She went to the main desk. Logan was there. He and Sally weren’t going to the dance until later. “Don’t you look a treat,” Logan said. “Pretty lady, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Well, I want Pat Lassiter,” she said with a smile. “Have you seen him? He’s not in his room, and I would have thought I’d have to be peeling him off of me about this time. I have to say I’m rather disappointed.”
Logan laughed. “That is strange. To be honest, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’d ask Simon, but he and Veronica just left. They looked like they were on their way to the royal wedding.”
“They make a beautiful pair,” Suzie admitted. “If you see Pat, would you—”
The phone rang, and Logan held up a finger. “Hold that thought. That’s a lovely dress, by the way. That shade of gray is very flattering to you—Hello, White Pine Inn. Oh, hello, Millie . . . . what? Oh, my God! How did he—bleeding? How did it happen? What new handyman? How long ago was—”
Suzie’s heart had clenched even before Logan paused, held a hand over the phone, and said, white-faced, “It’s Pat. He’s been hurt. She’s just called an ambulance.”
“Where is he?” Suzie demanded as he continued to talk. “Logan—WHERE IS HE?”
Logan pointed. “The blue house, straight across the hill. But the ambulance is on its way, Suzie—”
She was gone, out the door, running in her dress. She threw off her high heels and ran in her hose; it was the strangest feeling. She didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel tired, didn’t get a stitch in her side. She ran all the way there, found the driveway to the house, saw him lying there. Even from far away she could tell it was bad. His white hair suddenly seemed without luster, and as she ran closer she saw that his face looked gray. An old woman knelt next to him. She had elevated his feet and was pressing a kitchen towel to his midsection. Thank God, she seemed to know what she was doing, Suzie thought. The towel was soaked with blood. Suzie saw it all in an instant, saw Pat’s closed eyes, his labored breathing.
She threw herself down on the ground, realized she was breathless from running, could say nothing. The old woman spoke instead. This must be Millie, Suzie thought.
“He was lying here when I came out. I don’t even know how long. I think my handyman did it; I think he stabbed him. Oh, God, I’ll never forgive myself, I thought the boy was all right; he seemed friendly enough.”
Suzie panted, sobbing out the breaths as she looked at her new lover, gray and bloody on the ground. She’d only just learned to love him, and she was going to lose him. God, no. Not again, not to watch a man die again. Finally she calmed enough to speak.
“Pat,” she said. His eyes flickered open, recognized her. “Pat, don’t leave me. Pat, I love you,” she said. She didn’t know she was crying until she saw the droplets of water falling on Patrick Lassiter’s ashen face. He closed his eyes again. She took his hand and placed it over the ring on her finger, rubbed it over and over the ring, as though it had magical powers. Pat moaned, murmured something that sounded like “sweetest girl.”
“Oh, God,” she cried to the woman. “What can we do for him? How can we save him?” she knew her voice was ragged, desperate, but Millie was upset herself and didn’t seem to take much notice.
“The ambulance is here,” cried Millie. “Thank God, they’ll take it from here; Oh Lord, I hope it’s not too late.”
Two attendants, a man and a woman, were suddenly kneeling there, dressed in white like angels, taking his pulse, putting an i.v. into his arm. He was on a stretcher, her Pat, and he was unconscious. He looked dead.
Suzie wiped away her tears. It was time to be brave again, brave for a man she loved. “I need to go with you,” she said. “I’m his fiancé. I want to be with him if anything—happens.”
She saw the two exchange a look. Was it pity?
“Of course you can come,” said the woman. Suzie ran behind the stretcher, saw it stowed into the ambulance, climbed in after it in her stocking feet. The doors slammed on her and Pat. She still held his hand, still squeezed back burning tears. Out the back window she saw Millie Cromwell, holding a blood stained towel in limp hands and watching the departing vehicle with her mouth hanging open. She grew smaller and smaller, and the image made Suzie want to cry.
At the dance, Simon returned from the bar. “Taste this,” he said. “It’s a surprise.”
Veronica took it, sipped it. “Mmmm! It’s good. What is it?”
“Tequila Sunrise. Ever had one?”
“No. But I’ve heard the song. The Eagles, right?”
“Right. Good for you. Aren’t they before your time, youngster?” He sipped his drink, looked at her with possessive glee.
“I like the oldies.”
“Every man here is looking at you. Every man here wants you.” Simon murmured it into her ear, then kissed her neck.
“Who was that first guy you introduced me to? The one who said he worked at a textile mill?”
“That was Charlie Ross. He wanted you.”
She laughed. “And so did Mr. Perez, from your church?”
“Absolutely. And it felt great showing you off.”
“That’s exciting to you, isn’t it?” she teased. “You men are so competitive. It’s not just “mine is bigger,” it’s also “mine is prettier,” or “mine does it more often.” She poked an accusing finger into his chest. “Don’t be macho with me.”
“I am none of those men you described. I’m merely proud of you. Don’t drink that so fast, you’ll get silly.”
“You want me to, or you wouldn’t have brought a Tequila Sunrise.”
He smiled impishly. “I was hoping you’d jump on me again, and we could get in the back seat of my car again, except this time we’d go all the way.”
She made a soft, kitteny sound in his ear. “You’re so naughty,” she said. “Let’s dance.”
They put their drinks down on the tiny round table at which they’d been sitting, and joined the swaying bodies on the crowded floor. They were dancing to a song Veronica didn’t recognize. She thought it might be a George Michael number. It was sexy and slow, with lots of breathy vocals. Suddenly the lights got dimmer. “Nice,” Simon said, nibbling her earlobe.
“God, don’t do that; I might just lie down on the floor,” she warned.
“Ah, Veronica. This is the life. Dancing with a beautiful girl, a girl who has pledged her life to me, smelling her hair, touching her velvet skin, knowing that she’s going home with me, that she’s going to make love to me in my once-lonely bed—”
“You paint a lovely picture, Mr. Lassiter,” she said.
“Mr. Lassiter. The first time you called me that, over the phone, I felt a little hot, like I had whiskey in my veins. Then I saw you, and it was like there was ONLY whiskey in my veins.”
“So you’re bloodless. Like a snake,” she said.
“No, they’re just cold-blooded. Mine is hot. But like a snake I might bite you,” he threatened, squeezing her more tightly.
The song changed to something upbeat—The Beach Boys, Fun, Fun, Fun. “Oh, I can’t dance to this,” Simon complained. “Let’s go drink.”
They returned to their table. Veronica sat down and saw that someone passing by had knocked over her cup. “It’s probably for the best,” she said. “I’m already tipsy.”
“Nonsense,” said Simon. “I’ll get you another one. Nothing’s too strong for my girl.”
She laughed, watching him walk away with great appreciation. Then she took out a tissue and wiped ineffectually at the table. A volunteer waitress walked by, a girl of about seventeen, and Veronica asked for her help. The girl nodded, ran off for napkins, and when a finger tapped Veronica’s shoulder, she said, “Oh, thanks, that was quick.” She looked up into the damaged face of Nelson Henry, the long gash on his cheek still bleeding slightly as he smiled at her.
>
“Hello, Veronica,” he said over the din. “Let’s take a walk.” He took her arm, almost politely, and she wrenched it away.
“I’m sorry, Nelson, I’m here with someone. Perhaps another time.” She searched for Simon in the long bar line. It was too dim to make out individuals.
Nelson leaned close to her ear. “Veronica, I have a gun and I will use it on your boyfriend. I just killed his father, and I’ll kill him, too, if you don’t come with me.”
Veronica stared at him, not sure if she heard him right; after all, he was still smiling. She wondered what would happen if she screamed, caused a scene? Would Nelson shoot randomly, hitting anyone just to make her come with him? She looked around blindly, for help, a friend, something. The blow of hearing about Pat had her feeling weak, ready to throw up. It wasn’t true; she knew it wasn’t true. Nelson was using it, manipulating her feelings so that she would go with him. God, she needed time to think.
He pulled her away, his arm as strong as steel. She tried to make eye contact with someone, but people were absorbed in the dancing, the laughing; it was so loud, and the Beach Boys were still singing, We’ll have fun, fun, fun—she couldn’t risk it, she decided, she couldn’t bring herself to involve a stranger. She’d talk to him outside, where it was quieter, promise him something, anything, just to let her come back in. Then she’d find Simon, and he’d settle this. She wondered if John O’Malley was here tonight?
Nelson practically dragged her the last bit of the way to the door. The song ended just as they got out into the cold night air; she heard laughter and a smattering of applause. Outside in the parking lot, she scanned the area for people she knew. A car was pulling in, but no one was walking about. It was too cold a night for hanging around outside, she realized with a pang. “Nelson, what happened to your face?” she asked.
He shrugged, still holding her, bruising her. “I told you. I got into it with the white haired guy, and I had to kill him. That’s why you don’t want to mess around with me.” He was dragging her, not toward a car, but to the open field, with a forest of pines beyond it.
“Oh, God,” she said, realizing this. “Nelson, where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can be alone. Like we’ve always wanted.”
Veronica was freezing in her little dress. “I don’t want that, Nelson. I want to stop right here and talk to you. Let me go. Let me GO!” she cried, giving him a swift kick in the shin.
Nelson yelled, released her, grabbed instinctively at the hurt leg. She started to run back toward the building, but he caught her by her hair, pulled her brutally backward, and she felt the prick of the knife at her throat. “Don’t make me angry, Veronica. We need to go and talk.”
With a sob of fear and desperation, she walked backward, awkwardly, tripping over her high heels, knowing that her destination was some lonely spot in the woods, from which she didn’t think she was ever intended to return.
Logan and Sally pulled into the dark lot. Sally had been crying; they didn’t know Pat’s current condition, but they needed to tell Simon before they went to the hospital. Sally happened to be turned slightly away from Logan, and that’s how she saw the people on the edge of the parking lot, having a fight.
“Ooh, you give it to him, honey,” she said, laughing through her tears.
“What?”
“Look. Those two are fighting. She just kicked him in the shin. Think he was kissing some other girl in the corner of the barn?” Sally asked idly.
Logan forced a smile. “Some people just don’t belong together, babe. God knows how that guy got a girl that tall and—” he peered into the darkness. “Sally, is that Veronica?”
“What?” she looked harder. “I know she said she was going to wear a black mini dress, and—Logan, that’s her! And that’s not Simon!”
The two figures had disappeared into the darkness, walking into a field.
Logan parked the car and opened his door. “Go in there, find Simon. Tell him where I went.”
“Logan, be careful!” she yelled before she ran toward the barn.
When Simon returned from the bar, his table was empty. Some sonofabitch had dragged her onto the dance floor, he thought, swearing under his breath. He scanned the floor for Charlie Ross, wondering if his friend’s wife knew what he was up to. He was grinning at the thought of it when Charlie himself wandered by.
Simon stopped him. “Hey, man, what did you do with my girl? Did you dance with her?”
“I wish,” Charlie said. “No, she walked off with some young guy. Short, chunky, glasses? He had a big scratch on his face. Ring a bell?” Charlie asked cheerfully.
Simon froze. No. No. This was not happening. “Where did they go? Charlie, where did they go? This is important.”
Charlie shrugged. “They were walking toward the front. The entrance. They weren’t talking; I think she was mad at him.”
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, thought Simon as he ran through the room, dodging dancers and weaving drunks. Let me catch him, let me kill him, let me make sure she’s safe, he prayed as he ran along. At the door he met Sally.
“Simon, thank God. We saw Veronica—he was taking her toward the woods—Logan went after them!”
Simon never stopped moving. He took her arm and led her outside. “Point me,” he said.
Sally pointed, and Simon ran.
In the shelter of the pines, Nelson led her to a large rock wall; he was smiling again, polite again. “Be careful here,” he warned. “Those aren’t the best shoes for travel, I should have brought you some other clothes. Oh, Veronica, it’s so good to be with you,” he said happily, leading her around the rock, where she saw a little opening, a natural cave, toward which he pushed her. “Right in there, there you go. Now let me turn on my flashlight. There.”
Veronica found herself inside a cave of about ten feet in diameter. Nelson had obviously found it earlier; there were supplies here: blankets, food, flashlights, batteries. And rope. Veronica saw it with a nauseated feeling, started to believe, in fact, that she would throw up. “Nelson, I’m going to be sick,” she said, and he led her outside and toward some bushes, where she vomited. He handed her a handkerchief, and she wiped her mouth. “Thank you,” she said graciously to the man who was probably about to murder her. It was surreal, the entire scene, and because she felt as though she was dreaming, she felt also powerless to act, the way one does in dreams.
He led her back into the cave, sat her down. Calmly, he began to tie her hands behind her back. There was a controlled excitement in him, as though something very good were about to happen. Veronica didn’t want to know what that was.
When she heard someone call her name, she looked up, hopefully. Nelson sighed; he hadn’t finished tying her. He turned off his flashlight. Veronica felt the knife blade against her neck, too hard. She felt blood dripping, her blood, warm against her skin in the icy cold. “Nelson—” she whispered.
“No!” The knife cut deeper. “Not a sound, or you die now!” he breathed fiercely.
She heard footsteps, coming closer. “Veronica!” yelled a man’s voice. It was Logan. She felt a burst of relief. He would find her, he would save her, and all of this would be over. She was so cold, so cold, and she feared the knife, feared it even as she felt more blood run down her chest.
She was a coward, she thought. She was too frightened to call them, too frightened to risk her life in order to save it. She wanted badly to be out of this place, away from this man, in a warm bed, with the people that she loved. She thought of them all: Simon, Juliana, Mom, Pat, Logan, Sally. Little Lilah, that beautiful girl, whom she wanted more than anything to see grow up into a lovely woman. She thought of her own father, who had left her so long ago. He was there somewhere, waiting for her. It would be all right. If she died she would be with Dad again, he would fold her into his arms, and they would be together. Help me, Daddy, she mouthed into th
e darkness. She felt hot tears running down her face, and struggled not to cry aloud. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything, but then she heard another voice.
“Logan! Logan!”
She listened hard, heard talking. They had met each other, they were comparing notes. The voices were coming closer. “—thought I saw them go around here,” Logan said, at the corner of their cave wall. She heard them scraping, searching.
“I’d give a million dollars for a flashlight,” she heard Simon say. She knew it was him, but it didn’t sound like his voice. It was tortured, near tears, horrible to hear. Poor Simon. What if he had to find her, bleeding and lifeless? What if his father really was dead? He would need her; she had to comfort him. She wasn’t going to let Nelson Henry take her life, or her love, away from her.
She took as deep a breath as she could under Nelson’s stranglehold; she wiggled her hands, wiggled them until she got one out of the ropes that Nelson hadn’t time to secure. Slowly, slowly she pulled it in front of her; she hoped he was distracted enough, listening to the men, that he didn’t notice. She consciously calmed herself, remembered every self-defense talk she’d ever heard. She didn’t have her legs free to kick him in the groin. She had one hand. What could she do?
Nelson took his glasses off with one hand, trying to wipe at them. Then she thought, the eyeball. It was vulnerable, she could stab into it hard and quick. It would make him recoil, it would make him drop the knife. Suddenly she realized the voices were going farther away. The time was now. In a flash she pulled her arm up, finger out, and aimed it at his face; she hit his cheek first, then his eye. She hit it hard, felt the slick membrane bulging under her jabbing digit.
“Ah!” he screamed, and he cut her before he dropped the knife.
“SIMON!” she yelled as loudly as she could, slithering away from Nelson on the cold stone.
She heard the men calling to each other, heard their bodies blundering through the darkness toward the cave.
Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Page 15