With Her Last Breath

by Cait London

  Judge Jones? He hadn’t liked her emotional courtroom exposure of his seedy life, or his legal friends. At the time, she didn’t know their games, and it was a hard lesson to learn. She should have never burst into his courtroom. His veiled message in his private chamber came through loud and clear—any more trouble and she not only wouldn’t be working in the area, she’d be very dead. The remark about her two nephews, specific information about them, had reminded her of just what he could do when tested.

  She hadn’t pursued any of them after that. There would be no reason now for someone to come after her, to take time away from his wealthy life to seek her.

  Maggie caught the delicious scents flowing from the Alessandros Italian Restaurant and pulled herself back from the past. She heard a window scrape above Ed’s Place and automatically glanced up to catch the flash of a mirror behind the old curtains.

  But concerned about Celeste, Maggie dismissed the sound and entered Journeys, where Beth was ringing up a purchase and scowling at a customer. Once the door closed behind the woman, Beth turned to Maggie. “Women with her hips should never wear tight pants. It looked like two watermelons with cellulite back there…You know that Celeste has invited some bumpkin here for me to meet. He’s a gee-shucks farm boy, for gosh sakes. I knew she did some matchmaking on the side, but I didn’t think she’d zero in on me.”

  “He might not be so bad.”

  “He’s used to taking care of cows, not women.” Beth shuddered elaborately, then asked, “You talked to Celeste, then. How is she?”

  “Very quiet and not saying much. She says I’m in danger.”

  Beth inhaled sharply and leaned forward. “Then you are. Celeste feeds a lot of crap to tourists, but she doesn’t hand it out to us. Okay, she usually doesn’t—except for the farmboy part. What does she mean—you in danger?”

  Maggie remembered the threatening calls from influential men who were involved with Glenda the prostitute, Glenda the user. “A few years ago, I made trouble for a social set. They didn’t want their private lives exposed. But I can’t see any of them coming after me. They were threatening mouth-people, but not actually backing up their threats. I was a pariah at one time, and they just wanted to get rid of me. I was killing myself, battling everyone, and no one was listening. They cut me out of any work by pressuring the owners, so I just moved on. I did my best to make life rough for them and in turn they did a pretty good job of running me out of town. I haven’t been in contact with anyone there, and no one has tried to contact me.”

  She glanced out at Scout, who was tied to a bench, listening intently. In front of Journeys, Ole, Dee Dee, and Eugene, in that order, were seated on the bench, and each man held one of Dee Dee’s hands. Mrs. Friends stopped, chatted, and sat down by Eugene. He edged away from her slightly. Then he moved back and casually placed an arm around her.

  Dee Dee frowned and glanced at Eugene, whose returned smile was innocent.

  “I’m worried,” Beth stated. “For both of you.”

  “I’ll be fine, but I am worried about Celeste. I love her.”

  “So do I. But I’m not baby-sitting for some farmboy from Iowa. That’s asking too much. Shudder. His hands would have touched those cow-milk thingies, teats or tits or whatever. And I’m looking for a man for Celeste. Someone younger than Eugene. Getting laid might distract her—if it doesn’t break a hip or something. It sure changed you.”

  “If you don’t lay off me, Beth honey, I’m going to hurry the farmboy’s visit.”

  “That’s all I need, some yokel hick, and stop laughing.”

  Maggie made her usual rounds, enjoying the sunshine and her friends: George Wilson, for his therapy, and Mrs. Friends, because she enjoyed visiting with Nick’s elderly teacher and listening to the tales of the three Alessandro “scamps.” She had been helping Mrs. Friends paint her sunroom. But today Mrs. Friends was miffed, saying, “That hussy Dee Dee is making a play for all the handsome, eligible bachelors in town. She actually has Eugene discussing those trashy soap operas.” Maggie left the older woman mulling Dee Dee and briskly dusting and replacing her miniature animals to their tiny wall boxes.

  Maggie found herself by the harbor, watching the boats glide, the tourists milling on the concrete walks bordering the water. They seemed to fall into two categories—those wearing the sun-washed natural khaki and T-shirts with logos, or those wearing Hawaiian prints.

  A child raced after a ball, and Maggie’s thoughts raced as well: Celeste was certain of her death and certain that Maggie was in danger—but who would want to follow her across the country? To invest that time and energy and money in locating her?

  Brent Templeton had been vicious, furious with her. She’d injured his knee when he’d attacked her in the bathroom. His wife hadn’t believed Maggie’s story, and neither had Ryan. Brent was in San Francisco, wrapped in his vices, his wealthy powerful circle, and his wife’s money. He was probably glad to see the last of Maggie.

  Ryan definitely had been glad to sever their marriage ties as quickly as possible.

  Nick had shown her more compassion in the brief time they’d known each other than Ryan had shown in their whole marriage. She’d loved him too much, given too much. Nick was right about her low trust level, and he didn’t deserve the backlash from Ryan’s treatment.

  The waves licked at the channel’s concrete seawalls and on impulse, Maggie decided it was time to meet her nightmares—

  In the harbor at the end of the channel, she found Dante at his boatyard, listening intently to a high-priced cruiser’s inboard motor. Looking up and shading his eyes against the sun, he grinned. “Hi, stranger. What brings you here?”

  “I thought I’d take you up on that sailboat ride. Whenever you have time.”

  “Sure. Let me finish up here and close shop. I thought you were afraid of water.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  Out on the water, Maggie worked so hard that afternoon that her hands ached from gripping the sides. Though the lake’s sunlit air was cool as the sailboat glided over the waves, fear lodged in her throat every minute, and her skin beaded with sweat.

  Concerned, Dante had checked on her frequently and she’d forced a tight, sick smile. “I’m fine.”

  He reached a hand to waggle her head playfully. “A little seasick? You’ll get your legs soon enough.”

  She nodded, but every molecule of her body was locked onto that day, the sudden squawl, flying off into the water with Glenda. Then her mother had struggled toward them—and her father’s hand had sunk beneath the water.

  Holding Scout close, she lifted her face to the wind and let it take her away until only the sound of the breeze in the sails and the creaking of wood melded with the easy flow of the waves. Maggie held her locket and let her mind sail back to happier times, the birthday parties, learning how to ride their bikes, their father running alongside, helping steady the wobbles. They were good times and ones locked in her heart.

  As they glided into the harbor, she looked at the tourists and found a man with a cane. The man’s hair was thin, wisps catching the wind, his face narrow and pale, his body hunched beneath the worn brown raincoat. But deep within their bony sockets, his eyes had locked onto her, and the shock had squeezed and dried her throat. It couldn’t be Brent Templeton. He belonged to another time, another place. When she looked again, he was gone.

  That man wasn’t Brent Templeton. Brent was a big man, strapping and fit from hours of working out, his hair thick and groomed and his clothing immaculate. Shaken by the burning look that had sailed across the harbor to her, Maggie gripped the railing, looking down into the dark water.

  The man was only a passing stranger. Celeste’s uneasiness was spreading, washing over Maggie, and yet the man couldn’t be Brent—

  When Dante helped her up to the dock, he scanned her sunburned face and whistled. “Better put some lotion on that. But…beneath all that pink, you still look scared. You did fine, kid. You were afraid, but you met it
. It will get easier, you’ll see. And if Nick says anything about me taking you out, he can take it up with me.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied shakily and hurried from Dante’s worried frown.

  Then, because he cared and because life had treated him ungently, she turned and hurried back to him. Maggie stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, smoothing it with her hand. “Thank you. You should go get your little boy and bring him home. He needs the love you have and that of your family.”

  “Thanks. He’s afraid of me now. It’s not that easy.”

  She didn’t mind being gathered against him, his face buried in her hair. “I failed my little boy, Maggie. I thought she would be better for him. Motherly love doesn’t apply. Brenda needed him for child support, and now that she’s getting married, she’s tossing him away…Maggie, he doesn’t know me. The last time he saw me, he was terrified. It was like a piece of me was being sliced away. I didn’t know what to do. I handled it badly, reaching out to him, but I wanted to hold him so much, to keep him safe, you know?”

  “I know. We want our loved ones safe and can’t always do the best for them. But you’re going to be wonderful, Dante. If you need someone to go with you to visit your son—just for support—I will. I…I used to do a lot with my sister’s boys.”

  “And you miss them.”

  That painful knot inside her twisted. “Terribly. One day, the youngest called me Mom—my sister and I looked alike. I couldn’t step into her place…I couldn’t remind them of—well, the things she went through before she died and what she put them through. Yes, I do miss them.”

  “You could visit.”

  Maggie shook her head. “No. I’m afraid they remind me of their mother, too, and it breaks my heart how they look at me.”

  “That’s rough…. By the way, I’m going over to baby-sit at Sissy and Tony’s tonight. Scout would be a real help with those wild animals. Can I borrow her?”

  “Sure.”

  Someday she’d visit Cody and Seth—when she was ready, Maggie promised herself as she pulled in front of her camper. Lorna’s big shiny Lincoln was waiting, the hard rock music throbbing out of it. It died when she rolled down her window to speak to Maggie. Her wraparound silvery sunglasses mirrored Maggie’s face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “How may I help you?” From the look on Lorna’s face, the conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  “Stop messing with Nick. He’s mine. If you can’t understand that, I’ll have to make you understand.”

  Maggie had dealt with stronger threats than Lorna’s. “Is that a threat?”

  “I’m merely telling you that Nick and I have an understanding.”

  Maggie had had her share of bullies, and Lorna fit the obvious profile; however Celeste saw more in her, and according to Rosa, Lorna had been fashioned into what she was by her father. The woman beneath had yet to emerge; meanwhile, Lorna would test herself against anyone in her way.

  “Celeste seems to think that you already have someone you love. You might ask yourself why you’re pushing Nick, and if he’s who you really want. Or if you’re using him to get whoever isn’t playing your game right now. Whatever the case, exactly what would it take for you to return that land to Nick?”

  Lorna’s laughter was brittle, erratic in the quiet day. “More than you’ll ever make in your lifetime, unless you get serious about playing with summer—”

  She clamped her lips closed and looked away, her face red and furious beneath her sunglasses. The bright day hovered and turned and Maggie wondered, “Summer vacationers? Men with boats who want to party? Lorna, you know something about Leo Knute, didn’t you? Did you have Ed fix it?”

  “That lowlife? Beth has already jumped me with the same accusation. One thing I have to say about Beth, she doesn’t pull her punches. Hey, maybe I even admire that. Ed told me there was trouble. He was trying to get me primed to take you out. I pull some weight around town and he knows that I’m not happy with you moving into my territory—namely Nick. And no, I don’t have anyone on the side, but I would if I wanted. But if you think I’d set another woman up for a party like that, you’re dead wrong.”

  Lorna revved her engine and reversed, shooting the big car out onto the dirt road.

  Still gripped by Lorna’s attack and a dark reminder that she had been set up for Leo, Maggie opened the door of her camper and stopped, keys in hand. The door was unlocked, and yet she had used the keys this morning.

  The camper had been rearranged neatly. Magazines that Maggie had read and tossed into a stack were all sized, large on the bottom, smaller on top. The curtain that she had folded back and pinned for Scout to look out of the window had been released and straightened.

  On the tiny table, the photographs of Beth, Celeste, and Maggie had been placed exact distances apart, and several with Scout had been stolen. The pictures of Nick and Maggie dancing at the Alessandros’ anniversary party had been taken, along with those of Sissy’s children in front of the old two-story house.

  Also missing were two snapshots of Maggie’s family. “It seems that you’re lonely, Lorna, needing photographs of someone else’s family and friends. I guess you can have the pictures. They’re not worth accusing you of thievery.”

  Maggie repinned the curtain for Scout to look outside. “Hmm. I didn’t know you like to clean, Lorna.”

  The changes in the camper were meant for sly intimidation—to let Maggie know that Lorna was set to defend her territory.

  “That won’t work, Lorna dear. Intimidation didn’t work years ago, and it’s not working now. I’ve dealt with powerful people before, and this time, you’re not getting what you want. What’s more, keep pushing and you just may lose those twenty acres you’re holding over Nick’s head.”

  Blanchefleur had become home in a short time, her friendship with Celeste and Beth rich and deep, and the first in years. Maggie wasn’t leaving easily.

  Ed wasn’t talking. He hadn’t answered Celeste’s questions, but he knew something. It scurried around inside him, flashing and vicious and waiting. What was it?

  She’d seen the man in the car—the one taking away her breath and bringing death to her—slipping into the alley behind Ed’s tavern, and she’d asked for truth from the wrong man. Ed had denied seeing anyone, but she’d known then that he was lying—and that he was afraid.

  The night and the lake called to her and Celeste knew it was her time. She slipped from her home, leaving Beth sleeping soundly.

  Celeste could have ignored the silent call to her senses, but if she did, the ones she loved could suffer. And she wanted desperately to know why he had come and what he had to do with Maggie and Scout.

  With a spring of lavender in her hand, she faced what would come. She walked slowly toward the lake, then along the walkway, trailing her hand over the waist-high seawall. Her dark blue caftan caught the slight wind, her long red silk paisley print scarf seemed almost alive as it fluttered, brushing her hands like a lover’s caress.

  A sensual woman, Celeste lifted her face to the fresh air. She’d lived her time and it had been good; she’d given Eugene that smile to carry him on through the years. It was a peaceful night, filled with lovers’ sighs and sweet scents of life, the moonlight on the harbor’s still water trailing toward her.

  She pushed her fear aside and let her sturdy Iowa good sense wash over her—a season to live, a season to die, the goddess and her cycles.

  Shadows kept the moonlight from her, the trees providing privacy. At one o’clock, the park along the water was closed and silent.

  She felt him in the darkness, watching her. His hatred seared her, and a sound that could have been a breeze whispering through the leaves became the cries of women he’d hurt…

  Like a specter, he loomed out of the shadows; only the sharp angles of his face caught the moonlight. Clawlike, his hand bit into her upper arm, holding her. His voice crawled through her fears and scratched at the night. “Hello, Celeste. I hear you’ve be
en asking questions about me.”

  “I knew that Ed would relay that to you. I wanted you out in the open, and now you are.” Behind Celeste, the waves lapped quietly at the seawall holding them, and Celeste heard only the racing beat of her heart, the wind sighing in the trees, life saying goodbye to her. Her time had come, and this was the man she’d feared.

  He leaned closer, and the smell of whiskey circled her. “Yes, Ed told me about you. He hates you with your spooky ways, and he likes money. He wants his property back and you’re interfering. I’ve seen her at your house, and I’ve seen another woman. Tell me about the other woman and I’ll let Beth live.”

  She had to know. “Why have you come?”

  “For Maggie Chantel, and for my dog. She stole my dog and took away my life and now she has to pay. I saw everything from my room above Ed’s. If I angle a mirror just right, I can see everything—Maggie and her friend, Nick Alessandro, right? His parents own that restaurant?”

  The rubber gloves he wore had a slightly bitter scent as he artistically looped her scarf around her throat, nudging her back against the protective barrier. But the safety of concrete wasn’t there, only a space used by emergency boaters from the lake to tether their lines and climb the steel ladder.

  “Ask Ed.” If only she could break away, warn Maggie and Beth…

  But the red silk scarf tightened around Celeste’s throat and the man smiled coldly. His other hand caught hers as she reached to grasp the metal hand bars attached to the concrete. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Brent Templeton, late of San Francisco, and a very special friend of Maggie’s sister, Glenda. I met Maggie five years ago and I knew I had to have her.”

  Maggie’s locket…her sister…the dog…The images swirled around Celeste and the words, “Tell me you love me.” Then she saw this man slide the needle into a woman’s arm, and a bright splash of copper-colored hair fell back, the hazel eyes sightless in death. He grew strong as he punished and hurt, careless of the pain to others, feeding off it….