Tonight You're Mine

by Carlene Thompson

  “Does this Jewel have anything to do with Nicole Chandler?”

  “Yeah, indirectly. At least I thought it was indirectly. She was Izzy Dooley’s girlfriend.”

  “His girlfriend! A guy like that could have a girlfriend?”

  “They say there’s someone for everyone.” Cy sighed again. “Look, Aline, I’ll make you a deal. I won’t make up my mind about Nicole Chandler’s guilt or innocence, and I won’t give up checking into the murders fifteen years ago, on one condition.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “Well, that tofu-and-soybean dinner you served earlier was healthy but left me feeling completely empty. I want a sandwich. A real sandwich with meat and cheese and pickles and mayonnaise and about a thousand calories.”

  Aline laughed and kissed his cheek. “You got it, honey. We’ll consider it brain food.”

  5

  Nicole lay in bed, knowing sleep would elude her again tonight. Worried, she knew if she didn’t get some rest, she would collapse from exhaustion.

  Ray had left three hours ago, but it seemed like twelve. With every passing minute, her fear of being arrested grew.

  Another person had been murdered. Poor Avis. Nicole hadn’t liked her, but she certainly didn’t want her dead. And to think Avis might have been murdered because of her was unbearable. She shuddered. Ray was convinced Paul had done it, not just because Avis had pushed her in the parking lot, but because Paul was a “madman.” Paul Dominic, a madman. She shook her head.

  Nicole rose, went to the stereo, picked up the tape Dominic, Gershwin, and Carnegie Hall, and put it in the slot. A few moments later the first seductive strains of Rhapsody in Blue filled the room. How long had it been since she’d listened to the song all the way through? Every time it came on the radio, she turned it off. If she was at a party and someone put it on, she left the room. To her it had come to represent death—the death of love as well as the rape and the subsequent deaths of Magaro and Zand, for which she’d been considered indirectly responsible.

  She sat down on the couch just as the piano began. Paul playing the piano. Paul at Carnegie Hall. She closed her eyes and it was fifteen years ago. Paul and she lying on cushions in the big music room. Vanilla-scented candles flickering. Her hand in his. The song ending and Paul leaning over, his penetrating hazel eyes gazing into hers. “Do you believe in destiny, Nicole?…I believe I was destined to come back to Texas and meet you again.” She opened her eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he’d asked at the door. “I have to go to the Mission San Juan to finish my research.” “Then I’ll meet you there,” he’d promised. He said the day they’d spent at the mission earlier was one of the happiest days of his life.

  She smiled, remembering how they’d wandered around the grounds, talking about everything, taking pictures of each other, holding hands. “I love you very much, chérie,” he’d told her before she left his house that last night. And he’d saved her on the River Walk when she was attacked by Izzy Dooley. He’d slipped the cross around her neck and gazed once again at her with his intense hazel eyes. “Some loves are forever,” his mother had said.

  The song soared into the famous Andantino moderate melody. “Yes,” Nicole said softly. “Forever. I loved you then, Paul, and God help me, I love you now. You love me, too, but I don’t believe that love means you’d kill for me.”

  The song concluded and she got up, walking restlessly again around the living room. Paul Dominic murdering five people, one an innocent young policeman sent by Ray to protect her? It was ridiculous.

  As she paced around the living room, her gaze fell on the mail lying on a small table by the front door. She had brought it in but promptly forgot it. Now she picked it up, sorting through it quickly. “Bill from the electric company, bill from the phone company, bill from the water company. Wonderful,” she said aloud, tossing aside the bills along with an alumni newsletter. Then she lifted a postcard. On the front was a Spanish mission. “The Mission San Juan,” she murmured. Turning it over, she saw there was no stamp—only the printed words “Meet me here at midnight.” Beneath them was a sloping P.

  “Paul!” she gasped. “Paul wants to see me.”

  She stood still for a few seconds, undecided. Then she rushed to the bedroom.

  6

  Nicole peeked out the window over her kitchen sink. There was a patrol car. “Damn,” she muttered.

  She glanced at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Quickly she went to the phone, called for a taxi to pick her up on the street behind hers. Then she checked her wallet to make certain she had plenty of money, went to the basement, retrieved the aluminum stepladder, and carried it to the backyard. Placing it beside the back fence, she climbed up and grabbed hold of an overhanging branch, the same one Izzy Dooley had used. She flung her legs over the six-foot fence, hung by the branch with one hand, and leaned down, straining to grab the top of the ladder. She managed to drag it over the fence, cringing at the grating sound it made, and dropped it onto the neighboring backyard so she could use it when she returned. Then she dangled for a moment, took a deep breath, and plummeted. She landed just two inches clear of the ladder and flat-footed, not turning an ankle as she’d feared, and sprinted across the lawn of the vacant house.

  For the next few minutes Nicole stood on the sidewalk, terrified a neighbor had seen her climbing over the fence, mistaken her for a prowler, and called the police. How could she explain her actions, especially to Ray? In her mind she invented one lame excuse after another until the taxi appeared. Sighing with relief, she hopped in and said, “The Mission San Juan.”

  The driver turned in his seat. “The mission!. At this hour?”

  “Is it your company’s policy to question the passenger’s destinations?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then please get me to the mission as soon as possible.”

  During the day they could never have made it across town in time. So late at night, though, they arrived only a couple of minutes after midnight. The driver pulled the taxi into the gravel parking lot.

  “I want you to wait for me,” Nicole said.

  The middle-aged driver turned and looked at her querulously. “Wait? That’ll cost you double time.”

  “Fine.”

  Nicole started to get out, but the driver said, “No, you wait.” She turned back to him. “Pay me your fare to this point.”

  “How do I know you won’t just take off and leave me?”

  “How do I know you won’t do the same and stiff me for the fare?”

  “Oh, all right,” Nicole snapped. “But don’t you dare drive away as soon as I’m out of the taxi.”

  “I won’t. But I don’t like sittin’ out here. This place is spooky at night.”

  “Lock the doors and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  Yes it was, Nicole thought a minute later as she walked away from the cab. Look at what had happened to the patrolman, Abbott. It was one thing for her to risk her own life, but the life of someone else? But I’m here to meet Paul, she reminded herself. If in my heart I believed Paul had killed Abbott, I wouldn’t have come.

  The Mission San Juan was more isolated than some of the other missions along the river, forming the San Antonio Missions National Historic Park. She knew the park officials left at five and the church, which was still active, closed at seven except for special events. She walked through an opening in the stone walls surrounding the grounds, which she hadn’t seen for fifteen years, not since she and Paul had spent the day here together. One of the happiest days of her life, also.

  Beyond the wall, the grounds looked huge. Unlike at the Alamo downtown, there was no outside lighting and she depended only on a bright moon that cast its glow on the faded white walls of the church and threw shadows on the trees and the large, rough wooden cross standing like a sentinel inside the mission square. It was hard to believe the place had once bustled with activity, within the compound the Indian artisans p
roducing goods from the workshops and outside the farmers cultivating crops that sustained the whole community. But that had been over two hundred years ago. Now the compound was empty and silent, although she thought she could feel the ghosts of those long-dead people all around her in the deep quiet of the night. The cab driver was right. The place was spooky. She was glad she’d brought her gun.

  Nicole’s footsteps slowed. What am I doing? she asked herself silently. I’ve been afraid for days that Paul wants revenge, yet I get a postcard and a cryptic message and here I am. What if something happens to me? Shelly certainly can’t be raised by Roger. Not by Mom, either. She hasn’t gotten over Dad’s death. Maybe Roger and Carmen are right about me. Maybe I am crazy.

  But she couldn’t stop. She walked toward the ruins of the unfinished church the missionaries had begun in the 1760’s but had had to abandon because of lack of funds and manpower. She had pulled a windbreaker over her blouse and she now wished she’d worn something heavier. Chills ran up and down her arms.

  Nicole stopped, then turned toward the parking lot. She was far away from the cab now. She couldn’t even see it clearly. If someone attacked her, the cab driver couldn’t reach her in time to help her. He didn’t seem like the chivalrous type, anyway. If she screamed, he’d probably be flying out of the parking lot in seconds.

  Shadows moved across the moon, shifting the light. She could have sworn the large cross moved. The spreading juniper behind it rustled as the wind changed. She’d only been here during the day. She never knew how night transformed the grounds, and she was alone…

  Nicole let out a tiny cry when something touched her. She looked down to see a large black Doberman forcing its muzzle into her hand.

  “Jordan!” she cried, inexpressibly happy to see the dog. “You certainly are the quiet one. Are you here with Paul? Of course you are. You never leave his side, do you?”

  “Only when I ask her to.”

  The voice floated out from behind the walls of the unfinished church. “Paul?”

  “Yes, Nicole. Come here.”

  Nicole suddenly felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. Jordan looked up at her, back at the place where the voice had come, then gently clamped her jaws around Nicole’s wrist, pulling her forward. She passed through an opening in a low stone wall. Before her stood a statue of Jesus holding a baby. Beside the statue stood a man.

  “Paul,” she said softly.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” He walked toward her. “I’m so glad you did.”

  She hadn’t remembered how tall he was—over six feet—or how broad his shoulders were, or how he moved with a dancer’s grace. The years had not changed his body. But his face? She stared at it in the moonlight. Yes, the face was harder, the forehead more lined, the cheekbones more prominent. The eyes were just as intense, although she caught a trace of wariness in them that had not existed fifteen years ago.

  “Nicole?” he asked tensely when she didn’t answer. “You did come alone, didn’t you?”

  Overcoming the shock of speaking to him after so long, she managed a weak, “Yes.”

  “No one else saw the postcard?”

  “No. And I went over my back fence and got a taxi on a different street so the policeman in the patrol car wouldn’t see me.”

  Paul smiled. The same even white teeth, the same dimples, although they were deeper. “My dear Nicole. After all these years you still have to sneak around to see me. I’m sorry.”

  They stood about five feet apart, Jordan sitting between them and turning her sleek head as each spoke. “Paul, everyone believed you were dead. Where have you been all these years?”

  “Everywhere, making a living any way I could.”

  “But your things were found near that terrible car wreck. The police thought the man inside was you.”

  “The guy gave me a ride. Then he pulled a gun and took my money. I thought he was going to kill me. He probably would have if he hadn’t been so drunk. I managed to get away, without my knapsack, and later in the day he wrecked. The car was stolen and the police assumed I’d been driving.”

  “I see.” Nicole took a deep breath. “Why did you jump bail?”

  “I didn’t think I stood a chance of being found innocent.”

  Nicole’s throat felt tight. She took a step closer to Paul, looking up into his eyes. “But you were innocent?”

  His eyes searched hers. “You’re really not sure, are you?”

  “I…I’m sorry, Paul. I never believed it for a moment until you ran—”

  “You really aren’t sure.”

  “Paul, as I said, you ran.” Nicole heard the agony of guilt in her voice. “And there was so much evidence against you…I’m sorry if my doubts make you angry, but—”

  “Make me angry? Make me angry?” Nicole stood slightly open mouthed as Paul burst into laughter. “Your doubts don’t make me angry. They lift the weight of the world off my shoulders. All these years I thought…well, never mind what I thought.”

  “What? Tell me what you thought.” Paul shook his head, but suddenly realization dawned on Nicole. “You thought I murdered Zand and Magaro! That’s why you never defended yourself. You thought you were taking the blame for me!” Paul smiled ruefully. “But what about the gun? You believed I planted it at your house and you still protected me?”

  “I thought if you planted the gun, you couldn’t have been in your right mind. You were so young, so traumatized. You might have thought I deserved punishment for not walking you to the car that night. Or you might have thought no one would find the gun.”

  “My God, because of me you’ve been on the run for fifteen years!” Nicole flung herself at Paul. His arms immediately closed around her. “Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry!”

  “I’m not, at least not completely,” he said, hugging her. “I was so spoiled. Soft. Pampered. The last few years I finally grew up.”

  “But your mother…”

  “Yes, what all this did to her was terrible. But I’ve always been in touch with her. She’s always known I was all right except for a couple of weeks after the wreck. I didn’t even know about it. Nicole, she encouraged me to go.”

  “Certainly not because she thought you were guilty.”

  “No. Because she was convinced I’d be found guilty, and she knew prison would kill me.”

  Nicole looked up at him. “Did she know you thought you were protecting me?”

  “Yes. And she said it was silly—that you would never have killed those men and set me up. But she also recognized that there was no evidence against you, only motive. The evidence was all against me. She saw the reality of my situation, but she never blamed you.”

  “She’s a remarkable woman. I saw her on Sunday.”

  “She told me. She said you were as beautiful and resourceful as ever.”

  Nicole smiled. He touched her face gently and leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head. “I’m sorry,” Paul said humbly.

  “Oh, Paul, I’m so happy to see you. It isn’t that. It’s…”

  “It’s what?”

  “Well, what about all these recent murders?”

  “You think I’m behind them?”

  “You called me the night Roger and I had a fight in the driveway. You said if he talked to me that way again, you’d kill him.”

  Paul looked at her in shock. “Nicole, I made no such call.”

  “But it was your voice. You even called me chérie.”

  Paul looked at her earnestly. “Nicole, I swear on my mother’s life that I never made that call: I have never called you. I was afraid your phone was tapped.”

  “But it sounded so much like you…” She trailed off, twisting the cross at her neck.

  “You’re wearing it.”

  “I have since the night you gave it to me on the River Walk. And don’t try to tell me that wasn’t you.”

  “Certainly it was me. You saw Jordan. You looked right into my eyes.”

  “Yes, I did. You protected
me from that awful person, even though you were right out there in the open where you could so easily have been caught.” Her gaze dropped. “Paul, there’s another reason I didn’t let you kiss me.” He was quiet. “I’m afraid I did kill Zand and Magaro.”

  She could feel him stiffen against her. “But you said you had doubts about my innocence.”

  “I didn’t clearly say what I meant. I’ve been having these dreams lately.” Paul frowned. “In the dreams I see Zand and Magaro where they were murdered. They’re talking about me after the attack, after they’d been cleared of my rape.”

  Paul seemed to relax. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. They’re just dreams.”

  “But they don’t feel like dreams. They feel like a memory. And I’ve recently learned that I was sleepwalking during that time and that sleepwalkers are capable of violent acts and—”

  Paul placed his fingers gently over her lips. “And then you put the gun in my trash along with one of my shirts stained with Zand’s blood?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t believe it. Do you realize the time and planning those murders required? In a sleepwalking state you believe you remembered to bring a gun and hoods and my shirt—which by the way I never knew how you could have gotten—then killed Magaro and Zand, hung them in trees, and finally came on over to Olmos Park to plant evidence? No, Nicole, whoever murdered those two wasn’t committing a random act of violence while sleepwalking.”

  “But you thought I might have done it deliberately?”

  “You were so traumatized. I thought maybe it was an act of temporary insanity.”

  “Temporary insanity? Thanks.”

  “Wouldn’t that have crossed your mind if our positions were reversed? After all, you weren’t just raped. You were beaten so badly you required plastic surgery. And it was a miracle you weren’t killed. All because you were sneaking around to see me, a man who didn’t even walk you to your car that night.”

  “I wasn’t temporarily insane. I don’t feel like I killed them. I don’t believe I did. You didn’t kill them. Then who?”

  “I don’t know. Those two must have had a lot of enemies.”