Where Dreams Begin

by Phoebe Conn

  “No,” Toby admitted, “but it’s difficult to believe no one saw anything that night.”

  “It had just gotten dark,” Garcia reminded him. “People were turning on their headlights and hurrying home. The patrons heading into the bar were already tasting their first drink. No one was on the lookout for a shooting.”

  “I am now,” Toby responded. “I make sure all the kids leave at four, and after dark, I don’t come back out here in front myself. I’d like to rig lighting for the mural, but not until you catch the guys who shot it up.”

  “That may be a long wait,” Catherine murmured under her breath.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks, we’re well aware of our conviction rate.” Garcia took several steps away to study the mural up close. “You’ve got a masterpiece here. I hope you know it.”

  “It’s a masterpiece, all right,” Rafael complained bitterly, “but look what it got us.”

  “You ought to have a big jug out here for donations,” Salzman suggested. “At least earn enough to buy yourselves hamburgers for lunch.”

  “Starving artists don’t win much sympathy,” Toby countered, “but thanks anyway.”

  “We strive to serve the community,” Salzman replied, and she and Garcia walked back across the street where they’d left their car.

  “Where’s Luke this morning?” Toby asked. “Isn’t he coming in again to help us?”

  Catherine shrugged off his question. “I have no idea what his plans are, but we need to keep working.”

  Rafael headed for the porch to pick up paint. “I’m on it, Mrs. Brooks. Let’s wrap this damn thing.”

  Toby swept Catherine with a perceptive glance and lowered his voice. “Something’s wrong here. You and Luke have a lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Give it up, Toby, you’re the very last person I’d confide in.”

  “Well, that’s flattering.” The artist laughed.

  “I’m sorry, but I just don’t need your prying today.” Nor any other day, Catherine thoughtfully didn’t add.

  “There’s no need to pry when I see from your expression that something’s catastrophically wrong. Dave will be thrilled. He’s madly in love with you, you know.”

  “Could we just paint the mural,” she exclaimed. Since the shooting, she’d been unable to sit with her back to the street and now began pacing the yard. She was relieved when Toby went to his studio, but when they began to clean up for the day, he reappeared carrying a package.

  “I made something for you. Go on, open it now so I can see how you like it.”

  Catherine tried to back away but bumped into a wall of kids eager to see what Toby held. “I can’t accept presents from you,” she insisted.

  “Don’t think of it as a present. It’s just something to set out in your yard, and if your neighbors ask where you got it, you can send them to me.”

  “You expect me to display your work in my yard?” Catherine asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, go on, open it up.” Toby set it down on the ground and gestured invitingly.

  Polly stood at her elbow. “Open it, Mrs. Brooks, we all want to see what it is.”

  Catherine hated to give in, but with a chorus of kids chanting to encourage her, she had no choice. She knelt to untie the twine and then peeled away the brown wrapping paper. To her immense delight, what she found was one of Toby’s wonderful metal cats, but at only two feet in height, with three-inch nails for whiskers, it was just the right size for her yard.

  She looked up at Toby and shook her head. “I love it, but this is much too valuable for you to give away.”

  “Hell, no. It’s just leftover bits of wrought-iron, scrap metal and springs. Go on, take it, and you’ll help me clean out my studio.”

  “Aren’t you going to kiss him?” Tina yelled.

  Toby’s smile widened, but while Catherine rose to her feet, this time she refused to oblige. “I’ll take it, but only to showcase your work.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll carry it to your car. Come on kids, it’s time to go.”

  Catherine and Toby waited until the last teenager had straggled across the street before they walked around the house to where she’d begun parking her Volvo. “Thank you, I really do love cats, and this one has such a charming personality.”

  Toby slid it into the back of her car, used the wrapping paper as a cushion, then straightened up. “I wish you thought that highly of me.”

  “You’d be surprised,” she remarked wistfully. “But now that we have a minute, tell me something. Is there really a chance Art Center will offer Rafael a scholarship?”

  Toby slammed the Volvo’s rear door shut and stepped back up on the curb. “I think so. Nowadays, lots of kids are into computer animation and dreaming up wild, interactive games. To have Rafael walk in with such exquisite drawings just blew them away.”

  “Good. I’d like for him to have that opportunity. Could you check with Art Center? If for some reason they can’t swing a scholarship for him, then one can be arranged through a private donor.”

  Toby stared at her as though she’d just sprouted a second head. “Are you talking about yourself? Have you really got that kind of money?”

  “Let’s just say I enjoy donating to a good cause. Thank you again for the cat. Now, it’s been a rough week, and I need to get home.”

  Toby closed the slight distance between them. “Why not stay here with me? I can promise you a memorable night.”

  He was a damnably attractive man, but his seductive invitation didn’t even tempt her. “Don’t you ever give up?”

  “Not when I see something I want, and I’ve wanted you from the day you and Luke wandered up on my porch. Why do you think I was so eager to have you paint the mural here?”

  In Catherine’s mind, it was a short leap from choosing his house for the mural and needlessly putting kids at risk for a drive-by shooting. Unwilling to go there, she just shook her head.

  “I’m going home before I say something I’ll regret.” She already had her keys in her hand and hurriedly walked around to the driver’s side of her car.

  Toby remained on the curb and watched her drive away.

  Without the sweet memories of Saturday night with Luke to soothe her longing, Sunday was impossibly lonely for Catherine. Too anxious to read or even iron in front of the television, she put her new metal cat out by her front porch and then worked in her yard until the flower beds were completely free of weeds.

  Forced inside at sunset, she studied the duplicate sets of photographs she’d taken at Lost Angel and laid those of Luke aside. While there were a couple she planned to enlarge, she was in no danger of forgetting the man she adored. She’d never told him she loved him, but she wouldn’t give up hope that one day soon, those would be the exact words he longed to hear.

  She recalled seeing only one framed portrait at Luke’s place, and rather than his beloved daughter, it had been the drawing Rafael had done of her. She hoped it still sat on his dresser as a constant reminder she hadn’t been the one to walk away.

  With Dave and Pam handling the holiday cards from the contest artwork, once the mural was finished, she would have no excuse to return to Lost Angel. It pained her to think after that day, her path would never cross with Luke’s.

  Next Saturday she would take the CBEST test and with any luck, she would pass and be able to teach, but now she was no longer eager for a job. Instead, she wanted to stay at home and concentrate on being a mother for a year or two. She couldn’t plan any further, but knowing every child deserved a happy life, she hoped the future would bring her and her baby something good.

  Luke had stayed home on Saturday night and gotten drunk. When he awoke Sunday morning with a wicked hangover, he poured himself another stiff drink to ease himself into the day. He was too smart not to recognize his behavior as self-destructive, but he simply didn’t care.

  Life had become so bleak that he no longer wished to live it. Then he would think of Catherine, as he did every few seconds, and
he refused to torture her with the death of another lover. He’d been cold to the point of cruelty to break up with her, and yet she’d responded with a promise never to turn him away. The generosity of her undeserved offer haunted him.

  He would have welcomed fierce anger, but that she still wanted him gouged a deep furrow in his soul. Awash in self-loathing, he poured out every bottle of liquor he had in his condo and forced himself to go out and run.

  He felt sick clear through by the time he returned home and slept without waking until Monday morning. Then he had the challenge of cleaning himself up so he didn’t resemble death warmed over, but he left home afraid he’d failed. He would push himself through the day, and the next, but he knew he’d lost the ability to lead and would soon have to resign from Lost Angel.

  That same morning, Detective Salzman crossed the street to summon Catherine to the Lost Angel office. “We have some news you ought to hear. I’d like you to come with me.”

  Her authoritative tone convinced Catherine she had no choice, but she waved to Toby to let him know she was leaving, and that he’d be in charge. “Have you found out who killed Nick?” she asked.

  “We’re working on it,” the taciturn detective replied.

  Catherine was more eager to see Luke than hear about their investigation if they were no closer to arresting the killer than they had been on Saturday. She followed Salzman into the office where Pam, Luke, Dave and Detective Garcia were already gathered.

  Catherine exchanged hellos with Pam and Dave, but she could only stare at Luke. He was noticeably thinner, which sharpened his handsome features, but it worried her to think he wasn’t well. When he refused to glance her way, she smiled at Garcia.

  “Now that you’ve joined us, Mrs. Brooks, I hope we’ll have greater success at reaching the truth. A man named Ford Dolan was murdered near here Friday night.”

  “Murdered?” Catherine gasped.

  “Good, I see you knew him too. It looks like the work of the Lady in Red, but this time no one saw her. She kicked Ford’s body back into his apartment, so it wasn’t discovered until Sunday afternoon when a neighbor reported a peculiar odor coming from the apartment.”

  Catherine shuddered. “How awful.”

  “Apparently Ford had just arrived home carrying what was left of a six-pack of beer and some fried chicken,” Salzman added. “The receipt showed he’d paid for three pieces, but there were only two in the box. We think the Lady in Red had dinner on him.”

  Pam nearly shrieked. “Are you saying she sliced up Ford and then walked off chewing his chicken?”

  Garcia nodded. “Real cold bitch, isn’t she? But Ford’s girlfriend, Violet Simms, hasn’t been seen for several days, and we’ve learned she often came here. By some extraordinary coincidence, she fits the description of the Lady in Red.”

  Luke’s response was a particularly inventive curse, but he quickly apologized. “Look, I took Violet to a battered women’s shelter last Monday morning. I’ve called to check on her every day, and she’s still there. She’s not your killer.”

  “We’d still like to speak with her,” Salzman insisted.

  Luke shook his head. “Shelters don’t advertise their location to protect their residents, and I’m not telling you where she is.”

  Garcia did a quick survey of the room. “We know where the shelters are, and we’ll track Violet down eventually. Anyone care to point us in the right direction?”

  Catherine shrugged helplessly. “I’ve no idea where she is.”

  “Neither do I,” Pam added.

  “I just mow the lawn here,” Dave insisted.

  “We’ll find her,” Salzman assured them. “But if Violet isn’t the Lady in Red, then it’s someone who knew her and knew Ford abused her. That leads us right back here to Lost Angel. One of you must know a whole lot more than you’re telling. If you don’t speak up soon, you stand the risk of being named an accessory to murder.”

  “Let’s remember who we’re talking about here,” Luke advised. “Felix Mendoza, and Bobby Clyde Flowers, who pimped underage girls, and Ford Dolan, who got his kicks punching Violet Simms around. Most of the public would be honored to be named an accessory in those murders.”

  “Don’t try the victims. We’re not in court,” Garcia cautioned. “We’ll find Violet and have a nice little chat, but something tells me we’ll be back here before the day is out.”

  “The office closes at five o’clock,” Pam offered agreeably.

  “Wait a minute,” Catherine interjected. “Violet has an alibi, but it’s possible Ford was lonely without her and hit on a prostitute. That she appears to have been the Lady in Red may be nothing more than a gruesome coincidence, rather than proof of a direct link to Lost Angel.”

  “That’s really good,” Dave enthused.

  Garcia responded with a low chuckle. “That’s precisely why I insisted you be here, Mrs. Brooks. I knew you’d come up with a theory no one else would.”

  “It’s actually quite logical,” Luke argued. “Ford couldn’t speak without insulting anyone within earshot. If he approached a prostitute, then it’s likely he did it with language several notches below crude.”

  “Nothing surprises the whores in this town,” Salzman countered, “so I doubt that Ford could.”

  “But you didn’t know him,” Catherine insisted. “We did.”

  “That’s not a point in your favor,” Garcia warned, and after a nod to his partner, the detectives left.

  “I refuse to believe it’s one of the kids,” Luke exclaimed.

  “So do I,” Dave agreed. “But it makes me real uneasy to think that it might be.”

  “The kids stick together,” Pam reminded them. “If they wanted to kill someone, they’d hunt him down in a vicious pack.”

  Luke nodded. “You’re right. Now, while you’re all here, I need to tell you what Pam and I were discussing before the police arrived. Dave, you’ll leave for a better job soon, and Mrs. Brooks plans to teach in a high school in September. I’m seriously considering an offer from an Ivy League university that’s shown a flattering interest in me over the years. Pam won’t remain here without me, which means in a few months, all of us will be gone.

  “If the Lady in Red hasn’t been caught, our intrepid detectives are sure to consider our mass exodus suspicious, so for the time being, let’s not discuss our plans with them.”

  Catherine was too stunned to speak. There were tears in Pam’s eyes, but Dave reacted with anger.

  “What’s going on here?” he cried. “A week ago you and Cathy were a couple, and now you’re considering job offers back east without telling her? I don’t believe you, man.”

  Dave slammed the door on his way out, and unable to remain in the same room with Luke, Catherine followed. Feeling unsteady, she sank down on the steps and tried to think what to do. It had never occurred to her Luke might leave Lost Angel, let alone the state.

  Hearing the door close a second time, Dave turned around and came back. “That rotten son of a bitch,” he yelled. “I’ll bet anything you name that he knew he was leaving the whole time he was with you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Catherine shook her head. “No, I don’t believe that at all. Luke has been a rock here, and if he shatters now, then he shatters. But that doesn’t change the fine man he is.”

  “Love!” Dave fumed, and clearly exasperated that she would defend Luke, he walked away with a long, brisk stride.

  Catherine wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. She missed Luke terribly, ached for him, but the thought of him moving to the East Coast was so unexpected, she didn’t know what to do.

  Maybe what he needed was a complete change of scene, but what she needed was the man she knew him to be. Fearing his departure might be imminent, she could no longer justify waiting to tell him about the baby. She just hadn’t expected to be forced to do it that day.

  Pam would be gone before the end of Luke’s afternoon session, and rather than go hom
e at four, she would stay and wait for a private conversation with him. She doubted anything he could say would equal her fears, but just getting the dreaded confession over with would be a relief.

  She tried to stand and still felt too shaken to walk. She sat to rest a moment longer and wished someone would bring her a strawberry shake.

  Shortly before four o’clock, Pam Strobble crossed the street to Toby’s house. After quickly admiring the stunning mural, she drew Catherine aside.

  “The detectives just picked up Luke for questioning,” she whispered.

  “My God, have they arrested him?”

  “No, but I don’t like it. He told me to cancel his afternoon session, but I’ve always wanted to lead it myself, and with everything going to hell here, I might as well. Could you cover the office for me until five?”

  “Sure, I’ll be happy to. I wanted to speak with Luke anyway. What time do you suppose he’ll be back?”

  Pam just shook her head. “There’s no way to tell, but my husband and I have tickets for a play we’ve waited a long time to see, so I can’t stay and wait.”

  “I’ll stay,” Catherine promised.

  As soon as the teenagers had cleaned up for the day, she moved her car into the Lost Angel lot and parked it next to Luke’s. She then left a note under his windshield wiper asking him to stop by the office before he left for home.

  With telephone calls to field, her first hour in the office went quickly, but once Pam had left for the day, it was unnaturally quiet. Occasionally she would hear the sound of a horn from the street, but otherwise the office was silent. She walked around, stretched and tried to compose a coherent sentence for an opening with Luke, but none of her efforts made much sense.

  Another hour had passed before she went into Luke’s office and sat in his chair. She wished she had Violet’s telephone number so she could check up on the shy girl herself. Thinking Luke might keep it in his desk, she slowly slid open the middle drawer, but it contained only an assortment of pencils of varying sizes, pens, a few rubber bands, paper clips and a box of Band-Aids.