Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

  Now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t add electricity to her lecture. This was the first section of Major American Writers she’d taught and she wanted to do a good job, not send everyone out of class vowing never to read Emerson or Melville or James again. “Maybe you’re just trying too hard,” she muttered. “This is a lecture on serious subject matter, not a tabloid article.”

  The knocker tapped lightly against the front door. “Oh, great,” Nicole groaned. She looked down at the gray sweatsuit she’d slipped into earlier when she thought a brief session of exercise might charge up her mind as well as her body. She stood, looking down at her heavy gray socks. Reeboks lay discarded somewhere in the living room along with her ten-pound weights, and she knew her hair was stringing down from its ponytail. Oh, well, it was probably only Roger here to pick a fight. Just what she needed.

  She looked out the peephole in the door to see a surprising face. Opening the door, she was aware of alarm in her eyes. “Sergeant DeSoto! Is anything wrong?”

  He smiled. “I wish my visits didn’t immediately strike terror.”

  She returned his smile. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a very polite greeting.”

  “I’m used to it. Actually, nothing is wrong. I just wanted to give you some information.”

  She opened the door. “Come in. I’m afraid both the house and I are a mess.”

  “I should have called before I came. Besides, you look fine.”

  “Have a seat,” Nicole said, motioning toward the awful brown furniture. “Would you care for something to drink?”

  “Only if you’re having something.”

  “I’ve been drinking coffee all evening and I’m wired tight. I think I could use a glass of wine. How about you, or are you on duty?”

  “I’m not on duty and wine sounds great. Whatever kind you’re having.”

  As she passed a mirror on the way to the kitchen, she cringed. She looked even worse than she thought, no makeup, tired circles under her eyes, an ink smudge on her cheek. She turned off the laptop computer, dashed to the sink and scrubbed at the ink mark with a wet paper towel. She thought she heard a faint groan from the living room. DeSoto trying to settle onto the voluminous, consuming furniture.

  She poured the wine and when she walked back to the living room, DeSoto was sitting on the couch, his legs stretched in front of him, flipping through a copy of Vanity Fair. He laid it aside and accepted the wine, smiling again. He really was good-looking, she thought, although she didn’t agree with Shelley that he looked like Jimmy Smits.

  “I apologize for dropping by like this. I have a feeling I’m interrupting something.”

  “I’ve been driving myself crazy all evening over a lecture. Tomorrow is my first day back at school. But don’t apologize. I needed a break.”

  “All right. I’ll try to be as brief as possible.” He took a sip of his wine, then began casually. “Today I read the report about your intruder.”

  “I’m surprised such a trivial matter crossed your desk.”

  “Normally it wouldn’t, but because of your father’s death…well, anyway, I saw that it wasn’t the first time you’ve had a visitor.”

  “Our werewolf, my daughter Shelley calls him. He wears a wolf mask.”

  “So I heard. I also learned that he’s entering the yard by climbing a tree, then sliding down a rope. But that’s not what interested me the most.” Nicole tensed, certain that she was about to get a lecture about pointing her gun and the dangers of civilians owning handguns, although she couldn’t remember mentioning it to the policemen who were here last night. “It’s the dog.”

  This was worse than the gun. Nicole swallowed. “The big dog that bit the intruder?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes. We did a check of local hospitals and no one came in last night with an animal bite, so apparently the dog didn’t do any real damage.” He paused. “There were no fingerprints on the ID tag, but it gave an address in Olmos Park. The numbers were scratched, but we finally made them out.” Nicole stared at him, her mouth dry as sand. “Mrs. Chandler, I know all about what happened to you fifteen years ago and your relationship with Paul Dominic.”

  “Oh,” she said weakly.

  “The address on the tag is that of Alicia Dominic, Paul’s mother.” Nicole opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “But then you knew that, didn’t you?”

  Nicole swallowed again and finally found a thin version of her voice. “I didn’t know. I just suspected.”

  “Why would you suspect that the dog belonged to Alicia Dominic?”

  Nicole took a deep breath. “I don’t think it belongs to Mrs. Dominic. I think it belongs to Paul.”

  For the first time DeSoto showed surprise. “Why do you think that?”

  “I believe I saw him at my father’s funeral.” DeSoto raised his eyebrows. “He was at a distance with a dog. And then there was a call the other night.” She described the contents of the call threatening to give Roger a warning and the man calling her chérie.

  When she finished, DeSoto looked at her dubiously. “Mrs. Chandler, have you been in contact with Paul Dominic in the last fifteen years?”

  “No.”

  “You do know that he’s presumed dead.”

  “ ‘Presumed’ being the key word as far as I’m concerned.”

  DeSoto sipped his wine, then gazed at her seriously. “Are you absolutely certain you saw Paul Dominic at the funeral and heard his voice on the phone?”

  Under DeSoto’s probing brown eyes, Nicole’s confidence flagged. “Well, he was standing some distance away, and as I said, I haven’t seen or spoken to him for a long time. But it looked like him and it sounded like him on the phone. No one else has ever called me chérie.”

  “I see.” DeSoto looked away from her, focusing on the aquarium. “That’s beautiful.”

  “I think so.” Nicole stared at the neon tetras, red moons, black mollies, painted glassfish, and kissing fish. Plastic ferns waved gently against the blue gravel and various shades of coral on the bottom, and bubbles from the aerator rose beyond the castle, the skull, the diver, and the catfish hovering above the gravel. “The fish always look so calm.”

  DeSoto nodded but remained quiet. Finally Nicole said, “I feel like you have something else to tell me.”

  “It’s not much. I went to the Dominic house today.”

  “Oh.” Nicole was nonplussed. “I would have thought you’d just call.”

  “Sometimes you learn more from a personal visit than from a phone call.”

  Which is why you’re here tonight, Nicole thought. “So what did you learn?”

  “I only talked to the housekeeper.”

  “Rosa?”

  “You know her?”

  “Not really. I just remember her. She’s been there forever. She never liked me.”

  DeSoto smiled. “She doesn’t seem like the type who likes anyone.”

  “Except Mrs. Dominic.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. She certainly acts like a pit bull protecting the woman.”

  “She wouldn’t let you see Mrs. Dominic?”

  “No. The housekeeper said she’s an invalid—a weak heart. She suffered a stroke last year.”

  “How sad. She’s not very old. Did it appear that anyone else lived in the house besides Rosa and Mrs. Dominic?”

  “I didn’t get past the entrance hall. The place looked fairly neglected, though, and it was quiet as a tomb.”

  When it used to vibrate with music, Nicole thought, remembering an evening when she’d held a white rose and listened to “Rhapsody in Blue” throb from huge stereo speakers. She wondered how long it had been since music had soared down the house’s halls.

  “What did you find out about the dog?” she asked.

  “Nothing. The housekeeper claims they never had a dog, even when Paul was young.”

  “And the other boy?”

  “What other boy?”

  “Rosa had a son. Juan. He was quite a bit younger tha
n Paul.”

  DeSoto shook his head. “I didn’t know anything about another boy and she didn’t mention him. I don’t think it would have made any difference, though. The woman was adamant—no dog, ever. Looking around the grounds, I didn’t see any signs of a dog.”

  “I didn’t, either.” DeSoto glanced at her questioningly. “Okay, I took a spin past the house earlier today,” she admitted.

  “Did you go to the door?”

  “Heavens, no! I haven’t even been in Olmos Park since…well, let’s just say I didn’t have any desire to linger.” She paused. “Do you believe Rosa about the dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why would the dog be wearing a tag listing the Dominic address?”

  “It could have been a mistake. One digit wrong could make a big difference.”

  “But what about my seeing a big dog with a man who looked like Paul, then finding the Dominics’ address on the ID tag? Doesn’t that seem like a bit of a coincidence to you, Sergeant DeSoto?”

  “It’s Raymond. Ray.” He glanced down at his wine glass, then looked at her solemnly. “No one has seen Paul Dominic for fifteen years. Do you know how unlikely it is that he would suddenly turn up in San Antonio after all this time and come to your father’s funeral?”

  “You don’t believe me,” she said, her disappointment obvious.

  Ray’s eyes strayed from hers, back to the aquarium. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I’m just saying what you’re thinking is unlikely. However,” he added, suddenly smiling at her, “unlikely isn’t synonymous with impossible.”

  Nicole let out a big sigh. “Thank goodness you’re not just dismissing me.”

  “I would never do that. So you think the intruder in the wolf mask might be Dominic?”

  Nicole frowned. “It crossed my mind, but now I’m sure it isn’t. I believe that dog wearing the ID tag with the Dominic address belongs to Paul. The intruder was attacked by that dog. Why would Paul’s own dog attack him?”

  Ray twirled his glass in his hands. “Did you get a look at the dog that bit the intruder?”

  “No. It was on the other side of the fence. But I’d seen the Doberman three times prior to that night and I’d noticed a brass tag hanging from its collar. I believe it was the tag the police found.”

  “All right, let’s say it is the same dog, it belongs to the man you saw in the cemetery, and it wouldn’t attack him. Who do you think is coming into your yard wearing a wolf mask?”

  “A prankster, I guess.”

  “Maybe one of your students?”

  “Maybe, although I don’t know who. Whoever it is, they don’t seem to want to do anything except scare us.”

  Ray nodded. “You’re keeping all your doors and windows locked?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He nodded again, set down his wine glass, and gave her a penetrating stare. “If you’re convinced Dominic is alive and here in San Antonio, why are you so afraid? I thought the two of you were in love.”

  “We were.”

  “He’s a murderer.”

  “That was never proved,” Nicole snapped, then softened. “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard for me to believe that Paul could commit two premeditated murders. Besides, all they had was circumstantial evidence. That and hearsay.” She sighed. “My statements being the most damaging. I’m afraid because he might think I ruined his life.”

  “You didn’t,” Ray said firmly. “He killed those men in cold blood and then he ran, too cowardly to stand trial.”

  “He did run,” Nicole said reluctantly. “But he was arrested because of me.”

  “And because the murder weapon was found at his house.”

  “Nevertheless, I made damaging statements to the police.”

  “Statements that would have been considered hearsay.”

  “But they were from the woman he loved. How would you have felt in his place?” She leaned forward, speaking intensely. “Ray, don’t you see that I did destroy his life? I’m afraid of him because what happened to him was because of me.”

  “Mrs. Chandler, calm down,” Ray said gently.

  Nicole became aware of how her voice had risen. She folded her hands in her lap and concentrated on slowing her breathing. “I’m sorry I lost control, but I’m certain Paul is back.”

  “He may be, but the evidence is thin. Very thin.”

  She looked at her folded hands and the gold wedding band it had never occurred to her to remove. “You’re right,” she said calmly.

  “I’m glad you feel better.”

  She raised her eyes. “I don’t feel better. I only meant you were right about the evidence of Paul’s return being thin.”

  “So you still believe Paul Dominic is in San Antonio and he’s trailing you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, I can’t change your mind about that and I’m not going to try because there’s a chance it’s true. But it’s only a small chance. I’d say a thousand to one.” He smiled and rose. “I’ve taken up enough of your time for this evening. I’m sorry I upset you, Mrs. Chandler.”

  She walked him to the front door. “Please call me Nicole, and you didn’t upset me. It was actually good to talk about this to someone besides my friend Carmen, even if neither one of you believes me.”

  “I don’t disbelieve you. I’m just skeptical. It’s my nature.”

  Nicole opened the door. She stared for a moment, then reached out and removed a long-stemmed white rosebud that had been tucked under the knocker.

  Ray grinned. “You have an admirer who gives you white rosebuds?”

  “Yes,” Nicole whispered. “Paul Dominic always gave me white rosebuds.”

  Nine

  1

  Raymond DeSoto pulled away from the Chandler house, drove around a couple of blocks, then returned and parked four houses down from Nicole’s.

  So she was convinced Paul Dominic had returned. After her father’s suicide, he’d heard all the stories about her assault, the double homicide of Zand and Magaro, and Dominic’s arrest and subsequent flight into what seemed oblivion. He remembered that time, but it was long ago and whoever told him the story now gave a slightly different version after fifteen years, so Ray had looked up all the newspaper articles from the time to refresh his memory of how things were perceived back then.

  What he’d come away with was the picture of a girl who had been badly traumatized over and over within a period of a few weeks. She was brutalized by Ritchie Zand and Luis Magaro. It was a miracle she’d escaped with her life. He was also aware of what the newspapers left out—the belief of a large portion of the police and the public that she’d asked for what happened to her, that by being beautiful, stylish, and out alone after dark, she’d gotten exactly what she deserved.

  Then came the revelation that she was involved with Paul Dominic, a rich and famous concert pianist ten years older than she. The press attributed this bombshell to “an unnamed source close to Ms. Sloan.” Ray was certain it wasn’t her parents. He’d learned she’d been close to Carmen Vega at the time of the relationship with Dominic, although if she’d been the leak to the press, either Nicole hadn’t known or hadn’t let it affect their friendship. Of course, Carmen wasn’t the only one who knew about Dominic. After all, Magaro and Zand had known exactly where to find Nicole that night—outside the Dominic home.

  Now somebody was looking in Nicole’s windows wearing a wolf mask. He smiled slightly at the crudity of the trick, but it frightened her. He wasn’t as doubtful about Dominic being alive and returning to San Antonio as he pretended to be in front of her—she was right about there being a few too many coincidences. Still, he knew it wasn’t Dominic trying to terrorize her in a wolf mask. As Nicole said, he wouldn’t be attacked by his own dog.

  But was Nicole right about everything else? Was last night a freak encounter between the dog and the prankster, or was Dominic following her? And if he were, what were his intentions? Nicole feared he wanted revenge for the tro
uble she had caused Dominic. Ray shook his head, letting out a sardonic grunt. Nicole hadn’t done a damned thing to Dominic except tell the police about the death threat he’d made. Another cop who’d been on the case told him she’d been heavily medicated at the time of that statement. A lawyer would have made mincemeat of her words.

  Other than that, Dominic had nothing to blame her for. Maybe he didn’t want revenge at all. Maybe he thought he could rekindle their romance. Whatever his reason for following her, he was probably unstable, perhaps even insane. And he was stalking Nicole Chandler.

  Ray had his evening planned even before he’d visited Nicole. He reached across the front seat, picked up a thermos, and poured a cup of strong black coffee. Then he sat back in his seat, his head barely visible to a passerby, and settled in for a long night.

  2

  For her first day back at school, Nicole donned an iris-blue suit with a white silk shell beneath the long jacket, faux pearl earrings and necklace, and a deep russet lipstick. She took special pains with the curling iron to turn her hair into a shining pageboy. No one was going to look at her and see a broken, weepy woman, she thought in satisfaction. “Always put your best foot forward,” Clifton used to say. “Don’t show your pain to the world.” “I’m doing my best, Dad,” she said aloud to her reflection in the mirror.

  “Are you about ready, Shelley?” she called. “You have to take the bus this morning.”

  Shelley bounced into her bedroom, Jesse hot on her trail. “Mommy, how pretty you look!”

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  “Did Sergeant DeSoto ask you for a date last night?”

  Nicole looked at her in surprise. “How did you know he was here?”

  “We don’t live in a mansion, Mommy. I heard voices and I peeked out the door.”