“And if I don’t?” Jorgé squeaked.
“That would be most unfortunate. You see, I would have to let Carlos finish killing you.”
Chapter Eleven
Lillian read through her final draft of the word problem, reviewed the parameters she had set to establish her unknowns, and computed the math. She’d spent nearly all day Sunday working on it, ignoring the impatient ring of both the telephone and her cell phone with its unique tone designated for Amanda. She hadn’t even thought to look at her email. Amanda could wait, as could everything else. Because more than anything, right now she wanted her answer to Sam’s test to be correct.
She had become easily engrossed in the exercise which, as Sam had promised, had been right up her alley. Who could better design such a menu than she, the expert dinner party hostess? Keeping with a Fall theme, Lillian chose to serve pork loin with spicy applesauce, sweet potatoes, corn chowder, and a salad with honey vinaigrette dressing. To accompany her dinner, she selected a full-bodied Chardonnay. Ice cream with fresh strawberries for dessert.
Though selecting the menu had been simple, putting it on paper in an algebraic equation had proven more difficult. Yet, as she worked through it, step by step, the entire process had finally begun to make sense. After reading through it again, for the last time Lillian promised herself, she shut her eyes, took a deep cleansing breath, and closed her algebra book.
This time everything felt right.
Placing her one-page answer in a letter-size manila envelope, she drove to the college, slid the envelope under the door to Sam’s office, and hurried back to her car. Her heart was pounding. What if she had failed again?
No, don’t think that, Lillian. You haven’t failed. Not this time. But is it really the fear of failure that has you trembling?
Sitting in the driver’s seat, her hands shaking on the steering wheel, Lillian knew part of her didn’t want to disappoint Sam. It was the other part she wasn’t certain about, the part that was afraid of where this all would lead. She couldn’t fathom his interest in her, yet she relished it. Wanted it the same way someone dying of thirst wants water. And was she interested in him? Oh, yes. He filled her nights with wicked dreams and made her heart beat again with hope.
With some hesitation, her fingers caressed the locket at her throat. In it were the baby pictures of Amanda and Michael. The locket had been a gift from Rusty, given to her the day they had brought Michael home from the hospital, and the only picture in it had been Michael’s. Rusty had been quietly angry when she’d added Amanda’s baby picture to it. It had taken her several years to realize that the gift had been a trade—the son she had borne him for the locket. And that was when she stopped loving him.
Could she love again? Did she dare?
Or would it have been smarter—and safer—to have never taken Sam’s final test, to refuse the help he offered, and thus keep her heart forever encased within the locket?
It was too late to reconsider completing the test. Now, having set the outcome in motion, she would just have to stay on the ride until it stopped of its own accord.
* * *
Beth accosted Lillian the moment she exited the elevator on the third floor, literally dragging her into the vacant lounge.
“Beth, what is it? What’s the matter?”
“Who was he?”
Lillian frowned. “Who was who?”
“The gorgeous guy in the tux on the motorcycle you were hanging on to when you left the hotel parking lot, that’s who?”
Her knees suddenly weak, Lillian sat quickly in the nearest chair. “Oh, shit.”
“Well, that’s a new word from you,” Beth said, taking the seat across from Lillian. “It won’t do you any good to deny that was you. Now who is the hunk, and where were you going with him?”
Giving in to the inevitable, Lillian gazed imploringly at her friend. “Please tell me that no one else from the hospital event saw us?”
“I was alone, if that’s what you mean.”
Lillian nodded, relief flowing through her as she relived the events leading to their escape. That night, after retrieving her handbag from the coat check area, she and Sam had each left the banquet room through different exits, meeting up again at the door leading into the pool area. From there, they had walked together to the parking lot. She hadn’t considered how their little adventure might have appeared to an observer.
Thankfully, it was Beth who had been the one to watch them sneak away. It was strange that of all the people she knew—women from the club, other Navy wives, neighbors—she felt closest to Beth. The Watsons, Beth and Ken, owned and operated an overnight truck stop at the junction of Interstate 15 and Highway 56 southwest of Poway. They had four children, one in college, two in high school, and a fifth grader. Beth had just moved from night nursing to the day shift.
“He’s my math professor.”
Beth’s mouth was open, her grin spreading from ear to ear. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not certain. I don’t know yet,” Lillian admitted, then proceeded to tell Beth exactly how she and Sam Weiss had come to the point of escaping the hospital benefit. “When I’m with him, I feel more alive than I have in years. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
Beth held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” She leaned closer, her voice soft. “I’m so thrilled for you. It’s about time you found someone.”
“But Beth, he’s twelve years younger than I am.”
Her friend laughed. “So what? Since he’s obviously interested, I’m betting he’s already done the math.”
* * *
Her hand shaking, Lillian reached for the doorknob to room M320. At the moment, she didn’t know if she had the right to enter the classroom and take her customary seat. Since it was Monday, she wasn’t even sure Sam would have been able to spare any time to look at her paper, let alone grade it. When he walked into the room surrounded by several of her classmates, his smile gave her no clue as to whether she should go or stay.
“Open your books to page 302, and we’ll begin with the graphs and linear equations found in chapter seven. Now that we’re getting into more difficult concepts, we’ll spend more time on them. These next two weeks will be devoted to chapters seven and eight, and I expect all of you to do better than a C on the next test.”
Having said that, he searched quickly through his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Continuing to address the class, he sauntered down the first aisle toward Lillian’s desk. Standing beside it, he said nothing, simply laid the paper face down on top of her desk and returned to the front of the classroom.
During that very brief moment he’d stood in front of her, Lillian’s heart had nearly stopped beating while she held her breath. Now she was almost afraid to look at her test paper. Discreetly, she picked up a corner and peeked beneath it. Circled in red at the top was an A-. Under it he had printed a short note.
M-W-F
Main Library S3G
2:00 pm
Be on time!
* * *
Sam glanced at his watch as he ascended the last set of stairs and headed toward Room S3G, one of the sixteen ten-by-ten rooms which surrounded the third floor of the library’s south wing and could be reserved by the hour from 7:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. every day of the week.
1:53 p.m.
He took a deep, solitary breath. It had been four years since he’d set foot on this floor. Four years since he’d last tutored a student. A student he would never forget.
Her name was Cynthia Pratt. Nineteen and struggling with algebra, Cynthia told him her father would kill her if she failed, and though he wasn’t teaching that course at the time, she offered him double the going hourly rate to tutor her. With Ben growing like a weed, the extra money swayed his decision in her favor.
Their first three sessions passed without incident. She was both attentive and personable, if a bit scatterbrained. By the fourth session, he was actually beginning to relax and enjoy her company. Her
youthful laughter was infectious, and in a moment of weakness, he told her about his divorce and its effect on his life. Cynthia placed her hand on his arm, her touch courteously sympathetic.
A warning signal should have gone off in his head the moment she touched him, but it didn’t. So, when she asked him to give her a ride home after their session, he foolishly agreed. And in so doing, made the worst mistake of his life.
While reviewing the last homework problem with her, he eased his old battered Honda Civic into her driveway, only to discover much too late that her mind was not on algebra. The moment he stopped the car, Cynthia threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He broke off the kiss as gently as he could, but she simply sat there, crying, claiming that she loved him and wanted to marry him. Attempting to extricate himself from the situation, he tried to explain that there could be nothing between them, and when he finally walked her to her door, she was smiling. He drove home, thinking everything had been settled amicably.
Nothing was further from the truth. Less than an hour later, two police officers and a detective knocked on his door, and if ever he had known fear, that was the moment. Cynthia’s claim that he had sexually assaulted her in his car left him speechless and terrified.
It took several days to sift through the facts, during which time Walter Dodd never once wavered in his belief that Sam was innocent. With no physical evidence, either to her person or in his car, to corroborate her story, Cynthia was finally forced to confess the truth. She eventually agreed to psychiatric treatment once her parents admitted their daughter had a history of lying to get her way.
Sam immediately sold his car, bought the Harley, and swore off tutoring for life.
Now here he was, approaching room S3G and his first tutoring session in four years. Odd as it seemed, he was actually looking forward to it. The door was open, and while he waited in the doorway, he observed Lillian standing at the window gazing into the parking lot below. Lillian was not Cynthia. He felt no dread, no trickle of perspiration gathering at his temples or creeping down his spine. Only a deep sense of satisfaction that she had battled her own fear of failure and won.
He rapped on the doorjamb. “You’re early.”
She turned around and smiled at him. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
He smiled back. Lillian wasn’t Cynthia, but at that moment, had she said she loved him and asked him to marry her, he just might have said yes. “I like surprises. Good ones, that is.”
Lillian held up the test paper. “You gave me an A.”
He heard both relief and disbelief in her voice. “A minus.” Setting his book down on the table, he displayed thumb and forefinger of both hands in an arc. “You missed a couple parens.”
“But my grade is still an A.” She grinned, her eyes shining with triumph. “I never thought that would happen.”
“Well, you presented a very convincing resolution. That meal sounded delicious.” Sam thought about it, then reconsidered asking if she would like to make it for him. “A little pricey though.”
“The strawberries are out of season.” When he laughed, she joined him. “Thank you, Sam.”
“You earned it.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so special.”
To steady both his nerves and his carnal thoughts, Sam reached for his textbook. “Let’s see. I think I lost you somewhere around chapter four.”
“Chapter three, actually.”
Chapter Twelve
“Well, that’s just fine.” Amanda blew out an angry breath, then threw the telephone across the counter.
Gregg caught it neatly before it hit the floor. “Doesn’t look or sound fine.”
“She’s still not answering.”
“I assume you mean your mother,” Gregg said, slipping around her to return the telephone to its cradle.
“Of course, I mean my mother. Where on earth could she be?”
Gregg pulled her into his arms. “She has a life of her own. You aren’t her babysitter.” He tried for a kiss, but Amanda turned her face away and his lips skimmed her cheek instead. He backed away, then took an apple from the bowl and polished it on the sleeve of his jacket. “Why are you trying to get in touch with her? More birthday party nonsense?”
Amanda rounded on him. “It’s not nonsense. I suppose you think I can’t just be worried about her?”
He bit into the apple, wiped a dribble of juice from his chin, then set it on the counter. Once again he reached for her. “I know you worry about her.” When she stepped into the circle created by his arms, he settled her head against his shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I guess it’s why you worry that concerns me.”
She stiffened in his embrace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He released her, then picked up the apple. This conversation was going to end the way they all did. “It would be one thing if you cared about her safety. But that isn’t what annoys you. She’s doing something besides mourn your father, and you find that a sacrilege.”
“How dare you!”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.” The apple fell from his hand as tears welled in his eyes. “Tell me you love me more than you love a dead man.”
* * *
“Hello.”
“Mother, I’ve been trying to reach you for ages.”
Ordinarily, Lillian would have braced herself for a scolding, but there was too much sadness in her daughter’s tone, the words much too beseeching. Lillian silently reproached herself for avoiding Amanda over the last several days.
“Is something wrong? Has something happened to Jen?”
“No, she’s fine. It’s…”
Lillian’s heart caught in her throat, and though she softened her voice, her mind shuffled through several possibilities. Was it Gregg? A car accident? “Amanda, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“Gregg and I had a terrible fight last night.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
And she was. More than she could really put into words. Rusty’s death had put a strain on their daughter’s marriage. Though Gregg had tried hard to be understanding, four years was a long time to compete with a ghost.
“He wants to go away for the weekend. Just the two of us. Alone.”
Lillian wasn’t certain that would solve the problem, but it might move the resolution in the right direction. “I’m going to visit your grandparents this weekend, but I’d love to take Jen with me if that’s okay with you.”
“I’m sure she’d love it. She’s missed you.”
Ouch. Guilt weighed heavily on Lillian’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been neglecting her granddaughter lately. “It’s settled then. I’ll pick her up around 3:15 this Friday afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mother. I really appreciate it.”
“I hope you and Gregg can work things out. He loves you very much.”
“Yes, I know. He’s just jealous of Daddy, but I’ll make him understand.”
The quick breath Lillian inhaled was both silent and painful. “Do you love Gregg?”
“Of course I do.”
Interfering mothers were never appreciated, but… “Then please take my advice, Amanda. Don’t throw away the love of the living in order to forever glorify the dead.”
* * *
“I’m very proud of you, Lilly.”
Lillian finished writing the problem on the whiteboard before turning around. “Thank you, Sam. That means a lot to me. I’m trying very hard.”
“That’s pretty obvious. Here it is Friday, and we’re already through chapter six.” He inspected the equation she had just completed, then nodded his approval. “I really think you have a solid grasp of factoring, so we can move on to chapter seven next week.”
“Okay.”
Her glowing smile had him wanting to pull her into his arms and kiss that pale pink lip gloss off her mouth. Instead, he moved to the desk and flipped through several pages in his algebra book. “If you’re not too busy this weeken
d, you can go ahead and review chapter seven.” God, even from this distance, she smelled good. He needed some breathing room. The lavender scent of her hair was impeding his ability to think straight. “Graphs and… and linear equations.”
She peeked over his shoulder at the pages he indicated. “I’m flying up to Sacramento to visit my parents for the weekend, but I’ll take the book along and study the chapter.”
He turned his head, gazed into her eyes. Deep blue pools that had him fumbling for words. “Good. That would be good.” He closed the book to break the hold, then took a quick, silent breath he hoped she hadn’t noticed. “So, your parents live in the capitol?”
“Yes, my dad is a retired electrician. He used to work for Cal Edison. Now he dabbles in local politics.”
Sam offered her the page of homework answers they had reviewed. “That should keep him busy there.”
“Oh, it does.” Lillian laughed, taking the paper from his hand. “But he enjoys it.”
She folded the paper in half, then in half again, her fingers lingering nervously along each crease, and he wondered if she felt the pull between them the way he did. When she book-marked the wrong page with the folded paper, he was sure of it.
While she watched, he repositioned the marker at chapter seven. “What does your mother do?”
She smiled tentatively, her eyes lifting to meet his. “She, uh, owns a beauty parlor.”
“Is she as beautiful as you are?”
Though she turned her head away from him, he could see the glow the blush had left on her cheeks. He wanted desperately to touch her. Wanted her to want him to. Her fingers hovered above the locket, and he wondered if the picture in it was of her dead husband. The air between them fairly sizzled. He started toward her, stopped the instant music from his cell phone echoed through the empty room. Sam nearly swore before realizing that the call had just saved him from making a huge mistake. Though she was his greatest fantasy, Lillian was his student, and she should be able to trust him to maintain a professional distance.
An Equation For Murder Page 8