Carlene Thompson

  He picked up his drink and walked slowly down the bar to her side. She glanced up, her silver-shadowed eyes trying to look startled. "May I sit here?" Chris asked with just the right touch of beguiling tentativeness. "Or are you expecting someone?"

  "My friend was coming, but I guess he couldn't make it." Her voice was flat, Midwestern, and faintly nasal. It had absolutely no charm. "You can sit down for a while."

  Chris smiled his thanks, thinking what a lot of bull all this was and how he was too tired to get enthusiastic, even if she did bear a faint resemblance to Cheryl Tiegs. But what was the alternative? A night at the cabin alone, thinking about Hayley? He forced warmth into his voice. "Your drink looks a little watery. Can I buy you a fresh one?"

  She appeared to think this over. "Well, okay. I guess I can stay for one more."

  "Great. By the way, my name is Chris."

  She smiled coquettishly. "I'm Renee."

  It only took an hour to convince her to come home with him. By this time she was on her fourth Manhattan and telling him about what a bastard her first husband had been, although he couldn't hold a candle to the second, who'd walked out on her last year. Chris listened, shaking his head in sympathy. The bar was getting crowded by then, and when someone jostled Renee's arm, making her spill her drink, Chris leaned near her. "Listen, this place is turning into a madhouse. Besides, the drinks are mostly ice. Why don't we go back to my place and have something decent?"

  "Oh, I don't know if I should."

  "Please?" Chris's blue eyes were full of sincerity. "I'm really enjoying talking to you."

  Renee gazed back foggily. "Well, I guess it'll be okay. But just one drink. I have to go to work tomorrow."

  As they stood up to go, she slung a huge bag over her shoulder, nearly hitting Chris in the face with it. "Is that a purse or a tote bag?" Chris asked, trying to hide his irritation.

  She laughed a little drunkenly. "I hate itsy-bitsy purses. They don't hold anything. I can carry half my apartment in this baby."

  On the way back to his place she leaned over, turned on the radio, and broke into "Every Breath You Take" with the Police. She closed her eyes as she sang, her face throbbing with emotion her flat voice couldn't match, and Chris wondered if the great body under her jeans and sweater was really worth all this. God, she sounded like a warped record. He took a deep breath, wishing he'd had at least one more drink. Then maybe she would be slightly more appealing.

  "A log cabin!" she squealed and burst into hysterical laughter. "What a trip!"

  "I didn't think anyone used that expression anymore." Chris remembered to smile at her. "It's humble, but it's home. Come in and let me fix you a drink."

  When he opened the front door and flipped on the lights, Hecate raised up from her bed on the settee and glared at the girl, who shrieked as if she'd been stabbed. "What is that?"

  "I believe it's called a cat."

  "But its eye!" Renee tensed. "I hate cats," she said in a frozen voice. "I absolutely detest them."

  Hecate leaped off the settee, hissing fiercely. Renee screamed again, then swung her massive shoulder bag at the cat. Her aim was good, and Hecate hit the wall with a thud before scrambling up and darting out the door.

  With a frigid look at Renee, Chris went after the cat, who had taken refuge under his jeep. "Sorry, Hecate. I guess she doesn't care for felines." Hecate's one good eye blinked at him accusingly. "Come back in and I promise to get rid of her."

  But the cat only cowered lower. Timid under the best conditions, she was now terrified and would refuse to come near the cabin until morning, when she was hungry. Sighing, Chris went back inside, where Renee sat curled on the settee, her shoes lying on the floor in front of her. "This place is kinda cozy," she said sweetly. "It'll be even cozier when you fix me a drink."

  Chris looked at her for a full ten seconds before he said quietly, "Renee, maybe this was a mistake. It's late."

  "It's only ten-thirty."

  "But you said you have work tomorrow."

  "Well, I can stay up past ten-thirty, for God's sake."

  "Yeah. Sure. You're not a kid, right?"

  What the hell does it matter if you don't like her? Chris thought. Two hours from now you'll be driving her home and then you never have to see her again.

  "What'll you drink?"

  "It isn't good to mix things—I'll stick with bourbon." Renee uncurled herself from the settee, looking at him coyly. "While you fix my drink, I'll be powdering my nose. If you show me the location of the powder room, that is."

  "The bathroom is through here." He led her toward the bedroom, turned on the overhead light, and motioned to the far wall. "Right over…"

  His eyes flashed to the bed, where a clown doll lay grinning at him.

  "I might need a guide to lead me back to the living room," Renee was saying. "Otherwise I could get lost and…"

  Chris strode to the bed, picked up the doll, and whirled on her. "Where did you get this?"

  Renee's silver eyelids fluttered. "Where did I get what?"

  "Twinkle. Where did you get Twinkle?"

  She stiffened at the fury in his voice. "You mean that doll?"

  "You know damn well I mean the doll."

  "What do you mean, where did I get it? It's on your bed. I never saw it before."

  "You carried it in in that big bag of yours, didn't you? You put it on the bed when I went outside after the cat."

  She took a step backward. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about!" She was suddenly sober, and her eyes showed fear. "I swear I never saw that doll before."

  "Liar."

  Her tongue touched her lips as her eyes searched the corners of the room. "Your door was unlocked. Maybe someone came in and put the doll on your bed."

  "You. You put it on the bed." He tossed down the doll and stalked across the room, grabbing at her shoulder, but she was too quick for him. She was already in the living room, screaming.

  "You're crazy! You're a freak!" He stood watching as she struggled with the front door. Cold night air drifted in as she flung open the door and ran barefoot into the darkness. "You're nuts! I'm calling the police!"

  She had made it out to his jeep when something whistled past her head and shattered the front window of the cabin. Instinctively Renee fell to the ground, huddling beside the jeep as another shot sliced the darkness, and another and another, all aimed at the cabin. Then there was silence.

  Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Renee was able to uncoil her body. She was terrified and very cold. She was also curious about the abrupt silence within the cabin. Just moments after the shooting stopped, the cat emerged from beneath the jeep and dashed through the open door of the cabin, but even then there was no sound, no one coming to see if she was all right. The man and the cat seemed swallowed up in a void, which would have been just fine with Renee if she could have gotten away, but she remembered Chris had taken the keys out of the jeep when they arrived, and she couldn't walk barefoot the mile of darkness to the foot of the hill and the highway.

  Her breath rattling in her throat, Renee half crawled, half ran toward the cabin. She hesitated before entering, then plunged across the threshold into the living room where Hecate sat licking Chris's closed eyes while his blood dripped onto the Oriental rug.

  Chapter 9

  "WELL, IF IT isn't the midnight prowler," Lucy said as Caroline entered the store.

  Caroline laughed. "I guess I'm never going to live that one down."

  "Well, Caro, creeping around cemeteries in the middle of the night isn't exactly in character, not to mention that you made the papers."

  Caroline grimaced. "Yes, David was thrilled about that."

  Lucy looked surprised. "Was he really mad?"

  "Yes—not so much about my being in the newspaper as my going to the cemetery. I don't think he believes I'm in full possession of my faculties."

  "You might have been killed."

  "I couldn't have known that when I went there. I was o
nly looking for the black bouquet. Has the guard regained consciousness yet?"

  "Last night Tom told me he claims he was going on his usual midnight round when he spotted two young hoods. He got out of his car and asked what they were doing. They started running and he went after them. He caught up with one near the tree, they struggled, and somehow the guy got the guard's gun away from him and shot him."

  Caroline frowned. "What would two guys be doing out in the cemetery at midnight?"

  "A drug deal, the guard says. Claims he saw briefcases changing hands one obviously loaded with money, the other with coke." Lucy grinned. "Tom doesn't buy it. He thinks the guard's seen too much Miami Vice."

  "What makes him so sure?"

  "That guard is about fifty-five and overweight. Now why would he chase and tackle some tough and probably armed young guy instead of simply firing a warning shot?"

  "How do you know he didn't?"

  "The gun was found near the entrance of the cemetery. It had been fired only once, and that bullet went into the guard."

  "What does Tom think could have happened?" Caroline asked.

  "He has no idea, except that the guard's face was scratched. There obviously had been some kind of struggle."

  "The cemetery gates were unlocked," Caroline pointed out. "Is that important?"

  "With the guard booth right at the entrance, they're usually left open. The owners of the place told Tom that. Nothing unusual there. Anyone could have gotten in. You did."

  "Only because the guard had already been shot. But then I drove into the cemetery. I guess it wouldn't be any big problem to leave your car outside the cemetery away from the guard booth, then climb over the fence. It's only about six feet high."

  "I think they're checking on that. But for now that's all the police know." Lucy twisted one of the amber beads on her waist-length necklace. "Tom said you didn't find the bouquet."

  Caroline caught Lucy's steady gaze. "No. I think I got there too late. It had been taken away by whoever shot the guard."

  "The person must have been awfully desperate to get away with those flowers."

  "Since the person who sent the flowers possibly murdered Pamela, I can understand that."

  "Caroline, that's what you seem to be forgetting. Pamela was murdered. Even if you think there's a connection between Hayley's case and Pamela's, you have to leave this to the police."

  "So they can wait around until the evidence vanishes?"

  "You didn't find the bouquet either."

  "I know. I'm sorry for snapping at you." Caroline crossed her arms almost defensively over her chest. "It's just that this situation is getting very hard to handle calmly. I know what I've seen, but no one else does."

  "No one can deny that someone left a clown doll remarkably like Twinkle on Melinda's bed and a child dressed like Hayley came to your door, then called Melinda. I've never said this was in your head."

  "No, you haven't."

  But you're not convinced about the connection between Pamela and Hayley, Caroline thought, feeling thoroughly frustrated with Lucy's stubborn downplaying of the situation. Then she reminded herself that Lucy was probably trying to help her keep some perspective and not leap to conclusions.

  She forced a smile. "Well, I'm ready to forget about black bouquets and wounded guards for now," she said lightly, laying her purse on a nearby dining table and withdrawing several skeins of embroidery floss. "I brought by some samples for Mrs. Reinfeldt's tablecloth. She said she wanted rose and willow, and I thought you might help me pick out the shades that would go best with her china."

  A customer walked in just as Tina leaned over the balcony rail and called, "Mrs. Webb, your husband is on the phone."

  "My husband?"

  "He said he called the house and your cleaning lady told him you were here. He says it's urgent."

  "Oh, my God," Caroline gasped. "One of the kids is hurt."

  She bolted up the spiral wrought-iron staircase to the second-floor office, Lucy right behind her. Tina clicked off the hold button and handed the receiver to Caroline while Lucy motioned for Tina to go downstairs.

  "David? What's wrong?" Caroline demanded.

  "It's Chris."

  Expecting to hear him say Greg or Melinda, she went blank. "Who?"

  "Chris Corday. He's been shot."

  "Shot?" Caroline felt as if she were listening to him from under water. "What do you mean, shot?"

  "Caroline, last night someone shot Chris in his home."

  She sat down on the edge of the desk. "Is he…dead?"

  David sounded contrite. "No, honey, I didn't mean to scare you. He'll be all right. I just thought you'd want to know."

  "Which hospital is he at?"

  "Here at County. I found out when I came in to make my rounds this morning."

  "I'll be right there."

  "Caroline, there's no need for that. He'll be all right"

  "David, he doesn't have any family. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

  David hung up without saying goodbye, and Caroline turned to Lucy. "Someone shot Chris last night."

  Lucy's face sagged. "How bad is he?"

  "I don't know, but I'm going to the hospital. Do you want to come?"

  "Sure." Lucy was already reaching for her gray cape hanging on the coat tree. "Want me to drive?"

  "No. My car's already warmed up from the drive over here." She reached for her purse, then remembered she'd left it downstairs. They pounded down the staircase. The customer had left, and while Lucy hurled a brief explanation at Tina, Caroline collected the purse lying on the dining table and headed for the car.

  Traffic was unusually heavy although rush hour had ended two hours earlier. Caroline swore as she sat through a light a second time, unable to make a left turn.

  "Take it easy, Caro," Lucy said softly. "David said Chris isn't in serious condition. This isn't a life-and-death matter."

  "But he was shot, Lucy. It's awful."

  Lucy threw her a severe look. "Caroline, just do me one favor. Don't let David see how upset you are."

  "He'd expect me to be upset."

  "Not this upset. You're wearing your heart on your sleeve, pardon my cliché."

  In spite of her anger and fear, Caroline blushed with embarrassment. Lucy was right—she could see right through her. And so would David if she didn't pull herself together.

  The light turned green and this time Caroline made it. They pulled into the hospital parking lot and miraculously found a place not far from the front door. By the time they spotted David lingering outside Chris's room on the fourth floor, Caroline felt she was in much better control. At least her heart wasn't thudding and she could draw a full breath without it hurting:

  "Hi, honey," she said, going up to kiss David's cheek. "It was sweet of you to wait for us."

  David smiled, although he looked strained. "I thought you might like to know a little more about his condition before you go in. I could have told you on the phone, but you didn't give me a chance."

  "I'm sorry, David. I was just so shocked. How is he?"

  "As I said, it's not serious. He was shot in the shoulder, but his doctor says the bullet went through the deltoid muscle without damaging bone, blood vessels, or nerves. A second shot grazed his temple."

  Caroline felt almost faint with relief, although she tried to hide it.

  "How long will he be in the hospital?" Lucy asked.

  "Two or three days." David looked at Caroline, his gaze slightly distant. "I'll let you go in and visit now."

  Caroline smiled at him. "Thanks. See you this evening."

  David merely nodded and walked away. Lucy raised an eyebrow at Caroline before opening Chris's door.

  "Knock, knock," she called. "Up to seeing two gorgeous broads?"

  "Always," Chris returned, although his voice was gravelly with pain and fatigue. Caroline's heart contracted when she saw his ashen face and the purplish shadows under his eyes. He looked thin and old in his green hospital gow
n, bandages protruding around the neck. Another bandage covered his left temple. "Word travels fast."

  "Caro and I have a hotline," Lucy bantered. "Every time they bring in a good-looking man, we come dashing over to see what we can do."

  "You got a false alarm this time because I look like something the cat dragged in." Chris grinned, motioning to the single vinyl-covered chair beside the bed.

  "You take the chair, Caroline," Lucy said quickly. "I'll perch up here on the patient's bed."

  "I think sitting on the bed is against the rules." Caroline took the chair nevertheless.

  "They can sue me." Lucy plumped down, letting her long, alligator-booted legs dangle over the side of the bed. "So, Don Juan, what jealous husband let you have it?"

  Caroline was uncomfortable with the teasing, but Chris looked at her solemnly. "No jealous husband, Lucy."

  "How do you know?"

  Chris's eyes found Caroline's. "I admit I brought a woman home with me last night."

  Caroline's stomach tightened. Why does that still bother me? she thought furiously. Why do I feel like he's still my husband who's being unfaithful?

  "We hadn't been there more than ten minutes when I walked in the bedroom and discovered Twinkle."

  All thought of the other woman vanished as blood drained from Caroline's face. "Twinkle?"

  Chris nodded. "Big as life, old and dirty, lying on my bed grinning at me."

  "Twinkle," Lucy repeated. "Hayley's clown doll."

  "That's right."

  Lucy gave him a hard look. "That is impossible."

  Chris sounded surprised by her tone. "Why is it impossible? The doll appeared at Caroline's."

  Lucy's gaze shot to Caroline. "I didn't know you'd discussed all this with Chris."

  Caroline suddenly felt like a fifteen-year-old whose mother had found out she'd been skipping school. "Yes, I told Chris," she said with a defensive quaver, then with more vigor, "Of course I told him, Lucy. He's Hayley's father. This involves him, too."

  Lucy studied her for a moment before turning back to Chris. "Okay, you saw a clown doll on your bed. Then what?"

  Chris's eyes glinted. "Well, Ms. Prosecutor, I accused the woman I'd brought home of sneaking the doll in and putting it on the bed. She had this steamer trunk for a purse, and I did leave the cabin for a few minutes. It would have been possible. But she went crazy with denials, and when I got pretty aggressive, she headed out the front door. She'd been gone for about ten seconds when the glass shattered and I was hit in the shoulder. Then there was this terrible stinging in my temple. Even after I fell I heard other shots before I passed out."