Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

  “Did you have ice cream?”

  “Butter rum and walnut. Two bowls.”

  “Two!”

  “For my nerves.”

  Nicole laughed. “I guess that’s a harmless tranquilizer.”

  Phyllis appeared in the doorway. “You look very tired, Nicole. Come in and have some coffee.”

  Nicole stepped into the cool perfection of her mother’s home. She’d never thought of the place as a haven until today. Phyllis insisted she sit on the couch while she brought in a silver coffee service. As she poured, she said, “Now, tell us about Roger.”

  “He had a ruptured spleen, some broken ribs, a broken arm, and some cuts. The doctor said he’d lost a lot of blood, but he came through the surgery just fine.”

  “What caused the wreck?” Phyllis asked, handing her a cup. “Driving when he shouldn’t have been?”

  Nicole knew her oblique phrase meant her mother thought he was drunk. “His brakes failed.”

  “His brakes failed?” Phyllis looked at her closely. “Shelley, would you run out to Grandma’s car? I think I dropped my lipstick on the floor and it will melt in the heat.” Shelley looked suspicious but complied without an argument. As soon as she cleared the door, Phyllis said, “There’s more. What is it?”

  “Roger is claiming that I cut his brake line in retaliation for his hitting me last night.”

  Phyllis folded her arms across her chest and let out a disgusted sigh. “Is there any further trouble that man can cause? What is wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe he’s having a breakdown.” Nicole wouldn’t tell her mother the police believed he was trying to have her killed.

  “I think you and Shelley should move in with me. At least for a little while.”

  There was no way Nicole was going to bring the havoc that followed her to her mother’s home. The woman was sixty and still recovering from her husband’s shocking suicide. “Thanks, Mom, but Shelley and I belong in our own home. Besides, Roger is safely in the hospital for the next few days. He won’t be paying me any visits, and I don’t think the police will take his accusations seriously.”

  “I’m not worried that the police will believe Roger. The very idea of your cutting his brake line is too absurd for anyone to believe. But those murders at your own home—” Phyllis broke off, shuddering. “How can you stay there?”

  “We have police protection, Mom.”

  “That didn’t do any good the other night.”

  “Mother, I don’t want to quarrel about this.”

  Phyllis gazed at her seriously. “I know why you don’t want to come here. You’re worried about me. I also know better than to argue with you. It’s useless. You’ve always been so stubborn. But what about Shelley? If you won’t come here to live until this mess is straightened out, won’t you let her? I truly believe she would be safer here.”

  Nicole drew a deep breath, thinking. No matter who committed the murders, they were connected to her, not Shelley. She was the lure for danger, but by keeping Shelley with her, she was placing her child in the path of danger as well.

  Shelley bounded back in the house. “No lipstick.”

  Nicole made an instant decision and turned to her. “Shel, Grandma is awfully lonely without Grandpa. What would you think about keeping her company for a few days?”

  Shelley’s face clouded. “You mean leave you all alone?”

  “Just for a few days.”

  “But what about Jesse?”

  “Jesse can stay here, of course,” Phyllis said, with a look of resignation. Nicole knew her mother would prefer to have him return home with Nicole, but she realized Shelley would probably refuse to stay without him.

  Shelley looked undecided. Although she had adored her grandfather, she had always been intimidated by Phyllis. She didn’t feel close to her grandmother. At least she hadn’t until now. Since Clifton’s death, Phyllis seemed to be unbending, perhaps because she had always depended on him to fulfill all her needs for affection and companionship. Now she was forced to turn to others. The result was that today Shelley seemed more comfortable with her grandmother than she ever had before.

  “Well, Shelley?” Nicole asked.

  “Sure, I’ll stay,” Shelley said magnanimously. “Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll think of all kinds of fun things for us to do.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Phyllis said in her formal way, although Nicole saw the genuine warmth and gratitude in her eyes.

  5

  The evening seemed especially long without Shelley. Nicole hadn’t realized that even if she were working and the girl was in her room, she was still so aware of her warm, loving presence. Tonight she felt all alone in the world with only the patrol car sitting in front of her house and the television rattling on from program to program that couldn’t hold her attention.

  She thought about calling her mother to see how Shelley was faring, but she was afraid the child might take the call as a sign of Nicole’s loneliness and want to come home. She considered calling Carmen, then rejected the idea. She had a lot of questions for Carmen, such as why she’d denied knowing Lisa and why she claimed Bobby said Lisa bought a wolf mask, but those questions would have to be approached carefully, in person, not blurted out over the phone.

  At ten she checked all the doors and windows, glanced out at the patrol car, and allowed herself a wistful look into Shelley’s empty room, wondering how she and Phyllis and Jesse had managed during the evening. Two months ago she could not have imagined a more unlikely threesome spending the night together, and she smiled. So much had changed in just two months. She supposed change was what kept life interesting, but right now she would give a great deal for one boring week.

  She was just ready to undress and go to bed early when someone tapped on the door. Nicole stiffened, then went to look out the peephole at the same time a man was yelling, “Nicole, it’s Ray DeSoto.”

  Nicole opened the door and Ray stepped in. He wore jeans and a pale blue shirt beneath a windbreaker. “Come in,” she said, genuinely happy to see him. “I’m alone tonight. Shelley is staying with her grandmother.”

  “Really?” Ray said, shrugging out of his windbreaker and smiling at her warmly. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Mother’s, but it seems wise considering all the trouble that’s following me.”

  “Definitely.”

  She looked at his handsome, solemn features. “I know you’ve heard about Roger’s wreck and that’s what you’re here to talk about. Would you like something to drink?”

  “A glass of wine, if you have it.”

  Ten minutes later Ray sat on the couch and Nicole in the chair, each holding a glass of chardonnay. “I hate to get into this, but I assume you’ve heard Roger’s charge that I cut his brake lines,” she said.

  Ray nodded. “The back lines are steel. The front ones, where about eighty percent of the braking power is, are rubber. A sizable cut had been made in the front so most of the fluid drained out. There was a pool of it where his car had been parked. He’d backed into his parking space and according to his girlfriend, he pulled straight out of the space, then shot out of the lot without even slowing down. If he’d attempted to stop, he would have realized he didn’t have much brake power before he picked up speed and reached that intersection.”

  Nicole’s hands had grown cold. “So I’m the likely suspect for doing the damage. After all, if all I would have had to do was cut a rubber line…”

  “Slow down, Nicole. Brake lines aren’t like a rubber garden hose. They’re braided and very strong so they can handle high pressure. It would take quite a bit of strength to cut one.”

  “Are you saying the police think I wouldn’t have been strong enough?”

  “I’m saying I don’t think you’re strong enough to make a cut like that, even if I believed you would even consider doing such a thing. I know you didn’t do it, Nicole.”

  “Could it have happened by accident?”

  “No. T
he cut is too clean.”

  Nicole took a sip of her wine. “I guess this eliminates Roger as a suspect in the murders of Dooley and Officer Abbott.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “But if the person who killed them tried to kill Roger—”

  “If it were the same person. The police won’t necessarily make that assumption.”

  Nicole sighed. “I guess that puts me back in the hot seat where Roger is concerned.”

  Ray leaned forward, looking at her earnestly. “Nicole, I believe the person who killed the cop and Dooley is the same person who sabotaged Roger’s brakes. And I believe that person is Paul Dominic. The only problem is that I have no proof to show anyone else that he’s back in town or even alive, for that matter. And without proof, there’s not much I can do except try to protect you from him and from the police myself.”

  Twenty-One

  1

  The next morning Nicole awakened with a dull headache and a slight sense of disorientation. Confused, she lay still for a few moments before the events of the last days swept over her: her father’s suicide; the murders; Roger’s near-fatal accident. And along with the memories came the image of Paul. Paul and his dog. Ray believed he was back. She believed he was back. But no one else did.

  I have to know, she thought. Maybe I can’t be certain whether or not he actually hurt anyone, but I have to be certain about whether or not he’s really here, or if I’ve just imagined his presence and managed to convince Ray of it, too.

  She sat up in bed, thinking. She must talk to Alicia Dominic. If Paul were here, she alone would know for certain. But Rosa wouldn’t let Nicole in the house. She couldn’t storm the bastion, knock the woman out of the way, and force herself inside. Maybe Alicia wasn’t even in the house. Maybe she was in a nursing home.

  No, she’s in there, Nicole mused, sweeping back her tangled hair. Otherwise Rosa wouldn’t have been so determined to keep her out. If Alicia weren’t there, if Rosa were merely maintaining an empty house while its mistress spent her last years in a home, she wouldn’t be such a bulldog. But the only way Nicole could get into the house was by stealth.

  She looked at the clock. Six-thirty. So early considering how hard it had been for her to fall asleep. Early Sunday morning. Sunday. “Mass!” she said aloud. She remembered Paul laughing, “That woman spends so much time at mass, she must have a really guilty conscience. Mass every day. Twice on Sundays.”

  Nicole bolted out of bed, took a quick shower, pulled on jeans, a blouse, and a jacket, and left the house without even bothering with makeup. She didn’t know whether or not the patrolman had been given orders to follow her, but it didn’t matter. She could certainly go visiting if she chose.

  She drove to Olmos Park and parked down the street from the Dominic house. She sat restlessly in the car for nearly an hour before she saw Rosa, dressed in black, go to the garage. Five minutes later she pulled out in a dark sedan that looked at least ten years old. Nicole slid down in her seat, hoping that Rosa wouldn’t recognize her car from yesterday. Apparently she didn’t because her car went to the end of the street, turned the corner, and disappeared.

  Nicole waited another five minutes just to be safe, then emerged from her car and hurried to the house. She had no hope of Paul or Alicia opening the door if she knocked. She would have to enter by herself, but she’d already planned this on her way to the Dominic home.

  Long ago Paul told her that when he was young he kept a key hidden under the urn to the left of the door. Could the key possibly still be there? She kneeled and pushed the concrete urn with all her strength. It tilted slightly and she almost cried out in triumph when she saw a key underneath. She snatched it up and dropped the urn with a thud.

  The key was cold in her hand. Cold and shining. Either a new copy was made or the original had been cleaned recently. “Now who would do that?” she mumbled with a small smile. Certainly not Rosa or Alicia.

  Nicole glanced around. She didn’t see the patrolman. Maybe he hadn’t been following her. Or maybe he was merely waiting to see if she were going into the house and lead the police to Paul. She had to take the chance.

  Using a key and entering by the front door would not cause the suspicion opening an unlocked window and crawling through would if any neighbors were watching, she reasoned. She straightened her shoulders and tried not to look furtive as she slipped the key in the lock, swung open the door, and walked in.

  The large entrance hall was dim, the curtains over the sidelight windows drawn, no lights turned on. Certainly unsafe if anyone, particularly a weak Alicia Dominic, tried to descend the spiral staircase. But then maybe Alicia was beyond such action.

  Nicole remembered meeting her three times. She’d been ill with pneumonia during Nicole’s relationship with Paul, but he’d taken Nicole into her bedroom to visit her. She’d always rested propped up in a king-sized bed draped with a gold satin spread. She wore delicate, lovely bed jackets and, although she was thin and pale, Nicole thought Alicia was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, with her thick, gleaming black hair spread over her shoulders, her sculpted nose, sensual mouth, and large, dreamy violet eyes. Paul looked incredibly like her except for the eyes. “I inherited those from my father,” he’d told her. “My mother said that until the day he died, Dad’s eyes were full of spirit and intensity. I don’t remember them that way, but then he seemed like a very old man to me and he was extremely distant. I think he was disappointed I wasn’t going to turn into a business tycoon like he was.”

  How could anyone have been disappointed in Paul? she’d wondered. Alicia certainly wasn’t. Her adoration of her son made her almost glow in his presence. I probably glowed, too, Nicole thought, beginning to climb the stairs, certain that if Alicia were in the house, she was upstairs in her bedroom. Roger never made me glow, but Paul did.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she hesitated. The “ballroom,” which Paul had turned into his music room, was on the third floor. Family bedrooms and guest rooms were on the second. But the hall stretched to her right and her left, lined with doors. Which was the correct one? She closed her eyes, trying to recall in detail the evenings Paul had taken her in to see his mother. Then she opened them, looked hard down the dim hall to her left, and began walking. In a moment she saw the double doors leading to the master suite.

  Nicole stepped into the large, gloomy room. She smelled medicine, rubbing alcohol, and menthol rub. A television sat against a wall, loudly playing a religious show. At the other end was a king-sized bed. Nicole saw no one on it.

  “Mrs. Dominic?” she asked softly. Nothing. Then a bit louder. “Mrs. Dominic?”

  She became aware of bedding rustling. “Who is that?” a thin voice rang out. “It’s not Rosa.”

  Nicole crept closer to the bed. As her eyes became more accustomed to the dimness, she saw a frail figure slightly raising a bedspread, its head lying beside pillows propped against the headboard.

  “Oh, you’ve slipped off your pillows,” Nicole said, hurrying to the woman. “Did you hurt your neck?”

  “My neck’s fine and I slipped off the pillows on purpose,” the reedy voice answered. “I hate religious television shows. Rosa always makes me watch them on Sunday mornings.”

  Nicole looked down into the face of Alicia Dominic. Only the aristocratic bone structure remained. The rich black hair was mostly gray, the flawless skin dry and webbed with fine wrinkles. Even her beautiful eyes looked cloudy. She frowned, squinting furiously, then said, “Nicole!”

  Nicole was so shocked she was speechless for a moment. Finally she said, “Mrs. Dominic…I…can I do anything for you?”

  “You can prop up my head and turn off that damned television. And how about a little light in this room? We’re not growing mushrooms in here!”

  “Certainly.” Nicole gently lifted the woman’s small head to the pillows, shut off the television, and opened the draperies a bit. She didn’t want to flood the room with light when the woman’s
eyes were so weak.

  She went back to the bed. “Mrs. Dominic—”

  “I can’t believe Rosa let you in.”

  “She didn’t. I came before but she wouldn’t allow me to see you. So I…well, I broke in.”

  The woman’s face twisted and Nicole couldn’t tell if she were smiling or grimacing. “It wouldn’t be the first time you sneaked into this house.”

  Nicole’s gaze dropped. “Mrs. Dominic, as I started to say earlier, I’m not sure how you feel about me—”

  “My Paul loved you.”

  “Yes, at one time.”

  “No. Still.”

  Nicole’s heart quickened. “Still?”

  “Forever. I loved like that once.”

  “You did? Your husband?”

  “He was much older than I,” Alicia said, her gaze wandering. “We married when I was eighteen. Arthur was forty-nine. He was my father’s business partner. My father wanted the marriage. I loved my father so much.”

  “I see.”

  “Arthur tried to make me happy. He loved me.” She beamed, showing slightly yellowed teeth. “And he gave me Paul.” She reached out and grabbed Nicole’s hand. “Wasn’t Paul magnificent?”

  “Oh, yes,” Nicole breathed.

  “He was my world. My beautiful boy. So good. So loving. So talented. Have you ever heard Paul play the piano?”

  She was drifting, Nicole thought, although her eyes were still open. “Yes, Mrs. Dominic, I’ve heard him play.”

  “A genius, my boy. A gift from heaven. I admired Arthur,” Alicia rambled on. “A good man, a good husband. And with Paul, I was happy. And then I met him.”

  “Him?” Nicole asked, baffled.

  “Arthur was gone so much. I met Javier. He was so handsome. Younger than I. At first I tried to make him go away.”

  Alicia lay quietly for a few moments, her mind skimming back over the years. “Did you fall in love with Javier?” Nicole prompted.

  Alicia fingered a rosary held in her frail hands, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes. And I made such a mistake.”