"Amelia," she said icily, "you should be more discriminating about your clientele."
"Oh, dear," Amelia said, purposely misunderstanding, "I could never discriminate. That's against the law."
Mrs. Clancy gave her a sharp look, as if she was fairly certain Amelia was too intelligent to have missed her meaning, but not sure enough to call her on it.
"Do you have any idea who this is?"
Luke stepped forward then, as if to put himself between the two women. He leaned a shoulder against a bookshelf and crossed his ankles nonchalantly.
"You mean that I'm the devil's own spawn, Mrs. C.? I don't think my mother would appreciate that assessment, given the inferences."
"Your mother is a fine woman. She made something of her life after her one youthful mistake."
"While I've been off doing more of the same, no doubt adding to my illustrious police record, doing a little jail time and other things you'd expect of a troublemaker like me, right?"
"Exactly!" Mrs. Clancy nearly spat it out, sounding even more upset that Luke had robbed her of her tirade against him.
"Luke, please," Amelia began.
Mrs. Clancy turned on her. "You be careful, child. He's nothing but trouble, always has been."
Images of the child he must have been, unwanted, unloved, even his name chosen by strangers, boiled up in Amelia until she couldn't stop herself. "What on earth did he do to you?"
"That's an easy one." To her surprise, it was Luke who answered. "I was sixteen, mad at the world, and took it out on Mrs. Clancy's garden, because it was handy. I didn't think about it, about how it would hurt her, about what I was really destroying. I only knew she didn't like me anyway, so I just did it."
"You have no idea what you destroyed," the woman said, nearly trembling with a fury that looked as real now as it must have been then.
"Oh, I do," he said, very softly. "Now. Years of work, of loving care. Plants you'd babied and tended like most mothers tend children. And worse, that rosebush that had been your mother's. I didn't know what that meant then. I've learned since."
Amelia's throat tightened at the raw emotion in his voice. But Mrs. Clancy didn't hear it, or didn't care.
"So I'm supposed to believe that and forgive you now, is that it?"
Luke sighed. "No. I can't, so why should you?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of wadded bills. He separated a ten and handed it to Amelia. "I'll get the change later. I'm sure Mrs. Clancy would prefer it if I left."
He did, without another word or a backward glance. Amelia wanted to say something, anything, to him, but couldn't get out a single word.
When she looked at Mrs. Clancy's satisfied, slightly smug expression, she decided it would be best if she kept it that way.
* * *
Nearly midnight, and Amelia lay awake in her brass bed, staring at the patterns thrown on the ceiling by the brilliant moonlight coming through curtains moving softly in the slight breeze. She left that window open in the summer, since it was on the ocean side of the house, and too far up for an intruder to reach easily. She loved the faint scent of salt air that came her way when the breeze was right, and fancied sometimes, just before falling asleep on quiet nights, that she could even hear the sound of the surf, although the beach was a good mile away.
But tonight she hadn't fallen asleep at all. Her mind was too jumbled with images, her emotions too tangled.
Luke had never come back for his change. Not that she blamed him, after the blistering Mrs. Clancy had given him. And it had continued after he'd gone; once rolling, the woman had to tell her the entire story of her destroyed garden, every precious plant that had been trampled, ripped out, or cut off at the roots. Her words painted a very unpleasant picture.
But she didn't think she would ever forget the sound of Luke's voice as he'd admitted what he'd done to the crotchety old woman. If she'd ever heard true regret from someone, she'd heard it then. And even Mrs. Clancy had said, although it had clearly made little difference to her, that Luke had worked in that garden every day for months to pay for the damage; he'd only done it, she had said with a sniff, to keep himself out of jail.
With a sigh Amelia turned over, settling her head on the pillow, trying to find the perfect position that would let her go to sleep. She found it and was nearly there when the phone jangled her back to half awake. She pulled herself up onto one elbow and reached for the receiver.
"Hello. Amelia?"
"Yes," she said, brows furrowing as she tried to place I the feminine voice.
"This is Jackie Hiller. I got your number off my son's bulletin board."
She remembered giving David her home number after his father had died, in case he ever wanted to talk. When he had never called, she'd figured he'd tossed it away; somehow, knowing he hadn't wanned her. And then the juxtaposition of the late hour and the call jarred her fully awake.
"Is something wrong with David?"
"That boy, I swear, he lives to aggravate me. I thought I heard a noise, but by the time I went to look, it was too late. Next thing I know, the police will be calling me."
Amelia sat upright in bed. "What is it?"
The answer was short, sharp with irritation. And devoid of concern.
"He's gone."
Chapter 6
Luke was engrossed in his book, the body found, the hunt begun, when a noise pulled him out of the story. Frozen, still holding the book upright, he cocked his head to listen, not sure what exactly he'd heard. He had the window open;
it was a warm night, and he liked the occasional whiff of fresh air, although he wasn't used to the road noise. He might not have heard the sound at all if the window had been closed.
Then he heard voices coming from outside the next room, and he relaxed. Somebody with a visitor.
But now that his attention had been drawn away from the story, his mind shot back to the same place it had been inhabiting any time he wasn't concentrating on something else.
Amelia Blair.
He wasn't sure why. He would say she wasn't his type, except that he didn't think he had a "type" in the usual sense of the word, a physical type. Unlike some of his friends, he didn't look only at blondes, or have a fixation with breasts or long hair. He supposed the closest he came to specifics was he liked long legs, but that was more because of the way they made women move; he liked that long, graceful stride.
No, his "type" was more a personality thing, he thought, scratching his bare chest idly. He was drawn to women who had that sparkle in their eyes that said they liked to have fun and whose appearance convinced him they could do so without worrying every second that they would break a nail, or their hair would get mussed, or their makeup would run.
Amelia's nails were short and neat, her hair the same, but if there was any fun-loving sparkle, she kept it too well hidden behind that reserved demeanor for him to see. She— The noise again. Closer this time.
He rolled off the bed and padded barefoot across the room. He was about to reach for the curtain at the window beside the door when there was a tentative knock. Wary, as he had been ever since he'd returned to Santiago Beach, he lifted the blackout drape and looked out.
David.
He glanced at his watch as lie went for the door. When he saw it was midnight, tension spiked through him.
"I thought you were next door. Your Hariey's parked. there."
"The other spot was full," Luke answered as the boy stepped in and quickly shut the door behind him.
With an effort, he held back his questions, stuck his hands in the pockets of the jeans he'd pulled on after his shower and waited for his brother to speak first.
David stood awkwardly, glancing around the room. It was a typical motel room, in decent shape if a bit cramped, and decorated in a cool green and blue scheme Luke found fairly inoffensive. His duffel bag was on the luggage rack; he hadn't unpacked it except to pull out his shaving gear. He'd brought nothing worth hanging up anyway. His b
oots were under the rack, his leather jacket slung over a chair, his tennis shoes on the floor beside the bed. Not neat as a pin, but not a mess, either.
David's glance fell on the bed, and the book he'd left open and face down. Then he looked at Luke and spoke at last.
"You still read late."
Luke nodded. "Can't go to sleep if I don't."
David nodded. "Me either." He smiled, briefly. "Amelia says it's the best routine there is, reading before bed."
"Won't get any argument from me."
David walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, fingers toying with the book. "Is it good?"
"So far."
"You like mysteries?"
Luke nodded. "They appeal to my need for order in the universe."
David blinked, as if startled by his words. He was silent for a moment before saying, almost shyly, "I used to like it when you came in and read to me, when I was little."
"So did I, Davie. We had some good times, huh?"
The smile came back, stayed longer this time. "Some of the guys think it's a waste. They think only nerds or freaks read if they don't have to."
"Not true."
"I know." David looked at him pointedly. "I mean, you read, but you never let anybody push you around. You're tough, tougher than Snake even. Back in school, everybody knew you were smart. Dad always said you were, but you didn't go all wimpy and get straight A's or anything. You stayed cool."
Luke looked at his brother for a moment. "You mean I got myself a police record."
"Well, yeah. I mean, nobody messed with you, not even the grown-ups. They were all afraid of you."
"And you think that's cool?"
"Well...sure. You're still a legend around here." David sat up straighter. "I'm going to be like that, somebody people know about, somebody they respect."
Luke suppressed a sigh. "David, don't ever confuse a bad reputation with respect. Oh, it's great when you're trying to impress kids, but sooner or later you're going to grow up, and then a bad rep impresses nobody worth impressing."
David frowned. "That's not what you used to say."
"I know. That was before I spent a damn long time trying to get out from under the rep I'd built, trying to convince the world that I didn't belong locked up somewhere for good."
He walked over to one of the chairs beside the small table under the window, pulled it out and put it down in front of his brother, then sat down in the other. When David sat down, Luke took a deep breath, then went on.
"Being locked up might seem now like a good way to show you're tough, or seem kind of exciting, even glamorous. It's not, Davie. It sucks, in a very big way."
"But... you were never locked up for very long. Just two days, that time over the car."
This was going to be the hard part. "I was, Davie. After I left. For almost two months. It was the worst time of my life, worse than anything our dear mother ever threw at me."
David's eyes widened, and Luke hoped he'd gotten through with that one; nobody knew better than David the hell he'd gone through at home.
"What for?"
"It doesn't matter now," Luke said, not wanting to give David any further inspiration down that particular road. "Just trust me, it was hell. And you do not want to go there."
David shifted tacks then, a persuasive note coming into his voice, and Luke knew it was finally coming. "I don't really want to end up in jail," he said. "But if I stay here..."
He wanted to say yes. Just say "Sure, bro, pack up your stuff and let's go." But he'd learned long ago that wishes alone weren't worth much. He understood David's desperation to escape all too well. But he also understood something else, and there was no easy way to say it.
"I know what it feels like to need to get out so badly, Davie. And I wish I could just say yes. But she'd never let it happen. You know that. She'd never let you go with me, of all people."
"Then I'll just run away. She wouldn't have to know I was with you!"
"It'd be the first place she'd look."
"But I can't stay here. I can't! She doesn't even miss my dad. Sometimes she acts like he was never even here. I want to be like you, free and on my own, without her breathing down my neck every second."
He had no answer for David's feelings about his father, so he tried to focus on what he did know.
"I'm nobody to emulate, bro. She may not be the best mother around, but I wasn't worth much then, either."
"But she made you be that way, she was such a bitch to you!"
Luke was touched at his brother's passionate defense, yet felt like he had to keep on, to make him see that the Luke McGuire he was talking about was nobody to model himself on.
"She won't even let me talk about him," David blurted out, hiccuping on the last word. Luke sensed he was close to tears and knew it would humiliate the boy for him to see that. So he leaned back in the chair, lifted one foot up to rest it on his knee and studied the frayed hem of his jeans as David went on.
"She says she's tired of hearing it, that it's time for me to get over it and grow up. But I miss him. I miss him so much...."
Something hard and painful wrenched loose inside Luke. "Damn," he muttered. "You're right. She is a bitch." He'd hoped, truly hoped, that she would be different with David.
That because he was legitimate, her husband's son, it would be better for him. But now he wondered if what he'd suspected then was true, that David had been merely insurance, to be sure his wealthy father was nailed down tight.
"See? I told you she was. I want to come with you, Luke. Please? I won't get in the way, I promise, and you can teach me stuff, like how you hot-wire a car, and—"
"Whoa, there!" Luke held up a hand. Clearly he had a lot more convincing to do. "Look, she may have treated me like crap, but I made my own decisions back then. Most of them bad ones. I'm not saying things might not have been different if she'd been different, but they were what they were, and I made the worst of it instead of the best.''
"But—"
"Listen to me, Davie. I was a royal foul-up. I made a major mess of most of my life. You want somebody to be like, pick your dad, not your screwed-up brother. He was a great guy, and he deserves to have a son who grows up like him."
David went very silent. And in that silence, the tap on the door seemed much louder than it probably was. Luke got up, wondering if, with the window open, they'd gotten loud enough to disturb someone. But when he pulled open the door, he just stood there staring in shock.
Amelia.
For a long moment she simply stared back, and he was suddenly aware that he had nothing on but a pair of very worn jeans. Even in the yellowish glow of the light outside the door, he could tell she was blushing. Finally she lowered her head with a sharp little jerk, as if yanking her gaze from him.
"Hi," he finally said, and it sounded lame even to him.
"Hi," she answered, still not looking up. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but..."
Luke drew back sharply then, wondering how long she'd been outside, how much she'd overheard. She stopped speaking and still wouldn't—or couldn't—meet his eye, which made him guess she'd heard quite a bit.
"Amelia?"
David's question came from over Luke's shoulder, and he thought he saw relief flash through her eyes. "May I come in?" she asked.
Luke was fairly sure it would be the dumbest thing he'd done all day, but he stepped back and held the door. Besides, what could happen with David there?
"Hello, David," she said as she stepped into the room.
The boy got to his feet. "Hi." He frowned suddenly. "How come you're out so late?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she said. "And probably should."
David's chin came up. "I wanted to see Luke. I got a right to see my own brother, don't I?"
"I would think so," Amelia said easily.
"Damn right," David said, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself as much as anyone. "I don't care what she says. I won't hate him
just because she does."
"That's never a good enough reason for anything," Amelia agreed, her tone still light, nonchalant. "But I'm not sure sneaking out is the answer."
"How else am I supposed to see him? Besides, she'll
never know."
Amelia put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm afraid she already does. Why do you think I'm here?"
Good question, Luke thought, and was more disappointed than he wanted to admit that apparently she was here only to look for David. And that realization made him very glad they were carrying on this conversation without him; who knew what he would be stupid enough to say if he opened his mouth.
"You're... lookin' for me?" David asked.
Amelia nodded. "Your mother called me."
David swore, and Luke felt the urge to tell him to watch his mouth in front of her. She just had that effect, with that quiet, good-girl demeanor of hers.
"She was... worried."
"Yeah. Right. Pissed, you mean."
"That too," Amelia admitted. Luke supposed it must have seemed pointless to her to deny it to the two people who knew the woman best.
David's eyes widened suddenly. "You're not gonna tell her, are you?"
"If you go home, I won't have to."
"But I'm not going home. Not ever. Well, maybe to get my stuff, but then I'm going with Luke."
Amelia's gaze nicked to Luke. His mouth tightened, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, hoping she would understand that it was David saying that, not him,
"You've worked that out with your mother?" Amelia asked.
For the first time since she'd known him, David flared up at her. "I'm just going, and don't you tell her!" .
"She'll find out, David. The law is on her side."
"I don't care. I want to live with Luke! Don't I get a say about my own life?"
Luke took a deep breath. "She's right, David. Your mother will find out, and when she does, she'll take you back. And if you don't cooperate, she'll send the cops to get you. And me."
The Reture of Luke McGuire Page 7