Lomas Boulevard is a major street, crowded with traffic even at midnight. It hadn't occurred to me that one of those hundreds of other cars might have its sights on me. I drove west, my mind flitting over a variety of subjects not the least of which was how good it would feel to fall into my own comfy bed.
Lomas merges with Central just a few blocks east of my neighborhood. More cars joined us there. I maneuvered across three lanes of traffic into the left lane, ready to turn south on Rio Grande. Maybe because it is a tricky move, one that has to be accomplished in a short space, I became aware that another vehicle had done the same thing. As I waited for the light to change, I glanced back. The strange dark pickup truck edged closer to me, the driver gunning his engine then hitting his brakes so the vehicle pounced at me in little jumps. I edged forward, already across the white crosswalk line. My mind went into high gear.
I didn't dare drive straight home. I tried to think—police station, fire station—where could I go? I thought of the crowds in Old Town. Usually it was packed with tourists but this time of year, this late at night, it would be deserted. I couldn't think of the nearest fire station. The closest police station is downtown, the headquarters. Although there are always people coming and going, it's a difficult place to access. I didn't think I could just pull up to the door and honk. What to do? Think. Think. The light changed.
Without any forethought, I stepped on the gas as hard as I could. The Jeep leaped forward, and I yanked the wheel sharply. Horns blared at me as I cut off the cars to my right who were going straight through the intersection, expecting me to turn left. I kept the gas pedal floored. Once I'd cleared the cars I'd so rudely dashed in front of, I glanced back. My pursuer was in the middle of the intersection, trying to follow my move, but unable to yet because of the three lanes of cars rushing past him. My heart pounded.
Just ahead, the road curved to the left and I lost sight of my foe. I knew, though, that he wouldn't give up. The first break in traffic he'd be after me again. I steered toward the far right lane. I knew we'd cross the river soon, and unless I made a move now, I'd be trapped on the west side, unfamiliar territory to me, with limited means to get back across.
I took the next side street I came to, with no idea where this would take me. I passed some apartment buildings where groups of teens lounged around cars. I didn't take the time to see what kind of merchandise passed between them, but I had a fairly good idea. I didn't want to be lost in this neighborhood. The street came to a T and I debated my choices. Took a right. This one wound in a series of curves, which I guessed were taking me north. My eyes darted constantly to the rearview mirror. No lights appeared yet. My only hope was that my pursuer hadn't seen me turn off Central. If he had, the rest would be easy. I hadn't made an unpredictable move since then.
I continued to wind through the narrow residential street as fast as I dared, praying like crazy that it wasn't a dead end. Eventually, the houses became a little larger, a little more pretentious. Street lights were few and far between here. I had no idea where I was but at least no headlights followed, yet.
Ten or twelve blocks had probably passed. The street continued to meander. Occasionally, I came to cross streets, but had no idea whether they would lead deeper into the maze or which one might eventually take me out. Almost abruptly I came to a major street. Rio Grande. Okay, now I could figure out where I was. The six lanes were deserted. I must have traveled quite a distance. I turned right.
Within a block I recognized a business, a small hardware store, closed now with only a few security lights on. I was less than a mile from the spot where the dark truck had leaped at me. Traffic picked up as I approached Central. I took it cautiously, realizing that my pursuer might have lost me, come back to this spot, waited for me to show up. Which brought another disturbing thought. Did they know where I lived?
I scanned the intersection of Rio Grande and Central as I approached. No sign of a dark truck. Past the intersection, I began watching my rearview. Still nothing. I relaxed only a little. My thumb reached for the control to my garage door opener as I neared the house. The door was open by the time I hit the driveway and I pulled in without a pause, closing the door before I even shut down the engine. I sat there a minute before taking the key from the ignition and reaching for my purse. I was shaking, only partially from the cold.
Rusty greeted me joyfully and I spent an extra few minutes deriving warmth from him. Before doing anything else, I checked the doors and windows. All secure. I kept my jacket on while I made hot chocolate. I gave Rusty a rawhide chew and we took our treats into the living room. The hot chocolate warmed my fingers and my insides finally calmed down.
In retrospect the incident receded in importance. Really, there had been nothing about the truck that I could positively connect with the case. They might have just been trouble makers seeing a lone woman out late. Maybe they only meant to scare me. Maybe they meant to rape, rob, and shoot me. It happens. But the point was, they were probably strangers. I'd gotten away. I counted myself lucky.
I dozed on the couch, waking sometime later to find the lights still on and Rusty asleep beside me. The house was chilly. I had a terrible crick in my neck. I stumbled to the bedroom, switching off lights, peeling off my clothes as I went. I fell into bed naked, not even taking time to brush my teeth.
Something warm and wet stroked my fingers. The sensation blended into my dream, making me feel curiously sensuous. I stretched and rubbed my body against the smooth sheets. The warm stroke came again.
"Rusty!" I woke up enough to realize he was licking my hand, wanting outside. "Go away." I pulled the comforter over my head, tucking in so he couldn't reach me. It didn't work.
He jumped up, front paws on the bed, nudging with his nose at the pile of covers. This signaled eminent danger. If he didn't get outside soon, I'd pay. I forcefully dragged myself from under the covers, and reached for the robe on the back of my bathroom door. I had barely pulled it on by the time we reached the back door. Rusty was out in a bound, and I closed and locked the door behind him.
Sleep came again easily. When I awoke this time it was almost nine. I felt refreshed and not the least bit guilty. Stretching luxuriously, I allowed myself to snuggle deep under the comforter, under no pressure to get up yet. I realized I'd thought of nothing but the Detweiller case for over a week now and I was tired of it. Tired of worrying about Stacy and Brad and Jean and the whole lot of them. I gave myself permission to take the weekend off.
Bright sun filtered through my bedroom drapes like a good omen. I peeked outside to spot Rusty lying on the back porch, patiently awaiting breakfast. The sky looked like smooth blue porcelain, all traces of last night's storm blown away. Last night's shadows, too, had receded in my mind. My spirits perked up with fresh optimism.
Steaming water coursed over me as I indulged in a long shower, making Rusty wait a few more minutes. I dressed in jeans and t-shirt, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, made my bed and tidied the room. When I reached the kitchen and peeked out again, Rusty stood with his nose aimed at the crack in the door, his tail swinging wildly. He wriggled through and planted himself in front of the sack of dog food.
"Okay, I get the idea," I laughed. I tried to hug him but, intent on only one thing, he twisted out of my grasp.
I scooped out nuggets for him, which he set upon like it was the last food on earth. I mixed batter and heated the waffle iron, a special treat for myself. Outside, I noticed there were daffodils already blooming in the back yard. When had those come up? Yes, I vowed, as the toasty waffle scent drifted from the iron, I'm going to enjoy the weekend and not think once about Stacy North.
It was easier said than done. She showed up on my doorstep just after noon.
I'd spent the morning in the back yard. With its eastern exposure, the sun was nice and warm. I raked the winter's dead leaves from the flower beds, pruned the rose bushes back, and watered everything long and deep. The lawn wasn't nearly ready for its first mowing yet, but I'd soon
need to contact the teenage boy who usually does it for me. I cut a large bunch of daffodils, enjoying their heady fragrance, then decided I was ready for a lunch break.
The doorbell chimed just as I stepped into the kitchen. I laid the flowers in the sink and pulled a paper towel from the roll to wipe my hands. The thought went through my mind that it would either be someone selling magazines or a Girl Scout. I hoped for the latter—I'm a sucker for those cookies.
Stacy jumped slightly, as though startled from a daydream, when I opened the door. She wore silky-looking pleated slacks in a soft taupe and a cream colored silk blouse with gold buttons. It had some kind of crest embroidered in gold on the breast pocket. Her leather shoes and purse were exactly the color of the slacks. I looked down at my own jeans, which now had round dirt patches on both knees. My t-shirt had taken a dousing from the hose along the lower edge, and was now clinging frigidly to my hip. I didn't want to imagine what my face must look like.
"Hi, Charlie," she said. She turned slightly and glanced over the front yard, taking in the shrubs near the door and the ivy hanging thick around the porch. "Everything's so much bigger than I remembered. The yard, I mean."
"Well, it's had ten extra years to get that way," I replied. It came out a little sharper than intended. "Look, come on in," I invited.
She slipped past me, sleek and graceful as a cat. Stacy had always possessed a certain chic that I lacked. Maybe it was inevitable that we would turn out so differently; it wasn't just her money. In reality, I had money too. My parents, in addition to the house, had left me a decent inheritance. It waited patiently, growing in a trust fund for me until I turned twenty-five. Aside from the money I'd taken out to start RJP the rest was still there. I tend to forget about it. By the time I decide to retire, I'll be able to do it in style. Until then, well, I'm happy with my life as it is. Money obviously hasn't brought Stacy anything I'd want.
"Come on back. I was in the kitchen." She led the way, pausing to run her fingers over the dining table and to notice the china cabinet.
"You still have a lot of your mother's things, don't you?" she commented. Her voice was almost wistful.
I offered her a cold drink or some lunch.
"No, I can't stay. I'm supposed to be shopping. I'll have to get home soon."
I had picked up the daffodils and was reaching into the cupboard for a vase. Even with my back turned I could hear a weariness in her voice. I glanced at her. The light in the kitchen was brighter, and I noticed for the first time how haggard her face had become. Under the perfectly done makeup, Stacy was close to cracking. I set the vase and flowers down and went to her.
Putting my arms around her felt like hugging a bag of sticks. Her shoulders were so thin. She felt as insubstantial as a bird. Her fingers were icy against my back.
"Come here, sit down." I led her to the table and pulled out a chair. "Now, like it or not, I'm making you a cup of tea." For lack of anything better to suggest, I fell back on Gram's belief that a cup of tea will fix anything.
While we waited for the water to boil I sat across from her. "This has been rough, huh?"
She nodded, tears threatening to overflow. I brought the tissue box and sat again.
"Look, we're going to find out who really did it," I assured in the most positive voice I could muster. "It'll all be over soon. I promise."
Stacy dabbed at her eyes, quickly, like she didn't want me to know she was really doing it. Her eyes were dull, resigned. She nodded in response to my promise but she knew finding the real killer would not make it all better.
The kettle whistled and I fetched cups, spoons, sugar, and tea bags. The ritual kept me busy for a few minutes. Stacy remained silent. I laid everything out on the table. Busy-work to postpone what I really wanted to say. I sat again, watching her release a spoonful of sugar into her tea and stir it until I thought she might scrape the bottom out of the cup. I placed my hand over hers.
"Stace. Come on. You can't hold this in forever. Those walls of yours have become thick and impenetrable. Someday you'll have to let someone inside."
The eyes threatened to overflow again. She blinked and wasted some time with her tea, first blowing on the surface of it, then taking a careful little sip. I waited, averting my eyes to give her a tiny measure of privacy. The silence stretched on.
"Stacy, is it Brad?" I finally asked. It was the question that had been on my mind all along. "Is he abusive?"
She set her cup down and straightened in her chair. "Oh, no, Charlie. He's never hit me."
"That's not what I asked. Abuse doesn't always mean hitting."
The tea cup came back up and she got real busy again.
"Okay, you don't have to tell me. Maybe this is awkward for you. But think about it. If he undermines your self esteem, if he belittles you, humiliates you in public—Stace, he has no right to do that. You can get help." I was getting a little out of my depth because I really didn't know what to suggest next, but at least I'd put the thought in her mind. She'd have to decide what to do with it.
We drank our tea in silence for a couple of minutes. Stacy appeared thoughtful but it could have just been her way of blocking out my words. I had no clue from her.
"Hey, I never asked what you came to see me about," I said, finally breaking the silence.
"Oh, I don't know," she replied. "I guess it was nothing really."
She stood up, ending the visit. Near the front door, she stopped to hug me again.
"Thanks, you have helped," she said.
I watched her get into her Mercedes and back it out of the driveway. I wasn't sure how I'd helped. Then again, you can only lead a person so far. Any real change has to come from within. I tried to put Stacy out of my mind while I arranged the flowers in a vase, tidied the house, and changed into clean jeans. I wanted to forget about her as I watched a movie on television and while I read a book on Sunday. But her face haunted me for two days.
Chapter 16