Tonight You're Mine (11 page)

“What's going on?” Shelley asked.

“Good luck for us, honey!” Nicole reached for the phone. “
Now
we can call the police because there's a great big dog out there that's got the creep cornered.”

Ten minutes later Nicole heard a siren. By this time she had on jeans and a sweatshirt, but as she slipped her feet into loafers, her heart sank as the barking of the big dog abruptly stopped. The police pounded on her front door. Why in heaven's name were they making so much noise? she wondered angrily. First the siren, now the pounding. You'd think this was a bank robbery.

While Shelley held Jesse on a leash, Nicole explained to two young patrolmen where the man was. She and one policeman went through the backyard to the fence. The other patrolman went around the block to the yard of the vacant house that abutted Nicole's property. “No dog, no man,” he called.

“Damn,” Nicole muttered. “If only the dog hadn't run off.”

“Maybe it was the sound of the siren,” the young patrolman suggested.

No kidding, Nicole thought. She watched the beam of a flashlight dancing on the other side of the fence. Then the other policeman yelled, “The dog got hold of him. There's some blood on the tree trunk and some on the grass. Not a lot. Couldn't have been a bad injury. Wait a minute. I think I see something else. A piece of gold jewelry.” Nicole could only see slivers of light between the boards of the fence as the policeman bent to inspect his find. “It's fancy,” he shouted. “Some kind of religious symbol.” He paused. “It's a brass Saint Francis medal.”

“Saint Francis, the patron saint of animals,” Nicole murmured.

Finally, the policeman laughed. “Well, can you believe this? It's a pet ID tag. It says, ‘Jordan,' and there's an address. At least a partial. The number's scratched, can't make it out, but the rest is Hermosa Street. That's in Olmos Park. The dog's a long way from home.”

Nicole stood frozen as the world of her familiar backyard and her little brick house disappeared and she saw a long Spanish-style mansion with a fountain on Hermosa Street in Olmos Park. The home of Paul Dominic.

1

Nicole awakened with a dull headache. She took two aspirin with a glass of orange juice before fixing Shelley's breakfast.

Unlike her, the child was in high gear, excited by last night's commotion. “Can I tell everyone at school about the werewolf and the policemen?” she asked, spooning Cheerios and strawberries in her mouth.

“No.”

“Why?”

“It might scare the other kids. They might get ideas about playing the same kind of trick.”

Shelley frowned over this for a moment and Nicole thought she was going to raise objections. Instead, she nodded. “I think you're right. I bet Tommy Myers would buy a wolf mask and go scare somebody tonight. Mom, he's so
mean
. And you know what else? He likes
me
! He wants to go steady. Yuck!”

Nicole took a sip of orange juice, thinking. One level of her mind was working on how ridiculous it was for nine-year-olds to be talking about going steady. Another part gnawed at a different question. “Is Tommy Myers very big?”

Shelley nodded. “He's taller than most of the guys in class. Why?”

“No reason.”

Shelley stared at her for a moment, then assumed an owlish look. “You're wondering if that was him last night. No way, Mom. That was a grown-up guy.”

“I just wondered.” Or rather, I hoped, Nicole thought. “You have a milk mustache.”

Shelley quickly wiped it away. “Our teacher said women used to take baths in milk.”

“They thought it was good for the skin.”

“Who'd want to sit in a tub full of cold milk? Besides, you've got real pretty skin anyway. Prettier than Lisa's. She's got freckles.”

“There's nothing wrong with freckles.”

“Well, I don't like them,” Shelley announced emphatically. “Or orange hair or green eyes. And she's too tall. She's also got
real
big boobs and she rubs them against Daddy all the time!”

“Shelley!” Nicole exclaimed, torn between shock and laughter. “Those aren't nice things to say.”

“I don't care. I like blond hair and blue eyes and little boobs like yours.”

“Thank you, dear,” Nicole said dryly. “And would you please stop saying ‘boobs'?”

“What should I say instead?”

“I don't know. I'll think of something. And for the record, her hair is dark auburn, not orange, and she's about the same height as Aunt Carmen.”

“She looks taller.
Huge
.”

“Well, she's not. Are you finished with breakfast?”

“Yeah. I wasn't too hungry.”

This morning Nicole let Shelley take the bus to school. A couple of hours later, she climbed into her car, intending to head straight for her mother's house. The impulse she'd had all morning was too strong, though, and in twenty minutes she found herself in Olmos Park.

Although the Dominic home was less than three miles from her parents' house, she had not been here since her last night with Paul. How romantic that tryst had begun. How horrifyingly it had ended.

As she drew near the Dominic home, she slowed down and parked on the opposite side of the street. The once perfect lawn now looked shabby, the hedges untrimmed, the white fountain, topped by its beautiful figure of Diana the Huntress, dry and stained from rusty water. She remembered once taking a picture of the sun shining through the sparkling spray.

Like the lawn, the house itself also showed signs of neglect. Its pristine whiteness had dimmed to a dirty eggshell color, and several of the dark red Spanish roof tiles were cracked or missing.

Paul's father had been much older than his mother, Alicia, and died when Paul was in his early twenties. Nicole wondered if Alicia Dominic still lived here. She'd looked for the name in the telephone directory and found nothing, but that could mean the woman had an unlisted number. There were no signs of life around the house, though. Of course if Mrs. Dominic still lived here, her only companion might be the housekeeper, Rosa. How strange, Nicole mused. She hadn't thought of Rosa for ages. Neither she nor her son. What was his name? Juan. She'd only seen him a few times and never said more than ten words to him. Besides, he would be a man by now.

But she wasn't looking for people. She was looking for a Doberman. If not the dog, some sign that a dog lived here. She pulled farther up the street and stopped again, looking backward so she could get a view of the rear lawn. No fence. No doghouse. No dog.

Well, what did you expect? she wondered as she started the car and pulled away from the curb. Paul Dominic sitting on the lawn playing with his dog?

No. If Paul were alive and in San Antonio, he didn't intend to make himself easy to find.

2

Her mother opened the door immediately. “Nicole! I didn't expect to see you again today.”

“I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but I didn't get a chance.”

Her mother gave her a small smile. “Mildred's sympathy call exhausted
me
and added five pounds to
her
.”

“I guess she means well.”

“Yes, she has a good heart. It's just that her social skills need work.” She motioned toward the living room. “Come in, dear. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” She gazed at her mother closely. “You look tired.”

“I haven't been sleeping too well. I suppose that's natural.”

“That's exactly what I came to talk to you about.” Nicole took her mother's arm and led her into the living room. “Sleep.”

“You're not sleeping well, either?” Phyllis sat down on the couch, crossing her long, sleek legs. “You should have been a Rockette with those fabulous legs,” Clifton used to tell her. “Or maybe in the
Folies-Bergère
. You would have made hearts melt in those scanty little outfits.”

“Clifton, you are full of more nonsense than any man alive!” Phyllis would huff, but she couldn't hide her pleasure at the compliment. Nicole had always been aware that her mother made a special effort to look nice for Clifton, careful to change clothes and freshen her perfume and makeup before he came home. And once, when she was fourteen and alone in the house, she'd sneaked into her parents' room to look in the dresser drawers. When she opened one drawer, her mouth literally dropped open at the sight of her mother's nightwear. She'd been both astonished and embarrassed by the sexy negligees with labels from Christian Dior. For the next two weeks she kept picturing her mother in the scanty nightwear and, to Phyllis's bafflement, Nicole couldn't look at her without either blushing or bursting into torrents of adolescent giggles.

“I'm sleeping all right,” Nicole said, deciding not to mention her strange dreams or the intruder. The latter would elicit an unending campaign to make Nicole and Shelley move in with her. “It's Dad's sleep that I've been wondering about. Mom, was he having trouble sleeping in the weeks before…”

She stopped when she saw Phyllis's face pale. “Nicole, do we have to talk about this? It's so upsetting.”

“Yes, Mom, we do,” Nicole said firmly. “Every time I ask questions about Dad, you put me off. Now I insist on getting some answers.”

“I really don't think it's your place to insist.”

“I was his
daughter
, for God's sake. It
is
my place and I'm not leaving until I get some answers.”

“Aren't you the charming one this morning!”

“You're not going to put me off with sarcastic remarks. I want to know. Was Dad sleeping badly?”

“All right, yes.”

“How about nightmares?”

Phyllis gave her a penetrating look. “Why are you asking me these things?”

“Kay. She told me Dad said he wasn't sleeping well. He kept falling asleep in his office, and a couple of times he woke up in the middle of a nightmare. He was saying my name and something about how I could have been killed.”

“Kay shouldn't have told you that.”

“I think she should have, and don't you dare get angry with her because she did.”

“Nicole, I'm not quite the ogre you think. I'm not going to get angry with Kay. And yes, the same thing was happening here. Nightmares, calling out your name, waking up drenched in perspiration.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't think it was any of your business.”

“My father was in torment and you didn't think it was any of my business?”

“Oh, Nicole, sometimes you simply wear me out. I get tired of arguing with you.”

“I get tired of it, too, Mom,” Nicole said softly. “Why can't we, just for
once
, have a normal mother-daughter conversation?”

Phyllis stared at her. Nicole was aware of a mental battle going on behind her bright blue eyes. Then she sighed. “All right. If you want the truth, I'll give it to you. Your father was still deeply troubled about your attack.”

“But
why
was it still troubling him? It happened so long ago.”

A tiny crease formed between Phyllis's perfectly penciled brows. “Nicole, a parent never gets over their child being brutalized. I know I'm not open with my emotions like your father was, but do you think I haven't suffered for you, too? Good lord, I can still barely stand to talk about it.”

Nicole looked at her in amazement. “I thought that's because I'd embarrassed you.”

“
Embarrassed!
You thought my main concern was embarrassment?” Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head. “You and I have never been close, but I didn't realize just how little you thought of me.”

“It's not that I don't love you, Mom, but I've never understood you,” Nicole said meekly.

“I suppose that's partly my fault for always being distant with you. As I said, I've never been good at expressing emotion. But it's partly your father's fault, too. From the time you were born, you were
his
child. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he did everything he could to cut me out of your life. Maybe it was because he knew I couldn't have more children, so he wanted the one we
did
have to be his alone.”

“That's a terrible thing to say!”

“I'm not saying it's true. I'm only speculating. But you must remember, Nicole, that your father wasn't a saint. He dominated your time and constantly countermanded my rules.”

Nicole shifted uncomfortably. What her mother was saying was true. “Well, I certainly was Daddy's girl,” she admitted reluctantly. “I wish I'd gotten a chance to know you better, Mom, but you didn't make it easy.”

Phyllis seemed tense during the exchange, intimacy with her daughter still difficult. Perhaps forever impossible after so long, Nicole thought. She decided a quick change of subject was necessary before her mother retreated into her usual unapproachable shell. “Back to Dad's nightmares, Mom. Why did he suddenly start having them? Was he sick?”

Phyllis abruptly stood and paced around the room, fingering the diamond stud earrings she wore. “I can't believe that if your father were seriously ill, he wouldn't have told me. Even if he wouldn't, Harvey Weber, his doctor, would have. Considering how your father died, Harvey wouldn't have clung to the ethic of privileged information between patient and physician.”

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely. I talked to Harvey the day after Clifton killed himself. He assured me that there was nothing organically wrong with your father, although at his last checkup, just two weeks before he died, Clifton was showing signs of anxiety and depression. He said he suggested your dad see a therapist. Obviously the problem was even more serious than Harvey realized.”

“You didn't tell me.”

Phyllis raised her hands in resignation. “I couldn't talk about it. I didn't
want
to talk about it.”

Nicole sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what her mother had told her. Then she made a decision. “Mom, Kay says Dad was getting some strange mail.” She told her about the envelopes marked “Personal” and the final one which he had set on fire, but she couldn't bring herself to divulge that a partial photograph of Paul Dominic had been left.

“I can't imagine what could have been in those envelopes,” Phyllis said, coming to sit beside Nicole. “Could someone have been blackmailing Clifton?”

“
Blackmail!
Who? Why?”

“I don't know. It was just a thought.” She sighed. “I wonder if all this letter business is as important as Kay is making it seem. Perhaps there's no connection except in Kay's mind.”

“I've never known Kay to imagine things, Mom. She's fairly literal.”

“Usually, but you can't have missed the fact that she's not well.”

“Hardly. She looks awful.”

Phyllis hesitated. “She didn't want anyone to know this, but your father found out. She has cancer, Nicole.”

“Cancer!”

“Yes. She has a brain tumor and she let things go on too long. It's inoperable. She took chemotherapy treatments for a while. You've probably noticed her hair is always such a perfect little cap of curls—it's a wig. She only has about four months to live.”

Nicole felt as if she had been kicked in the abdomen. “Oh, no,” she moaned.

“That's why I've decided to sell the store. If she were in good health, I'd keep it and take it over myself. After all, Kay is only forty-nine and the store is her life. That and her cats. But with Clifton dead and Kay so soon to go—well, I just couldn't bear to walk into the place with both of them gone.”

“I understand,” Nicole said sadly. “She doesn't know that you know?”

Phyllis shook her head. “I try to act as if everything is perfectly normal. I even sat here and let
her
help Carmen put away the food after your father's funeral because it's what she would expect of me.”