Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

“The door was unlocked. It’s not such a hot idea to leave yourself so vulnerable when you’re being stalked.”

  Nicole ran her hand across her forehead. “It was damned foolish. My only excuse was that my last visitor upset me badly.”

  “It couldn’t have been Roger.”

  “No, it was his sweet young thing, Lisa Mervin. Sit down and I’ll get you something to drink.”

  Ray came over and put his hands on her shoulders. “No, you sit down and I’ll get you something to drink. I know where the refrigerator is.”

  Nicole smiled into his dark eyes. “Thanks. Iced tea. The glasses are—”

  “I know where they are.”

  Nicole sank down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table, an act unheard of in her mother’s house. She glanced over at the fish, swimming in their beautiful, perpetual tranquility. Shelley had every one of them named, but at the moment Nicole could only think of half of them.

  “Here you go,” Ray said, carrying two tall glasses. He sat down on the couch about a foot away from her. “Why was Lisa here? Begging you to take Roger off her hands?”

  Nicole managed a wry smile. “Even she knows that would be an impossible sale. Roger wanted to see Shelley and expected me to turn her over to Lisa for the afternoon. I told her that even if Shelley were here, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “It must have been a short visit.”

  “Not as short as you might expect. I told you she said Carmen knew her and that she’d never bought a wolf mask. Well, before Lisa’s visit, Carmen was here. I asked her about those things.”

  “Oh, no,” Ray said. “No wonder you look so depressed today. I can guess Carmen’s reaction.”

  “She was outraged. Then she went off on this tirade about how weird I’ve been acting, not even crying over my father’s death. Finally she said she wouldn’t be surprised if I’d killed Officer Abbott and Izzy Dooley, even Magaro and Zand.”

  Ray looked stunned. “She said all that?”

  “Yes. Very loudly, very angrily.”

  “Phew!” Ray shook his head. “I can understand her being offended by your questions, but talk about an overreaction!”

  “That’s what I thought. Considering what Lisa said this afternoon, I believe it was a suspicious overreaction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Carmen was pregnant when she and Bobby married. Lisa said that if the band Bobby was in, The Zanti Misfits, hadn’t broken up, he wouldn’t have married Carmen, pregnancy or not. If Ritchie Zand hadn’t been killed, the band wouldn’t have collapsed. She said Zand’s death was awfully convenient for Carmen.”

  Ray turned his glass in his hands, watching the ice cubes move. “So she’s implying that Carmen killed Zand and Magaro?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You think it’s out of the question?”

  “Don’t you?” Ray looked at her intently. “Nicole, I’m surprised. She’s your best friend.”

  “I know I sound terrible, but considering her reaction—not to mention the things she said to me…well, I guess I’m just hurt.”

  Ray reached over and took her hand. “I know. But what would Carmen have to do with the deaths of Abbott and Dooley? Dominic is the man, Nicole. Fifteen years ago and now.”

  Nicole still didn’t believe that. She hedged. “I suppose she upset me the most by implying she suspected me. She talked about my bouts of sleepwalking.”

  Ray’s eyebrows rose. “Do you sleepwalk?”

  “Not that I know of. But she said I did after my rape. She said I could have killed Zand and Magaro while I was sleepwalking. And about a week ago, I started having these strange dreams in which I hear Magaro and Zand talking after they were cleared of my attack. I’m always in Basin Park, near where they raped me.”

  Ray looked at her steadily. “Nicole, your hand is trembling. For God’s sake, do you really think you killed those guys fifteen years ago and hung them in trees? Do you think you killed Dooley and Abbott? Or cut Roger’s brake line?”

  “No, but the dreams…”

  “Do you see anyone in the dreams except Magaro and Zand?”

  “No. I don’t even clearly see them. I just hear their voices.”

  “And you’re in Basin Park, where they raped you. Doesn’t it make sense that you’d dream about that place?”

  “After all these years?”

  “After all that’s happened. Your husband left you. Your father committed suicide. You’re being stalked by Dominic, who did kill Magaro and Zand. That’s why the dreams started. Stress and reminders of the past.”

  “I don’t know, Ray,” Nicole said doubtfully.

  “Listen, I really came here today to tell you some news that I know will ease your mind.”

  “Good. It could use some easing.”

  “It seems some teenagers were out near Roger’s parking lot the night he was in jail, the night his brake line was cut. Two of them claim they saw someone hanging around a Ford Explorer. Roger is the only tenant with an Explorer.”

  “Did they get a good look at this person?”

  “No. Not at the face, anyway. There’s some dispute over the height—one witness says the guy was about five foot ten, the other at least six feet. But they both agree on long dark hair and some kind of bulky jacket.”

  Nicole swallowed. “Long dark hair?”

  “Yeah. The description matches that of the person seen talking to Abbott in a patrol car before he was shot. It’s Dominic, of course.”

  “Maybe. Don’t forget that Miguel Perez also has long dark hair.”

  “Nicole, I haven’t found out one wrong note about Perez. Not even a parking ticket.”

  “Okay. Did these teenagers say they saw this person actually do anything to Roger’s car?”

  “He was on his hands and knees beside the car. The police are taking that seriously.”

  “But there’s still no proof that this guy did anything to the brake line, is there? I mean, no fingerprints or anything.”

  “No.”

  “So I’m still not off the hook, either with the police or myself,” Nicole said dismally.

  Ray was still holding her hand and he squeezed it. “Nicole, you are a beautiful, gentle, loving woman. You are not a murderer.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she asked tonelessly.

  “I know it.” Ray leaned closer to her. “I know you would never hurt anyone.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes. Ray’s face was so close to hers she could feel his warm breath on her face. She felt like leaning toward him, letting him hold and kiss and comfort her the way she knew he wanted to do. But something held her back, some deep irrational reserve kept her from letting Ray get any closer.

  “I’m starving,” she said abruptly. “Would you like a tuna-salad sandwich or something more sophisticated?”

  She couldn’t miss Ray’s fleeting look of disappointment. “A tuna sandwich is fine,”

  2

  That evening Nicole looked out the window a dozen times, wondering if she would spot Jordan, but there was no sign of the big dog. She thought about calling her mother to see how Shelley was faring but was afraid Phyllis might start another campaign to get her to move home. And she certainly couldn’t call Carmen.

  She considered calling Ray, but rejected the idea. He’d seemed vaguely unhappy during their lunch, and she knew it was because she had nearly pushed him away earlier when they sat on the couch. That action still puzzled her. She was attracted to Ray, and he’d certainly been kind and gentle to her, a champion throughout this whole mess. But she wasn’t ready for a new man in her life. Also, she felt guilty that she hadn’t told him about her visit to Alicia Dominic. She promised the woman the conversation was just between them, and she meant to keep that promise. Besides, Alicia hadn’t told her anything pertinent that she and Ray didn’t already know—that Paul was in town. The revelation about her affair had nothing to do with the case.

  Aro
und ten o’clock, Nicole again glanced through the yearbook Carmen had left behind. She turned to the picture of them in the Thespian play, wearing the hoods. If their names hadn’t been under the photo, she wouldn’t have known which of the three hooded witches she was. Then she looked closer and recognized a pair of shoes she’d owned in high school. And Carmen was so much taller than she and the other girl playing the witch. She was only a shade shorter than the boy portraying one of the judges.

  So much taller. And now heavier than she had been as a teenager. Nicole’s mind spun back to Ray’s description of the person who had been seen hanging around Roger’s car the night his brake line was cut. Long, dark hair, wearing a bulky jacket, and between five foot nine and six feet. Carmen was five foot nine and would have been even taller wearing shoes with any kind of heel. Ray had also told her Newton Wingate saw a tall, dark-haired person talking with the young patrolman Abbott the night of the murders. And what about the prowler wearing a wolf mask? Carmen claimed Bobby said he’d sold one to Lisa. Both Lisa and Bobby denied this. But as Lisa had pointed out, Carmen had access to the masks all the time. She’d also said Carmen had always been jealous of her and maybe wanted to make her appear crazy.

  But why would Carmen want her to look crazy? Nicole leaned forward on the couch, putting her head in her hands and thinking hard. Could it be because Nicole was back in San Antonio claiming that Paul Dominic was, also? Even Ray believed he was here. But Carmen, usually so open-minded, steadfastly rejected any such notion. Was she afraid if given a chance Paul could prove his innocence? What would Carmen have to lose if it turned out he could?

  Nicole abruptly lifted her head from her hands. Everything, if the case were opened again and, as Lisa insinuated, Carmen herself had killed Magaro and Zand.

  But as things stand now, what if the case were opened again soon? Nicole thought. Who might the police look at first? Carmen? Of course not. They would focus on the unstable woman whose enemies had been experiencing violent accidents or deaths.

  Her stomach turned over at the thought. Carmen? Carmen, who had been her friend for so long? Could she have planned such a complicated, diabolical scenario? No, it was impossible. Carmen might have been obsessed with Bobby Vega, even desperate to marry him because of her pregnancy, but she didn’t have it in her to kill Magaro and Zand, much less Abbott and Izzy Dooley.

  I’m tired, she thought, so tired I’m even entertaining Lisa Mervin’s theories. If that’s not a sign of a brain on overload, I don’t know what is.

  Exhausted, Nicole fixed some warm milk, checked all the doors and windows, then went to bed. She propped pillows behind her, intending to read, but within ten minutes her head had slid sideways.

  It was night. A warm breeze blew her pale, silky robe around her legs. She walked through the brush, which pulled her robe aside whenever it snagged on a twig.

  Voices floated toward her. “She thought she had us,” Magaro was saying.

  “She almost did.”

  “No she didn’t. It would have been better if we could have killed her like I wanted, but she still couldn’t hurt us. I got too many friends, man. I told you I’d come up with an alibi.” Her right hand squeezed around something metal. It fit perfectly within her palm. It gave her a feeling of power.

  Now she was closer to the voices. “I should be on drums.”

  “Vega’s on drums.”

  “Get rid of him or he might meet an unfortunate fate, worse than the girl’s. At least she lived, although I’d still like to get this knife in her throat for all the trouble she caused.”

  And then there was a crunching in the grass. Someone was approaching the two men, someone tall, someone she couldn’t quite see. Her fingers tightened on the object in her hand…

  Nicole jerked up in bed, drawing in her breath so sharply it hurt. She trembled all over and she felt perspiration dampening her hair, trickling down her temples.

  A dream, she told herself. Ray had said after all that had happened to her the past few weeks, it was no surprise she was dreaming of Basin Park, of Zand and Magaro…

  But this wasn’t about the rape, she reminded herself. It wasn’t even about that night.

  “Maybe you killed Magaro and Zand on one of your midnight walks,” Carmen had said to her just that morning. Oh, God, Nicole thought. In the dream there had been something in her hand. Could it have been a gun?

  She glanced at the clock beside her bed. Eleven-fifteen. Very late to be calling her mother, but she had to know.

  Phyllis’s voice was crisp and alert when she answered. “Nicole! Do you know what time it is?” Before Nicole had time to say anything, Phyllis exclaimed, “Oh, my God, what’s happened now?”

  “Nothing, Mom,” Nicole said. “I hope I didn’t wake up Shelley, but I just had to ask you a question.”

  “The phone in your old room, where Shelley is staying, has a different number.”

  “I’d forgotten,” Nicole breathed. “Did I wake you?”

  “No. I was reading. Now what is this all about?”

  “Sleepwalking. Mother, after my attack, did I sleepwalk?”

  There was a slight pause. “What would make you think that?”

  “Because Carmen told me I did.”

  “Oh.” Another short pause followed. “Yes, Nicole, you did.”

  “For how long?”

  Phyllis took a deep breath. “Well, your attack happened in February. I believe the sleepwalking stopped in May.”

  “Did I just walk around inside the house or did I go outside?”

  “Inside, mostly, but there were a couple of times when it seemed you’d been outside. Your feet and legs were dirty and scratched. But you never remembered a thing.”

  “I see,” Nicole said slowly. “Did I ever have access to a gun?”

  “A gun! Of course not. Your father deplored guns.”

  “He used one on himself.”

  “He was ill,” Phyllis said in a pained voice. “Besides, he used a gun he’d bought recently. He never kept one at the store or the house for protection.”

  Nicole wished she felt better, but she didn’t. “Mom, do you remember the night Magaro and Zand were murdered?”

  “Nicole!” Phyllis’s voice was developing an edge. “These questions are very alarming. What are you driving at?”

  “I want to know, Mom. Was I back in the hospital for plastic surgery? And don’t say you don’t remember. If you say that, I’ll check the hospital records.”

  Phyllis sighed. “Don’t threaten me, Nicole. You don’t have to look up hospital records. You hadn’t had the plastic surgery yet. You were home.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, because I tried to keep the newspaper from you, but you saw a report about the murders on the morning newscast. You became very upset and I had to call the doctor. He gave you a tranquilizer. Then the police were here. It was awful.”

  “I remember being home, now. Did I sleepwalk that night? The night of the murders?”

  Phyllis’s voice tightened. “Nicole, I really don’t see why this is so important to you. Why does it make any difference after all this time?”

  “It does, Mom. Believe me, it does. Just tell me.”

  “All right. You did not sleepwalk that night.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely,” Phyllis said.

  But Nicole heard the doubt in her voice.

  Twenty-Three

  1

  “For today I asked you to read Melville’s ‘Bartleby the Scrivener,’ ” Nicole began, facing her Major American Writers class. “What was your impression of Bartleby?”

  “I think he was nuts,” one student near the front volunteered.

  “No, he ate nuts,” another countered, throwing the class into gales of laughter.

  Nicole, who usually didn’t mind a bit of levity in classes, was uncharacteristically annoyed. “Those were very perceptive comments,” she said tartly. “Can anyone offer a more sensitive analysis o
f the character?”

  Sensing her mood, the class fell silent. She waited. She looked at Miguel, whom she could usually count on for an intelligent comment, but he stared steadily down at his open book, clearly determined not to respond to her.

  “All right,” Nicole said with forced patience. “Let’s start with something easier. What is a scrivener?” Silence spun out. Finally a mousy girl in the back row volunteered a halting answer.

  Nicole was never able to get the class off the ground, and as she trudged back to her office, she blamed herself. When students sensed the teacher’s lack of enthusiasm, they responded in kind. And I like that story, she thought. But with all the other stuff going through my mind, it’s hard to work up any fire for sad young Bartleby.

  When she returned to her office, she called her mother. “Feeling better today?” Phyllis asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry I disturbed you last night. I must have sounded like a lunatic.”

  “No daughter of mine could ever sound like a lunatic.”

  I wish everyone thought that, Nicole thought. “Mom, Roger wants to see Shelley. He sent Lisa to pick her up yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, that’s nerve!”

  “I thought so, too. But he does have a right to see her. I told Lisa I’d bring Shelley to the hospital this evening.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Phyllis said firmly. “I don’t want you around that man. I don’t want Shelley around him, either, but as you said, he has his rights. I’ll take her.”

  “Oh, Mom, I hate to ask you to do that.”

  “That’s the way I want it. For once indulge me, Nicole. After all, you know Roger won’t get violent or obnoxious around me. He’s always been intimidated by me.”

  “I didn’t think you knew that!”

  “Of course I know it. I deliberately cultivated it in him. I always sensed he might someday turn into a man who needed to be kept in line.”

  Nicole laughed. “You read him better than I did.”

  After a slight pause, Phyllis said, “Nicole, you’ve always wanted to see nothing but good in people. Sometimes I think you wouldn’t know evil if it looked you right in the face.”

  Nicole was silent. Had she been unable to see it in Paul? In Carmen? Or maybe, if her fears about what she’d done during her bouts of sleepwalking were true, had she been unable to see it every time she looked in the mirror?