“Grandma! Grandma, where are you? You won’t believe …”
Listening to Mark’s bellowed summons, Ronnie remembered the night in Tom’s apartment and had to smile. Apparently yelling at the top of his lungs when he entered a dwelling was part of Mark’s style.
An hour later Ronnie was sitting in a patch of dappled shade on the crest of a small rise not far from the house. Dangling her toes in the cool water of the shallow creek that ran through the farm, she leaned her back against an elm’s smooth trunk and kept a weather eye on Tom’s car. From her vantage point she could see it clearly, parked in the driveway of the farmhouse. It hadn’t moved, and there had been no activity at the house that she could see.
It was early afternoon, and there was lots of time yet before she really had to start getting worried. But it did occur to Ronnie to wonder what she would do if Mark planned to spend the night.
Suddenly she had the uncomfortable sensation that she was being watched, and she glanced around. Mark was coming up the hill about a hundred yards to her left, and closing fast. He must have gone out the back door, as she had, and somehow she had missed his progress across the field. Heck, it wasn’t that surprising; she had been daydreaming, and watching the car.
Ronnie considered getting to her feet, but decided against it. It was absurd to feel nervous, she scolded herself. After all, he was only a kid. But then she thought, Tom’s kid, and realized why her throat felt dry: His opinion mattered to Tom.
When Mark was only a couple of yards away, he stopped, thrusting his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and scowling at her.
His expression and posture made him look so uncannily like Tom that involuntarily Ronnie smiled.
“Hi, Mark,” she said.
“My dad’s a total shit,” he said.
Ronnie lifted her eyebrows at him. “Oh?” As a response it was carefully noncommittal.
“He had all the fun, and now he wants me to pay for it.”
Ronnie drew her toes out of the water, wrapped her arms around her knees, and looked at him consideringly.
“Oh?” she said again.
“Do you have any idea what kind of grief I’ve been getting at school these last couple of days? And he’s gonna make me go back.”
“Ah,” Ronnie said, as the source of the problem became clear to her.
“I want you to talk to him,” Mark said, glaring at her.
“About what?”
“About not making me go back to school. He’ll listen to you.”
“I don’t think he will, Mark. Not about something like that.”
“If you don’t talk him out of it, I’m going to call the newspapers and tell them where you are. Grandma said it’s a big secret.”
Ronnie shook her head at him reproachfully. “Blackmail’s an ugly thing.”
“Not as ugly as what you and my dad did.”
“We fell in love.”
Mark made a jeering sound, “Is that what you call it?”
“Can we talk about this? Why don’t you come over here and sit down?”
Mark gave her an angry look. He seemed to hesitate. Then he walked a few paces closer and flopped to the ground. He sat Indian-style, his elbows resting on his knees, about two feet away from her at the very edge of her patch of shade.
“So talk.”
Ronnie picked her words carefully. “I’m sorry you’ve had a bad time because of the things they printed in the newspapers. A lot of it wasn’t true.”
“The pictures were true enough.”
“Yeah, they were,” Ronnie admitted. “They were pretty raunchy, weren’t they? I was really embarrassed when I saw them, and I know your dad was too. But the point is, we didn’t know there were any pictures. Somebody spied on us and took them when we thought we were alone. How would you like it if pictures of everything you and your girlfriend did were plastered all over the newspapers? Every little personal thing?”
Mark seemed to be much struck by that.
“You were married.” It was an accusation, delivered after a momentary pause. “You and my dad were having an affair.”
Ronnie met his gaze. She hesitated, wondering whether she ought to proceed, or back off and leave the handling of his son to Tom.
In the end she decided to go ahead. “Look, Mark, you’re seventeen, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. My birthday was two weeks ago.”
“Your dad will probably want to skin me, but I’m going to tell you the truth about what happened so that you’ll understand. First, yes, I was married, but my husband and I hadn’t been intimate—you understand what I mean—for a long time, more than a year, when I met your dad. And your dad was the most honorable person in the world. He didn’t want to get involved with me. He resisted and resisted. Finally we fell in love and he just couldn’t resist anymore. I was going to ask my husband for a divorce. My husband’s family doesn’t like me—he has children older than I am—and they hired a private detective to take pictures of anything bad I did. The only bad thing I did was fall in love with your dad. And I don’t think that was so bad, really. He’s a great guy.”
“Sometimes.” He gave her a level look. “They’re saying you murdered your husband.”
“I didn’t. I give you my word, Mark, I didn’t.”
“Some people are even saying my dad murdered your husband.”
“He didn’t either. He couldn’t have. He was in California at the time.”
“That’s what he said.”
“You really ought to give him a break, Mark. The only thing he did wrong was fall in love with me, and that wasn’t really his fault.”
Mark slid a glance over her, from the top of her red hair, which she had pulled into a ponytail, to her slender body in lime-green cotton T-shirt and jeans, to her bare toes. “No, I can see where he might not have been able to help it.”
Ronnie smiled at him. “Thanks. I think.”
“Okay, so maybe what you and he did wasn’t as bad as everybody is saying. But I still don’t want to go back to school and have pictures of my dad’s naked butt waved in my face.”
Ronnie winced. “I don’t blame you for that. You notice I’m hiding out at your grandmother’s.”
“My dad didn’t even tell me you were here.”
“It’s a secret.”
“That’s what Grandma said. She said the press is hunting for you high and low.”
“Yeah.”
Mark looked glum. “Dad’s gonna be really mad at me. I took his car.”
Ronnie’s lips quivered. Though she tried her best not to, she had to smile. The image of Tom being left stranded somewhere was irresistible.
“Where was he?”
“At my mom’s.” Suddenly he sounded grim again. “She called him when I wouldn’t go to school this morning. He came over to ‘handle’ me.”
Ronnie stared at him, surprised. “Is that what he does to you too? ‘Handle’ you?”
“Yeah.”
“I hate that,” Ronnie said with conviction.
“He tries to handle you?” Mark sounded astonished.
“Oh, yeah. From the first minute I met him. When I know he’s doing it, it makes me want to do the exact opposite of whatever he’s trying to get me to do.”
“Me too.”
They regarded each other with a large degree of fellow feeling. Then Ronnie, who could still look beyond Mark at the farmhouse driveway, saw something that widened her eyes.
“I hate to tell you this, Mark,” she said softly, although her own heartbeat was speeding up with anticipation, “but your dad’s here.”
“Shit.” Mark glanced over his shoulder, and they both watched in silence as Tom, a small figure at that distance, ran up the steps of the house and disappeared through the door. The car he had arrived in, a properous-looking champagne-colored sedan, was parked in the driveway behind his own.
“Whose car?” Ronnie asked, interested.
“My mom’s.” Mark grimaced. “She’
s mad at me too. She hates it when she has to call Dad over to deal with me.”
At that moment Tom emerged from the house and stood looking around.
“You want to stand up and wave, or shall I?” Ronnie asked.
“Don’t bother.” Mark sounded gloomy. “He’ll spot you any second. You’re easy to see, with that bright-colored T-shirt against the bark of the tree.”
Sure enough, Tom’s steady scanning of the surrounding countryside halted as it reached her. Ronnie didn’t even bother to wave, because as soon as his gaze found her, he was already coming across the driveway. Instead of going around as she and Mark did, he deftly climbed the board fence separating the yard from the field and came straight toward them.
“He looks pissed,” Mark said apprehensively.
“Yeah.” If pace and demeanor were anything to judge by, Mark’s assessment was right on target. Tom’s long strides were eating up the field, and the very swing of his body radiated anger.
“You ever seen my dad when he’s really pissed off?” Mark asked.
“Once or twice. I think.”
“Get ready for number three.”
“What exactly did you say to him before you took his car, anyway?”
Mark shot her a look that was almost shamefaced, and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Something nasty about me, huh?” she guessed.
“Maybe.”
“That’s okay, Mark. Whatever it was, I totally forgive you. I understand where you were coming from. How’s Loren, by the way?”
“I’m dating Amy Ruebens now.”
“Great.”
There wasn’t time for anything more. Tom was halfway up the hill, and climbing fast. Ronnie hadn’t seen him by daylight since the morning in Dan Osborn’s office, though he had visited her bedroom for the last three nights. Ronnie was starting to think of him as her own personal vampire. He would arrive after midnight and leave before dawn, and while she would then sleep blissfully for several hours, she had a feeling he didn’t. Watching his hell-bent-for-leather approach, she wondered if the effects of sleeplessness were making him cranky. She also wondered if Sally knew about her son’s nocturnal visits. If she did, she had said nothing about them to Ronnie.
The creek stood between them and him. The sound of its green water gurgling over the brown pebbles in its bed filled the air. Overhead the breeze stirred the broad leaves of the elm, adding a hushed rustling harmony to the stream’s song. The day was warm and bright. The mugginess of August was past. The elm’s leaves were just starting to yellow.
Within a matter of minutes Tom reached the top of the rise and slowed, sending a hard-eyed glance from Ronnie to Mark and back as he came toward them. His mouth was tight, his jaw was hard, and he looked mad.
“Hi, Tom,” Ronnie offered.
Mark scowled, but didn’t offer a greeting. Tom stopped on the opposite bank of the creek at the very top of the oasis of shade provided by the tree. His gaze raked Ronnie once before moving on to his son. For a moment the two pairs of blue eyes, so alike, locked in silent battle.
Ronnie glanced from one to the other, perceived impending nuclear war, and got lithely to her feet. With a quick jump and a couple of steps she was across the creek and beside Tom. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. It was warm, smooth-shaven, and smelled of something very nice.
“Hello, Tom,” she said again, a shade pointedly.
Tom glanced at her then, and the muscles in his face relaxed a little as he smiled at her.
“Hello, Ronnie.” His arm came around her waist and he hugged her against his side, but he didn’t kiss her. His attention moved back to Mark, who met Tom’s inimical gaze with an identical one of his own, and got to his feet. Give Mark just a couple of more years to grow, Ronnie thought, assessing him, and he and Tom would be pretty much the same size.
“If my son said anything unforgivable, I apologize for him,” Tom said, his arm around her waist and his eyes on Mark. “He’ll apologize too.”
“He didn’t.” She leaned closer into his side. Anything more physical than that was out with Mark’s watchful gaze on them. She wanted to win Mark over, not alienate him. “Actually we talked. He’s got a point, Tom. This whole thing has been pretty embarrassing for everybody. You and I can keep a low profile. He can’t.”
“I’m sorry about it, but he still has to go to school. He’s just going to have to learn to live with the smutty headlines, because it doesn’t look like they’re going to go away anytime soon.”
“It’s not dying down?” Ronnie looked up at Tom with a pained grimace. Since before she had been at Tom’s mother’s house, the only time the scandal had really touched her was at Lewis’s funeral. Ronnie realized suddenly that she hadn’t seen a newspaper or even watched TV since she’d been Sally’s guest. No doubt she was being shielded.
“Not yet.” Tom’s clipped reply gave Ronnie to understand that the scandal was as big and bad as ever. She winced.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Mark had been watching them. His apology to his father was abrupt. “I take back everything I said about—you know—okay?”
It didn’t take a genius to deduce that Mark’s “you know” referred to her, Ronnie thought. She smiled at him.
“Okay.” Tom seemed to relax fractionally. Ronnie could feel the easing of the hard muscles against which she leaned. “But if you ever take off with my car again without permission, I’ll ground you until the cows come home, pal.”
“Sorry. I was mad.”
“Yeah.”
Father and son exchanged measuring looks.
“Since you’re here,” Ronnie stepped hurriedly into the breach once more, speaking to Tom, “why don’t we all go down to the house and have lunch? I’m starving.”
Tom glanced down at her. The smile that touched his lips and warmed his eyes told her that he knew exactly what she was trying to do.
“Me too,” he said, his tone perfectly cheerful now. Then he looked at his son. “Come on, Mark, let’s go eat.”
Mark nodded, and stepped across the creek to join them.
Chapter
44
September 19th
2:00 P.M.
MARLA WAS IN THE BEDROOM with Jerry when a knock sounded on the front door. They had just finished up a very nice nooner, and Jerry was getting ready to go to the grocery store where he worked as a part-time security guard.
“I’ll get it,” Jerry said, tying his shoes and straightening as the knock sounded again. Dressed in his dark-blue guard’s uniform, Jerry looked much like the cop Marla had first met. She found men in uniform attractive, as she had already told him. In fact that revelation had led to their nooner.
Pulling on her own clothes, Marla heard Jerry open the door, and then the low murmur of voices. She wasn’t especially curious; she had grown accustomed to the comforting monotony of existence at Jerry’s house. But she needed to use the bathroom, and anyway Jerry had invited his visitor inside. She headed down the hall, made the necessary pit stop in the only bathroom, and then glanced into the living room on her way to the kitchen.
Jerry was standing in the middle of the living room talking to a cop. The cop’s back was to Marla, but there was that uniform.
“My girlfriend must’ve called,” Jerry was saying.
“You understand there’s a lot of pressure on us to solve this case,” the cop said. “The victim was Charlie Kay Martin’s daughter, and he’s putting all kinds of heat on the department to find out who killed her. If your girlfriend knows anything about what happened, like she told the lawyer, I sure would appreciate it if she would pass the information on to me.”
“Well,” Jerry said. “I guess you could talk to her.” His gaze met Marla’s over the cop’s shoulder. “Marla …”
The cop turned so fast that Jerry stumbled back a pace. For a moment he and Marla locked eyes. His were icy gray, the dominating feature in a nondescript face.
It was the man
who had ransacked her apartment, the man who had trailed her to the hotel—the man who loomed far larger than Freddy Krueger in inhabiting her worst nightmares.
Terror exploded in her veins.
“Jerry, it’s him, it’s him!”
Even as she screamed the warning, Marla darted for the kitchen. The man leaped after her. Jerry tackled him.
Terror gave her a speed and agility she had never before possessed. Flying across the kitchen, she was pursued by the sounds of a scuffle and then a crash. She ran for her life, exploding out the screen door and across the backyard, thanking God with every step that Lissy was playing with the little girl around the corner. Otherwise she would have been in the backyard, and the two of them together could never have gotten away.
As she burst through the backyard gate into the alley that ran behind the house, she heard the screen door bounce back on its hinges behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her the intruder charging across the yard after her.
Jerry must be unconscious—or dead.
But Marla couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about anything except saving her own life. Bolting down the alley, she realized that on a straightaway he would overtake her in seconds. She scurried around the corner of a garage—all the houses around Jerry’s had detached garages, most of them ramshackle wood-frame structures, a few modernized with aluminum siding—and saw a side door. A quick twist of the knob proved that it was unlocked. Opening it, leaping inside, she quietly closed and locked the door behind her. The quiet, dusty gloom of the garage made a stark contrast to her own wildly pounding heart.
Panting, Marla leaned against the wall. She didn’t kid herself that he wouldn’t find her in here sooner or later. At best she might have bought herself a little time.
Be calm, be calm, Marla told herself. Panic would not help her now.
It was Mrs. Diaz’s garage, Marla saw. Mrs. Diaz was an elderly woman whose grocery shopping Jerry sometimes did. Her car was an ancient Chevy Nova, a small, brown rusty car that appeared not to have been driven in years.
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