by Brenda Novak
The inside of Maggie’s house was cozy, a nice blend of old and new. She’d softened the high ceilings and hardwood floors with drapes at the windows, plenty of throw rugs and brown wicker furniture tossed in among some mission-style antiques. Lap blankets and pillows added to the warm homey effect, along with a big plastic tub full of toys.
“This is nice,” he said. “How long have you lived here?”
“Nearly two years now.”
A woman who seemed to be about ninety sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking coffee. She wore a scarf wrapped around a head of rollers, a dated terry cloth robe and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers.
Nick thought she looked as though she’d just stepped off the cover of a Shoebox greeting card.
“Well, this is a good sign,” she exclaimed, eyeing him through a pair of bifocals. “After that cyber thing, I was beginning to worry about Maggie.”
Nick glanced at Maggie. Maggie shook her head. “Never mind. Nick, this is Mrs. Gruber, my neighbor. Mrs. Gruber watches Zach while I work and sleep.”
“But I’m going home now,” Mrs. Gruber piped up. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know three’s a crowd.” The old lady rocked twice before gaining enough impetus to stand. Then she headed toward the hallway leading to what Nick supposed were the bedrooms.
“You don’t have to go,” Maggie called after her. “This isn’t what you think. Nick’s a co-worker at the paper.”
When Mrs. Gruber didn’t change course, Maggie sighed and opened the refrigerator. “What did you have in mind for breakfast?”
Nick flipped through the paper, even though he’d read it hot off the press, at work. “What do you have?”
“Spaghetti.”
For breakfast? She really didn’t like to cook. “Sounds good,” he said, sauntering around while he assessed the security of Maggie’s house. Two routes of entry, front door and back. Keyed dead bolts on each. Did Maggie use them? Nick hoped so. No sense making things easy if Dr. Dan decided to take an interest.
The family room, dining area, kitchen and living room were on the main floor. A half bath and laundry area were situated in an enclosed porch at the back. There were quite a few windows, but they were higher off the ground than most, had sturdy frames and some were covered with metal bars. If the doors and windows were locked, an intruder would have to break the glass to get in. Unless there was an easier point of entry Nick didn’t know about—possibly in the bedrooms.
He stopped on the porch and gazed out over the backyard. Low fences, plenty of foliage, not much light. If a man were to stalk Maggie, he could easily hide out in the shrubbery at night and watch her movements inside the house. Or he could follow Maggie home from work and attack her on her way in.
“Where do you park your car?” he asked, returning to the kitchen.
“What?” She’d put a frying pan on the stove and was busy cracking eggs into it. Bacon was sizzling on another burner. Lucky for him she’d been joking about the spaghetti.
“Do you park in the garage?”
“No, I park at the side of the house. Darla’s using the garage to store some of her things right now.”
“Like what?”
“A bedroom set. A couch and chair. She inherited a bunch of furniture when her mother passed away, but she lives in a studio apartment and it’s already furnished. Problem is, the stuff’s got too much sentimental value to sell.”
“And what’s in the shed? More of Darla’s inheritance?”
“No. A lawn mower. Rake. A few tools. The usual.”
Great. If Dr. Dan left his crowbar at home, he could always borrow Maggie’s.
She was watching him, frowning. “Why?”
“Just curious.” It was general information, the kind of details he should know about her habits, her situation. But he was starting to wonder if he’d ever need it. As far as he knew, Maggie hadn’t received any letters. Dr. Dan had been quiet lately. A little too quiet. Even the bureau hadn’t heard anything since the announcement of his move from Washington.
The big question was why? Was Dr. Dan changing his M.O.? Serial killers rarely did. They tended to stick with whatever was working. But anything was possible. Maybe Nick was wasting his time with Maggie. Maybe he should be helping Mendez and Hurley question Sarah Ritter’s friends, neighbors and family. An investigation like this could take an infinite number of hours, and he had only a finite number to give it.
Except now that he’d gotten inside Maggie’s house, he didn’t find himself particularly eager to leave.
“Who’re you?” a child’s voice demanded.
Nick turned to see a sleep-tousled, towheaded boy standing at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing superhero pajamas. “I’m Nick. You must be Zach.”
“Hi, baby,” Maggie said from the stove. “Come give Mommy a hug.”
Zach kept his eyes trained on Nick as he crossed the floor. “Who’s-s-s that?” he whispered loudly as she lifted him into her arms and kissed his cheek.
“Nick’s a friend of mine. Can you tell him hello?”
“Hello,” he repeated.
Nick smiled. Zach was a handsome boy, even more than his pictures suggested. Round head, blue eyes, cherub mouth. He was big, too. Other than the traces of baby in his face, he looked a good year older than his age. “Those are pretty cool pajamas, Zach. Where’d you get ’em?” he asked.
Zach fingered his cape. “Mrs-s-s. Goober gave ’em to me. I have a cape s-s-so I can fly.”
“I see that.”
The boy started squirming to escape his mother’s embrace, and Maggie put him down to flip the eggs. “Where’s-s-s Mrs-s-s. Goober?” he asked.
“Right here, dear.” Now clad in a muumuu-style dress with a button-up sweater, knee-high nylons and white orthopedic shoes, Mrs. Gruber went to the dishwasher to retrieve an icebox container, which she thrust into one of the bags on her arm. “I’m going home now. Why don’t you come with me, Zach? We can read some books while your mother and her new friend get to know each other.”
“No, I want to stay with Mommy.” Zach threw his arms around his mother’s legs as though he feared he’d be carted off against his will.
“I’ll walk him over after breakfast. He’s too taken with the appearance of a strange man in the house to abandon me now,” Maggie explained.
Mrs. Gruber adjusted her bags. “I don’t blame him. It certainly isn’t something that happens every day.”
Maggie cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for breakfast? You won’t be intruding.”
“Yeah, don’t worry,” Nick volunteered. “I’m not her type.”
Maggie shot him a glance that said she didn’t appreciate his interjection.
“Maybe she needs glasses,” Mrs. Gruber muttered. She turned to face Maggie. “If I were thirty years younger, I wouldn’t mind letting a man like him park his boots under my bed.”
Nick laughed and Maggie blushed. “Then stay for breakfast,” she told her neighbor.
Mrs. Gruber shook her head. “No, I have oatmeal and prunes every morning. Keeps me regular.”
While Maggie walked Mrs. Gruber to the front door, Zach sidled closer to Nick. “Do you play bas-s-sketball?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
“I have a hoop. Want to s-s-see it?”
“Sure,” he said, letting Zach lead him outside. Even though it was only six-thirty, he could tell the day was going to be another scorcher.
He played basketball with Zach for a few minutes, tried to help the boy improve his dribble, then went to his truck for his camera. He couldn’t miss the opportunity to catch the frowns of concentration and the smiles of delight on Zach’s face.
He was taking some shots when Maggie came out to tell him breakfast was ready. Her brows went up as she noticed his camera, but she didn’t say anything about the pictures.
“You keep those scanners on all the time?” Nick asked, hearing the cop band as soon as
he entered the house.
“When Mrs. Gruber’s not here,” Maggie answered. “The noise makes her nervous.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
She shrugged. “Not yet. I’m still pretty new at my job, and I realized before I ever got into this business that following the cop beat wasn’t going to be a nine-to-five proposition.”
No kidding, Nick thought. Try being a cop. He’d given the bureau twenty hours a day for ten years already. But he loved his job. Loved the thrill of the hunt, the sense of accomplishment that came with closing a case and putting another menace to society behind bars. Police work was in his blood. He didn’t get discouraged by the amount of crime out there. He took it as a personal challenge, a chance to make a difference.
He studied the living room as he ate. The coloring books on the coffee table, picture books on the counter, the baby blanket on the couch. The domesticity of it all reminded him of Irene and the lifestyle she’d wanted—the lifestyle he couldn’t give her.
“You’re tired,” he said, finishing his eggs and standing to rinse off his plate. “Why don’t you get some sleep while I go back and fix your tire? I’ll bring your car over here later.”
“Aren’t you tired? You were up all night, too.”
“I caught a few winks yesterday afternoon. I’ll be okay.” He put his plate in the dishwasher.
“Well…” Maggie looked at her son, who smiled at her with his cheeks full of food. “I am pretty tired,” she admitted. “Are you sure you don’t mind going back alone?”
“Not at all.” It was the least he could do after sabotaging her ride home in the first place.
“Thanks. I’ll get Zach dressed while you finish your coffee, so he’s ready to go to Mrs. Gruber’s.”
As Maggie disappeared down the hall with her son, Nick took the opportunity to look through a stack of mail on top of her refrigerator. He found a notice from the DMV—her registration was due. A utility bill. A statement from Dugan, Lawrence and Tate, attorneys, showing final payment on what was probably her divorce. Nothing exciting. Nothing from Dr. Dan. Nick had already checked her desk at work and would have a similar chance to look through her car, a chance he knew he’d take. But he was beginning to worry his hunch had been wrong. And much as he wanted to keep Maggie safe, the thought didn’t please him. It meant Dr. Dan was probably busy with someone else, an unknown woman Nick had no way to protect.
It meant another murder.
“MAGGIE, WHAT’S GOING ON? I just went out for a bagel and saw Nick Sorenson in the parking lot with your car!”
Maggie rubbed her face, trying to come out of the fog that encompassed her brain. She squinted at the digital alarm on her nightstand. Ten o’clock in the morning. She’d only been asleep an hour. No wonder she was having a hard time waking up. Zach was with Mrs. G. and would be for several more hours. Why in the world had she answered the phone?
“Darla? That you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Did you hear what I said?”
Maggie stifled a groan and covered her head with her pillow. “I think so,” she muttered. “It was about Nick, right?”
“Right. Only not just any Nick. I’m talking about the same Nick you said you didn’t want to date. The same Nick you didn’t like staring at you.”
The same Nick she’d danced with last night. The same Nick she’d wanted to kiss…Not that she was going to volunteer that information to Darla.
“It’s not what you think. How’s my car, by the way? Is the tire fixed?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to ask. I raced up here to call and tell you how full of you-know-what you are.”
Maggie rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. “I wasn’t blowing smoke when I said I wasn’t interested in Nick. We went on a call together last night. That’s all. Then someone vandalized my car, and he drove me home. End of story.”
“The man is in the parking lot, taking care of your flat while you’re home sleeping. That’s hardly the end of the story.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t quite that simple. I fed him breakfast, then he offered to fix my car so I could sleep. What’s the big deal?”
A pause, pregnant with skepticism. “What are you giving him for helping you out?” Darla asked, changing tactics.
“Nothing.”
“And you’re still trying to convince yourself this guy isn’t nice?”
“I never said he wasn’t nice. I’m sure he can be very nice when he wants to be.” So could a lot of men who wouldn’t necessarily make good husbands.
“Jeez, you’re a cynic.”
“Not really. But I’m trying.” Maggie hugged a pillow to her chest and kicked off the heavier blankets, keeping only the sheet. “Is Ben around?”
“Yeah, but I just heard him screaming at someone on the phone. You sure you want to talk to him now?”
Maggie considered her options. She wanted to know if her editor had been pleased with her follow-up story on the Sarah Ritter murder. She wanted to know if it was going in tomorrow’s paper. But she didn’t want to step into the line of fire if Ben was having a bad day. “Just give him a message to call me.”
Hanging up, Maggie climbed out of bed to get a drink of water. She was still craving sleep but, thanks to Darla, the memories of last night with Nick Sorenson were coming between her and oblivion. She needed to get him out of her mind, so she stopped at her computer to check her e-mail for a message from John.
Nothing. Nada. Just more spam and another chain letter from Aunt Rita, threatening her with horrendous luck if she didn’t burden fifteen other people with the same message. No distraction there. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t write John first.
She put her cursor on the pencil icon, clicked and tried to remember back, before last night, before Nick.
But it wasn’t easy.
Hi, John—
Just wanted to thank you for an incredible date last night. You really know how to show a girl a good time.
The cursor blinked, waiting for Maggie to continue, but she didn’t know what else to say.
I spent last night playing Truth or Dare with the sexiest man alive?
No.
He’s coming back here today and it’s all I can do not to rush into the bathroom and shave my legs?
Absolutely not!
Maggie sighed. What good was pursuing a cyber-relationship with John if it wasn’t going to save her from falling for the wrong guy? Words on a screen just couldn’t compare with the physical reality of Nick Sorenson.
Unless she could get John to relent and send her a photo. That would make him more real, give her something to hang on to until they decided whether or not they wanted to meet.
I’m attaching some .jpg files with this message. I know looks don’t matter, but I think a visual will help us get to know each other. So ready or not, here are some pictures of Zach and me.
She wondered if her hint that he should return the favor was broad enough. Considering she’d already asked him for a photo once, she thought it was.
I’d better get some sleep now. I had quite a time at work last night.
She didn’t need to add that it wasn’t entirely bad.
Write when you can.
Maggie
CHAPTER SEVEN
NICK GAZED DOWN at the photographs Maggie had sent John as they came rolling out of his color printer. She was as photogenic as he’d expected. Thick auburn hair up, her smile wide and warm, she was holding Zach cheek to cheek—and looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to. He could see a birthday cake with three candles in the background. Obviously these pictures were taken at Zach’s last birthday party.
Damn. He was going to have a tough time with this assignment. He could tell already.
Taping the pictures on the wall above his desk, he slouched back in his chair. Seeing him finally settled, his dog crossed the room to nudge his hand with a wet nose.
“What do you think, Rambo?” he asked
, stroking the Rottweiler’s head. “She’s pretty, huh?”
Rambo yawned, then sat on the floor and scratched his side.
“Evidently you’re not as impressed as I am.” He sighed dramatically. “But I can’t let things get out of hand.”
Rambo raised his doggy brows as if to question that statement—or maybe Nick’s interpretation of Rambo’s response was influenced by self-doubt. In either case, when Nick spoke again, he injected a measure of conviction into his voice, hoping to convince himself, if no one else. “I’ve never had trouble resisting a woman before. I’m certainly not going to start now.”
Giving his dog a final pat, Nick told himself to focus on the case and forget about Maggie.
The first thing he did was check his voice mail messages. The lab had called. As expected, the dirt under Sarah Ritter’s nails had most closely matched the sample he’d sent from the American River.
He decided to rent a bike and take the bike path this afternoon, just to get a better feel for the lay of the land and to check ingress and egress at various points along the river. He’d been to the Nimbus Fish Hatchery off Hazel, and Bannister Park off Fair Oaks Boulevard, but he knew there were other parks, horse trails and more remote sites along the thirty-some miles of trail.
His second voice mail was from Detective Mendez.
“Yo, Sorenson. Thought you should know someone phoned in a lead early this morning. Hurley and I are checkin’ it out. We’ll be back in touch if it amounts to anything.”
Nick noticed that Mendez didn’t volunteer any specific information about the lead. The cocky young detective was too busy resenting the FBI’s interference in a case he thought he and the local boys could handle themselves.
Using his cordless phone, Nick dialed Mendez’s cell. “I got your message. What’s up? Why didn’t you page me?”
“I was just about to. I think we might have a possible crime scene for the Ritter murder.”
That took him aback. “Where?”
“A cozy little spot on the American River just east of the old Fair Oaks Bridge. Seein’ as how you’re not from around here, you might not know that area….”