Tonight You're Mine (7 page)

“Jess,
amigo
!” Miguel exclaimed, setting aside his wine glass. “You get better looking every time I see you.”

“He's a beauty, all right,” Nicole said wryly.

The dog had formed one of his immediate attachments to Miguel. “He knows how much I love dogs,” Miguel had said. Jesse rolled happily at his feet, then ran twice at top speed around the living room, showing off. “I'll never figure out how he can run so fast on that leg.”

“Sheer willpower.” Seeing Jesse reminded Nicole of the scene at the cemetery. “Miguel, during my father's service did you see a man with a Doberman standing some distance away, looking on?”

“A man with a Doberman? Someone you thought was me?” She nodded. “I don't recall seeing anyone like that. Did you know him?”

Nicole's eyes shied away from his. “He looked very much like someone I used to know, but it's been such a long time since I've seen him, I could have been mistaken.”

Miguel looked concerned. “Did he seem threatening or weird?”

“No,” Nicole said quickly, perceiving Miguel's protectiveness. “Not at all. It probably wasn't who I thought.” She didn't mention seeing the man's dog outside her mother's house. She had a feeling she'd said too much already. “It was a strange day. I'm probably imagining all kinds of things.”

“You do look tired.”

“I'm exhausted.”

Miguel stood immediately. “Then I'll leave so you can go to bed. You won't be back to school this week, will you?”

“I've been off since last Wednesday, so I'll be back this Wednesday.”

Miguel retrieved his jacket. “Thanks for the wine.”

“Thank
you
for returning my keys. You saved me hours of frantic searching, not to mention the trouble it would have caused if someone less honest had found them.”

“Glad I could be of some help.” He bent and patted Jesse on the head. “So long, little
hombre
. You're the man of the house now, so take good care of the ladies.” He smiled up at Nicole. “See you later this week, Dr. Chandler. Try to get some rest. You deserve it.”

Yes, I guess I do, Nicole thought half an hour later after she'd checked on Shelley, turned off the music, and carried the wine glasses to the kitchen. As she placed them beside the sink, she couldn't help looking out the window, her eyes scanning the street.

But there was no sign of the large, watchful Doberman that had haunted her day.

3

“Daddy loves you, huh? Daddy gives his little bird whatever she wants.”

The razor-edged voice grated in Nicole's ear. She was back in that white Mustang fifteen years ago and Luis Magaro held a knife to her throat. She moaned and turned over, fighting to wake up, but she couldn't.

Abruptly the scene changed. She was no longer in the car. Now she was barefoot in the brush of Basin Park. Magaro and Ritchie Zand sat close together on the ground. They were laughing, that same high-pitched, wrought-up laughter she remembered so well.

“She thought she had us,” Magaro said.

“She almost did.”

“No she didn't. It would have been better if we could have killed her like I wanted, but she still couldn't hurt us. I got too many friends, man. I
told
you I'd come up with an alibi. I said I'd keep you out of prison, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

Magaro laughed again, “And you promised me something in return.”

“Yeah.”

“I'll tell you what I want. No more of this roadie stuff. I got talent, man. I shouldn't be hauling around equipment. I should be on the drums.”

Their words blurred as in the dream Nicole moved closer, drawn closer although she was so frightened of them. Then she heard a crunching in the grass, a crunching not made by her own feet—

A shrill scream dragged Nicole from her dream. She kicked wildly at the covers for a moment, then realized she wasn't hearing some dream figure. It was Shelley.

She jumped out of bed, ran across the hall, and flipped on the overhead bedroom light, blinking in the sudden glare. Shelley huddled beneath her window, whimpering. Jesse, front paws propped on the windowsill, barked at the top of his high-pitched voice.

“What
is
it?” Nicole cried, rushing to Shelley, enfolding the trembling girl in her arms. “What did you see?”

Shelley raised a white tear-stained face to her mother. “A monster!”

“A
monster
?” Nicole rocked her as she buried her face in Nicole's chest. “Honey, you were dreaming.”

“No I wasn't! I heard a noise at the window and I got up and looked. I was wide awake. Besides, if I was just dreaming, why is Jesse barking?”

“You scared him when you screamed.”

“Then why is he
still
barking?” Ever since she was young, Shelley had possessed a strong sense of logic. “Jesse saw the monster, too!”

Jesse looked at Nicole and emitted two sharp yips, as if in agreement.

Nicole sat down on the floor, legs folded, and pulled Shelley onto her lap. “All right, tell me what this monster looked like.”

“Well, not like Dracula or Frankenstein or any of your
famous
monsters,” Shelley explained solemnly. “Also not like an alien with a great big head and huge black eyes.”

“Maybe it was a dog.”

“A dog! I wouldn't be scared of a
dog
!” Shelley said disdainfully. “But it did have pointy ears and lots of hair on its face like a wolf, but not a nice wolf like White Fang in the movie. But…” She frowned ferociously, thinking. “I saw something like it on television once with Daddy. It was an old movie and he laughed and laughed. He said the name was
I Was a Teenager Wolf
.”

“
I Was a Teenage Werewolf
?”

“Yeah, that's it. Whenever there was a full moon, this real cute boy turned into a really awful-looking wolf and tore people apart.”

“So you think you saw a werewolf.”

“Yes. Should we call the police?”

“I don't think the police would come. They might not believe us. Besides, the monster seems to be gone. Maybe I could go outside and look around—”

“
No!
” Shelley exclaimed, clutching at Nicole. “It could be hiding out there.”

Nicole thought, The child is showing more common sense than I am.

“We'll pull down the shade.” She lowered the patterned window blind beneath the sheer organdy curtains. “That way no one, neither man nor beast, can look in. Tomorrow, when the sun's out, I'll check around. Okay?”

“Okay, but I still think you should call Detective DeSoto.”

“Detective DeSoto?” Nicole said in surprise. “How do you know who he is?”

“I heard you talking to him at Grandma's.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“No,
honest
!” Shelley protested, having been warned against the impoliteness of eavesdropping. “I was just walking by and I heard him say something about
other
cops, like he was one, too. Besides, he looks like a policeman.”

“How do you know what a policeman looks like?”

“I watch TV,” Shelley said indignantly. “I think he looks kind of like Bobby Simone on
NYPD Blue
.”

“You mean the actor Jimmy Smits?” Nicole's mouth dropped. “Have you been watching
NYPD Blue
?”

“Well…uh…yeah.”

“Where? At your father's?”

“No, here.”

“Here!
When
?”

“Oh, sometimes when I can't sleep,” Shelley said airily.

“I never heard you watching television after nine o'clock.”

“Earphones, Mom. You bought them for me.”

“Obviously a mistake.” Nicole paused. “Do you really think Raymond DeSoto looks like Jimmy Smits?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don't see it. He's not as handsome as Smits.”

“But he
is
cute, Mom.”

“Well, yes. Also, he's a sergeant, not just a detective.”

Nicole jerked her mind back to the issue of television. “But that's not the point
NYPD Blue
is too grown-up for you.”

“I understand it. I'm not a little girl, Mommy. I'm almost ten. Anyway,” continued Shelley, master of changing the subject, “Sergeant DeSoto looked nice.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I bet he'd believe us about the werewolf and come.”

“Maybe, but he's probably not on duty. Besides, I don't think we need a policeman tonight. Right now we both need sleep. Remember, you're spending tomorrow with Daddy.”

Shelley sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Come on, Shel. You promised not to be mad at Daddy because he and I are having trouble. You'll have fun.”

“Oh, okay. But I'm not gonna tell him about the werewolf. He'll probably try to make me come live with him if he knows, and I
don't
want to live with him.”

“I know you don't, honey.”

“But I'm still a little worried about the werewolf. Can I sleep with my lamp and radio on?”

“Yes, if you
can
sleep through all the noise and light.”

“I can.”

Ten minutes later, a thin scarf thrown over Shelley's bedside lamp to dim the light, her radio turned low, Jesse settled firmly by the child's side, Nicole returned to her room. She looked out the window, wishing they had a stronger dusk-to-dawn light out there.

What had come with the house looked like an old-fashioned gaslight and put out only a dim glow.

No doubt their prowler was merely a teenager wearing a mask, but she didn't like the fact that he'd appeared outside Shelley's window, which faced a backyard encircled by a six-foot-high wooden fence—a fence whose gate Nicole had padlocked shut after some neighborhood kids opened it and let Jesse loose, nearly resulting in his being hit a second time by a car. Whoever had peered in Shelley's window must have taken the trouble to climb the fence. There were many other houses in the neighborhood without fences, and it wouldn't have been easy to scale six feet of smooth boards, indicating a determination that made her uncomfortable.

Quietly Nicole dragged her dressing-table chair to her closet, stood on top, and began rummaging through shoe boxes. Finally she found the one where she'd hidden the gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38, not an expensive model, but one that could do some damage if necessary. After her attack, she'd asked her father to buy her a gun and let her take lessons. He'd refused, abhorring firearms, but when she left San Antonio, she did as she pleased, buying a handgun and going regularly to a firing range until she developed a respectable skill. When she married Roger, he insisted she get rid of the gun, saying she had no need of it when he was there to protect her. She'd acquiesced, as always, even though she didn't know how Roger intended to protect her. He'd never even been in a fistfight in his life.

Once again on her own, she'd bought the gun after Roger left, knowing he'd be outraged if he knew she was keeping a gun in the house. “But you walked out and left me alone with a child,” she muttered to an invisible Roger. Besides, the locks on the doors had been changed since he moved out, so there was no danger of his walking in unexpectedly and accidentally being shot by a panicky wife. That's why she had only one set of keys—so
no
one else could come in. She was also careful to keep the windows locked.

Nicole started to put the gun back in the closet, then decided it would do her no good if it took her ten minutes to find and load it. Instead she loaded it and put it in the drawer beside her bedside table. Then she locked the drawer and tucked the key under her mattress.

Taking another quick look around the backyard, Nicole climbed into bed. She was so tired, she expected to fall immediately asleep. Instead, she tossed restlessly, haunted by the dream Shelley had interrupted.

She'd always had vivid dreams and relived the attack many times over the years in nightmares, but this one had been different. Never had she seen Luis Magaro and Ritchie Zand sitting beneath the overpass talking about the rape.

Talking about the rape
. Talking about the rape as if it had already happened.

Nicole sat up in bed. Why on earth would she dream that they were talking about the attack as if it were in the past? How could she have overheard a conversation like that?

“You didn't,” she said aloud. “It's impossible. You have no idea what they said to each other later. It was a
dream
, Nicole, just a dream.”

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a memory.

1

The next morning Nicole awakened early, and before even letting Jesse into the backyard, she went out by herself for an inspection. The gate was still padlocked shut. She walked the perimeter of the yard. There were no scuff marks on the tan painted fence, and they hadn't had rain in weeks so the ground was bone-dry, leaving no hope of finding a footprint.

The intruder had left behind one trace of his night visit, however. For some reason, Jesse had chosen two spots for hiding places. One was beneath a live oak at the back of the yard. The other was against the foundation of the house directly beneath Shelley's window. Here, where the intruder had looked in Shelley's window, Nicole found the back half of a running-shoe print. It was much larger than hers.

Looking at it, she wondered if she should call the police. But what could they do? Tell her she'd had a prowler? She already knew that. No, the police could do nothing with the little bit of evidence the prowler had left behind. He hadn't even done any damage except to scare a little girl. If she called, they'd simply tell her it was probably a teenage prankster. Worse, they could label her a woman unused to living alone and given to hysterics. In that case, if anything more serious happened, they might even believe she was literally crying “wolf” and not give the matter the attention it deserved.

When she came back inside, Shelley was up. “Did the werewolf leave clues to show the police?”

“No clues, I'm afraid, and it's awfully hard to convince the police of a werewolf sighting. Besides, I think it was just someone wearing a mask.”

“Well, of course,” Shelley replied, all calm sophistication in the light of day. “But you can't be too careful.”

“Yes, Mom,” Nicole droned in a beleaguered, teenage voice. Shelley giggled. “You get cleaned up, kiddo. We have church this morning.”

Nicole and Shelley were just returning from mass when Roger's Ford Explorer pulled in behind them. Nicole glanced at her watch. Ten forty-five. He wasn't supposed to arrive until noon.

Annoyed but trying not to show it, she forced a smile as she emerged from her car. “A little early, aren't you?”

Roger, wearing beige khakis, a denim shirt with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows, new Gucci loafers and designer sunglasses she'd never seen before, grinned cheerfully. “Couldn't wait to see my sweetheart.”

“Roger, you'll make me blush.”

His smile vanished. “I meant my daughter.”

“I
know
that, Roger. What's happened to your sense of humor?”

“I thought you were being sarcastic.”

“No, just teasing. I'm not in the mood for a fight.” Roger seemed to relax. “Well, as you can see, Shelley is dressed up. She needs to change clothes. And she hasn't eaten.”

“She can change clothes in a flash, and I'll take her out for a nice lunch.”

Nicole looked at the child hovering near the car. “Shel?”

“I'll change real fast,” she said obligingly. “And Daddy, can we have lunch at Planet Hollywood?”

Roger detested the raucous atmosphere of Planet Hollywood on the River Walk, which Shelley knew quite well. Nicole pretended to cough to keep from laughing when Roger forced a broad, artificial smile and said heartily, “Of course, honey! Sounds terrific!”

They walked to the front door together and Nicole withdrew her keys from her purse. “My key doesn't work anymore,” Roger said.

“There's a reason for that.”

He raised an eyebrow, understanding that she'd changed the locks. “Was that really necessary or just an act of anger?”

She opened the door and Shelley ran ahead of her toward her bedroom. “You don't live here anymore. There's no reason for you to have unlimited access to the house.”

“What if I need to get in?”

“For what reason?” Roger stared at her momentarily stumped. “Tell you what,” Nicole said. “I'll give you a new key to this house if you'll give me a key to your apartment.”

That should successfully end the subject, Nicole thought. She was right. Roger ignored her, walked to the awful brown chair, sat down, and let out a groan of comfort. She thought of Miguel floundering in the monstrosity. “Don't you want your couch and chair?” she asked. “I know how you love them.”

“Not now. My apartment is furnished. I'll probably want them later, though.”

“How much later?”

He looked irritated. “What difference does it make?”

“They look awful in here.”

“They look fine,” Roger said firmly, as if that settled the matter. “May I have something to drink, or is the refrigerator under lock and key, too?”

“Not on Sundays. What do you want? Iced tea? Coke? Milk?”

“Water. Lots of ice.”

He gulped down the glass and asked for another. Nicole knew this meant he'd drunk heavily the night before and was dehydrated. That's why he wouldn't remove the sunglasses—he didn't want her to see his bloodshot eyes. He used to drink in moderation, but his alcohol consumption had increased dramatically since he started spending so much time away from home, even before he left for Lisa Mervin.

Nicole sat down on the couch. “What do you have planned for Shelley today?”

“I thought I'd take her to Sea World.”

“She'll love that!” Nicole exclaimed. “She hasn't been there since we first moved here.”

“I know. Then I'll take her out to dinner.”

“That sounds fine. I do hope you'll have her home by seven, though. She needs a bath and time to settle down before bed. She has school in the morning.”

“Seven it is.”

Nicole hesitated. “It will be just the two of you today, won't it?”

Roger feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Lisa isn't going along, is she?”

Roger's lips tightened in annoyance. “Why is that an issue? Just because you don't like her—”

“Hold it!” Nicole said sharply. “I've never even met the girl. Maybe under different circumstances I'd like her very much. But this doesn't have anything to do with
my
feelings. Shelley resents her—”

“I wonder why?” Roger interrupted acidly.

“Don't blame me for her feelings. I don't talk against her to Shelley. You, however, have tried to cram Lisa down her throat ever since you left, and she hates it. It's not fair to Shelley. To Lisa, either, if you plan to marry her.”

“How considerate of you to worry about Lisa.”

“Promise me, Roger. Just you and Shelley.”

Roger set his glass on the end table. “All
right
. Any further orders, General?”

“I think that will do for now,” Nicole said coolly. “And I assume by calling me ‘General' you're referring to my grandfather.”

“You do seem to be developing a few traits in common with the famous General Ernest Hazelton.”

“Whom you never knew.”

“No, but your mother has told me
all
about him.” He gazed up at the ceiling. “A virtual paragon among men was the general. Bigger than life.” He looked back at Nicole. “Phyllis is a case of the classic Electra complex if I've ever seen one.”

Her jaw tightening, Nicole stood up and called, “Shelley, are you about ready? Daddy can't wait to get to Planet Hollywood.”

“Very funny,” Roger muttered.

Jesse appeared, made a beeline for Roger, and promptly emitted a loud sloppy sneeze all over his Gucci loafers. “Goddammit!” Roger exploded, jumping up. Jesse artfully dodged a kick, tearing back to the bedroom. “Nicole, get me some paper towels. I don't know why you keep that mangy, flea-ridden little—”

Trying to stifle her laughter, Nicole went to the kitchen for paper towels. When she gave them to Roger, he began working on the shoes, still muttering furiously. “I'm sorry, Roger,” Nicole managed. “Those
do
look like very expensive shoes. They're new, aren't they?”

“They weren't expensive,” Roger lied, “but they are new. Now look at them. He did that on purpose.”

“Oh, I'm sure he didn't,” Nicole said blandly.

Roger glared at her before Shelley dashed out of her bedroom wearing jeans, a blue T-shirt, and new Keds, her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and secured with a blue scrunchie. “I'm ready!”

“Have a
really
good time today,” Nicole said, holding Shelley tightly and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“You, too, Mom. What're you gonna do?”

“Oh, I've got all kinds of exciting things planned.”

Like going to visit Kay Holland and perhaps finding out why my father killed himself, she thought with a chill, forcing herself to wave merrily as Roger and Shelley drove away.

2

After they left, Nicole dressed, thinking about her father's store. The place where she'd spent so many happy hours as a child “helping” her father and Kay with the business was now a site of horror where her father had retreated to violently take his life.

Now Kay had something to tell her about her father's death. She wondered if it were really significant. Maybe the woman was only imagining she had important information. Imagination and a sense of drama didn't seem to be Kay's strong points, though.

Sunday traffic was light and she drove down into the older section of town near the Plaza de Las Islas. As always she admired the beautiful San Fernando Cathedral built by settlers from the Canary Islands in the 1730's. Near it was the Bexar County Courthouse. “What year was the courthouse built?” Nicole could hear her father ask. “In 1895,” the young child Nicole would answer dutifully. “And what's it made of?” “Red Texas granite and sandstone.” “Brilliant!” her father would crow. “This little girl deserves an ice-cream cone.” So long ago.

Parking was not a problem today. She pulled into a spot directly in front of the large store that had stood here for eighty years. It had always been a music store, owned by one family until Clifton Sloan bought it in 1959. He'd told her once that although it became fairly successful in the late sixties, only a generous inheritance from a maiden great-aunt who shared his love of music allowed him to keep the store going in the early years. Later he used part of the inheritance to make lucky investments in the stock market, enabling the family to live on a much higher scale than the income from the store ever would have allowed.

The front door was locked. She pecked on the glass, and in a few seconds Kay hurried to unlock it. “Hi, Nikki,” Kay said nervously, locking the door behind Nicole. She looked alarmingly thin in a dark green skirt and print blouse hanging out of her waistband on the right side. Her short brown hair lay in its usual perfect helmet of curls, but she wore only a streak of heather-colored lipstick over dry lips. Without her usual subtle application of eye shadow and mascara, her eyes had a wide, surprised look.

“How's the work going?”

“The work?” Kay repeated blankly. “Oh, you mean emptying your father's desk. Well, there wasn't much of a personal nature. Mostly just business papers.”

As they walked through the store, Nicole glanced around, realizing she hadn't been here for months. Drums, horns, organs, pianos—uprights and baby grands—guitars, violins, a thousand pieces of sheet music. “Here I was surrounded by a world of musical opportunity, and I didn't have a lick of talent,” Nicole lamented.

“I always thought you had a very sweet little singing voice,” Kay said diplomatically.

Nicole grinned to herself. She, the closet rock star, had never wanted to be described as having “a sweet little singing voice,” but poor Kay was giving the most honest compliment she could.

“I put some tea on earlier,” Kay said as they headed for the office. “Would you like some? Chamomile. Very calming.”

Nicole, who hated tea, especially herbal, smiled politely. “I drank about three cups of coffee before I left home. I think I'm waterlogged.”

“Too much caffeine isn't good for you, dear, especially at a time like this. You don't need anything else rattling your nerves.”

As they neared the office, Nicole's steps slowed. “Actually, my nerves
are
a little rattled by whatever you have to tell me.”

“I probably said it all wrong yesterday, scared you when I shouldn't have.” Kay walked into the office, then turned around and stared at Nicole, who'd stopped dead on shaky legs. “What's wrong, dear?”

“The office.” Nicole's mouth was dry, her voice unsteady. “I don't think I can…”

“Oh, my goodness!” Kay exclaimed. “How thoughtless of me. It's been completely cleaned and I've worked for hours in there, so I just didn't think about the effect it would have on you, not having been in there since…Oh, Nikki, I'm sorry!”

“It's all right, really. But I'd prefer to stay out here if you don't mind. You go ahead and get your tea.”

“I don't need tea. I've drunk gallons the last few days. Just habit.” Kay looked stricken. “You sit down on that piano bench and catch your breath. Want a glass of water?”

“A pint of Scotch would be better.”

Kay's eyes fluttered around the room. “I don't believe we have any.”

“I was just teasing. I don't even like Scotch.”

“Oh.” Kay looked confused.

“I'll be fine. Sit down here on the bench beside me and tell me about Daddy.”

Kay sat down and began smoothing her skirt with pale, faintly bluish hands. “Your father wasn't himself the last few months.”

Nicole was puzzled. “Mom didn't say anything about it.”

“I'm sure he tried to hide any unhappiness from her. He always did, you know. But there were things she had to notice. First he started looking tired. He got circles under his eyes and became sallow. I asked him about it and he said he wasn't sleeping well. Claimed he'd tried some of those over-the-counter remedies, but they weren't working.”