrested for that kind of thing.”
“I don’t see how. I’ve been a guest at your house.”
“Uninvited,” he pointed out.
“Invited,” she argued. “You picked me up and took me home. And whether or not you can admit it, you like me okay. I don’t mean in a weird way. I’m not picking that up from you. But you find me interesting.”
“Finding someone interesting is a far cry from actually liking them.”
“Now, you’re just being argumentative.”
“Leave your backpack in the car. Try to look . . . professional,” he said, though it was a joke.
“I’ll lock it in the trunk.”
He nodded and they got out of the car using opposite doors and met at the trunk. Rex unlocked it with his remote and Ravinia dropped the backpack inside, looking surprisingly tense after he slammed it shut.
“That’s everything I own,” she explained.
“I’m not going to keep it from you.”
She nodded slowly, accepting that. Despite their age difference, sometimes she seemed vast eons older than he was, which he found slightly annoying. He pulled on the front door handle of the insurance agency, only to realize it was still a minute before nine and hadn’t opened yet.
They waited outside in silence. Rex honestly didn’t know what to do with her. The hell of it was, she wasn’t completely wrong. For all the aggravation she gave him, he enjoyed her company . . . somewhat.
A rattle of keys came from the other side and the shade went up on one-half of the glass doors. They could peer inside to see a woman opening up for the day.
“Good morning,” she said, holding open one door before lifting the blinds on the other one. She wore black boots and a red knit dress with a wide black belt, and her hair was held back by a thin black headband. She was chic and trendy, maybe a little overdressed for office work, but her clothes were a far cry from Ravinia’s garb.
Ravinia didn’t miss that. Her gaze raked the other girl from head to toe.
“I called and left a message. I’m Joel Kingston, here to see the owner.” He gave her a smile.
“I’m sorry. Beth’s not here yet.”
“Beth Harper?” he confirmed.
“Yes.”
“We’ll wait,” Ravinia said, plopping down in one of the two chairs in the waiting area.
The girl looked conflicted. “I’m . . . not really sure Beth’s coming in this morning. Today’s her husband’s birthday.”
Rex said, “Oh. So . . . you think she’ll be in tomorrow?”
“Maybe. Maybe even today. I don’t know. I’d have to check.” The woman pressed her lips together and spoke quickly, as if the faster she said it, the less of a betrayal it might be. “Her husband passed away about a year ago, and it’s a ritual, you know?” She said it as if she thought the idea was a little crazy. “She could be on her way. I just don’t know if I can call . . .”
“This is a business, isn’t it?” Ravinia stated flatly.
Rex quickly overrode her. “I could leave a card.”
The girl nodded, but Ravinia looked at him as if he were nuts. “I’m not leaving,” she told him.
“We’ll work it out,” he told the girl, handing her a card from his wallet. From the vantage of his height, he could see over the large room, which was divided by a number of cubicles, half of them populated by heads, some with headsets on, others just bent to some task. The puck-puck-puck sound of computer keys could be heard, and somewhere a cell phone began to ring. It was cut off quickly, probably snatched up by one of those with a bent head.
“I’ll try calling her,” the girl relented.
“Thank you.” If Rex could’ve, he would’ve clapped his hand over Ravinia’s mouth. She might be good at surveillance, but the fine art of wheedling information from people clearly escaped her.
“Would you like coffee or water while you wait?” the girl asked as she moved away.
“Wate
r,” Ravinia said.
“Coffee would be great,” Rex said. “Black, please.”
The girl headed briskly down the aisle that bisected the cubicles and led in the direction of a glassed-in office at the back of the room. Blinds like on the front door were pulled down over the windows.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Rex said to Ravinia, “You’re not helping.”
“You’re gonna just wait till tomorrow, or whenever the owner gets back?”
“I’m the lead dog. Keep that in mind. A little tact would be a good idea.”
He kept his eyes on the girl in the red dress and watched as she entered the door just left of the office. As it opened, he caught a glimpse of a counter with a coffee machine and a vending machine on the opposite wall. The break room.
“What are you looking at?” Ravinia demanded.
“Nothing. I’m not going to hang around here all day,” he warned her.
“I can stay.”
He squatted down beside her chair and she gazed at him, her expression careful. In a low voice, he said, “You want this information about your cousin? Then, let me do my job. You can’t just bully your way through everything. That works to a point, but you hired me to do a job, so let me do it.”
“I just said I would stay if you couldn’t.”
“What you said was, ‘If you can’t do the job, Rex, I’ll do it myself.’ ”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. We’ve got to come to an understanding. I’m not—” Rex straightened as the girl returned with their drinks.
She said, “I texted Beth and she said she’s going to be here in about half an hour.”
“See?” Ravinia said, swiveling to give him the evil eye.
“Thank you.” Rex gave the girl a grateful smile.
“No problem.” She smiled in return and gave him a lingering look as she headed back toward the mass of cubicles.
Ravinia’s gaze followed her, then she turned to Rex again. “You lookin’ for a date?” she asked drily.