Where Dreams Begin

by Phoebe Conn

  “Perhaps rough is too strong a word.”

  “Pick another, then. You’ve taught English, so your vocabulary has to be extensive. How would you describe me?”

  Arrogant, opinionated and dictatorial swiftly came to mind, but Catherine had come to apologize rather than insult him anew. “I’m not sure where to begin,” she hedged.

  Luke left his chair and came around to lean against the front of his desk. “Look, I know I was less than cordial when you came in to interview, but I’ve spoken with too many other lovely, well‑educated women who hope to volunteer between tennis games and luncheon dates. They usually bail on us before the month is out. I was thinking of them, and that was totally unfair to you.”

  His obvious sincerity only served to increase Catherine’s discomfort, and unable to remain seated, she left her chair and circled it to create a safe barrier between them. “I’ll agree your tone was a bit sarcastic, but I misjudged you too. My only excuse is that I was unaware of your situation.”

  Luke’s dark brows dipped slightly. “And just what situation is that, Mrs. Brooks?”

  Now that Catherine had had the opportunity to see him with more than a thoughtful or threatening frown, she could appreciate how remarkably expressive his face truly was. At present, he looked puzzled, but she feared she was treading upon dangerous ground and licked her lips nervously.

  “I was referring to the loss of your daughter.”

  Luke crossed his arms over his chest and again allowed a caustic edge to sear his words. “You must have found Pam in a talkative mood this morning.”

  “Oh, please, you mustn’t be angry with her. Clearly she’s devoted to you, or she wouldn’t have followed you here from UCLA.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Luke jabbed his fingers through his hair and, for a moment, looked as though he might yank out a handful. “She gave you the whole pathetic story, didn’t she? I’ll bet she even threw in the bitter divorce.”

  Catherine hadn’t meant to upset him again, but she felt as though the floor had opened beneath her, and she scrambled to break her fall. “You’re a psychologist, so you must know it’s never wise to harbor such sad secrets.”

  Luke straightened up. “Don’t lecture me on the finer points of psychology, Mrs. Brooks. There’s a tremendous difference between a man willingly confiding the details of his private life and someone else blabbing them all over town without his consent.”

  “I can’t dispute that,” Catherine agreed calmly. After all, she’d had ample opportunity that morning to describe herself as a widow and not taken it. She wouldn’t have been pleased if Luke had waved her application and announced it to the group, either. In boots, she was his equal in height, but she still felt at a terrible disadvantage and inched toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, but I meant only to offer an apology and say that I know how lost and alone you must feel.”

  “The hell you do!” Luke followed her across the room, and as she reached for the doorknob, he slammed his palm against the door to keep her trapped in his office until he was good and ready to let her go.

  “You will never understand how wretched I feel, Mrs. Brooks, so drop the pretty pretense that you do. I want my private life kept private, and I expect you to respect that wish even if Pam Strobble doesn’t. Is that understood?”

  What Catherine understood was that he had no intention of opening his door until she agreed and being trapped there frightened her as badly as his fiery temper. He was standing so close she could see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes burn with a dangerous gleam, and it was all she could do to nod.

  “Good.” Luke swung open the door and stepped out of the way. “Now go on home, and if you pass Pam on the way out, tell her she’s fired.”

  Chapter Three

  Luke slammed the door in Catherine’s face and then threw the bolt, or she would have marched right back into his office and argued that when he was furious with her, he had absolutely no right to take it out on Pam Strobble. She raised her fist to pound out her disapproval; then, refusing to sink to his level, she let her hand fall. She couldn’t leave and allow Pam to face his wrath alone, but she was far too upset to continue opening the mail and simply paced the office until the personable secretary returned.

  Pam came breezing in carrying a McDonald’s bag and milkshake, but Catherine’s anxious frown erased her smile. “What’s happened?”

  Catherine gestured toward Luke’s door as she rushed through a highly censored version of what had actually transpired. “You needn’t worry, though, because I won’t allow him to vent his foul temper on you.”

  Pam raised a hand in a gentle, soothing gesture. “Thanks, but I’ve lost track of how many times Luke’s fired me, and I’ve yet to clean out my desk. Trust me, he’ll calm down once he’s had lunch. Left on his own, he often forgets to eat, and then he’s as cranky as a toddler without a nap.”

  Catherine winced at Pam’s lack of understanding. “Believe me, his temper soared far above the cranky range. In fact, I’d say he was close to a murderous rage.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I bought him a strawberry shake, because he’ll agree to anything for one of these. In fact, I always wave a strawberry shake in front of him whenever I ask for a raise.”

  Pam appeared more amused that disturbed, but Catherine remained frantic. “Just remember that this is all my fault, and don’t let him bully you.”

  “Girl, my husband stands six feet six inches tall and weighs 240 pounds, but he can’t bully me. Luke Starns doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Catherine braced herself, but as Pam approached Luke’s door, Nick entered the office from the courtyard. He gripped his skateboard with one hand and with the other held the door open for two fair-haired girls.

  They were an appealing pair with slender figures and creamy complexions, but there were dark circles beneath their wide, blue eyes. Their jeans had once been tight, but now bagged at the knees, and their cropped sweaters drooped off their sagging shoulders. One was dragging a backpack which had become too heavy to carry.

  “Come on in,” Nick coaxed. “Luke’s a cool dude, and he’ll see you’re treated right. Is Luke here? I want him to hear what these girls have to say about Felix Mendoza.”

  Pam sent Catherine a startled glance, then shrugged and left the McDonald’s bag and shake atop the file cabinet near Luke’s door. “Let me tell him what’s up,” she said, but she took the precaution of using the telephone intercom on her desk to summon him. She mentioned Felix Mendoza the instant he answered.

  “They look scared to death,” Pam turned away to whisper. “You better get out here real quick.”

  Luke appeared mere seconds after Pam had hung up. He sent Catherine an incredulous glance but quickly swung his attention toward the girls. Then, with no trace of his earlier irascible mood, he introduced himself as the center’s director.

  “Would you care to come into my office, or would you be more comfortable talking out here?” he asked.

  The pair had barely inched their way inside the office and quickly scanned the room with darting glances. “Out here,” they responded in unison. There were comfortable chairs for visitors, but they chose to stand.

  “We heard you served lunch,” the taller of the two said. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, while her companion’s fell past her shoulders in loose waves.

  Pam sat at her desk, and Catherine moved around beside her while Nick took one of the visitor chairs. Appearing completely relaxed, Luke leaned back against the second desk and braced himself with his arms. “We’ll be happy to give you something to eat, but first, why don’t you tell me what you know about Felix?”

  The girls exchanged a fearful glance, then again spoke at once. “He was just a friend.”

  “I’ll just bet he was,” Luke replied smoothly. “Tell me something more about him.”

  Catherine glanced down at Pam, who was taking notes in a steno pad rather than handling the center’s other business as it had first appea
red. The disheveled girls looked to be fifteen or sixteen, and that they might have awakened in a pimp’s filthy bed turned Catherine’s stomach. It was difficult to believe their lives could have been so awful at home that they would have willingly taken such a revolting risk.

  “They barely knew him,” Nick interjected. “But they were there when he died. Go on. If you can tell me, you can tell Luke.”

  When the huddled pair remained reticent, Luke prompted softly, “How long have you been in LA?”

  “We got here last week,” the ponytailed girl replied. “We thought Hollywood would be, well, more sparkly.”

  Luke nodded. “Everyone does, but the only sparkle Hollywood has comes from pretty girls like you.”

  Catherine marveled at how easily Luke’s compliment penetrated the girls’ defenses. They blushed, then interrupted each other in a rush to describe what they had seen. As Pam struggled to keep up, her once-neat writing blurred into a hurried scrawl.

  “We weren’t really sure what had happened that night,” the girl with the flowing hair explained. “The next morning, we went back to where Felix had parked his car. We were kind of mixed-up about where it was, and by the time we found it, the police were about to tow it away. We just hung with the neighbors, who had come out to watch, until we overheard someone say Felix had been stabbed. Then we just walked away, real cool, like.”

  “You had a good reason to be frightened,” Luke said. “But didn’t it occur to you that you might be able to help the police catch the killer?”

  “We didn’t see much,” the shorter girl insisted. “We’d just gotten into Felix’s car when this woman came up to him, and we didn’t hear what she said.”

  “Not a word,” swore the girl with the ponytail.

  Luke accepted that with a slight shrug. “All right. Did you see the knife?”

  The girls shook their heads vigorously. “We just saw Felix double over, and we didn’t stick around after that.”

  “Can you describe the woman?” Luke asked. “Did you notice if she were tall or short, heavy or thin?”

  The girls shuffled their feet and moved even closer together. “It was dark,” one complained. “I couldn’t tell if she were a Latina or Chinese.”

  “She had white hair,” the other said.

  “No, it was just bleached blonde. I saw a streak of red. I guess it was her dress.”

  “Maybe you noticed more than you realized,” Luke coached. “Could you pick her out of a line-up?”

  “No way. We were just thinking about how great it was to have a place to spend the night,” the pony-tailed girl blurted out. “Then wham, things got weird. Now what about lunch?”

  Apparently satisfied with what they’d told him, Luke straightened up. “Sure. Let’s go over to the dining hall.” He nodded toward the door to the courtyard, and the girls scooted right out. Smiling wide, Nick jumped out of his chair to exchange a high five with Luke.

  Before Luke followed him out the door, he turned back to offer Catherine a word of advice. “Those girls were smart enough to know when to run, Mrs. Brooks. You’d be wise to follow their example.”

  His voice was honey-smooth rather than threatening, but Catherine caught his meaning. She was too shaken to leave immediately, however, and instead sank into the chair Nick had used.

  “Those girls witnessed a stabbing and all they can think about is having lunch? Just listening to them made me sick. If I’d witnessed a killing, I’d still be screaming.”

  “So would I,” Pam agreed, “but most of the kids we see here have become inured to violence. It’s a defense mechanism they’ve adopted to protect themselves from the frequent horror of their reality.”

  Catherine understood the concept, but it still took a large gulp to swallow her disgust. “That’s such a sad way to live, especially for kids. I was hoping to straighten things out for you before I left, but now I doubt there’s any point in my staying. I just don’t feel up to going another couple of rounds with Luke.”

  Pam had been reviewing her notes but looked up to offer an encouraging smile. “Luke and I will be fine, but maybe you ought to drink his strawberry shake.”

  It was plain Pam was no more upset by Felix’s murder than the pretty pair of witnesses, and Catherine wondered if the secretary’s senses were not equally numb. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

  “No, thanks. Just give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Pam gave her thirty seconds. “You know why Ms. Snodgrass wants to come back on Friday afternoon, don’t you?”

  Catherine hated to think how long she would need to find the courage, or perhaps the stupidity, to return. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly. “I’ve no idea. Why?”

  “You must have noticed the way she was eyeing Luke. If she’s here at closing time on Friday, I’ll bet you anything you name that she’ll invite him out for a drink.”

  “Would he go?” Catherine asked, then, astonished by that spontaneous burst of curiosity, she pretended a rapt interest in her nails.

  “Why don’t you make it a point to be here Friday afternoon so you can see for yourself?” Pam offered coyly.

  Catherine responded with a rueful laugh. “I doubt I’ll have recovered sufficiently from today by then.”

  Pam giggled at what she mistook for a joke, but when Dave Curtis and Ron Flanders entered the office, she quickly abandoned her teasing tone. “It looks as though a couple of witnesses to Felix Mendoza’s murder have stopped by for lunch.”

  “Anyone we know?” Dave inquired.

  “No. The girls haven’t been here before,” Pam replied. “Luke is careful not to spook kids by asking for their names too soon, but I’ll probably be able to tell you who they are later this afternoon.”

  “I was referring to the murderer,” Dave stressed. He caught Catherine’s eye and winked. “Hi, there.”

  Catherine could barely manage a smile for the maintenance man, but she was enormously appreciative. Everyone at Lost Angel was friendly except Luke, and she was desperately sorry not to have left well enough alone where he was concerned.

  Pamela introduced Dave to Catherine, then reached out to give his arm a playful shove. “No, silly, it was just some blonde in a red dress.”

  Ron Flanders took a quick step toward Pam’s desk. “A woman killed the guy?”

  “He was a pimp,” Pam enunciated clearly. “One of his girls must have been dissatisfied with his service.”

  “Whoever she is, the city ought to award her a plaque for sending that slimy rat to the eternal sewer,” Dave proposed.

  Catherine directed her question to Pam. “Even if Felix wouldn’t have been nominated for Hollywood’s man of the year, aren’t you going to contact the police so they can question the girls?”

  “Once they’ve eaten, Luke will convince them it’s their civic duty and then let them use our telephone,” Pam assured her. “He encourages all the kids to be responsible citizens. When they fail, usually with disastrous results, he helps them analyze what happened so they can show better judgment in the future. Didn’t he explain that this morning?”

  “He sure did,” Ron Flanders replied.

  Catherine feared Luke must have covered that point while she was wondering about the man himself and was embarrassed by that lapse a second time. “Yes, of course, he did.” She pushed herself to her feet. “You have my home telephone number, Pam. If Luke gives you so much as a sneer later, please call me.”

  “You and Luke mixing it up again?” Dave asked the secretary.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Pam assured him. “Now, when would you like to come back and see us again, Mr. Flanders?”

  Catherine went right on out the door rather than set up a schedule for herself, and she was surprised when Dave Curtis came along with her to the parking lot. “How did you and Ron do with the sprinklers?” she asked.

  “Pretty good, actually, but I’ve got a manual with cle
ar diagrams on how to repair damn near everything, and sprinklers aren’t all that complicated.” He walked her to her Volvo and then leaned back against the fender.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what a nice guy like me is doing in a place like this,” he began with an easy grin. “I once had a beautiful wife, two cute little kids and a big house in Orange County. Then the bottom fell out of the economy, and the interior design company I worked for went bankrupt. When we had to sell our home, my wife divorced me and took the kids back to Iowa.

  “I’d met Luke at a fund-raiser, when I had plenty of funds to donate. He heard about my troubles and offered me a job with living quarters. The apartment is downright cozy, even if it is in the church basement, and I jumped at the chance to work here,” he concluded. “Life has a way of throwing us some pretty nasty curves, but I’m surviving.”

  Despite the offhand way he’d recounted his recent history, Catherine knew having suffered such wrenching losses must still hurt. She’d been burned once today while trying to offer sympathy, but the optimistic glint in Dave’s eyes showed he had no need of it.

  “We all expect the good times to last forever, don’t we?” she asked.

  Dave nodded, straightened up and took a step away from her car. “I sure as hell did, but we could talk for hours on that subject, and all I’d meant to say was that even if Luke is having an off day, I sure hope you’ll keep coming back.”

  His smile was very charming, and it suddenly struck Catherine that rather than merely being friendly, he was actually flirting with her. Plenty of men had flirted with her over the years, but they’d all known how devoted she was to Sam, and it had always been playful rather than a sincere effort to touch her heart. She was no longer happily married, however, and didn’t know quite what to make of Dave Curtis.

  She unlocked her car, then leaned against the door. “Are you coming on to me?”