Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

  “Can you tell me what this man looked like?”

  “Mr. Gershwin?” Mindy asked. Every time she said the name, Nicole wanted to scream. Obviously Mindy had no knowledge of classical music. She might as well have been saying Smith or Jones. “He was very handsome. Tall, dark-haired. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Beautiful hazel eyes.” Mindy had a dreamy look on her face. She’d clearly been quite taken with “Mr. George Gershwin.” “Don’t you know him? He said he was a friend.”

  “I’m not sure,” Nicole said vaguely.

  “Well, he seemed to know you. Even your department at the university, although I had to get your office number from a secretary. He was very emphatic about me calling you at a specific time. He said you would be out of class then.”

  “Oh,” Nicole said weakly, thinking how well he knew her schedule. “Well, I’m certainly lucky that someone found Jesse. He means the world to my daughter. How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” Dr. Linden said. “Mr. Gershwin paid the bill ahead of time.” Although Mindy didn’t recognize the name, the veterinarian did. “In fact, he has change coming since we didn’t have to do any major repair work on Jesse. Of course there’s that leg. It should have been set right after it was broken.”

  “He was a stray,” Nicole explained. “When I found him, it had been broken for a few days and was already healing. The veterinarian back in Ohio said it was best left alone.”

  “I disagree, although he seems to get around just fine.”

  Mindy handed Nicole a fifty-dollar bill. “This is Mr. Gershwin’s change.” She smiled brilliantly. “And please tell him that if he has any pets, we’d be happy to have them as patients anytime, wouldn’t we, Doctor?”

  “I should say so.” He winked at Nicole. “Good-bye, Mrs. Chandler. I’m glad everything worked out so well for Jesse. And please say hello to Mr. Gershwin. I admire his music tremendously.”

  “Does he play in a band?” Mindy asked the veterinarian as Nicole walked from the office, smiling.

  2

  When they got home, Jesse jumped out of the car happily, dragging his young mistress behind him. Nicole was glad to see that all the yellow crime-scene tape had been taken down, although she noticed another patrol car was posted outside. Please let this young man have better luck than the last one, she thought.

  Shelley asked, “Mommy, will Jesse have to stay in all night?”

  “No. No damage was done to the gate and we can get a new padlock tomorrow. Let’s let him out to check on all his buried treasures, although I’m pretty sure they’re safe.”

  “Great!”

  Before Nicole put her key in the front-door lock, she said, “Shelley, I’m afraid the inside of the house is pretty much of a mess.”

  “That’s okay,” Shelley said brightly. “I’ve seen it messy before.”

  “It’s not just messy, honey. One of the men got hurt in here. There’s blood on the carpet.”

  Shelley’s smile faded. “A lot of blood?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Shelley was quiet for a moment while Nicole watched her silently bracing herself. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be okay,” she said finally. “I’m not scared.”

  But when Nicole swung open the door, she saw an immaculate living room and a pristine carpet, although a new cream, peach, and blue scatter rug lay in the hall.

  “I know the police didn’t leave the place like this,” she said in awe.

  At that moment, a truck pulled up in front of the house. A young man emerged and walked toward her, glancing at a piece of paper. “Are you Mrs. Chandler?”

  “Yes,” she said tentatively over Jesse’s barking.

  “I’m here to install your new locks. Front, side, back doors, and a padlock for the gate.”

  “I didn’t order new locks.”

  The young man looked at his work order again. “A Sergeant Raymond DeSoto did, ma’am. He said you might want to check things out.” He handed her the work order. “His phone number’s on there. I’ll wait outside.” He looked down at Jesse. “Hey there, little poochie.”

  Jesse let out a tremendous bark and sneezed all over the young man’s shoes. “Sorry,” Shelley said. “He doesn’t like to be called ‘poochie.’ ”

  The young man laughed, ignoring his messy footwear. “No sweat. I don’t blame him. So what do you like? Duke? King? Killer?”

  The young man was still joking with Shelley and Jesse as Nicole went inside and dialed what she assumed was Ray’s home phone number. When he answered, she asked without preamble, “Are you all right? Sergeant Waters told me you were hurt.”

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Chandler, lovely to talk with you, too. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to be so abrupt,” Nicole said. “I’ve been worried. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. Is the guy with the locks there?”

  “Yes. I assume you did order them?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that all right?”

  “It’s wonderful. I’ve been so busy today I forgot.”

  “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, but I wanted the locks changed before you spent a night in that house.”

  “Thank you, Ray,” she said warmly. “I don’t suppose I also have you to thank for my spotless house, too.”

  “Yes, indeed. I spent the whole day on my hands and knees, scrubbing and polishing.”

  “Ray, you didn’t!”

  He laughed. “No. I’m afraid I’m not up to that. I called a cleaning service. I hope they did a good job.”

  “Ray, that was so thoughtful! And they did an excellent job. The place has never looked this good. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Ray paused. “When this is all over, you can go on a real date with me.”

  Nicole suddenly felt sixteen and tongue-tied, but in a pleasant way. “I think I could manage that,” she said, wishing she’d come up with something more graceful. “You’re taking good care of us, Ray.”

  “I must warn you, my motives aren’t entirely altruistic.”

  She smiled. “Good. By the way, I have another piece of good news—Jesse has been found.”

  “No kidding! Where was he?”

  “At a veterinarian’s. When he was found, his collar was caught on a fence.” She took a deep breath. “Ray, the man who brought him in called himself George Gershwin.”

  “Oh, no,” Ray moaned.

  “Yes. The receptionist wasn’t familiar with the name, but she described him. It was Paul. And there’s something else. Jordan was at the motel room last night.”

  “Jordan?”

  “The Doberman.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot the dog’s name. I saw her outside your motel room. Rather, I saw a dog, just sitting there. I thought it was a person at first. That’s what made me get out of my car.”

  “And that’s when you were struck.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She hesitated. “You might as well know the dog spent the night with Shelley and me.”

  “What!”

  “Yes. I got a call—”

  “Waters already told me about it.”

  “So, after the call there was a scratching at the door. Shelley thought it was Jesse. She had the door open before I could stop her. It was Jordan.”

  “And Dominic?”

  “There was no sign of him. Just the dog. It was as if she’d been sent there to guard us.”

  “Dominic is the one who hit me on the head when I got out of the car.”

  Nicole hesitated. “Are you sure? Did you see him?”

  “No. But who else would it have been?”

  “Maybe the man who called me pretending to be Magaro.”

  “You don’t think that was Dominic?”

  Nicole sighed. “I don’t want to believe it was Paul.”

  “After all that’s happened? I know he was there last night, Nicole. His dog was, and I have a feeling those two are inseparable.”

 
; Nicole caught herself doodling outlines of dogs on a notepad and stopped herself. “I know it should make sense, but it just doesn’t. Especially now.”

  “Especially now?”

  “He found Jesse and took him to a veterinarian, Ray. He made sure the dog was treated and Shelley got him back. She’s overjoyed.”

  “Are you sure the person who took Jesse to the vet was Dominic? Couldn’t it have been that Perez guy?”

  “I don’t think so. Dr. Linden’s receptionist said he had hazel eyes. Miguel’s are brown.”

  “Hazel, brown, they’re so close. Nicole, do you know how notoriously bad eyewitnesses are at describing what they’ve just seen?”

  “Yes, but I believe Mindy was describing Paul,” she maintained stubbornly. She paused. “Ray, I just can’t believe a man who would go to so much trouble to save my little girl’s dog would call me and pretend to be Luis Magaro, a man who’s lived in my nightmares for years.”

  A short silence followed. “Nicole, did you ever describe Magaro to Dominic? I mean his voice, the words he used that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought. Who else knows?”

  She thought. “Roger. And Carmen. And if Carmen knows, so does Bobby.”

  “Roger is a possibility, but my money’s on Dominic. And I’m not sure it was Dominic who took Jesse to the vet. You are. Let’s say you’re right. So what? Dominic is unbalanced. He’s a killer.”

  “He didn’t kill you.”

  “Do you think your husband killed Izzy Dooley?”

  “Of course not. I don’t believe he paid Izzy to kill me, either.”

  “Then who did? Miguel Perez?”

  She began doodling again. “That’s almost as hard to imagine.”

  “Maybe your neighbor, Newton Wingate.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t funny.”

  “You’re damned right it isn’t funny. You’re getting all soft because you think Paul Dominic found Jesse and took him to the vet. You’re pointing out that if he attacked me in the parking lot last night, he didn’t kill me. Wonderful. But think about this. If he killed Izzy Dooley, and he is the most likely suspect, he also killed that innocent young patrolman, Nicole—put a gun to his head and shot him in cold blood, just to protect his identity. That is what makes Dominic so damned dangerous. He’s a murderer and he’s totally unpredictable.”

  3

  They had unpacked their clothes, the new locks were installed, including the new fence padlock, and Jesse had checked all his buried treasures when a car tore into the driveway, brakes screaming as it halted two inches from the garage door. Roger emerged from the Ford Explorer, but before he could reach the front door, Nicole ran outside to meet him.

  “What the hell is this?” he said through clenched teeth. “Two men are murdered in my home and I have to hear it on the news?”

  “This isn’t your home anymore,” Nicole said lamely.

  “Oh, that makes a big difference. In God’s name, why didn’t you call me and tell me what happened? I must have called here a hundred times last night.”

  “You’re right, Roger, that was an awful oversight. It just all happened so fast.” Nicole was genuinely contrite that he’d been worried, but she knew last night would have been even worse if he’d known. “I apologize.”

  “Where were you?”

  “A motel.”

  “Oh, great,” Roger said scathingly, making a motel sound as bad as a brothel. “Is Shelley all right?”

  “Of course. She wasn’t even here when the murders happened.”

  “Oh, well, what was I even worried about?” He glared at her. “I want her.”

  He began striding toward the front door, but Nicole stepped in front of him. “You aren’t taking her anywhere.”

  Roger put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her aside when the patrolman jumped out of the car and strode toward them. “Take your hands off her.”

  Roger whirled on him. “And who are you?”

  “Who does it look like?” the young man replied harshly. “I’m a policeman.”

  Nicole could smell the liquor on Roger’s breath and see people creeping out of their houses to watch. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m Roger Chandler. This is my house and my wife.”

  “Sir, I’m not going to tell you again.”

  Roger shoved Nicole out of his way before he took a step forward. Immediately the patrolman’s hand clapped on Roger’s shoulder. “Stop!”

  “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘freeze’?”

  The patrolman’s lips pressed together. “This isn’t a game. I said for you to stop and I meant it.”

  Roger spun, swung at the officer, who deftly darted out of his way, and continued the spin until his fist connected with Nicole’s jaw. She staggered and heard Shelley scream from inside.

  Roger looked horrified. “Nicole, I’m sorry—”

  “That does it,” the patrolman said harshly. In a moment Roger’s hands were trapped behind his back in handcuffs.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” the officer asked.

  Nicole’s hand went to her jaw. It had been a glancing blow, surprising more than hurting her, but she backed away from Roger. Shelley ran from the house. “Daddy, how could you?” she cried. “You hit Mommy!”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Roger said in a shaky voice. “I only came to get you.”

  Shelley grabbed Nicole’s hand. “I’ll never go anywhere with you again!”

  “Shelley,” Roger continued raggedly. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I am. I want to be with Mommy, not you.”

  “Dammit, Shelley, don’t look at me that way!” Roger blasted.

  Shelley’s grip on Nicole’s hand grew so tight it hurt, but Nicole said nothing. The child was terrified.

  “Shut up,” the patrolman said. “Roger Chandler, you are under arrest—”

  Roger looked flabbergasted. “Arrest? For what?”

  “For resisting a police officer, for one. For two, assault and battery on your wife.”

  “Assault and battery?” Roger echoed.

  “Yeah. That’s what it’s called when you violently attack someone.” He looked at Nicole. “You will press charges, won’t you?”

  “Assault and battery?” Roger croaked again. “That’s absurd!”

  The cop looked into his eyes. “There are about five witnesses in this neighborhood who don’t think it’s absurd, and one of them is a cop. Me.”

  “Are you really going to charge him with assault and battery on his wife?” Nicole asked.

  The patrolman looked astounded. “You don’t want me to?”

  “Nicole?” Roger pleaded.

  She stared at him for a few moments, the bloodshot eyes, the hands opening and closing into fists. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I want to press charges.”

  “Roger Chandler,” the policeman began again, “you are under arrest…” The patrolman finished reading Roger his Miranda rights and left with the eminent professor in handcuffs. Nicole sagged into the house and flopped down on the couch. Shelley cuddled against her.

  “Mommy, does it hurt?” Shelley asked, looking at her jaw.

  “Not much.”

  Shelley was quiet for a few moments, men she ventured, “What’s wrong with Daddy? Does he act this way because of Lisa?”

  Nicole shook her head. “No, baby, I don’t think so. I did at first, but not anymore, and it’s not fair to blame her. I think he’s sick.”

  “You mean he’s crazy?”

  “No,” Nicole said emphatically. “I think he just got a little mixed-up from so many pressures over the years. His parents pushed him so hard to succeed. Then he worked extra hard in school and got his Ph.D. with honors. Finally he married me and we had you. He took such good care of us, Shelley, only I’m afraid I was a little too much for him.”

  Shelley’s face puckered. “What do you mean?”

  “I had problems because of things that happened to me when I wa
s a teenager.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Things I’ll tell you about when you’re older.”

  “I’d understand.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Nicole said gravely, “but I’m just too tired to go into all of that now. Anyway, my point is that I don’t want you to blame Daddy for what’s going on. He’s not himself.”

  “Who is he? Freddie Krueger?”

  Nicole laughed in spite of the situation. “You’re not supposed to watch the Nightmare on Elm Street movies.”

  “I’ve seen ’em all.”

  “I have no doubt,” Nicole said hopelessly. “But Daddy isn’t anything like Freddie Krueger.”

  “Will Daddy go to prison?”

  “No. He’ll probably be out on bond tonight.”

  “That’s when you pay money to go free, right?”

  “Yes,” she said vacantly, thinking of Paul. His bond was a million dollars. It had been so easy for his mother, Alicia, to come up with a hundred thousand dollars. He hadn’t been considered a flight risk because he was so attached to his ailing mother. But as soon as he was freed on bail, he was gone.

  “Will Daddy have a trial?”

  “Maybe we can work out something else. I can drop the charges and we can have counseling or something…”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not a lawyer. I’m not sure of anything. But I’ll try to keep Daddy out of jail.”

  I’ll try to keep Daddy out of jail. The words rang in Nicole’s head when later she looked in the bathroom mirror at her bruising jaw. She remembered Ray telling her the police suspected Roger of paying Izzy Dooley to break into her house, maybe even to kill her. The thought gave her chills and definitely dampened both her guilt and her sympathy. Perhaps jail, maybe even a long prison sentence, is exactly what Roger Chandler not only needed, but deserved, because after all, she had no idea what the man was capable of anymore.

  4

  Nicole, Shelley, and Jesse cuddled on the ugly couch together, watching television. The carpet was still slightly damp from a professional cleaning, but for the first time Nicole found the smell pleasant. It was certainly better than the smell of fear and death that had filled her nostrils when she left here yesterday.

  “I’m glad it’s Friday night and we don’t have school tomorrow,” Shelley said.