The Edge of Night

by Jill Sorenson

  Moving stealthily, he ascended the steps and walked down the hall, pausing outside the door of the guest room.

  The bedsprings creaked.

  Every nerve in his body went taut.

  With quick, silent steps, he continued to his room, ducking inside. This time, he wasn’t rushing in unprepared. He headed to the closet and reached for the locked box that held his personal revolver. In less than a minute, he had the loaded gun in his hand.

  It felt good there.

  More comfortable now that he was armed, he strode down the hall and stood outside the guest bedroom once again, listening.

  There was only the soft sound of deep, even breathing.

  Motherfucker.

  Flipping on the hall light, he opened the door. “Chula Vista Police,” he shouted, aiming his revolver at the lump on the bed. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

  The sleeping figure sat forward, her eyes springing open. Screaming loud enough to wake the dead, she cradled her arms around her head and assumed the fetal position, as if that would protect her from a bullet.

  Meghan.

  He put his left hand over his heart, which was galloping beneath his palm, and pointed his gun down at the floor.

  She quieted, peeking out from underneath the shelter of her arms. “Noah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I came to visit.”

  He let out a slow breath, almost a laugh. “I can see that. Let me just … put this away.”

  “Okay.”

  Meghan had a key to his house, but her presence here was unexpected, to say the least. She lived in Cedar Glen, with their parents, and she’d already spent two weeks with him this summer. She was supposed to start her sophomore year of college soon.

  Noah returned to his room, removing the bullets from the gun with shaking hands. Focusing on that task gave him a minute to regroup. The entire night had been surreal. He could have been shot. He could have shot his sister.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Maybe Patrick was right. He wouldn’t last long on homicide if he couldn’t tell the difference between friends and enemies or lies from truth.

  He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his pounding heart. When he felt calm again, he went back to Meghan, wondering what she was doing here. She hadn’t shown up unannounced before.

  His sister was sitting up in bed, her knees hugged to her chest. She’d turned on the lamp. A pale blue blanket covered her from the waist down. She was using one of his old T-shirts as a nightgown.

  Not sure where to begin, he sat at the end of the bed.

  “That was pretty cool,” she said with a nervous little smile. “I’ve never seen you in action before.”

  “I could have killed you.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m sorry. I should have called first.”

  “It’s okay,” he said easily. He was glad to see her, under any circumstances. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Something weird happened earlier, and I was on edge.”

  She frowned. “Something weird?”

  “A guy pulled a gun on me. But it didn’t go off.”

  Her face paled. “Holy shit, Noah.”

  “I’m fine now,” he said, pushing away the disturbing images of the past twenty-four hours. He couldn’t talk about the murder investigation. “Just kind of shaken up. Don’t tell Mom.”

  She nodded automatically and glanced down, her bangs falling into her eyes. It occurred to him that she looked different. “About Mom—”

  “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

  She lifted a hand to her head, self-conscious. “You don’t like it?”

  Her hair was honey blond, a shade lighter than his, and it had always been beautiful. A month ago it had been almost waist length. Now it was cropped short and asymmetrical, with long bangs on one side.

  She looked like one of the homeless teens on 4th and B.

  Without all that long hair, her face stood out more. Her eyes seemed bluer, her features finer. The style was offbeat, not unflattering. What really disturbed him was her demeanor. He sensed a new maturity about her, along with a hint of sadness.

  He much preferred her in pigtails and braces.

  “Mom didn’t like it, either,” she said, falling back against the pillows. “She asked if I got run over by a lawn mower.”

  Noah smiled, imagining their mother’s reaction to the haircut. As a former beauty queen and current preacher’s wife, she had very conservative tastes. Both of their parents were stern, strict, traditional.

  “We had a fight,” she continued.

  “About your hair?”

  “Among other things. I dropped out of Chapel.”

  Chapel College was in central California, several hours north of their hometown. It was small and unremarkable, a quiet Christian university. Noah had attended it for two years before transferring to San Diego State. “Why?”

  “I hate it there. Everyone is so fake. Bible study and choir practice, then beer kegs and puke parties.”

  He knew she wasn’t exaggerating, because he’d encountered some of the same hypocrisy when he was a student. There were plenty of girls at Chapel who looked real sweet on Sunday but didn’t mind acting sinful on Saturday night. Noah had considered that a plus. “Those aren’t required courses, Meg.”

  “They may as well be. I’ll never fit in there. I’m different.”

  His gaze narrowed on her jacked-up hair. “Different?”

  “The students at Chapel aren’t like me. I want to expand my horizons, meet new people, explore the world.”

  He arched a brow. “You went to Paris last summer.”

  “With the youth group,” she said, rolling her eyes. “How am I supposed to find myself in such an insulated situation?”

  Noah hid another smile, trying to remember what it was like to be nineteen. He’d always known he wanted to be a cop, so he was lucky in that sense. He’d never felt a burning need to find himself. But he was no choirboy, and he’d had his share of conflicts with their parents. They couldn’t believe he was more comfortable on the mean streets of Chula Vista than in the quiet village of Cedar Glen.

  “We don’t have to solve the mysteries of the universe tonight,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some sleep.”

  She moistened her lips. “I have to ask you something first.”

  “What?”

  “Can I stay here?”

  “Of course. You think I’d throw you out?”

  “For a while, I mean. I want to live with you.”

  Noah was taken aback by the question. His first instinct was to say no, and not only because he valued his privacy. Meghan usually came to visit when he was on vacation and had time to spend with her. Right now his work schedule was very demanding. He was gone almost every evening, and the neighborhood was rough. A local girl had just been murdered. His sister would be safer at Chapel.

  “I’m not going back there, Noah. And Mom won’t pay for a secular school.”

  “Neither will I! I can’t afford to put you through college.”

  “I’ll get a job.”

  “You have no experience, no money, and no car.” He paused for a moment. “How did you get here, anyway?”

  “I took the bus,” she said, sounding very pleased with herself. “And I’m perfectly capable of doing it again. Southwest College is only two miles down the road. I can work and go to classes, like you did.”

  “Fuck,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me think about it.”

  She made a squealing sound and bounced up and down a few times, as if he’d said yes. “I won’t be any trouble,” she promised. “I’ll hide if you bring a date home. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Noah.”

  And the last vestiges of his resistance slipped away.

  5

  April awoke to
the sound of seabirds and naval flutes.

  “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?

  SpongeBob SquarePants!”

  With a low groan, she rolled onto her stomach and cradled the pillow around her head, trying to muffle the annoying theme song. Then the events from the previous evening came rushing back to her, jolting her from half sleep.

  She opened her eyes.

  The digital clock on the nightstand said 9:01 A.M. She’d gone to bed at around 4:00. Beyond the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, she could hear someone rifling through the refrigerator. “Jenny?”

  Her daughter appeared in the doorway, a hopeful look on her face. She was still wearing her faded pink pajamas. “Are you awake now, Mama?”

  April felt a familiar pang of guilt. Jenny wasn’t always quiet in the mornings, but sometimes she let April sleep in for hours. “I’m awake,” she sighed, rubbing her grainy eyes. “But I need help to get up.”

  Smiling, Jenny entered the room. As soon as the little girl held out her hand, April tugged her onto the bed, ravishing her with hugs and kisses. Jenny squealed with laughter, delighted by the game. It was part of their morning ritual.

  April sat up and formed her hands into claws, doing her best zombie impression. “I’m so hungry I could eat … brains!” With a playful growl, she pounced, pretending to feast on Jenny’s sweet tousled head. Then she tickled her until they were both out of breath. Side by side, they listened to SpongeBob’s nasal twang coming from the television in the living room.

  “Did Abuelita come home?” April asked.

  “No.”

  She rose from the bed. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes!”

  Stretching her arms over her head, April walked into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffeemaker. While her coffee was brewing, she checked the contents of the fridge. “How about cinnamon tortillas?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Okay.”

  April tossed a couple of tortillas on a flat pan on the stove. When the surface bubbled, she flipped them with her fingertips. As soon as they were done, she spread a small amount of butter on the surface, sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar, and rolled them up.

  “Here you go, madam,” she said, delivering the quickie meal on a paper plate. “Milk or orange juice?”

  Jenny scrunched up her face in concentration. “Milk.”

  “Good choice.” She poured her daughter a glass of low-fat milk and took it to the table. While the pan was hot, she heated up another tortilla for herself. She hadn’t eaten much yesterday, and she was hungry. “What do you want to do today?”

  “Abuelita said she would take me to the beach.”

  April poured herself a cup of coffee. She was still furious with Josefa for leaving Jenny alone last night. But what if she hadn’t taken off to buy drugs? Maybe she was hurt, or confused, or … dead.

  Like Lola.

  Shivering, April sat down across from Jenny.

  “Do you think she forgot?”

  “Forgot what, m’ija?”

  “About the beach.”

  April sighed, raking a hand through her hair. Josefa didn’t have a car, and she wasn’t allowed to drive April’s. There was no way she could take Jenny to the beach. “Remember how I said that your grandma was sick?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, sometimes she forgets things and makes promises she can’t keep. She isn’t supposed to be driving.”

  “Oh,” Jenny said, disappointed. Then she perked up. “Will you take me?”

  On a day this hot, the beach would be packed with tourists and locals alike. Parking in Chula Vista was a nightmare in the summer. Sometimes, when April really needed to escape, she took Jenny to one of the quieter, cleaner beaches up north.

  Right now they both could use a break. “All right.”

  After breakfast, April packed a light lunch and put it in an oversize mesh bag, along with a couple of ratty old towels. Jenny did her part, donning a turquoise swimsuit and collecting her beach toys from the backyard. They were sun-faded and dirty from frequent use, so Jenny washed them carefully under the spigot.

  April retreated to the bedroom to get ready. In the top drawer, she had a dark-blue tankini and a newer, skimpier two-piece she’d never worn. Carmen had talked her into buying it on sale a few weeks ago.

  She preferred modest attire during her time off work, so she chose the old suit. It was more appropriate for building castles with Jenny, anyway. No reason to ruin the new one, which was mostly white, with flecks of black sand.

  Pairing the suit with a flowy cotton skirt, she slipped her feet into rubber flip-flops and tied back her hair. Jenny’s hair was just like hers, thick and dark, with the tendency to tangle. April was trying to tame it when she heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside. Fashioning a quick ponytail, she set the hairbrush on the dresser.

  “Don’t forget to brush your teeth. And go potty.”

  “I already went.”

  “Go again.”

  While Jenny was in the bathroom, April raced into the kitchen, removing her purse from the upper cabinet and stashing Eric’s money in her wallet. She’d have to stop at the ATM before they went to the beach.

  Burying her purse among the towels in the beach bag, she approached the front window to look out at the street.

  A leather-clad biker was dropping Josefa off at the curb. He was silver-haired and tall, about ten years older than her mother. April didn’t like any of the men Josefa dated, but she preferred the more mature ones. It was humiliating to watch her mother hang all over guys April’s age.

  Which she did. Frequently. Josefa was only forty-one, and still beautiful. She had a great figure, a partygirl attitude, and an infectious smile. When Josefa and April went out in public together, strangers often assumed they were sisters.

  “See you around, Josie,” the man on the bike said, his eyes on Josefa’s shapely backside as she walked to the front door.

  “Anytime, big guy,” she said, waving a jaunty adiós.

  Inside the house, she breezed past April, too intoxicated to read the anger and disappointment on her face. “I could use a nap,” she said, climbing into bed, fully dressed. “Will you turn the light off, honey?”

  “It’s the sun, Mom.”

  “Hmm?” A moment later, she was asleep.

  Gritting her teeth, April picked up Josefa’s faux-leather purse and upended it at the foot of the bed. There were cigarettes, condoms … and cocaine. April stared at the tiny plastic bag, unable to believe her eyes.

  She’d known her mother drank to excess and used prescription drugs. But this level of self-destruction was unprecedented.

  Or was it?

  Maybe Josefa had been using street drugs all along. Snorting lines in the bathroom while Jenny watched Disney movies. Inviting her boyfriends over as soon as Jenny fell asleep.

  The sight of the plastic bag on the bed infuriated April. It represented everything she loathed. A slew of memories washed over her, infecting her like a sickness. She knew what that kind of high felt like. She could almost taste it, numbing the back of her throat.

  Just this once, it whispered.

  “Ugh!” she yelled, wanting to tear her hair out. Instead, she grabbed the bag of drugs and headed straight to the bathroom.

  Jenny gave her a curious look. “What’s that, Mama?”

  “Poison.”

  Hands trembling, tears burning her eyes, she dumped the contents into the commode and flushed. Then she rinsed the bag, threw it in the wastebasket, and took the trash out, dumping it into the receptacle by the back door. When every hint of the stuff was gone, she went to the sink and washed her hands.

  And washed them. And washed them.

  “Are you okay, Mommy?”

  April turned off the faucet, drying her hands on a dish towel. Taking a deep, calming breath, she sank to her knees and hugged Jenny tight. “Now I am,” she said, finding solace in her daughter’s small arms. “Now I am.
”

  When Noah woke up, he smelled bacon. And remembered Meghan.

  Groaning, he kicked off the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting his feet on the floor. He should probably encourage his sister to go back to Chapel. If he let her stay, he’d be in the doghouse with their mother.

  Noah could handle his mom’s disapproval, but he didn’t want to. She’d always been touchy about Meghan.

  “Shit,” he said, fumbling for his jeans on the floor.

  Downstairs, Meghan was sitting on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, reading the newspaper. She’d made a carafe of fresh coffee, a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, and a half dozen slices of crispy bacon.

  His stomach growled.

  “Good morning,” she said sweetly.

  Mumbling the same, he poured himself a cup of coffee and dug in. As the caffeine and satisfying meal began to transform him into a functional human being, he noticed that she’d tidied up the kitchen.

  The dishes were put away, the surfaces clean.

  He’d been living away from home since he turned eighteen, so he knew how to fry bacon and wipe down counters, but he certainly didn’t mind letting her do it. There were some positive points to having his sister around, he supposed.

  Meghan flattened the newspaper on the countertop. She was wearing jeans that were snug around the ankles and a tank top with horizontal stripes. Her crazy bangs were held back by a slim headband.

  She looked pretty. All grown up.

  His eyes strayed to the framed photo of them in the hallway. It was taken at the top of Mount Whitney about five years ago. She had her hair in a cute ponytail; they were both suntanned and smiling. He realized that his mental picture of Meghan hadn’t matured.

  “Work at home in your spare time,” she read. “Easy job, excellent pay.”

  “Scam,” he predicted, taking a bite of eggs.

  “You’re probably right. Ooh, here’s an interesting one. Upscale gentleman’s club seeks dancers. Make thousands per day.”

  “Over my dead body,” he muttered, though he knew she was joking.

  “But it says no experience necessary.”

  He squinted at her, conveying his lack of amusement.

  “Jeez,” she said. “You’re so grumpy in the morning.”