Mining Evermore

Mining Evermore Kathleen Rowland

All rights reserved. Copyright © 2007 Kathleen Rowland Cover Art Copyright © 2007 Mariya Krusheva This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. Publisher: Amira Press, LLC Baltimore, MD www.amirapress.com

Dedication To my husband, Gerry, Patron of the Arts Thank you for being in my favorite moments. Acknowledgements Thank you, Dad, for allowing me to use your name, Philip Pugh, MD, specialist in psychiatry/neurology. You lent insight into the disorder, Munchausen by Proxy, and helped bring affected characters to life. Mom, we miss you. Hugs to my supportive children, Jeff, Johnny, Ted, Marla, Janice, and daughter-in-laws, Mary Angela and Jan. All of you are working to achieve your dreams. High fives to my grandchildren: Clare, Mary Grace, D’mitri, and Roxanne. I’m grateful for my terrific encouraging friends at the Orange County Chapter of Romance Writers of America. Special thanks to Yvette Lynn, publisher of Amira Press, for wielding her magical pen with edits and her willingness to take a chance on me. Hearts to cover artist Mariya Krusheva and flowers to Kadian Tracey, Promotions Director. Readers, I hope you enjoy this chilling tale. www.kathleenrowland.com.

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Trademark Acknowledgements The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following works mentioned in this work of fiction: Abercrombie and Fitch Crate and Barrel Somewhere Down the Road by Barry Manilow

Chapter One Seated alone in a corner booth, criminal lawyer Tara Delacruz allowed herself some satisfaction. She’d prepared long and hard for a trial. Its abrupt acquittal was good news for her client. ‘Buck Toolbox’ was accused of robbing convenience stores near the California-Nevada border. His stomping grounds, down a gravel road behind the Denny’s restaurant, defined him. He hadn’t evolved far from the ‘dirt’ section. She pulled at the loose-fitting waistband of her skirt and guessed she’d dropped a size. Stuck in a tired-and-wired state, she wanted to treat herself, maybe unwind with a haircut, before heading home to the coast. A cut was a cut, she thought, whether or not they had experience with springy kinks. She wore hers natural. She’d spent plenty of time around the courthouse where one felony judge, P.J. ‘Pat’ Williams presided. The train still ran through the old section of town, and she’d spotted a beauty shop in the original, now trendy, station. A soft rain in the Mojave Desert town felt like a deportment of better days. She hoped so. Vicious attacks had rocked her hometown of Landings Beach, California. So far, victims were homeless beach bums, not quite murdered. Strangled into submission and buried neck level when the tide was low, they didn’t drown at high tide. Townspeople were glad they were alive, but it didn’t add up. They were spooked. To check the time, she flipped open her cell. Four-forty was a bit early for dinner. She tapped her fingers. The staff was short-handed at Denny’s. A little wait was a small thing, she decided. Fretting was something she did when she wasn’t under pressure. She breathed relief as she watched an older waitress hustle toward her. Well, hell, here she is, finally. To refresh her memory, she scanned the waitress’s name tag and smiled appreciatively. “Good afternoon, Madelyn.”

“Our cook didn’t show. Someone will be here shortly, Hon.” Madelyn handed her a menu and set down a glass of water with a splash. She mopped it with a rag. “I need to pitch in.” “Thank you for the water.” As she watched Madelyn head to the kitchen, she knew she’d miss the place. The always short-handed, down to earth employees appealed to her. Pulling out her laptop, she decided to update her profit-and-loss statement for several weeks. Having kept a running time tab in a tiny notebook, she entered the total with one fell swoop, impressive for one so technically challenged. Her client had paid her a hefty sum when she’d agreed to take his case. Those accused of criminal acts never shopped for the best price. Avoiding prison was a non-elastic demand. She needed to let her associate know she’d be leaving the boonies in the morning. In his sixties, the private investigator was like an uncle to her. Dialing, she didn’t want to put him on the spot. Hired by the family of a missing teenage boy, the detective had no leads the last time they’d spoken. She knew he didn’t have an unrealistically high opinion of the police who’d pegged the teen as a runaway. “Leviticus, it’s me.” “Hey.” He’d dispensed with chitchat months before. His lacking preamble also let her know he’d tired of holding down the office in her absence. “Doing okay, Leviticus?” She expected the widower to be grumpy. “I’m okay.” His exasperated sigh let her know he wasn’t. “How’s the Toolbox trial going?” His subject change referred to her case, the complaint brought against Robert Zeke O’Toole, a handyman in Landings Beach. He hadn’t heard it was closed. “There wasn’t one. He was acquitted this afternoon. Other evidence was insubstantial.” She brightened at the thought of being paid the same amount for less work and shut her laptop. “How so?” “Video tapes were fuzzy.” She pictured the grainy black and white images. “We reviewed security tapes for hours in the judge’s chambers. The perpetrator wore a ball cap and a plastic pair of glasses with a nose attached.” “No other evidence against him?” “One female clerk heard the robber whistle through his teeth. She claimed he sounded just like the Buckster. It wasn’t enough proof. Cameras were soundless.” “Did Buck ask, ‘Whistle how?’” Leviticus’ reaction was somewhat

amusing but bordered on critical. When she’d left for the expected trial, two hundred miles east of the Pacific coast, Leviticus had warned her to quit her obsession for rescuing every client from the three-strike law. “In all the time I’ve spent with Buck, I’ve never heard him whistle. Of these robberies, anyway, I believe he’s innocent. I’m his litigator, not his friend.” “He hails from Lone Palm, am I right?” He was pushing toward relentless, but that quality defined his work. “Not only did he grow up here, he was spotted on New Year’s Eve when the stores were hit.” She slid her laptop to the far end of the table and pulled out a Day-Timer, much preferred over a digital calendar. When it came to tech, she did the minimum. “Well, Judge Williams called it.” It seemed he was done talking about it. “When are you heading back, Tara?” “Tomorrow. I’m about to have a celebration dinner with the ‘recently acquitted’ here at Denny’s.” If given the choice, she’d have preferred the company of the P.I. for two reasons. He was a good conversationalist, and she worried about him. Being alone in the office and returning to an empty home put him at risk for depression. She flipped open her Day-timer to the next day. She’d made a note to buy him a birthday present and would do that on her way back. “Bet this isn’t the first meal you’ve had there.” He let out a baritone chortle. She felt more peaceful, hearing him laugh. “How right you are.” Denny’s was one of two restaurants in town. Since the other was the 7Eleven, she’d become a Denny’s regular. “When will Buck and his Harley-friendly ponytail make an appearance?” “He’s fifteen minutes late.” “Criminal clients don’t like formalities.” Usually Leviticus offered congratulations. “I took your advice and asked for fifty thousand.” “They do pay the freight.” Usually rushed, an evening without pressure began to sound pleasant. After dinner, she’d pack and then drag her tired bones to the motel pool, get in a couple dozen laps before turning in. Out of respect for his age, she paused, waiting for him to end the conversation. He didn’t. “In case you wondered, I haven’t made much progress with the Jennings case.” “That must weigh on you.” She knew the boy had dropped out of high school and hung out at the beach.

“My search dead ended at the fairgrounds. I interviewed a buddy of his who thought he’d joined the traveling carnival.” “That’s one assumption. Tomorrow’s a new day.” He said, “That reminds me, I have a Rotary breakfast tomorrow morning. After that, I’ll head over to the mayor’s rally.” Leviticus was one of Cord Smith’s strongest supporters. It was odd, she thought, the mayor never seemed to age. “I contributed to his campaign. Part of his platform addresses the high school dropout rate.” “That and the wetlands. Well, drive safe, Tara.” Wetlands, did he say? Any mention of the youngish, ‘cowboy’ mayor made her panties go wet. With their phone call over, she shifted in her booth and dropped her cell into her bag, but her thoughts returned to the brutalities. The most recent victim was another homeless man, found along the secluded, foggy beach of the Chaumont Estate. Like the others, he’d been buried up to his neck in the sand. When dug out, he was brought to the psychiatric unit with others who lived to tell of taunting. Prior to the attacks, the mental state of the homeless was questioned. For both the cops and the staff in the ward, it was a dirty business to sort out. The townspeople were spooked. Her own business in the desert had not been pleasure. Buck rode her nerves. She wanted to get home to mundane cases, her dogs, her new house, and her volunteer work. A tutor at the teen center, she’d missed their freshfaces and their homework challenges. Befriending a young waitress, Kiwana, had been a pleasant diversion. From her corner vantage point she spotted the statuesque eighteen-year-old hurrying toward her. “You’re looking at the breakfast menu. Want to mix it up, Tara?” Her voice bubbled with an easy charm. Kiwana’s uniform, black slacks and apron with an aqua golf shirt, was attractive against her complexion, mahogany, like hers. “Okay, Kiwana. ‘Moons over my Hammy,’ a side salad, and iced tea would be great. How are things with you?” “Good.” A week before, Kiwana had shared her dream of becoming a nurse. She’d mailed two applications to community colleges, one in Landings Beach and one in Los Angeles. “You probably don’t have any news as yet.” The girl’s broad smile let her know otherwise. From her apron pocket she pulled a folded envelope, bouncing as she waved it. “I made it into L.A.

Tech’s vocational nursing program.” Behind her, the head waitress shoved her fried, not-from-nature ochre hair to the side. “If she’s interested, Ki has a job at a Denny’s close to the college. We’re gonna miss her but can’t wait to see her in scrubs.” “Kiwana will make scrubs look good.” Tara was glad this sweet girl didn’t get into the program in Landings Beach. It was too dangerous even for the tourist trade. The serial crimes had their roots in murder. A chill swept through her. Townspeople spoke of seeing apparitions. As illogical as it was, a Chinese man dressed like an old-time railroad coolie roamed the streets. **** After the Rotarian’s breakfast meeting, Mayor Cordell Smith meandered languidly along the misty beach. The scent of salt air on the ocean breeze was mixed with wood smoke. He wanted to warn beach bums of the danger. He had a half-hour to collect his thoughts before his re-election rally. He’d tried to call it off. With a psycho still at large, it wasn’t his platform issues that mattered. Townspeople used it as an excuse to get together, mull things over. While P.I. Leviticus Blake headed toward his car, Cord backtracked, hoping to pick his brain for details. Ten feet back, Cord heard him fiddle with his keys. If it weren’t for the thick fog the day before, Rotarians and others would be cleaning up the beach. Scheduled four times a year to rid the beach of trash, he considered its dual purpose. A teen had gone missing. Looking down, something gleamed and caught his eye. He bent, picked up a red plastic case, and dropped it into his pocket. Rounding a rock outcropping, he tripped and landed palms down on something round. Plum hard. Can’t be a volleyball. Gotta be hair. He flinched, scooted on his heels, and brushed off sand. Behind him, the detective had found his electronic key and clicked open his door. He wasn’t sure why his immortality made his hearing so dratted acute. “Leviticus! Over here!” He tried to mask the alarm in his voice, not wanting to draw other Rotarians. Not this, not a teen. Agony caught him in an iron grip. “What’s up, Cord?” Leviticus rounded a boulder. He tightened with raw sorrow and nodded downward. “I tripped. Fell on a human head.” As he dug around to free the body, he thought of other

victims, hospitalized and under wraps in the psychiatric unit. A veteran who’d seen a lot, Leviticus knelt calmly alongside him. “These clothes are rags. I’d say, from a month’s worth of tidal movement.” When Cord sniffed, he caught the scent of fennel, an immortal’s aroma. On himself, he could only smell it when he exercised profusely. Aftershave usually concealed it. “This body’s not decomposed.” Leviticus halted, shocked. The herbal scent let Cord know the boy was alive and bonded to live forever. For a second his eyes followed feathery fennel plants all the way to the monstrous peak. Deer grazed on fennel. Ticks fed on deer. Deep in the mine, bacteria within ticks mutated. When ticks fed, the scent remained. I always make out a face, as if the mineshaft stares madly down at me. Older generations have warned of the evil there, massive unbridled evil. The wise don’t look up, they’d said. A rider for the Pony Express, he hadn’t known that rule when he’d chased his dog into it. 1861 was the year he’d gained the curse of immortality. Now he was the older generation. He’d lived among The Others until seventeen years before when a distraught pregnant woman in town begged him to marry her. Their marriage failed, but he’d reaped his long life’s greatest reward, his daughter. His name was on her birth certificate. Leviticus touched the victim’s face with little pats. “He’s feverish. I’ve seen people die. Never seen this.” Few have. That’s why we keep the mine sealed. He stole a glance upward. Sunlight streaked through the fog, but misty clouds encircled the peak. Suddenly he worried where his daughter was and glanced at his watch. Time was something he had to think about because immediacy was lost. Kerrigan’s safe at school. Tenderly, he helped Leviticus exhume the warm teenage boy. As they dug, sandy water filled the shallow hole. It was deep enough to hold him prisoner, but it wasn’t a grave. Leviticus said, “After several days, the tide would have washed him free.” Cord felt a sting of angry tears. “Someone continually buried him.” A fiend had found a sinister use for perpetual life, drowning short of death’s relief. Unseeing eyes remained open on the teenage boy’s sunburned face. His mouth, raked to the side, held a silent scream. Cord knew he’d come around but couldn’t talk of immortality with Leviticus, an outsider. He’d direct The Others to increase the fear level. Anxiety kept townspeople away from the mine.

Swinging off his jacket, Leviticus wrapped it around the boy. “Looks damn close to a photo I have of Bruce Jennings.” Taking a closer look, Cord said, “I’m sure this is Bruce, Leviticus. He’s been to our place.” Before Bruce had dropped out of high school, the boy was Kerrigan’s friend in band. She labeled him a geek, a modern term that seemed to stand for an ostracized adolescent. No matter what they call each other, at their ages, they think they know everything. He felt a wave of panic erupt through his veins. When the older man tried to stand, Cord helped him up and then returned to kneel beside Bruce. Even though the teen was comatose, Cord held his hand and fumbled with his cell to connect with the fire department. In their small town, firemen handled the emergencies. “Mayor Smith here. We found a teenage boy on Main Beach.” The dispatcher asked, “Need transport to the morgue?” “Nope, he’s alive. I reckon he’ll make the trip to the hospital.” “You know him, and the hair and features fit the photo.” The older man brought out his cell. “The Jennings couple hired me to find their son.” He dialed the boy’s parents and asked them to meet them at the hospital for an I.D. Cord groped in his pocket. “Saw this red plastic case before I tripped.” He handed the P.I. the possible evidence. “You’ve got a back scratching relationship with Police Sergeant Ditzman. When you give it to him, make a note about my prints.” “Exacto knife cover.” Levititcus held out a plastic bag to catch it and commented on the missing blade. The fire department’s emergency vehicle drove onto the beach. The men waited until Bruce was lifted onto a gurney and into the ambulance. They clustered with other volunteers and watched as the emergency truck pulled away with sirens blaring. The pair took long strides through sand back to their cars. Cord gave his friend’s stooped shoulder a pat. “So far, I understand there’s been no witnesses, no suspects.” “Salt water washes away trace evidence and saliva. Maybe we can pick up a fingerprint other than yours.” The P.I. headed to his car. A moment later, Cord sat in his and couldn’t shake off conflicted feelings. He could use the detective’s help but couldn’t risk a leak. He could work the maze with Chung Han, an immortal he trusted. With a sudden sharp intake of breath, his heart raced. He feared townspeople’s panic when gathered for his re-election rally that evening. He contemplated a worrisome microbiologist. When Dr.

Gredell had voiced his theory about the teens’ survival, it came close to the truth. The truth would throw the town into Bedlam. **** The arrow-straight highway through the Mojave Desert had given Tara Delacruz the entire afternoon to decompress. Twilight was closing in, and the jazz music on her CD soothed her. She preferred it over all-news radio. The absence of hard facts stimulated more questions. Criminal cases gave her enough half truths. Within the limits of Landings Beach, California, a breeze from her open car window felt like a perfect seventy-eight. She whiffed newly mown grass along the leafy residential boulevard. She’d missed the peninsular village, isolated between a mud-sliding mountain and the Pacific. When the stoplight turned green, she expected the navy Lexus in front of her to move forward. She tapped the accelerator, heard a metallic crunch, and stomped on her brakes. Ahead, a long arm stretched out the window and motioned for her to pull alongside the park. It was still daylight, safe. She followed but groaned, wanting to stop at her office before going home. The thump qualified as a fender-bender. She knew in this jurisdiction, an accident wasn’t reported for damage less than five hundred if the drivers work it out. She pushed the button on the glove compartment. The little door dropped down and she grabbed insurance information. When she pushed open her door, she collided with a hard chest. The hotshot mayor looked down at her. She staggered back. “Clumsy of me, bumping into you, Mayor Cord Smith. I mean both you and your car.” “I’m obliged to say, I didn’t move with the light.” His brooding expression took her aback. “You’re the attorney.” “I was on autopilot when the light turned green.” She brought out a plastic bag from her supply destined for the tutoring center. “Care for some trail mix while you inspect?” He smelled slightly of licorice. “Sometimes I throw Good and Plenty into the mix.” “Do you?” He opened it and tossed a few morsels into his mouth while he glanced as his rear fender. It was obvious he knew who she was. She didn’t allow his ominous gaze to stop her from facing him squarely. “You weren’t always the mayor.

Before politics, you played the saxophone at the Red Beat Café. You’re the only cowpoke saxophonist I’ve ever encountered.” It was an odd coincidence. On her car CD player, his music had brought her home. “It was invented in 1840 and popular in every band.” “So, you’re a history buff.” In California, entertainers with name recognition ran for office and got elected. Many adopted Western witticism to get their points across. His solid build gave her a go-back moment. He shoved a hand across his wavy brown hair. “I’ve seen you waltzing around the Red Beat.” “You waltzed around, too, right over to my table.” “I picked you out of the crowd.” It had moved her in ways she’d never admit. “Eye contact never blossomed into words, but your saxophone was as expressive as a human voice. It swept me away.” Making music sexier than sex was what talented musicians did best. “Well.” The bachelor’s voice sounded tentative. “Perhaps you’ll have dinner with me next week.” “That sounds like a terrific idea.” She wondered if it would be as terrific as the fantasy playing through her mind. It involved him, naked, in a large bed. Her chest grew tight. If she got him alone in a room, she didn’t think they’d come out except to watch the orange sun set over the water. They’d go back inside when the sky turned velvet blue and starry. He finished off the trail mix. “We had a missing teen turn up this morning.” Her fantasy shut down immediately. “You must have found the Jennings boy.” Fear for the teen screamed in her mind. “Right. Just after, I had a rally. Tried to postpone it.” “Tried?” She hoped he wouldn’t be stingy with details. “The posse didn’t come for me. There was something they wanted to chew on after young Bruce was found. They made more noise than a jackass in a tin barn.” He frowned. When her brain picked up his negative message, her mood shifted into defensive. She decided to call him by his first name. Make them equals. “What are you telling me, Cord?” “You should have stayed in the Mojave. Here, you’re in a hole. Before you dig out, you need to listen.” “Sheesh.” The first name thing hadn’t worked. Told to listen, she felt like a teenager again. A black Hispanic, she often landed into trouble even with Mexican aliens. “Bruce Jennings was buried in the sand at low tide. About a month ago,

according to your associate, he was strangled and left for dead.” “High tidewater should have drowned him.” She blinked back his edgy account. As he leaned against her car, his legs stretched out long. He shoved the empty plastic mix bag into a pocket of his jeans. “What’s his present condition?” She crossed her arms. “He’s feverish. According to the lab, he carries a rare bug.” He glanced sideways at her, taking pains with his explanation, maybe not telling her everything he knew. “Bruce suffered alone.” Seized with numbing dismay, her words came out stiff as she considered the boy’s horror. “Doctors think he was unconscious the whole time. I rather doubt that.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke. She watched him close his eyes in concentration and expected him to drop another bombshell. “According to Dr. Stuart Gredell, his malady kept him alive.” There it was. His detonation discharged into her brain. “It seems a tad irrational.” When he brought up Dr. Gredell, she became entirely skeptical. “He sounds like a brilliant microbiologist, but his theory isn’t viable.” She’d represented the rebel for a patent for an original thermo-chemical cycle. With water and heat input and oxygen-free radicals as output, she’d thought magic had to be the catalyst. “Dr. Gredell says he’s a client of yours.” “I’ve had him on my time sheet.” She didn’t want to take his money since she doubted that his bullshit patent would go through. To her surprise, his submission package included proofs with precise measurements. He’d paid her to file it, and she did. Cord’s sharp gaze fastened to hers. “Townsfolk witnessed the unnatural. There was a riot. I saw their terror.” “I believe you saw their terror.” She put her hands above her head in innocence. “You and Gredell need to put your heads together. Come up with a less supernatural explanation.” Determined, his request put her on the spot. She’d push back. “Here, I thought settling down frenzy was in your job description. Have a talk with your constituents.” “That didn’t work. A few emerged as leaders. I wasn’t among them. As a lawyer, you know what happens after panic.” “Logic falls apart.” She, like him, was in the people-swaying business. “I tried to reason with them. So did Leviticus.” “Leviticus?”

“We watched them find their scapegoat.” Shades of frustration in his voice made her feel cold. “Who might that be?” Her voice squeaked. “You. The mob puts you with criminals.” “When I represent a client, I do my loyal best. Does the lawyer-client association have a new twist?” “Nope, same as always. They think you know evil and hide what you know.” “Don’t tell me they found out I’m a near-death expert.” It was the first sarcastic thing that popped into her head. “You’d sass the devil himself.” “Haven’t met him face to face.” Her backtalk didn’t stop her hands from shaking. She hid them against her body. “Thanks for bringing the dynamics of paranoia to the fore.” The outer edges of his eyes were the lightest blue she’d ever seen, as if he’d lived a hundred years. He hid them with brown contact lenses. “Be careful.” His voice was robust. She gave him a smile which probably looked pitiful. He must have picked up on it because he took her hand in his and kissed her palm. His lips were warm. The spell of their intimate moment broke when he placed her hand at her waist and then let go. He looked down at her. “Let’s walk across the park and back.” Keeping up with his stride, she took a breath. “When I drove into town, things looked the same.” She let her breath out as she talked. “I missed its beauty. I took the loop even though I could have cut across the peninsula to my office. The houses on the ocean side have porches and picture windows for the sunset. They’re set deep with boathouses. I just bought one. Today I’d rather be on the other side of the street.” “Like a wren in the brush.” His forehead creased with male calculation. “By the way, you’re my daughter’s tutor.” “I am? What’s your daughter’s name?” “Kerrigan Smith.” She gasped with surprise. Passing a stand of eucalyptus, he amazed her with a slight grin as he switched from mayor to dad. “That little apple rolled pretty far from the tree. I’d heard you had a daughter. I didn’t make the connection.” She’d also heard he drove his young wife mad before he sent her packing. “Smith is a common name. Except for being of the white race, you and Kerrigan don’t look alike.”

“We don’t, do we?” He seemed to be a man of few words when things got personal, but his expression softened with talk of his daughter. They strolled between trees that arched into a shady green tunnel. Bright flowers lay ahead. She’s a sweetheart. You must be proud.” She bent to sniff a garden of pink snapdragons, knee-high behind a petunia border. “Her grades shot up.” They shared a smile, but his wasn’t for her. Hers was insincere and had to do with disappointment even though Kerrigan’s improvement was partly due to her tutoring. Pensive again, he stared at her until a muscle twitched in his cheek. “We should have a personal talk.” “Personal enough to ask why you never remarried?” “Once was enough.” His voice sounded tighter. The rims of his eyes shown like blue platinum under his brown lenses. His face was on the pretty side of handsome with a perfect but prominent nose and chin. He kneaded his forehead for the second time. “Your forehead gives you a problem?” she asked. “Headache’s obvious, huh? Look, Tara, you and I come from two different places. You get riffraff back on my streets. Advice from me isn’t going to set well. When you get to the office, ask Leviticus give you the lowdown on the town’s reaction to you and Buck Toolbox.”

Chapter Two She charged through the oak and glass door adorned with their gold leaf names, Tara Delacruz, Attorney at Law, and just below, Leviticus Blake Detective Agency. On a happier day she’d be proud of their splendid, marble foyer and their refurbished conference room, viewed through double doors. Not today. Still, she liked the way the place smelled. The musty older building with heavy woodwork and traditional paneling wrapped her with familiarity. The rustling of papers from Leviticus’ office let her know he was there. His work as a private investigator took him out of the office unless he was entering data or generating reports with his state-of-the-art technology. She neglected her own marginal equipment because she preferred scraps of paper Scotch-taped to her terminal. She’d represented enough systems designers to know software hell was a crowded place. She grabbed Leviticus’ birthday gift from her briefcase and held it behind her back. “Come on in, Tara,” he yelled as he hung up the phone. “Was talkin’ with my sister-in-law. You know how she dotes.” “I’m glad she kept you on track while I was out of town.” As she leaned against his doorframe, she surveyed his messy and marred mahogany desktop. “You’re loaded down, Leviticus.” When he stood, his leather chair bounced back. “Nice to see you.” He circled his desk and bent down with a hug. She gave him a peck on the cheek. “You look tired.” “Been a rough twenty-four.” He returned to his desk and backed himself into his chair. “You and I have tunnel vision in common.” He gave her a brief smile.

“Mine has to do with uphill climbing.” Her best quality had become her nemesis. Winning any case was good, losing was bad. She wanted to win with such a vengeance that she didn’t see the nuances between. “No matter how terrible things get, we need to be thankful for this beautiful day.” “Why is it, you always talk of gratitude when you’re the most frustrated?” Still, she thought it nice. “How’s the family?” “Good. I’m always down with bein’ with my people.” His Newark ghetto lingo returned whenever he was exhausted. “Happy Birthday, Leviticus!” She handed him his present, oxford shirts with extra long sleeves. He ripped off the wrapping and ribbon. “Thank you, darlin’. You’re making sixty-four a glorious age.” “You’ll see a hundred if you take your meds.” “Let’s see, where them meds at?” he joked in a deep baritone. He suffered from high blood pressure, prevalent among African Americans. Tara ambled over to the receptionist’s counter and gathered unsorted mail and the morning newspaper on the way to her office. She didn’t expect their receptionist to be in. After all, Sherry was Buck O’Toole’s common-law wife. She hoped they’d be celebrating. Throwing out junk mail, she remembered how she’d dragged Leviticus out of retirement. A couple of years back, Leviticus closed up the Blake Detective Agency for a long-awaited retirement. A day after his retirement party, he and his wife took a trip to her college reunion at Tuskegee Institute where they’d met as undergrads. His wife had graduated from the School of Architecture. He had three sophomore years at Tuskegee but got out of Newark. She couldn’t picture him as a party animal. A week into retirement, his wife died of a massive coronary. He moped around. Soon Tara enlisted his expertise. Detective work gave him temporary escapes from mourning. She strolled into her office and placed her cell phone in its charge cradle beside a silver frame, a professional portrait of her two dogs, Merrylegs and Fauxpaws. Every night in Lone Palm she’d pictured their sweet, furry faces just before falling asleep. In a few hours, she’d go home to them. Her rich crimson leather chair felt comfortable as she slipped into it. When she glanced at the headline in the Landings Beacon, her foot bounced with nervous jitters. She didn’t bother reading the article about the teenage boy found on the beach. She’d learn more from her associate and hustled to his doorframe where most of their conversations took place.

He gazed out his window at the placid ocean until her presence made him jump. “Leviticus, what do you know about Bruce Jennings?” “He’s a young man of sixteen. Dropped out of high school.” He shook his wooly gray head. “Cord Smith found him during beach cleanup, partially buried near Stony Cove.” “The cannery overlooks the cove. Railroad pilings support the upscale shops and provide a private shelter for high school dropouts.” She’d wondered if it connected with the mine, but that subject was taboo. “Strangled and then buried up to his neck like those before. The earliest exam showed classic signs of asphyxiation. Petechia at the eyes, broken hyoid bone in the throat. A day later doctors see remarkable improvement.” His deep voice carried across the room. “Bruce was comatose for a month.” Tara remembered Cord doubting that. Knowing the routine Leviticus followed at the beginning of a case, she asked, “Creating a Bruce Jennings database?” “Yup, with everyone he’s been in contact with for the last year. Come in. Sit. I can move stuff off the chairs.” “Placement of documents and papers is critical to you.” She continued standing. “I’m good here.” “Droplets of real blood in the mouth of a strangled victim are typical. To the naked eye, negligible, but the doctors found traces of ketchup in his throat. Except for the back of his mouth, most of it washed out.” He answered with difficulty. “Whoever tried to kill him sensationalized with ketchup? I mean, since it looks like blood. It strikes me as being childish.” She focused, caring about it more than anything. “Freaky, anyway. Buried at low tide. When high tide came in, the ketchup drooled out. The killer stayed to watch that.” A shiver ran up her spine. Death wasn’t always the worst thing. He sighed. “Folks at the cleanup were stunned, but the worst came later.” “What was that?” “Cord found an X-acto knife near the body. Gave it to Sergeant Ditzman. We didn’t know it was relevant until we viewed the exam. The E.R. physician called in Dr. Sibley, the coroner, and the microbiologist, Dr. Stuart Gredell.” “The coroner could run certain tests.” She pondered why Gredell was part of the inner circle but didn’t interrupt.

“Razor carvings on his chest had the words, ‘No one will miss him.’ Bruce’s chest was photographed in detail at the exam.” He picked up a folder from the floor and opened it. She stepped closer and focused on the police photos. Nausea crept up her throat. “Atrocious. Mass media doesn’t have wind of this, do they?” “No. This wasn’t released to the public, Tara. There were leaks about his unusual bacterial infection. It’s common knowledge that he’d submerge at high tide. Yet, he lived.” She asked, “Those words, ‘No one will miss him,’ aren’t true, are they?” “Of course not. The Jennings couple hired me but didn’t report him missing for a couple of weeks. Bruce dropped out of school. Shoplifted. His folks kicked him out.” “Tough love.” He sighed. “Tough love works up to a point. When his folks couldn’t find him, they called the cops and then me to speed things up. I hadn’t made progress until yesterday.” “What did Sergeant Ditzman make of this when you met for coffee this morning?” “Ditzman thinks someone very large sat on him, choked him, and then buried him in a sitting position at neck level.” “Sickeningly dramatic,” she said. “Townspeople are goin’ nuts arming themselves. Sports stores are sold out of baseball bats.” “The enemy part is fuzzy.” “Not to them,” Leviticus said emptily. “Tara, Buck’s comin’ back to Landings, right?” “Bet he’s home right now, cuddled up with his common-law wife.” Tired of the scapegoat talk, she’d stumbled onto a sore point, a perfect opportunity to sidetrack him. Leviticus was fed up with their receptionist, Sherry. He said, “By the way, after I talked with you yesterday afternoon, Sherry said she hadn’t missed how Buck whistled through his teeth.” He threw his head back with a laugh. “That’s not funny.” She felt disappointment all the way to her gut. “I’ve made a mistake. Buck’s going to rob again.” “You worked the case on good faith. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure. Don’t beat yourself up.” He rambled a bit more on how Buck, Sherry, and her kindergartener son lived as a dysfunctional family before offering her bicarbonate of soda.

“Leviticus, look. I got Buck off, but he’d never strangle anyone.” She knew that to be true. “I know. Townsfolk don’t care for him. That biochemist client of yours talks like a mad scientist. Let’s face it. The town has lampooned you.” “It stuck, too.” She felt ashamed. “Cord defended you at his rally.” “That was nice. How well do you know him?” “As well as anyone does. I will say he’s the best mayor Landings has ever had and a fine musician. Here the mayoral position is part-time. He plays weekends at the Red Beat.” “He does?” If things settled down, she’d stop by. “Where’s he from?” “Not sure. He came out of nowhere and married a young woman. Heard she was frantic with an unwanted pregnancy. He went to work as a roofer.” Tough on the musician’s fingers. That must have been before he threw her out. “Cord won his last election by a landslide.” “On the subject of contests, Sherry entered the Miss Dairy. That’s why our dear receptionist is out this morning.” “Hope she gets more than a runner-up.” “She looks in the mirror all day long.” His face contorted with mild loathing. “Well, my day is open.” Her hands clenched as she thought of Cord’s warning. “Open for trouble. Things’ll get misconscrewed up in here.” He encompassed the town with a wide gesture. She knew he meant misconstrued. His lingo didn’t keep him from finding and milking facts for all they were worth. “I expect to get fried. That’s nothing new.” “It could get worse than that, Tara. One thing in your favor is that you bought a house just before you left for the proceeding in the desert.” He expressed his worry by naming the few who knew her address. Sherry typed documents. He named her realtor, someone at the mortgage company, and a few others. “I admit it’s a comfort my dogs and I have a safe place to hide out.” He chuckled. “You’re in the doghouse.” “Ha.” She walked to her office. Opening her briefcase, she filed Robert Z. O’Toole’s case. She’d made a mistake. It was too late to overturn it. Her stint in the desert was a hollow victory. The case itself was a wasteland. With designer suits stuffed into a suitcase in her car, she’d drop them at

the cleaners. On the way out, she walked to Sherry’s desk to double check the scheduling book for the afternoon. It was blank. The phone rang. “This is Jack Barker at the Landings Beacon. Is Tara Delacruz in? We’d like to ask her a few questions.” “Sorry, I’m not here.” She dropped the receiver into its cradle. “Leviticus, I’m off to the cleaners.” “Would you mind bringing that jacket?” He pointed to a jacket on a hook, caked with sand. “Sure. Can I bring you back anything?” When she grabbed it, sand sprinkled to the floor. “Take care of your own self.” Carrying her recharged phone, the hallway stretched long and quiet. She pushed the button, and the elevator doors opened to an empty space. Being deceived by Buck was cruel to her spirit. Disappointment drew her belly into another hard knot. She’d represent more responsibly, listen for the bells and whistles. Now of all times, she’d persevere. Within the dregs of society, word got around. If you lay with dogs, you’ll get fleas. Fleas buzz. If her niche with felons died out, she’d have less income to support her parents in their version of the American dream. Their island home in Honduras, their condo in Landings Beach, and the bungalow recently bought for her and her dogs added up to three mortgages. She gasped for a breath. Her parents would be in Honduras for another month. She wouldn’t want them to see their only child as an outcast. Fortunately, other extended La Familia was tucked away in Tegucigalpa. Her thoughts returned to the mayor. She was determined to find the strangler before him. **** On the ocean side of the boulevard, gulls circled and screamed while smaller shorebirds foraged the waterline between boulders. Wind lifted white foam along pale sand. Yesterday’s crime scene was marked with yellow ribbon and a depression in the weeds. The shopping mall on the east side of the highway was so packed that she had to hunt for a parking spot. Odd for a Thursday, the populace swarmed for weekend supplies. Usually, the jump-start was Friday afternoon. Gathering up dry-cleaning, she shoved her door. Fierce wind grabbed and swung it open. Sun hit her between the eyes as she slammed it with a hip. Hot and dry, she felt alone in the wind.

When Tara angled toward Mr. Chang’s Cleaners, she took notice of a Chinese man sitting on a shaded bench. Dressed like a coolie from a history book, he looked up with golden eyes. Don’t eyes lighten with age? Well folks, he isn’t an apparition. Because he looked straight at her, she responded. “Ni hao.” She’d finally put to use the greeting she’d learned from the teacher at the center. Mae Han often greeted her with the Chinese hello, pronounced ‘Knee How’. He lifted his straw hat with an index finger. “Gung Ho.” “Doesn’t that mean ‘work together’?” she asked. It was a paradoxical image since they had little in common, but his eyes had a disquieting intensity. Giving her an affirmative nod, he repeated, “Gung Ho.” His eyes were lighter than her Honduran grandmother’s when he emerged from the shadow, his body wasn’t twisted or hunched by time. “Dr. Gredell is good man.” “You know him?” He nodded once. His gait was swift, and he was gone in the space of several breaths. The spectral fluting of the wind through low buildings of the mall remained as she lugged her bundle. When she swung a bronze-tinted glass door outward, letters for Chang’s Cleaners flashed in the sun. Inside, she escaped the wind and buried herself in a snaking line against a wall of plants. She recognized a former classmate ahead of her. Normally, she’d reach out with small talk, feeling free to be herself. Instead, she blended like a wallflower. When her acquaintance left, she waited in silence until it was her turn. She’d make it quick. Tara dumped her pile on the counter in front of an Asian counter girl. The girl, a stranger, counted items, made out a ticket and handed it back. When she turned to go, a customer lurched in front of her. “We ought to close your office down. Ship you out.” Her heart and mind accelerated, but the rush of adrenaline paralyzed her ability to come up with a one-liner. A stone-faced man near the door did that for her. “Like take her to the cleaners?” No one laughed. As she plunged for the door, it was blocked. No man or woman stepped aside. “Take it easy, folks.” The husky male voice came from the line of people and plants. She recognized the drummer from the Red Beat Café.

He nudged people out of her way. When he guided her through the door, the two of them were met by a blast. She smoothed down her tiered skirt. Eerie notes of the wind covered her ragged, embarrassed sigh. She managed to mouth a thank you. “You’re welcome.” He stood sentinel as she headed toward a flower cart. The kiosk had the benefit of no customers. Her pet sitter, Mae Han, deserved flowers even though it was a side business. Coming close, she saw the clerk grab a container, blown by the wind. She’d shut down all but one door to the cart. An ornery bird swooped over her head and rained gull curses down upon her. At least that’s how she felt while she bought an orchid plant. In her peripherals she caught sight of the drummer, standing a car length behind. First, he’d come to her aid. Now he stood guard on his cell phone. The wind swirled and wailed like a lost child while Cord made an uninvited appearance into her mind. The drummer was a member of his quartet. Glad not to be entirely alone, she watched him slip his phone into his pocket. His eyes shifted back at the dry cleaners before focusing on her. She yelled, “Sorry you lost your place in line.” He walked over, his brows drawn together. “You okay?” “I’m holding up.” She didn’t let on she detested feeling helpless. Bracing the wind, she carried the plant with both hands to her car. He walked alongside. “I’m Nat. I’d offer my hand, but you’ll drop your plant.” “Nice to meet you, Nat. I recognized you as the drummer with The Green Mission Band. I have a CD with your picture on the back. I’m guessing you know who I am.” “Yup. Just phoned Cord. He’d touched base with me earlier. Every friend he’s got will watch out for you.’ “Apparently everyone who hates me doesn’t owe him favors.” “I was at his rally. Dr. Gredell sounds pretty nuts. I heard some vicious talk about you.” “I got Buck off at the wrong time. He’s not violent or cruel.” She heard her voice crack, and it sounded wimpy. “Cord tried to convince the crowd you haven’t run up against the strangler. He feels responsible and wants to offer protection.” “I’m grateful.” The fact he offered shelter instead of a relationship made her feel weak and unattractive.

Nat’s sunburned nose was peeling. His hair fell in blond dreadlocks, but under his worn-out surfer look, he offered a kind smile. She clicked open her trunk when a pink Honda pulled into a parking space alongside them. Smelling of new paint, the car door opened. After a massive shoulder appeared, Cord unfolded. Nat said, “Hey, Boss. You got here pretty fast, but then Eleganze Auto Center is just across the street.” Cord shook Nat’s hand. “I was picking up my daughter’s birthday present when you called.” When he looked at Tara, his expression was less friendly. She looked down at her ribbed tank and rumpled tiered skirt. Somehow she’d coffee-stained herself. Her wedge sandals looked down trodden. He glanced at her feet. “In those shoes your feet could get fetlocked.” That’s a good one. “You’re saying I might have to run. What have you been up to since we last spoke?” “Shooting bull with another one of your clients. The owner of the body shop said you got him off for drag racing.” “Rod needed a criminal lawyer. He and I bartered.” “You barter?” His voice held a suspicious edge. “I found it touching when he offered his best talent, car mechanics. Bartering is customary among my parents and their friends. They’re immigrants from the Caribbean shore of Honduras.” As payment for my services, my shoebox Scion has racing slicks, a turbo engine, and a GPS navigation system. Through pursed lips he said, “At least he didn’t need convincing.” “That I’m a witch and need to be hunted down?” “Rod did say he’s to blame for getting the ‘bitch in a shoebox’ thing started.” “How can that be? I hardly ever use the air horn.” Nat must have sensed the tension between them. “Take care, guys.” He headed back to Chang’s. “Thank you, Nat.” She brushed his arm. “Later, Dude,” Cord yelled after him. “As for you, Miss Spunky, you’ve tested the waters.” His tone was touchy. “A bit rough?” “Choppy.” She maintained fragile control, glad to be standing next to the big and powerful figure of the mayor. People gawked as they walked to and from stores. Could the audience thicken? He was a celebrity. She was in his orbit. “I don’t want you to lose votes while we talk in public.”

For the moment he didn’t seem to care. He took a step and turned his back to them, blocking their view of her along with the wind. “I told you to lay low.” His resonant voice played the blues, her blues. “These folks don’t like you.” “Most people don’t until they’re accused of something. After that, they’re less bullheaded and judgmental.” The wind took her skirt again, and she attempted to hold it down. He raised a brow. As he looked at her, her self-assurance seeped out. Already feeling guilty over the whistling Toolbox, he’d peeled away her façade. Usually a dare gave her a twitter of anticipation. Feeling selfconscious was an oddity for her. It drove her mad. With the town against her, he saw her at her lowest point. He had a poetic quality. Unworthiness settled into her bones. For a split second she wished he would put his arms around her and pull her close. She visualized her face buried against his chest, wrapped in the warm blanket of his arms. Better yet, she’d like a part of his anatomy deep inside her. But, even that would be comforting and demoralizing at the same time. He stood with confidence. Within the last decade, the population had tripled. She doubted most residents had heard dark rumors about his young wife. Eat them up and throw them out, is that what you do? Maybe you’re not so pure under the surface. Cord said, “You’re running errands. I’ll come along.” She cleared her throat. “No need, but thank you. I’ll head back to my office. From there, home.” “Stay home.” He was devilishly handsome in his knit shirt. She glanced at his large arms with glossy brown arm hair. Cord opened her car door. With a hand on her elbow, he guided her in. The dratted wind ripped up her skirt again before he shut the door gently. **** To clear his head he needed time alone, and the bar at the Red Beat was mercifully vacant. Cord swore silently, something he never did aloud, as he slugged back a double shot of scotch. The liquor slid smoothly down his throat. He wanted to get rip-roaring drunk and forget the last two days had happened. When he slammed his glass on the counter, the scotch splashed him in

the face. He wiped his cheeks with his shirtsleeve. Immortals held their liquor, but he didn’t order another. He’d lived long enough to know it wouldn’t solve his problems. He needed to set an example for Kerrigan. Miss Spunky Delacruz had the right amount of fire to keep a man’s embers burning. She was a woman in a hurry. Her determination mesmerized him, but he couldn’t let down his guard. He’d felt lust when the wind billowed her skirt, exposing her shapely brown legs all the way up to that confounded thong. Tara was pretty with her perfect mouth, petite body, and fiery dark eyes. In her heap of trouble she needed tending. Too bad every time he pictured her, he had a headache. This time it came below his belt. **** On her way to the office, she phoned their receptionist. She and Sherry chatted about a new zirconium crown and free delivery from Oceanview Creamery for a year. Before Sherry said, “buh-bye,” she mentioned an unscheduled client had popped in. After Tara accepted her invitation to stop by for a peek at her beauty queen collectables, she was put through to Leviticus. “Blake Detective Agency.” Leviticus’ voice was light and energetic, considering how worn out he’d been earlier. “Leviticus, it’s me. Sherry said someone came in.” “Mae Han, a teacher. Said she’s your dog sitter. I believe she knows you from the teen center.” Tara’s entire mood lifted. Unlike some delusion-of-grandeur volunteer work, Tara benefited emotionally from volunteering there. Lively teens needed help with homework. She’d pitched in a couple of hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. She wondered what Mae thought of her new notoriety. “Is Mae still a friend of mine?” “Mae Han knew you were a lawyer. I’m quoting here, she ‘wanted to talk with someone who’s street smart.’” “Hmm. Street smart translates to down-and-dirty.” She couldn’t imagine Mae, with her elevated mind, as a client. “Your Yellow Pages ad led her here, ’Don’t Get Mad, Get Even.’” “That draws in the pissed-off. Mae has the patience of the Teacher-ofthe-Year she is. Odd, isn’t it?” “What?” he asked.

“Landings Beach is a small town, yet people only know each other in a certain context. Mae Han is flawlessly reputable.” Tara pulled over to avoid another fender-bender. “Mae has done so much. She spearheaded the tutoring center and continues to reinvent herself.” “Reinvent herself, doing what?” he asked. “Mae recently started a pet sitting business.” “Recently as in just once, Tara. That was a favor just for you. Actually, she has reinvented herself.” “As what?” she asked. “A killer, but she failed. Last night she tried to run down her lover with her car.” His voice sounded lively although he discussed vehicular homicide, murder in the second degree. “Anyone can kill, given the right circumstance,” she said. “He’d be dead if he hadn’t jumped out of the way. The man was standing in front of a telephone pole.” “Did she kill the telephone pole?” “Telephone pole stands. She killed her car,” he said. “Where’s her former lover?” “At the Landings’ Seasons having lunch, according to Miss Han’s spy. A former student of hers works as a hostess.” There was buoyancy in his tone again. “Is Mae in the conference room filling out the questionnaire?” “She’s done. Went to the ladies’ room for a good cry.” “After violence, rage often turns to depression. What pushed her over the top?” Tara asked. There was silence. Leviticus dealt better with facts than feelings. He took a deep breath. “Mae Han fell in love and was swindled out of $75,000 plus her home.” “I feel sad for her, humiliated in that way.” She knew Mae had inherited hers. Since she bought one just like it next door, she also knew what it was worth. “Leviticus, you did say ‘swindled’.” “Her lover cleaned her out. Mae thinks he does this for a living.” His baritone voice cut out for a second. He was probably pacing the office while he held the receiver. “She knows that? He milks older women? Do you think the snake will skip town?” she asked. “Nope, he slinks under the name of George Pritchett at the Landings’ Seasons Hotel. As I said, she’s having him watched by a former student.” “Pritchett’s not a local guy, then?” “No, Mae met him at an investment class. He was one of the instructors.

She and a couple of teacher friends drove to L.A. to attend the class. After a few months of dating, he moved down here.” “To scoop her up with all she had. Leviticus, I don’t want her to part with any more of her money. We won’t charge her.” Finding a solution for Mae was picking up her own spirits. “Pro bono is fine with me.” “Pritchett made a fool of her. She didn’t order a do-it-yourself suicide kit, did she?” Tara asked. “No, she’s thankful.” He sighed. “Thank God she didn’t kill him.” This time he spoke with restraint. “Give Mae the broad overview of a bait-and-switch. I’ll see you two in a few.” While she pulled onto the boulevard toward the office, she was intrigued. At times work was drudgery because it made no sense. When it did, and she and Leviticus worked out someone’s predicament, they had a bit of fun. “Mae took the bus over. I offered to drive her home.” Leviticus paused. “By the way, Mae asked Sherry about her daughter. She dropped out of high school a few weeks ago.” “What daughter?” “The one who calls herself Bloodrose, dresses in all-black. She looks like a two-hundred pound hooker and can’t hide in the shadows.” “Sherry never mentioned her.” “Well, here comes Mae. Later, Tara.” Soon she waved as Leviticus’ blue truck sped past her. Her two favorite people hadn’t invited her along. Three would have been a crowd. Her cell rang as she waited for the elevator. It was Sherry, and she had good news. Two potential clients had phoned. The first was an accountant she’d represented in the past for skimming off a little cream. Now, a different company was accusing him of the same thing. That told her he should have been convicted and incarcerated the first time. She’d refer him to a classmate who ran her criminal practice like a ministry. The second was Jade Smith Harris, ex-wife of Cord Smith and mother of Kerrigan. The present wife of legendary multi-millionaire Adrian Harris, Jade and their son, Vincent, occupied Chaumont, an estate on the most secluded point of the peninsula. According to Sherry, Jade was on her way over. She’d heard rumblings about a possible child abuse in the Harris home and wished she’d paid more attention.

Inside the elevator, she pushed the “up” button. She pushed it again and waited. On the floor above she heard elevator doors clanging open without the pattering of feet. When she spotted a moving truck parked by the curb, she knew someone was moving in or out. With the elevator packed with office equipment, Tara pounded up the stairs. She suspected her interest was fool-hearty. But, the opportunity to represent the mysterious, rich, and wealthy Jade Harris, couldn’t be tamped down. Curiosity over Cord’s ex-wife, higher than her on the food chain, swallowed her up.

Chapter Three Sherry wasn’t at her receptionist station. Tara guessed she was smiling in the lady’s room mirror. In her office, Tara had a reason to flick on an Orange County all-news station. She wanted to catch the latest about Jade Harris. Bingo. The traffic report was interrupted with a local update. This time she took notes. Jade Harris, the ex-wife of an Orange County tycoon, was accused of medicating her son into a coma. The Landings Hospital emergency room doctor filed charges after pumping the stomach of her son, fourteen year-old Vincent Harris. Next was a panel discussion with Orange County’s prosecuting attorney, Humbert Mainberger, in the cameo spot. Listening, she wondered why he had never been sanctioned for exaggeration. Had young Vincent really been hospitalized over twenty times for minor ailments? Mainberger stated the contents were a veterinarian medication available on the Internet. In his words, the ER had pumped out a dose large enough for a rhinoceros. The commentator asked the emergency room doctor about the charges brought after the previous night’s stomach-pumping incident. The doctor didn’t deny Vincent was so toxic that his organs were beginning to shut down. He had an additional comment. Jade Harris had rubbed equestrian liniment, normally used on the muscles of horses, to soothe him. Mainberger ended the discussion with typical lightness, Jade practicing veterinary medicine without a license. Tara speed-dialed Leviticus. “Forgive my interruption.” “What up?” “Leviticus, you know about Adrian Harris’ past.” “I have to admit. I’m fascinated with any slime-ball who keeps on making millions. His wife is being charged with child abuse.”

“Guess who’s coming in? What do you know about Jade?” “She’s a recluse, married briefly to Cordell Smith before giving birth.” “Kerrigan.” “Right. Jade left a month later. She owns a shop here but doesn’t run it.” **** Cord supplemented his small town mayoral salary by working weekend nights at the Red Beat Café. Other times, his band performed without him. His career as a musician was second to his deepest passion, being Kerrigan’s dad. As he tidied up for her birthday party, he listened to news on the radio. Jade. He blinked, disoriented, past and present clashing in his mind. His private hell with Jade had been locked away with self-control. More revolting than anyone he’d known during his long life, her fragile calm could be lost to meanness. He never spoke of her demonic rituals. He felt people could draw their own conclusions. No one did. Outside of her fortune teller, few knew the recluse. He understood Kerrigan’s increasing curiosity about the mother she never knew. So far Jade hadn’t been interested, and he didn’t expect that to change. “Pop, whose watch is this?” She opened the bathroom door and held up a woman’s watch belonging to the librarian he’d recently dated. “It belongs to someone I know. Thanks, I’ll return it.” He walked over and retrieved it. Lillian had been at their place only once but had left her mark. Dropping it into his pocket, he told himself he should have ended it more directly. Instead, he made excuses to avoid her, a coward’s way out. She’d jumped the gun and broke up. For a year he’d cavorted with the sweet natured mortal. They met up at her place at odd times, times convenient for him. Although monogamous, he kept his relationships shallow. Even without the immortality complication, he’d lost interest. It was Saturday morning, and the library opened at nine. Lillian arrived at 8:40. He’d go on his usual morning jog and face her in person. He stood outside the bathroom door. “Birthday girl!” He pitched his voice over the roar of her hairdryer. The noise level dropped abruptly. “Pop?”

“I’ll be back in an hour, Sunny, with your birthday surprise.” He’d parked the repainted Honda in sparkling shell pink up the block. “Okay.” She opened the bathroom door and waved goodbye with the hair dryer. Outside, he locked up and then faced the ocean as he tramped down the redwood stairway. As he went, he pulled a waffle-knit cotton sweater over a collared knit shirt. He wore canvas field shorts, perfect for the crisp morning. Flush with the Pacific Coast Highway, their apartment above the Aldridge estate’s four-car garage required him to sprint up the grassy bank. He caught sight of the elderly former mayor on his balcony and waved. Ever since Kerrigan entered the sixth grade, they’d rented from the Aldridge couple. Designed to look like a carriage house, the garage blended with the half-timbered Tudor mansion. Originally, the two-master suites apartment was meant for houseguests but never completely finished. Visitors preferred quarters in the massive manor. At a monthly Rotary Club meeting, Cord asked Mr. Aldridge, the mayor at the time, if he and his daughter could rent from him. They moved in immediately. Cord embraced his projects. When the mayor’s term ended, he gave Cord his blessings to carry them on and contributed to his grass roots campaign. In a full out run, his leather-mesh cross trainers gripped the road, but the back of his head pounded. He wasn’t good with personal explanations. Passing a field, he took in the fragrant air, gathering his wits. Nearby, a worker pushed up the awnings of a farm stand and wrote prices for spinach, oranges, and strawberries on a blackboard. He darted onto a surface street toward the library and admired alternating rows of sycamores, eucalyptus, and purple blooming jacarandas. He climbed gray steps and sank into the top one. The doors would open momentarily. With unending time, he could wait. Already his breath returned to normal. He remembered working on the library’s original construction when it was two-story house. Converted, the library was a historical landmark. The porch, with railings painted creamy white, boasted Circa-1900 wicker furniture. A day laborer, he hadn’t attracted attention. In a square of sunlight, his image reflected like a ghost in the window. A sign announced the circular addition was available for meetings. He knew it took years for the architectural committee to approve the rotunda. He supported their efforts to blend old and new. Historical buildings were never left to chance in Landings Beach. He’d never leave. Memories of people and places were dear to his heart.

A black and white cruiser drove up in front and stopped in the loading zone. As the sun rose in the sky, Police Sergeant Ronald Ditzman got out. He strutted in his blues and sucked in his belly as he opened the passenger door. “I’ll wait, Lil.” Cord felt a kind of awkward relief when Lillian skipped up the steps. “Hello, Lillian.” He held up her watch. Silence. He said, “I’m sorry I faded into obscurity.” Behind her across the street, the sergeant was rolling up his sleeves. The teddy bear was all the more amusing when he turned surly. He rushed to a car parked near a fire hydrant. He made out a parking ticket and slapped it on the windshield. Mockingly, she looked at Cord and then at her wrist. “My new man has time for me.” She nodded toward the cop. “He doesn’t have to see me on the sly, behind his daughter’s back.” “You deserve better than what I can give.” When it came to relationships, he failed to make the world a better place. He dropped her watch into her hands. When he saw her grab it, he guessed he was apt to catch her lightening. “I wasn’t even third on your stinking list.” She spat her words. “After your daughter and music, I had to compete with town business.” “I’m as easy as trimming whiskers off the man in the moon, I know.” She adjusted her watch. When she unlocked the front door, she spoke to someone inside before the door slammed shut. Within seconds Lillian was back out. “Surprised you’re still here. Don’t grieve too long.” She skipped down the steps. “I’m covered for a personal day. Did you know my burly cop is as fervent in bed as when he writes citations?” “I always liked your good humor.” Cord chuckled. The cop swept over him with mirrored sunglasses. They gave off a snippet of unfriendliness until he grinned. “Hello, Mayor. Landings’ finest gets out early.” “That would be you, sergeant.” Cord smiled Ditzman walked up the steps and clapped Cord on the back. “No hard feelings, me stealing your girl?” “Just take care of her. Lillian’s special.” He watched the cop take her hand. He tossed his clipboard in the backseat. She hoped in. In another moment, they pulled away. Cord remained with his thoughts. If nature were in perfect harmony with the emotions of a man and woman, happiness should peek through the

gloom once in awhile. But then, an immortal’s depression worsened over time. He couldn’t finish a melody he’d started months before. The sun burned through clouds, and a gentle breeze made tree patterns across the road and rustled his knit collar. Leaning on the porch railing with his eyes closed, he began to plan his daughter’s birthday. After he made a mental list of things to do, he began to hum. He heard the purr of a turbo engine pull in the front of the library along the five-minute unloading zone. His eyes were still closed as he hummed the classic song, Breaking Up is Hard to Do. His mood was not true to the lyrics. He heard someone on the steps but kept humming. A woman’s soft voice sang the words. He looked up. Tara Delacruz wore a red Angels’ ball cap. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Angels fan. Come. Sit.” He gave the space beside him a pat. Tara sank in next to him with her load of books. “Why is it that the best songs are sad?” He slid closer. “Sadness is the greatest of all human emotions.” “I thought that ‘mad, sad, and glad’ had equal footing.” The bill of her hat moved as she spoke. “I do agree with the song. Breaking up is hard to do.” “I was going out with Lillian. We drifted.” He wasn’t intentionally cavalier about breaking hearts. But, when it came to every woman since Jade, a good relationship meant sex with lots of space. “So, man saved himself from a stifling relationship once again. Trauma isn’t usually equal. For the person hurt, a keepsake or souvenir can bring on ‘remember when’ blues.” She sounded concerned for Lillian. “She’s seeing someone else.” “Anyone I know?” “Sergeant Ditzman. One of Landings Beach’s finest and says so himself.” “He’s a cuddly teddy bear in uniform.” “Are you a friend of Lillian’s?” “I think she’s a considerate and a well-read librarian. She has enough stored up matter to chat about every book she scans. She’s patient no matter how many trade books I check out for the tutoring center.” “How often do you volunteer at the center, Tara?” “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and then I go back to the office for a long night.”

“You must be the reason Kerrigan’s there on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He studied her beautiful features. Her brown skin hinted of a little Mayan mixed with Black. When she turned, she caught him staring. “For her age, Kerrigan is amazingly ethical. She gets that from you.” “You’ve got a lot of books there, Tara. Tutoring Center?” “I offered to return this armful.” He waggled his fingers for her to hand them over. “You work out.” He took her load and stood up. “I swim, run.” In his opinion, her strength didn’t lessen her femininity. “A lawyer usually looks for a different volunteer opportunity, one that increases business.” “I find most of my clients in jail. Before that, I was a public defender.” Tara pushed to her feet. “Wait a sec.” He walked into the library and placed the stack on the return counter. When he came out, she was heading for her car. He couldn’t understand why, after just breaking up with one woman, he was seized with the desire to possess another, his political opposite. His efforts went into the betterment of the town. Hers got riffraff back on the streets. Besides that, he’d seen it all and was bound to a secret conspiracy of immortals. She was naïve, vibrant and connected with people. He followed her, wanting to prolong their conversation. “What were you and the dogs up to this morning?” Tara’s dogs stuck their heads out the back seat window. She glanced at them and back at Cord. “We took a run north by the fields. It’s secluded.” “I’m glad you avoided our good citizens.” “Yes, and the air was fragrant with citrus and jasmine. I love the side of Orange County that speaks of time.” “Not trends, as in real estate development?” Cord was fighting businessmen who wanted to develop the wetlands. “I like the growing plants and singing birds.” She laughed and glanced at her impatient dogs. “Hold on, Puppies.” “Puppies? At their size?” “They were puppies once.” She spoke with affection as she glanced at them, not forgetting they were penned up in the car. “They’re gigantic now.” “Big dogs think big.” She smiled. She wore a sports bra under a boatneck shirt, but the tops of her breasts wobbled a bit. “I still think of them as little sometimes.”

“I still think of Kerrigan that way, how she was as a baby, toddler, and young girl.” Today, Sunny was seventeen. He leaned on the porch railing and looked at her. “Tara, I took out an ad in the Landings Beacon.” “What was the message?” “Bad timing creates misunderstandings. When a criminal attorney believes a client is a murderer, the client is defended from that perspective. It’ll come out on Monday.” “That was generous of you. I don’t think it will do much good.” Her voice cracked on the last few words. “They don’t tar people these days, do they?” “No, they don’t.” His mouth was only inches from hers. Agony lit in her dark brown eyes. “Someone could start a web site, ‘www. EveryoneAgainstDelacruz.com’.” Their gazes locked and held when he said, “Call me the next time you need to run errands. I’ll come along and make sure no one bothers you.” “Uh huh.” A vaguely sensuous light passed between them. She seemed calm yet deep in thought. “Do you have a pen?” His body began to ache for her. “I think so.” She bent forward as she reached through the window of her car and flipped open the glove compartment. Her shirt drooped open to reveal a sheer jogging bra. She didn’t seem to be a practiced seductress, and that made her tempting. When she handed him the pen, she came closer. It took great effort to tear his gaze away from the slopes of her breasts. His groin tightened. He picked up her hand. Her nails were groomed but unpainted. Her hand shook slightly. He gazed at her pretty heart-shaped face. “Go right ahead. Write on me.” Her eyes were a deep, warm brown with long lashes. Short curls sprung under her red cap. He said, “I’ve got a message machine and check it all the time.” With her pen Cord wrote his home phone and cell numbers on the top of her hand. “I know your home phone number. I see that your cell has one number different than Kerrigan’s. We text.” Punching codes wasn’t something she pictured herself doing. “My daughter seems to have latched onto you. You’re her tutor, not her mother. Does she demand special treatment?” “She doesn’t, and I don’t show favoritism.” She met his eyes without flinching. “I’ve missed her while I’ve been away.” “I like your spunk.” He felt his lips twitch with a smile.

“Cord, classes are harder these days. I don’t overstep my boundaries. I love how her freckly nose scrunches when she smiles.” “Hey, I’m not going to drive splinters up your nails. I can see Kerrigan is on the receiving end.” “Don’t be so sure. She taught me to text-message.” She laughed. “Her grades went up,” He returned. “I know. I’m so proud of her.” “I need to tell you, I don’t approve of your slick lawyer tactics.” He knew he sounded curt, but that’s how he felt. “Why is it, you make my anger run hot, and then you pour warm honey on it.” Her eyes were sharp and assessing. “I respect your courage.” “See that? There’s the honey so I’ll let you be my escort.” Her words had a taunting quality. He watched her eyes narrow and asked, “What?” “About a month ago, I read your editorial encouraging parents to take their kids to the library.” “Guess I try to set the town straight. With kids using the Internet for their reports, I worry that they’re not getting the benefit of reading books.” “You made a good point, Cord. It would be sad if libraries became obsolete. You wrote a commentary about the speed bumps.” The bill on her cap moved up. “Once I nearly broke my neck on one. You’re worth every penny of our tax dollars.” “The mayoral commitment is part-time but pays something. I can put my ideas in front of people.” She gave his arm a pat. Her touch of encouragement sent a rage of passion swirling inside him, making him hard. Would she fight him off if he kissed her? She touched his soul patch, a tuft of hair under his lower lip. Close enough for a kiss, she asked, “When you run for re-election, what’s your top priority?” He couldn’t think beyond his canned answer. “Protecting tidal marshes from real estate development. Millions of birds that migrate along the Pacific Flyway need the wetlands.” “Sounds like a worthwhile dream. You’ve enjoyed a strong grass roots backing.” “I can’t seem to put things into effect. Nothing’s moving forward. I need some sort of impetus.” Her throat moved in a hard swallow. “Maybe start up that website I mentioned. A politician gets ahead by bashing the politically incorrect.”

“That works for some.” “A politician needs to be supported.” She had hit the nail on the head. If they wound up together before November, he’d risk the election. “You seem to want to get me into office.” “Cord, while you’re protecting me behind the scenes, we’ll work up a budget on your wetlands project. I’ll write up your goals and budget. You can submit it to a philanthropic organization and try to get a grant. No one has to know I’m your new secret campaign manager.” “I’d like that.” The shiver of want passed through him again, and he had to turn away. He’d try to turn his campaign manager into his secret lover. She had a dark-eyes-dark-hair-sophisticated thing going and coltish proportions. He’d long admired her witty, intellectual freshness. In his opinion, not all of her talent was put to good use. She represented scum. It set off his inner alarm bells. On the other hand she was an action person, focused on getting things done. It had paid off financially. From a dating perspective, her financial success was frightening. It would be hard to pursue a woman whose income was three times his. But, his masculinity wouldn’t be completely eroded if she pursued him. Maybe with her, breaking up would be harder. As certain as his days were long, a woman wouldn’t want him if he couldn’t grow old with her.

Chapter Four Hearing a rap on his door, Cord yelled across the room, “Been expecting you, Nat. Come in.” Cord’s voice was hoarse. Kerrigan was over her cold but passed it to him. “Smells nice. Piney floor wax.” Nat dropped by every Saturday morning to talk shop. Down on his hands and knees, Cord waxed hardwood floors backward toward the kitchen. They were rough maple when they’d first moved in, but he had sanded, stained, and varnished them. The mid-morning breeze from open windows dried the wax quickly. “My dreds made me look old, standing next you in our album photo. So, what do you think?” Nat turned around to show off his head, shaved on the sides with a crew on the top. Cord looked up. “I like it.” In 1861, his hair was as slick as a gun barrel on the crown. He couldn’t keep women from running their fingers over it. That was before he’d chased his dog into the mine. It’d come back thick. “Coffee, my man?” Nat eyed the floor until he saw a dry path from the screen door to a drop leaf oak table containing monthly income reports. He took off his sneakers and walked across in stocking feet. Sliding into a vinyl chair, Nat studied the band’s reports with alertness, despite playing late the night before. None of the four musicians in the Green Mission Band used drugs, not even pot, because Cord was a bastard about it. Pushers stayed away from them. His typical deafening scene about ‘getting that crap out of here’ put off dealers. Back in his cowboy days, he’d enjoyed alcohol too much. He did tolerate their one-night stands, but didn’t partake. Whether they played funk, soul, R&B, or jazz, getting laid was a tradition. Cord got most of the gigs, collected money, did the bookkeeping, and paid them. Nat handled the equipment and communicated. Even with

mayoral duties, Cord remained their leader. The only songwriter, he’d learned to submit copyright forms for their decade-old band. “How’s things with your daughter, Man? You were freaked the other night.” Nat helped himself to the insulated coffee carafe, milk, and sugar on the table. “I couldn’t find her.” Kerrigan wasn’t in her bed. “I figured things were okay when you stopped calling your daughter. “She had fallen asleep in front of the TV, camouflaged under a blanket. Another rabbit could end up in the wolf’s mouth.” “We can work without you for awhile.” “She thinks I’m overreacting. Argues she doesn’t hang out at the beach at all hours like the victims so far. I don’t want her friends sleeping over.” Cord felt conflicted. “Because…” “One night her friend, Megan, invited her boyfriend over.” Nat laughed. “You’re in a bind, man. She doesn’t want a babysitter at her age.” Cord nodded and would get down to band business, regardless of the prickle of uneasiness nipping at him. “How does our schedule look for next month?” “We’ve got our usual five nights at the Red Beat Café,” Cord felt sweat bead on his forehead. The mutant bacterium was destroying his virus, but it was never without penalty. There was always pain akin to hot needles stabbing into his muscles. Warm, he walked into the other room to trade his sweater for a Hawaiian shirt. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, or at least look like one. “How long do you think we’ll have work at the Red Beat?” “We’re contracted for the year. That gives each of us $4,500 a month from the Beat. The manager gave us an increase for packing them in. We have another source, royalties from the sound track we did.” Done with waxing, he stood in the kitchen. “No way! That movie’s playing?” Nat asked. “Only at independent movie theaters. We’ve made $8,000 apiece from that so far.” “Well, that ain’t no soggy fish sticks.” Cord chuckled. “Remember our gig with the skydiver club?” “Right, tomorrow. I’ve conveyed that to the guys. As I understand it, the club wants us to put on a show at the beach. What are they going to do, glide over us while we perform?” With a jovial smile, he slapped his knee. “They’re charging admission.”

“Yeah, we’ll be their high-energy party that draws a crowd. We’ll put in some extra groove. How much will we clear?” “Two thousand for three hours, split between us.” Cord poured himself another mug of coffee and leaned against the counter. “We’re on their flyer. They’ve rented the beach from the town council. Besides selling tickets, they’ll get a cut from food venders. This is their annual fund raiser.” “Our cut is fair.” He moved to the table with Nat and opened a heavy accordion file. He pulled out copies of bank statements and their month-end report, computergenerated by Kerrigan. He watched Nat focus on it with knuckles lightly tapping on the table. Whenever Cord was paid, he manually deposited money into the accounts. “Give these reports to the guys?” “Sure, that’s my job.” Nat looked at the statement for the savings account and had a question. “So, this is for Uncle Sam?” Cord nodded, “Right. I set up a savings account. Don’t want the guys taking out loans to pay their taxes like last year. I calculated federal and state taxes. We’re not big enough to pay incorporation fees. But, money will be here when tax time comes around.” Cord’s journals were open and available for everyone to see. “Sounds good,” Nat sipped from his mug. “This month I actually have some disposable income. Thinking about buying a condo. How’s ‘bout you?” He was saving for her college fund. “You saw Kerrigan’s birthday present yesterday. Don’t worry, she’s out of earshot. She’d cleaning her room before her party.” “That pink paint simmers. The car is blinged.” He gave a short laugh. “Saw it parked up the street.” “We’re having some of her friends over in a couple of hours for food, and I’ve rented a movie.” “Have a good time. Later, boss.” Nat bounced the papers together on the table and headed out with them. Cord picked up his tote of cleaning supplies, crossed the shiny hardwood floors, and opened louvered closet doors. He shoved the tote on a shelf alongside a stackable washer/dryer. Nothing was out of place, he noticed. Decorated with simple oak furniture and tweed upholstered chairs and sofa, yellow bromeliads flowered from clay pots on the windowsills. They enjoyed a clear ocean view. Black and white photos of jazz greats covered tan walls. Parker, Coltrain, Getz, and Astrid Gilberto, the original Girl from Ipanima were mounted on

cardstock. Framed pictures of Kerrigan and Cord from her babyhood to the present sat on end tables. Oak bookcases, built by Cord, surrounded a computer desk. Kerrigan’s laptop connected to a printer. Above a wood-burning stove, Kerrigan’s art project, a pencil sketch shaded with pastels, had won a blue ribbon. Her subject was a somber angel with flowing strawberry blonde hair, the color of Kerrigan’s. Her parents’ wedding picture was long gone, but she often drew her mother. Jade was unknown except for her hair that fell like long fusilli. Kerrigan’s skin tone was as creamy as hers, except for a few freckles. He assumed the biological father had them, wherever he was. Mutant bacteria from the mine remained in Cord’s body. It rejuvenated cells, but surges in body temperature caused sterility in immortals. He, the only parent Kerrigan knew, dreaded the day she surpassed him in age. Except for a metronome on the coffee table, Cord kept his instruments, a vintage tenor sax, various guitars, and a keyboard off in his bedroom. Neatness ran in his veins along with the microbe-fuel. Excited about giving his daughter her car, he knocked on her bedroom door and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial level. “I’m going to make my way into a beast and bring out your birthday present. Be right back.” In moments he had her car parked in the driveway. He tipped his head back and yelled toward her open window. “Sunny.” Kerrigan appeared. “What, Pop?” Cord felt excitement, a rarity. “This car is yours.” “Wow. I can’t believe it. Be right down!” He heard tramping on the stairs before she rushed up the bank. “Daddy, it’s beautiful.” Panting, she caught her breath. Her mouth curved, and dimples in her cheeks went deep. He pulled her into a hug and could feel her ribs through the shirt she wore. A growth spurt, he thought. “Happy Seventeenth! I feel bad I’ve been working so much.” “That’s okay.” She hugged him back and then circled the car, peering in. “The junior year is the toughest, yet you’ve brought your grades up.” “Where’s your old Honda?” “I traded it in. I’ve missed riding my motorcycle. Way too dangerous for you, by the way.” The Yamaha was parked around the side of the garage under a tarp. “Does it still work?” She looked concerned. “Sure, and it’s only a mile up to the Red Beat. Once in awhile I might borrow your car.”

“In the rain, late at night, or anytime you want, Daddy. Thank you so much!” She jumped and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re welcome, Sunny.” When she stepped back, her long, wavy hair blew across her face. She used to have more freckles. Older now, there was just a sprinkle of cinnamon across her nose. “You’ve had your license for a few months now. You don’t have a heavy foot.” “No speeding tickets for me.” Cord felt energized as he watched her glide her hand over the sparkling paint. “Tell me how you raised your grades.” “The tutoring center is amazing. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I work with Miss Dela Cruz.” He noticed she said Delacruz as if Dela was her first name, and Cruz was her last. “Did you say the group meets in the lunchroom?” “That’s right, after school. I started going with a friend, who needed serious help. “Would that be Megan?” “Yeah, and her grades are passing now. Miss Dela Cruz noticed me waiting and started working with me, too. She’s a lawyer. She’s been out of town on a case. We text-message.” I know. I’ve read them. “Last week I needed help with a paper.” So far Tara Delacruz had stayed within her bounds, never discussing anything but assignments. “How about taking your car on a test drive? We need to get the rest of the party food.” “Let’s see, we already have liters of soda, a gigantic tub of ice cream, birthday cake candles, and paper products.” She seemed to have a handle on supplies on hand. “I’ve ordered Chinese food and your birthday cake.” He’d been planning her party for a couple of weeks. “Did you order our favorite cake?” “Carrot cake will be hiding under double cream frosting.” Cord jingled the keys before handing them to her. She took the keys in her hand. “Love the keychain!” She examined the tiny pink flip-flop as she opened the door and ran her hand across the tan seats as she slipped into it. “Nice, no rips.” She situated herself and tried to reach the pedals. “Only the best vinyl for my girl.” He bent down and adjusted the seat forward. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” “Okay.” He skittered around and jumped into the passenger seat. In one motion he put on the seat belt. “It’s an automatic, same as our old car.” She started up the engine. “Where are we going first?” “Chopsticks.” The bakery was in the same shopping center. She pulled onto the Pacific Coast Highway cautiously. As they rounded the bend overlooking the coastline, Cord said, “Kids are down there every day of the week. They’re dropping out of high school like ants from a burning log.” “It’s hard, Dad. Sophomores have to take the exit exam. If they flunk, they have to take it again and again. Some of them can’t graduate from high school. I passed it but need a tutor to get above average grades.” “Our high school prepares kids for college, but people have different talents. We need an alternative high school here.” “What’s that?” “A trade high school. Pull off the highway, Sunny. I need to have a word with them.” “They’re just hanging out. They’re not going to listen.” She complained but drove down a side street anyway. She parked in a ten minute loading zone alongside an embankment. Cord got out of the car and marched down broad stone stairs. The long, tawny sands, with their glints of minerals, changed shape after the wind blew. A seagull flew toward his face. He threw up his hand and diverted it into the hard sunshine. None of the teens smelled of fennel. Glad for that, he glanced at their encampment tucked under the railroad pilings. By day, their fortress would bake. At night, sand turned to silver, stars burned white, and the temperature dropped forty degrees. He hoped they didn’t follow into the endless tunnel. As a musician, he’d come in contact with the unique effects of drugs. Teens in his town used the most available and grisly, crystal meth. He summoned a gentle voice. “Hey, how’s everybody? I see you here on the weekdays, so I know you’re not in school.” He paused. “There’s an alternative high school in Irvine Valley. You can train in a specific job area. After that, if you want, you can get an associate degree and make even more money.” A Hispanic girl flashed her big brown eyes and took on an urgent look. “I don’t know how to get there or how to get in.” “There’s a bus. If you’re interested, I’ll take care of application fees.” He opened his wallet for business cards. One side listed his mayoral office at

city hall, and the other was for the band. He handed her one. “Give me a call.” She took it and looked at it. “You’re the mayor, aren’t you? Will your highness arrest us?” He smiled. “No, I’m only here to help.” She was the only teen who looked at him with genuine fascination. Another kid kicked through the surf with bare feet but made eye contact. “Bruce Jennings was found near here.” Cord nodded. “Your friend, yes, he was. We’re all distressed.” It was the same when he’d spoken with The Others. They wouldn’t want to talk about it. Loyalty was strong among those who shared a miserable state. Only Chung Han had agreed to help him. Later, he’d hinted at a leak. The gist of it filled Cord’s mind. In the right hands, the bacteria could have a beneficial use. Chung hoped for a way to reverse his long nightmare. Perhaps he knew something about a miner of critterlings. Unlike modern vials, the bacteria could be transported easily within the bodies of live ticks. He’d never forget the chamber where he was bitten. As he climbed the flight of stone steps, he pictured the cavity braced with railroad ties, full of oily smoke and lightening flashes. Blackish blue silky creatures flew through the air. They cheeped, chattered, and bit him over and over until his vision vanished. Days passed before he struggled from sixty feet below the mine’s entrance. He didn’t know when it was, but The Others found his burning body and told him of his fate.

Chapter Five Sunny was out of the car, leaning against it. “Did you pass out your business cards like you did the last time?” “Just one.” He hoped in, and so did she. The car hummed, and she pulled out. “I saw one girl leave. Maybe you actually made a difference.” “Do you know her?” “Dixie Torres. She’s a sophomore. That was Corky O’Connell wading in the water. He used to be in the school band.” “He isn’t now.” “I’m glad you care about them.” “Birthday Girl, keep heading down the coast, will you?” “I know where we’re going, Chopsticks and the bakery.” He sang, “Sunshine, My Only Sunshine,” as they drove. She didn’t turn on the radio to drown him out. “Driving with you down the open road is nice.” He liked having her undivided attention. Time with her was precious. With her, he didn’t suffer despair, the consequence of time alteration. He knew first hand, joy was based on finite time. “Daddy, I love driving in my own car!” Her dimples added a wholesome quality to her smile. “You always said if you died in a car crash with someone else at the wheel, you’d kill yourself from the humiliation.” He let out a laugh, knowing he couldn’t die from a mere car accident. “I don’t feel humiliated with you driving, Sunshine.” “Remember, it’s your job to keep the conversation lively in case I get tired. And, stay belted in that passenger seat.” She was giving his advice right back to him.

“Whatever you say, driver.” He liked her cute role reversal. “As I was saying, riding in a car captures the occupants. People have breakthrough conversations.” “Don’t turn things frosty. I don’t want to hear about the musical instrument thing.” “I’ve decided to let that one drop.” His coercion on that subject hadn’t worked. He’d choose a more important battle than why she was content to play the bells in the band. “I like to hang out with the kids in the band but don’t like to practice. The glockenspiel, as you call it, is easy for me to play with sheet music.” “You’ve inherited my stubbornness.” He was glad she hadn’t brought up more questions about her mother on their drive. He detested his ex-wife. Kerrigan’s escalating curiosity left him cold. So far, he’d managed to head off a reunion with his vague answers. He tried not to start where they’d left off. She sent him an inquisitive glance. “I heard about what went on at your rally. So, Miss Dela Cruz’ client robbed fourteen stores in Lone Palm County. She got him off, and he’s coming back to Landings.” “Lone Palm is home territory for Buck Toolbox and his girlfriend.” Cord found it easier to talk about that than the kid found murdered, also the talk of the town. “Toolbox can’t be his real name.” “You’re right. It isn’t. Buck O’Toole changed it as an advertising gimmick. He works as a handyman.” “So, he’s a criminal?” “Toolbox pinches here and there while he works.” “Pinches?” She didn’t know the term for pilfering. “Steals. According to the Aldridges, it’s small stuff that people rarely notice until they look for it.” “Has he ever worked for the Aldridges?” She asked. “Yes, unfortunately.” Cord was fond of the owners of the estate where they rented the apartment over their massive garage. Kerrigan concentrated on the yellow light. She stopped. Cord saw some of Kerrigan’s friends go into the boutique, Women Who Run. Her mother, Jade Harris, owned that store. He wasn’t going to tell her. Besides fitness clothes and gear, it specialized in embellished jeans with flowery hand embroidery and imported accessories.” “Dad, do you think we should get gas?” Looking at the gage, he said, “Good thinking! Pull into the station in the next block. The gas tank is on the right side of the car.”

She pulled up to a pump, and they both got out. Cord pulled out his gas card and swiped it through the mechanism. As she pumped gas, she looked up at the ancient mine shaft. He said, “You’ve heard the warning. Don’t look at it.” She looked away. “In Sunday School, we learned the devil is in there. The government should just blow it up.” “The effect a blast would have is unknown.” Cord worried mutant bacteria would be loosed upon the entire town. Behind him, he heard a car engine rumble to a stop. “My, my, Cowboy.” The provocative voice came from an orange Mustang convertible. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” “It’s been awhile, Sherry.” He’d never been attracted to the former fixture at The Red Beat Café. Buck Toolbox’s woman approached, and her long blond hair drifted behind her. “Meet my daughter. Kerrigan, this is Miss Sherry Sixkiller.” “I knew your daddy when I worked at the jazz café.” “Hello, Miss Sixkiller. What an interesting last name.” “Originated from the gun slingin’ days of the Wild West. In Lone Palm County, a distant relative killed six people at once.” She pretended to pull a gun from a hip holster. Kerrigan grinned. “I know a girl with the name Sixkiller.” The conversation stopped dead. “Gotta go, folks.” Sherry hopped into the convertible. Pulling out, she gave them a queen wave and leaned back to emphasize her fake boobs. Size D’s, she’d told Red Beat customers and showed them to any man who wanted a peek. Cord said, “All the time Sherry worked at the Red Beat, she never mentioned having a daughter.” “That’s strange. Blossom Sixkiller is from Lone Palm County. Said her mother has long, blond hair. For extra money and prizes, she enters beauty contests.” “That’s not a practical lifelong ambition. I will say Sherry is one of a kind. Last night when I played at the Red Beat, she was there celebrating. Sherry told me Buck used a toy gun that shot ping-pong balls when he robbed the convenience stores.” Sherry was toppling over drunk with a loose tongue. “Buck may have used a toy gun. I still think he robbed the stores.” “We’re almost there. Drat, I want to hear the end.” She pulled into the mall entrance.

“I’ll make it quick. Sherry said he hid the stolen money in a pipe-like compartment under the hood of his Ram. The handy fellow had built the compartment. He got the van with all the money when she bailed him out.” “How did Miss Dela Cruz get him off?” She flipped on her left signal and turned into the lot. She rounded rows of parked cars. A new driver, she avoided parking near other cars. With a space between, she pulled near a utility truck. “Sunny, I’ll tell you the rest on the way home. By the way, your tutor’s name is Tara Delacruz.” “Oh, Delacruz is her last name.” Cord looked at the truck when he stepped out. On its side were the words, “NO JOB TOO SMALL, CALL THE TOOLBOX,” with a phone number. Before he shut and locked his door, he listened for her keys dropping into her purse. Buck bolted from nowhere and shoved Cord to the ground. The back of his head bashed against her car. Buck held a wrench above him. “You and your backers ruined me, Smith. The hardware store took my name off his recommend list.” His voice was harsh and low. Suddenly, Cord caught a quick movement of the wrench and seized it. A split second later, he punched him. He slammed him into his truck. Then he did it again. He glanced at his daughter. She looked so small. Back in the car, her hands covered her face and her ears. Her misery gave him pain. Buck cowered. “Stop hurting me.” He let go. “You look more cleaned up than usual. Your plaid shirt is tucked into jeans. Nice trim on your ponytail.” “My lawyer dressed me like a clean-cut handyman.” “Are you going to back off, O’Toole?” “Sure thing.” Cord pressed the wrench to Buck’s chest. When Buck turned, the wrench flashed up. Buck was back at him. He punched him in the stomach and grabbed his hand with a bonecrushing grip. The wrench dropped. “You know why I can’t give this back.” Buck’s lip curled in scorn. “Nerve damage means I sue.” Cord let go of his hand. Letting out a moan, Buck darted for his truck. After Buck left, Cord walked to his daughter’s car. He looked at her closely. “You were smart to get in the car.”

Kerrigan’s eyes were wide as she stepped out. “Daddy, I want one more birthday present. You need to mind your own business.” No one could put him in his place like her. Words came slowly from him. “Sunny, I will. I promise.” He needed to be there for her. They had each other and no one else. “Toolbox is a scary psycho.” She walked close. “I wouldn’t say Buck’s a psycho. I will avoid him.” They went in to Chopsticks and picked up their large order. Chinese food was as festive today as when the coolies made it back in the railroad building and mining days. He nodded to the only other immortal who wandered the streets, Chung Han. Today Chung wore clothes Cord had given him and blended in. From a distance of fifty feet, he smelled his fennel scent. Cord carried the cardboard box of food and waited while she opened the trunk. “Smells good.” “Always does.” Three teenagers wearing jeans baggy and low passed them as they strolled to the bakery to pick up the carrot birthday cake. In one corner of the bakery, crudely constructed birdhouses and wind chimes were for sale, made with one item in common, old license plates. While waiting in line, Cord picked up a wooden birdhouse with a license plate roof, spark plug perch just below a nickel-sized hole with a partial tin can awning over it. In an arc, “Welcome,” was carved with the tip of a razor blade. Probably an X-acto knife was used. The woman behind the counter looked over and smiled. “Hi, Cord. Everything goes for five dollars.” “Who makes them, Madge?” “Hospital kids if they’re in for longer than a week. Nice, aren’t they?” Cord put the birdhouse down and looked over a wind chime made with a license plate wrapped in a perfect cylinder soldered to a coffee can. Laced with fishing line, small dangling pipes made a gentle chime. “Sunny, which is it? Birdhouse or wind chime?” “Let’s get the Nebraska wind chime.” It carried a wooden sign of some sort. One side read, “ringing”, but he didn’t bother turning it over to read the other. She looked pleased as he took it down from the hook. When they were next in line at the counter, Madge took out a rectangular box. “Mayor, have you been cooking with anise? You smell like it.” “I like to spice up my sausage.” He’d run low on aftershave.

She set it on the counter and opened it. Mint green swirls of lettering blended like tendrils with the pastel frosting roses. She said, “Happy Birthday, Kerrigan!” “Thank you!” Kerrigan smiled. As Cord wrote out a check he said, “Madge, here’s the check and a five dollar bill for the wind chime.” “Good. I’ll put it aside for the hospital. They’ll use it to buy more supplies for their recreation department. Enjoy the carrot cake made fresh this morning.” “You do good work, Madge.” Cord handed the wind chime to Kerrigan and carried the cake box. The woman called out behind them, “Cord, thanks for supporting our hospital kids.” Cord lifted his head in a nod. Opening the trunk, he pushed a guitar case to the rear to keep the cake box from sliding. Kerrigan opened her door and laid the wind chime on the back seat of the car. Cord asked, “Now that we have a wind chime, we need to find a place where it won’t bong day and night.” “You worry too much.” Kerrigan giggled while she slid into her seat and got out her keys. He climbed in. “That chime could clang as loud as church bells. I don’t want this crazy contraption to bother the Aldridges.” She focused on driving out of the busy mall lot. He had a spot in mind for the wind chime. On the north side of the steps going up to their apartment was a huge spidery oak. It would block the sea breeze with its boughs. Heading north on the P.C.H., she asked, “I was wondering, Daddy, do you know Miss Tara Delacruz?” “Met her just recently. She’s a special lawyer, very talented.” “What does she do that’s special?” “You know the prosecuting attorney, Humbert Mainberger?” “Everybody does. He’s the loud mouth with the dyed hair half grown out.” “The half-white, half-brown mustache looks silly, too, but he’s been around awhile and I’ve never caught him in a lie. I won’t bore you with the details, but Tara Delacruz practices a style where straight answers are scarce. She’s mastered the art of bluff. As you know, Buck’s back here in Landings.” “Maybe Miss Delacruz didn’t know everything about him. Where does Sherry work these days, Pop?”

“Not sure. Hasn’t worked at the Beat for quite a while. To tell you the truth, I was glad when she left. Sherry had a touchy personality. That’s why she was fired.” “Yeah, I avoid difficult people.” Suddenly, she was deep in her own thoughts. During this silence, Cord fell into his, thinking of Tara, concerned about the scandal against her. Somewhere along the peninsula, a savage left a nasty bit of work. She may have run across him. He’d need to find out. Cord glanced at his daughter. “This is your happy day.” She forced a smile. “Do you think my mother would be proud of me if she knew me?” “You would make anyone proud.” Cord avoided the truth. Jade abandoned them when Kerrigan was three weeks old. “I think about her sometimes. Do you think she thinks about me?” She trained her eyes on the road, but they were full of promise. “It’s natural to be curious.” He slid his hands under the dashboard, fingers flat, and thumbs underneath. He was glad she hadn’t noticed his tension. Jade was a beautiful, broken woman. He was never able to fathom her self centeredness. “What do you know about her?” Her voice was uneasy. “When she and I became pregnant, we were seniors in high school. We married, but soon she said that I wasn’t the right person for her. Apparently, I cared less than what she thought was enough. From my perspective, I cared a lot. She was, in an odd sort of way, tragic and fascinating.” “What do you mean by ‘odd sort of way’?” “Jade made up her own mind about things but from an odd combination of astrology and extreme religion.” “Extreme religion?” “Jade had a keen interest in Satan and what she thought went on in Hell. It’s ridiculous since no one really knows.” “Yeah, I read Mark Twain, but Mark Twain didn’t know about the mine. Go on.” “I overlooked her weird beliefs because I married her and wanted to take care of you.” “I’m so glad.” “I found a job in construction and a place to live.” “You mean the hardware store a couple miles out of town? You pointed the place out many times.”

“Right, it was a deserted hardware store with an apartment in the back of the building. Machinery rusted in the yard, and there were a lot of weeds. But, in the back was a pretty creek with willows.” “I remember the smell, rich and earthy, and the tadpoles.” “To me it was decent and safe. I thought your mother and I were meant to love each other.” “You wanted us to live happily every after?” “That was how it was for me. She left when you were tiny. Met someone. She married him as soon as our divorce was final. Her groom was twenty years older than her and rich. Very soon they had a son.” “She took off and left us! You must have felt bad.” “For a time bruised heart lyrics showed up in my songwriting. But, I was the lucky one. I got you.” “We’re almost home, and I have one more question. What’s my mother’s last name?” “Harris. Jade married Adrian Harris. You have a half-brother named Vincent. He’s sickly, I’ve heard. Adrian has been separated from Jade for many years, but he supports them. About five miles up the coast is an estate called Chaumont. That’s where Jade and Vincent live.” “The place with the arched entrance?” “It’s a showy place.” Kerrigan put her blinker on and waited for a car to pass. She still struggled with parallel parking, but luckily, all she had to do was pull into the driveway. Cord turned his attention to the practical matter of giving a party and said, “You get the cake, Sunny. I’ll carry up the box of Chinese food.” Getting party food out of the trunk, she said, “My favorite color has always been shell pink.” Before walking down the grassy slope, she glanced back at her car appreciatively. Along the way Cord picked yellow black-eyed-susans from a half-barrel beside the redwood steps. They’d look cheery on the table, he thought. When they reached the deck, he put everything down for a moment and tied the wind chime to a spidery bough. The side of the little balsa wood sign that said, “RINGING” flipped over. The other side, “HELLS BELLS”, jolted his memory. It was one of Jade’s odd expressions. Older hospital kids probably made models with Xacto-knives and balsa wood. It probably meant nothing, but he’d mention it to Leviticus. An hour later he set up the party table. A girl’s mother dropped off some of the guests. Others arrived right on time. As Kerrigan said, no one

ever missed a party given by the Jazzman. She thought their apartment had a sophisticated quality, said it differed from her friends’ tract suburban housing. Charmingly bohemian atop a four-car garage, he thought, but she loved how it overlooked the vast ocean. One of his CDs played in the background, soft and mellow.

Chapter Six In dire need of Jade’s phone number, Tara paced the floor of her office. The precious digits had slipped away. She shuffled through messages. A client wanted his deposition reset. A witness had returned her call. Sherry ambled back in. “You’re back.” Some days, fate was kind. “Went out to grab a sandwich. With all the excitement of the contest, I forgot to eat. And, my mustang needed gas.” “Do you have Jade Harris’ phone number?” “Nope. Wasn’t fixin’ to write it down. Cause, she was on her way over.” “I wonder who threw her bail.” Tara was thinking out loud. She wasn’t just under investigation. She’d been charged. Sherry usually ignored her. “Her very rich husband be acomin’ down.” “To post bail, I imagine.” A low laugh rumbled out of Sherry’s massive chest. “Jade couldna been in jail long.” “You think not?” “Not with Sergeant Ditzman doin’ the arrestin.” She batted her tawny eyelashes. “Flirting is a form of negotiation.” “Any cowgirl can get that cowboy all aflutter.” Enough already, Ms. Sixkiller. Something was gathering inside Sherry like a storm. She stopped shaping her long, red nails with an emery board. “I wanna take the afternoon off.” “I need you to finish the billing. We use automatic deposit to pay static accounts. We need to deposit receivables. It will put joy in your heart if your own paycheck doesn’t bounce.” Somehow Tara knew she would end up doing it. “Planned on doin’ that Monday.”

Glancing at Sherry’s desk, Tara saw the winning entry ticket from the contest, Miss Milkmaid. Maybe a compliment would get her going. “What do you do with all your winning tickets, Sherry?” “Save ‘em in my jewelry case. Every time I open it, I hear applause.” She came across the room and looked out the window. Tara found her situation sad. “You could go back to school, Sherry.” With most jobs, experience gave a person an edge. The opposite was true for beauty contestants. Being older wasn’t an advantage. Eventually, younger contestants would sweep the runway for prize money, trips, and endorsement opportunities. “Going to school doesn’t interest me like being Miss Somebody.” Her eyes were glued to the parking lot. “How did Jade sound when she called?” “Aworryin, like all your clients. Buck was in a shitload a trouble, wasn’t he? Buck Toolbox, my boyfriend?” “True.” “When Buck came in the first time to see you, there was interviewin’ goin’ on. I decided to come in.” “I understand the situation.” Tara could relate to being an opportunist. Her little pep talk seemed to work because Sherry returned to the computer and began entering receivables. Tara went into her office but couldn’t concentrate. “This is horrible, isn’t it? Jade Harris is ten minutes late.” She sighed irritably and glanced at her watch. She crossed her arms, slid them down on her desk, and rested her forehead. Sherry shrieked back, “Late for what, she doesn’t even have an appointment. Let’s lock up and go on home.” “I’ll wait. I want to see her,” Tara bellowed back. She pulled her office chair over to her computer, logged onto a legal website where she could submit case information and receive related data. She entered Jade Harris’ child abuse accusation. Tara struck an online mother lode. Cases came back describing a syndrome, named for an individual with the last name, Munchausen. He was an eighteenth-century German baron, infamous for telling lies. The Munchausen syndrome, identified thirty years before by doctors, referred to patients who feigned illness or harmed themselves to secure attention or sympathy. Some were after a disability check. Munchausen by Proxy was slightly different. Proxy means substitute. The child was “Munchausened”. She printed out several cases and studied

them over. The caregiver, usually the parent, intentionally injures, suffocates, or poisons her child for her own sympathy. She read another article. The condition of a mother willing to hurt her child was atypical. But, now, the pendulum had swung. The accusation had become a popular one. There were more accusations than statistically possible for this rare disorder. Tara read case after case about the abuser. Usually the parent was the mother who made up illnesses or induced them. In 1951 when the syndrome was first identified, The British Medical Journal published a ‘rogue’s gallery’ of known fakers. She would have thought it violated patient privacy because actual names of parents were listed. A few convicted parents were confined to mental asylums for life. Typically, the description went, the child was unwanted but wouldn’t be given up. To Tara, these kinds of accusations were hearsay. She guessed if accused, these parents’ ordinary lives would take on alarming shapes. Even if proven innocent, the accused tycoon’s wife could never again make a cameo appearance anywhere in town. According to an archived article by Margaret Talbot in the New Yorker, the accusation became popular for one reason. These days, parents dote on their children. A hysterical and worried parent who drags her sick child to the doctor constantly is suspect. Tara held to one strong characteristic. It was the parent who relished the sympathy and attention from having a very sick child. That was critical, but County Attorney Mainberger’s conjecture of the Munchausen by Proxy syndrome was premature. The hospital administrator’s complaint didn’t make it true. All they knew was Vincent was sick frequently. “Tara,” Sherry yelled. Deeply immersed, she jumped. “Yes, Sherry?” “I gotta tell ya. I hafta go before Jade Harris gets here.” Sherry was at the window overlooking the parking lot. “Shit, she’s acomin’.” Tara dashed beside her. On her tiptoes, she looked over Sherry’s shoulder. She smelled of menthol cigarettes and waxy lipstick. “See that red Hummer?” As it turned into the parking lot, sunlight glinted on its wide windshield. The door opened. “Jade’s car.” Tara watched as the wind caught her long white sweater, probably cashmere. “I ain’t stayin’. Not in your wildes’ dreams.” “Sherry, you’re having a mental collapse. Why?”

Sherry cringed. “Tara, she’s acomin’ up!” “If you tell me your secret, you can take off with double pay for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll finish the billing.” Sherry shrugged. “I dunno.” When she shook her head, her ice-blonde hair moved in long sheets. “Yes, you do.” “Okay. I was waitressin’ at the Red Beat Café.” “You must know Cordell Smith.” “The mayor never talks much.” As quickly as a cowgirl moves from barn to barn, Sherry gathered her belongings. “I did a little lap dancin’ with her husband. Jade found out.” “Unless you want to hide in the storage closet, scat down the stairs.” In less than a second the heavy outer door slammed. Knowing Jade kept tabs on her husband was worthwhile information, even if it came from Sherry. Tara straightened up Sherry’s desk as she waited. When the door opened, she looked up. “Hello, I’m Tara Delacruz.” “Mrs. Adrian Harris. I need your legal advice.” Jade unfolded a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses while she carried her long white sweater. She offered her hand. Tara shook her limp hand. “Please come into my office.” She motioned her through the door. Jade didn’t move. “Mainberger phoned me. He’s going on the air in twenty minutes. I’m invited. Want to come?” “Where is it, the OCTV studio?” Jade nodded. “It would be to our advantage to attend, Jade. Mainberger will direct his questions toward me. Just look sad.” “That’ll be easy.” “I’m going to change into a suit I keep for emergencies. Make yourself comfortable. Be right back.” Tara headed for the conference room closet where she changed into a white silk blouse and wool pinstripe suit. She stepped into black leather pumps and scuffled back to Jade. “We’ll take my car.” Outside, the bright sunlight accentuated Jade’s sharp features—thin nose and pointy chin. The wind sailed a scrap of newspaper along the parking lot as they walked to Tara’s car. Jade’s dark sunglasses went back on. “I listened to the news report on the radio. We’re about to perform on talk television because the public is curious. We want their sympathy.” Tara

took the boulevard as it followed the curve of the peninsula. Jade was silent the entire way. Opposite the shoreline, a section of two-story office buildings came into view. As she pulled into the OCTV lot, she spotted Humbert Mainberger’s car, a black Mercedes coupe. Tara said, “You might know Mainberger likes to heat things up. He has a way of bringing out the worst in his opponents. I won’t let that happen.” They were out of the car and walking. “Jade, stay calm. Pretend we’re walking into a beautiful painting. Picture Monet’s lily pond. Try to feel the dappled sunlight.” She clasped her client’s cold wrist and tried to give her a solid look of confidence. “See how many times Mainberger says, ‘don’t you know.’ It’s his favorite expression.” “Okay.” Jade smiled. The news program had already begun. Archived footage ran of the charmed life of Adrian and Jade Harris. Tara knew cameras were not on them as she greeted Humbert Mainberger and the TV commentator, Carolyn Ross, known for her impartiality. They sat down in the studio’s “living room” set. Humbert was in a chair to Carolyn’s right. Tara and Jade sat side-by-side on a loveseat at the commentator’s left. Tara immediately saw her advantage. TV viewers would see a mirror image. She and Jade would be on the right side of the neutral mediator during their verbal boxing match. Soon tiny red lights from cameras turned on them. Carolyn, an elegant gray-haired woman of nearly six feet, announced she was interviewing Humbert Mainberger, the district attorney. Next, she introduced Tara Delacruz, the lawyer for Jade Harris who was accused of being a “bad mother”, her words. Carolyn said she’d explain the allegation. “The hospital administrator from the Landings Beach Medical Center has accused Jade Harris of forcing her son to ingest something that made him sick.” Tara noticed cameras were set up to do a split screen. One half would be a ranting Mainberger. The other half would capture their reactions to him and to each other. At the heart of the news entertainment arena was Jade. Her pink acetate skirt looked slept in. Tara didn’t think she could have done a better job of costume design. It crinkled as her thin body drooped helplessly. Weary and pale, everything about Jade was long, from salon-streaked strawberry strands to her professional pedicure in ankle-wrap wedged sandals. Humbert began with his characteristic hostile expression. “A bizarre and uncommon form of child abuse has been turned into a distinct psychiatric

disorder with its own checklist of symptoms. We call it M.S.B.P. or Munchausen syndrome by proxy, don’t you know. Attention has been drawn to it with more than four hundred journal articles, books, and essays in the last several years.” Jade dropped her head and played with the ribbon straps on her white eyelet tank top. She had a willowy grace. When the program producer gave Tara a signal to respond, she said, “That’s correct. This syndrome has become a popular accusation in recent years. Untrained hospital personnel can run down the checklist and come up with what they believe is a diagnosis.” Humbert frowned. “Jade Harris fits it, don’t you know.” Knowing agreement diffused arguments, she said, “Jade fits much of that list. So did seventy percent accused of it in the last two years who spent thousands of dollars defending themselves before they were found innocent. Munchausen is an extremely rare disorder. Most allegations are false.” “Isn’t it true Jade gave her son something to drink that made him sick?” “Yes. She makes no secret of that.” Humbert nodded in smug satisfaction. His hair, carefully styled to cover partial baldness, had lifted in one section. Tara said, “I would like to ask the parents out there to consider how they would feel if they had a child who was sick but doctors didn’t know why.” Mainberger flung up his arms and asked, “Who does she think she is, a doctor?” ”No, Jade Harris is a parent. She’ll go to the ends of the earth to save her child. Even a hospital administrator, if he were a parent of a sick child, might do the same.” Looking at her with disbelief, Mainberger continued with a prepared speech, but it added nothing. Finally, the feverish District Attorney said, “See you in court, don’t you know.” Standing up to look authoritative, the flushed D.A. moved around to the back of his chair and tugged on his half-white, half-dyed whiskers. His anger made him appear mean. Tara let him have the last word while Jade sat serenely. Tara stood. “Carolyn Ross, it’s been a pleasure to be on your show with our prosecutor.” Jade stood beside her with her clutch purse tucked. The OCTV camera followed them out to the parking lot. Jade struggled with her lighter, clicking her thumb over and over across the metal catch. The sparks did not ignite. She tried again unsuccessfully. The camera caught her looking lost and sweetly sad. Tara had achieved desirable media attention for her client.

The interview ended well and would run on both the six and ten o’clock news. Encouraging Mainberger’s rambling hostility had become a game with her. A half hour later, Tara and Jade were back at her office. Tara pulled out a chair for her and said, “Please have a seat, Jade. You must be exhausted, but I need to go through some formal questions.” Jade slipped into the chair like jello. “I counted three ‘don’t you knows.’” “Me, too. Have you ever been arrested, Jade?” “I’ve had run-ins, fights with my husband. But, yesterday, the cops did a background check. We haven’t had a really big fight for five years. I’ve had a total misunderstanding with the hospital emergency room. We have a very, very sick son.” “What is your son’s primary diagnosis?” “When Vincent was born, he had bruise-like marks on his chest and even his scalp. An ultrasound revealed hemangiomas on his liver.” Tara said, “Hemangiomas are benign tumors made up of clustered blood vessels. They’re not malignant, not harmful in themselves.” “What if they crop up in the brain, the airways, the liver, or heart? A heart has to work hard to push blood through densely bunched vessels. A hemagioma can act like a blockage.” “That never happened, did it?” “Not yet.” “When the police officer, Sergeant Ditzman, hounded you, did you have to tell him to hold off until you had an attorney present?” Jade’s eyes shut tight. She appeared to be holding back tears, but her eyes were dry. “I told the sergeant I couldn’t go on and would never make it through the trial, much less life. So, he set bail. My husband sent an associate to pay it.” Tara shifted her weight in her chair, and leaned forward to keep her talking. “I understand Sergeant Ditzman is sympathetic toward attractive women. I’ll phone him next week. We’ll get together to pull him around the block.” Her joke seemed to make Jade a little more relaxed. ”I’m glad you’re here, Jade,” Tara said in her therapist tone. “I know how upset you must feel.” “Totally.” “I did hear a news report. Your son’s stomach contained a toxic substance.” “I had to do something.”

“What made you select me as your lawyer?” This was a standard question, usually an icebreaker. Talking meant spilling. “I have a personal astrologer. My horoscope is always my guide, and she said four planets were above me. After the misunderstanding, I went home and looked in the phone book at lawyers’ last names. Doesn’t your last name, DE LA CRUZ, mean ‘of the cross?’” “Yes, it does.” She hadn’t thought of that in years. Jade said, “I pictured four planets in a diamond shape with one at each tip of a cross.” Jade spoke in earnest. “And, the moon is in Capricorn.” “What does that mean?” “It means you were meant to be my lawyer.” “You picked me because my name fit with your horoscope. “My decisions are astrology based. I can’t get things out of my mind unless I do something. I don’t like stress.” “We don’t have control over everything.” Tara managed a pleasant expression. “Astrologists are handy for advice on love interests.” Tara was digging into her client’s personal life. Jade nervously twirled her hair with a French-manicured nail. She hesitated. “I need to stay open for Adrian, my husband, even though we’re separated. We don’t get along, but any other man is a crashing bore.” “Besides the fact that he’s very rich. Even if Adrian has priority, you must like some romance.” “I’ll always love the excitement of bonding playoffs.” “Every woman needs a few juicy entries in her diary.” “Totally, but I don’t keep a diary. It could be incriminating. I make sure my lovers don’t leave visible hickeys anywhere, either.” “How is it with you and Adrian?” Maybe I’ll count how many times she says ‘totally’ in an hour. “Truthfully? I adore Adrian even though he rips out my insides.” Jade released a heavy sigh into the air. “Why does he stick around, Jade?” “Our son. Once, my son almost died, and then after he got better, we went away. Had a blast. Adrian stayed around awhile after that.” Her voice lightened. There it was, Tara thought. Jade sacrificed her son to gain attention. “When things are going smoothly, what then?” “For those short periods of calm, I don’t give a damn about horoscopes.” Jade had misunderstood the question, and that in itself was revealing. Her question was meant to focus on her son. “And, now?”

“I feel lost. My astrologist comes to my home every day. Lately Adrian doesn’t return my messages.” “How long have you been separated?” “Ten years. We’re still intertwined because of our son. Like I said, our son is frail.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” Tara’s hands gripped the top middle drawer of her desk. If the abuse were true, Jade’s son had survived for fourteen years. He may need protection. Jade murmured faintly, “I don’t mean to belittle his physician’s diagnostic prowess. But, I’ve felt that knowledge in the medical community is limited.” Her eyebrows dropped over astute eyes. Tara honed on another common Maunchausen characteristic. Often the caregiver complains about the doctors’ inferior knowledge. Tara chewed on the inside of her cheek and wondered how long she could contain her growing dislike for Jade’s narcissism. But, if she took the case, she could do an intervention. To help her son, Vincent, she’d need Jade’s trust. With the tone of a sympathetic lawyer, she said, “Jade, I can see that you’re shaking.” She touched Jade’s icy hands. Jade appeared to be in shock but overdid it when she clutched her throat. Tormented looks took practice.

Chapter Seven Kerrigan’s party guests ate like Vikings as they ravaged through cartons of Beef and Broccoli, Garlic Chicken, egg rolls, and fried rice. Fortune cookies were devoured after reading fortunes. Packaged cookies from the cupboards were consumed. They’d swigged liters of soda and had finished off a 2-galloon tub of ice cream with most of the cake. Cord hoped a little carrot cake, his favorite, would linger on, even in a mutilated condition. The apartment looked ransacked. Cushions from the sofa had become seating on the floor. A gift from one of the girls was a movie magazine and a bag of makeup. It appeared they’d used the magazine models as their guide for makeup application. Containers were everywhere but empty. The babydoll Lolitas wore heavy black eyeliner, lipstick, and blush. None of the parents complained when they trickled by to pick up their daughters. Soon everyone soon left except for Megan and her mom. Winking and nudging each other, mother and daughter picked at the delectable carrot cake. When it disappeared, he slid the cake box and crumbs to the wastebasket. He didn’t want to be rude but began to tidy up, a hint the party was over. He was due the Red Beat that night. The two lagging guests watched him walk around the sacked apartment ridding it of dripping paper products and wrapping paper. Ribbons were tied together into a bouquet. He set aside the keepsake, a thoughtful touch made by one of the girls. He swept up crumbs with a broom instead of using the vacuum. Megan and her mom hadn’t budged. Cord looked at his watch. “I have to leave for work, folks.” With things to do in the next half hour, he didn’t want them there.

The way her mother smiled made him think she’d set a goal and hoped to achieve it. Maybe she would invite Kerrigan to sleep over. Hoping that was the case, he smiled back. He tried to remember her name. The look she returned was woman to man, but he didn’t want her. His mind-blowing encounter with Tara made him realize no woman compared. He’d place the focus on being a parent. “Our girls have made gains at the tutoring center.” “Oh. Hey, my divorce has gone through. Had you heard?” “Actually, no.” Cord wiped off the table with a paper towel and picked up a rolling paper cup. She smiled. “It’s a spur of the moment thing, and I…” “Your divorce?” “No, I meant having you two over for brunch tomorrow morning.” Megan’s mom paced in fiery-red sandals. The color matched her toenails. “Thanks for thinking of us, but my band plays at the hang gliding exposition. It starts early.” Thankful for an excuse, he was able to bow out quickly. “Why, of course. See you there.” “Thank you for coming to Kerrigan’s party.” He looked at Megan when he spoke, not wanting to encourage her mother. Cord opened the door, another hint for them to leave. They weren’t budging. Kerrigan caught his hint, walked over to her pal, and pulled her up from the couch. Putting her arm around her, she guided her toward the door. “It was cute that you coordinated the gifts, all sports stuff.” “Yeah, I thought we’d go with a theme. Got most of the gear at Women Who Run.” “Thank you.” Kerrigan looked at her dad. Her friend said, “Don’t forget to call Ben, Kerrigan. You said you would.” Megan’s boyfriend had invited her to the junior-senior prom, but his best friend, Ben, didn’t have a date. Her plan was that Kerrigan would phone Ben. If she scored a date with him, the four of them would go together. “I will, I promise.” Cord knew Kerrigan hadn’t been out on a real date. She’d spoke of Ben, the cute and funny guy in her computer class. Once he even dropped her off after a basketball game. Megan said, “We’re juniors. We don’t want to be one of those girls who only watch proms on reality T.V.”

“That’d be lame.” The truth was Kerrigan had been building up for this moment for a long time. But, it was daring to actually phone a guy. “Good Night,” Cord said. At last they left. “Sunny, wasn’t Ben in your Latin class last year?” “Yeah. When we saw each other around school, we spoke in Latin. Our vocabulary was limited, but it didn’t stop us.” “What did you come up with in Latin?” He was smiling inside. “I’d say stuff like, ‘The cafeteria is divided into three parts’ instead of ‘Gaul is divided into three parts.’ Once, he held up a water bottle and said, ‘Portia does not carry the water.’ “You’re a funny girl.” “This year we’re in the same computer lab. That’s going to be the springboard for my conversation.” There was a knock on the door, and Cord opened it to see Megan’s mom. She was back. “Let’s get together over food another time.” “Sure.” He knew it wasn’t going to happen. Picnics and parties led women to one thing, dropping by with food as an excuse. Eating together would eat up his time and be a detriment to his parenting and his creativity. He smiled and thanked her for driving the girls. When he glanced at his watch, she said, “Later.” Not even Lillian would stay put after awhile. He was never emotionally involved and never wanted to be. He’d hoped Lil’s repressed personality would be an advantage. She liked spending time alone, reading, a convenience. Soon, demands for his time increased. He didn’t care for her enough to accommodate. When he turned on the TV to catch the weather and news, Kerrigan joined him. The weathergirl said that the storm would clear after midnight. Kerrigan insisted that he drive her car to the Red Beat. The news was next, an update on the Jade Harris case. For them it was new information, having been preoccupied with the party. “Dad!” Kerrigan lurched. The broadcaster at OCTV, Carolyn Ross, stated that Jade Harris poisoned her son believing she was saving him and would be tried for endangering the life of a minor. Kerrigan watched intently. “I look like my mother.” “Yes, you do.” Footage was shown of Jade walking into the studio with her attorney, Tara Delacruz. “Miss Delacruz is with my mother.” This time Kerrigan shrieked.

Cord huffed, “I’m afraid so. There they are, the two of them, together.” He seethed with anger. Nothing could have maddened him more than her representing Jade. Sunny must have noticed. “Jade needs a good lawyer.” “Well, she’s got one.” He knew his voice sounded brusque, but he couldn’t help it. He was containing his aggravation more than she knew. “Don’t be mad. Don’t they both look beautiful? Jade looks like a fashionable mannequin.” Cord had no interest in the woman who resembled a tailor’s dummy. He couldn’t help but admire Tara’s professional appearance. Her pinstriped suit and silk blouse made a statement that she took her work seriously. She looked pulled together but not stiff. In fact, she looked beautiful. More than that, she made factual points while understating them. It was like striking the right notes. Her polished responses made a great impression. Still, he was livid. They watched the entire broadcast. When it was over, he realized how much he detested Jade after all those years. She looked weak. He knew she was unstable. She’d be a poor influence on Kerrigan. “Tell me. When is the last time you talked with Jade?” She asked with such longing, and he couldn’t refuse her. “Jade phoned me about ten years ago. Her husband stopped rubbing her feet and buying her flowers. He’d fallen out of love, I suspect.” That’s understandable when a woman’s in constant need. “I thought once people were in love, they’d be in love forever.” Her question was deep and thoughtful. “When personalities click, that’s probably the case, Sunny. But, Jade was as high maintenance as a poodle. I knew Adrian, and he wasn’t a meathead.” “You didn’t hate him?” “I was worn out from being generous and golden-hearted. I put up with her self-centeredness for as long as I could. She lacked general awareness.” “What do you mean?” “A few years after we parted, I saw her at a distance downtown. Her son was about three. A revolving door slammed in his face because she wasn’t watching.” “You always took good care of me. You said Jade was beautiful, and when she left you were hurt.” “There was another part of me that was relieved when she left. I worried about you when she was around. I didn’t trust her judgment.” “What does she do, just lie around and be rich?”

“Jade owns the store Women Who Run, but she has a manager doing the day-to-day stuff.” Another discovery about her mother hit her full force. “There are such cool accessories in that store.” “Right, non-essentials cost a lot.” Cord walked into his bedroom to gather up his tenor sax and guitar. He would be playing lead guitar at the beach the next morning. He’d use work at the Red Beat as a practice session. “I might go to prom, Dad,” Kerrigan announced. “I’m going to call up Ben Goldstein. He doesn’t have a date. Word is, he wants to go.” Cord said, “Call him, Sunny.” “I don’t like the way my fingers are behaving, Dad. I’m all jittery.” She looked at her hands, and then sat on them. “Are you sure you want to go?” “Yes. I’m shedding my bark like a Eucalyptus.” She said it with determination. “That’s a good one, drama queen. Butterflies shed their cocoons, but you shed bark.” “Well, both are nice and smooth underneath.” She stretched her smooth arms in the air as a gesture of confidence. Then, she caved into a ball, hugging her knees. “Don’t fall down a rabbit hole, Alice.” “Wonderland was a crazy place. Alice took chances. So will I.” “Atta girl.” Kerrigan jotted down a few conversation pieces and bravely dialed Ben’s number. There was a pause. “Hi, Ben, this is Kerrigan. How ya doin’?” Cord couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Imagining what Ben was saying back to her, he held his hand like an imaginary phone and whispered, “Nothin’, what’s up?” Kerrigan stuck her tongue out at him as she spoke into the phone. “How many pages is that extra credit essay supposed to be?” Cord gave her a thumbs up, impressed with her conversation starter. He listened for her response. “Not too bad. Five pages with a bib.” Bibliography? Cord was a hundred and fifty years out of touch. She continued. “Yeah, I need to do that assignment.” Cord made a rolling motion with one arm for her to get to the point. She covered the receiver. “Dad, I’m warming up. Go away.” He stalled by sweeping the kitchen floor. He wanted to know how it would play out even though he could only hear her side of the conversation.

Kerrigan said, “A cooperative-project sounds good.” Cord swept the corners again. Kerrigan said, “Definitely. How about writing on the nearly dead language, COBOL, and why it’s dying a slow death?” Cord put the broom away. He moved to the living room and puffed up the cushions. His daughter was witty. He felt his face relax into a smile. There was silence. When she spoke again, she was telling Ben she loved computers. She sounded convincing. Maybe she actually did, he thought. She continued, “COBOL is too verbose. It takes up too much memory for mid-size computers.” Cord was awed with what she knew. Next, she discussed the language ‘C++’. Soon Cord heard her say, “Yes, Ben. I’d love to go to the prom.” Kerrigan giggled “He knows you, Dad.” She immediately dialed Megan with the good news that she had a date. When she got off the phone, she said to Cord, “Now comes the hard part, figuring out what to wear. It’s next weekend.” “Sunny, we’ll buy something nice.” He didn’t have a clue. It crossed his mind to ask Tara. “It’s weird my mother owns a clothing store and is more fashion-savvy than any of my friends’ mothers.” “Well, you’re handy with eyeliner. Maybe wash that make-up off before you go to bed, Sunny. Might be tough to scrub black grease off pillowcases.” He stopped there, not wanting to spoil her birthday with a lecture about makeup and floozies. He kissed her on the forehead before walking out the door. Outside, he used his key to throw the bolt. He left his daughter knowing Jade would roll through her mind. Jade never showed interest in the two of them getting together. Her lack of interest would be a disappointment, abandonment all over again. Jade was no one’s anchor, not even her own. Cord walked down the creaking steps from their garage apartment to the lawn. He breathed in the scent of lemon blossoms. Mortals would consider the wind still, but he heard a rustle of oak leaves and the dry stirring of palm fronds. Off shore, an orca exhaled. When he unlocked Kerrigan’s car door, his body blocked the cold beam of the streetlight. In order to block out Jade, he’d need Tara’s help. The naïve lawyer could be hurt, too, with Jade as her client. Tara seemed to be her best self as a volunteer with fresh faced teens at the center. She’d never let anything happen to Kerrigan, and in his daughter’s motherless state, she had already latched on.

Chapter Eight “Jade, you’re shivering.” Tara retrieved a small quilt from a cabinet. “My mother had made this for me. I use it when I work late on cold nights.” She draped the yellow and blue quilt with chenille backing over her client’s thin slumped shoulders. “This ragtag style is lovely.” She sipped hot tea and then ran her fingers along the fuzzy seams. “I’ve seen these at Crate and Barrel. So much texture and eye appeal. I’m going to have these made for my shop. Tell me, how is this done?” “It’s called ragtag. You make little clips along the seams. Each washing and drying fuzzes the seams. Nothing feels better in a time of need like the heft of a homemade quilt.” Tara fussed for a moment with a loose thread. The thread reminded her of a spider web. She pictured Jade as she dangled from it. In the words of the Pastor Jonathan Edwards, “It’s easy for us to singe a slender thread that anything hangs by. Thus, we play God.” To fulfill her dream to become a trial attorney, she paid attention to two things, but neither was covered in formal classes. The first was to learn client-serving loopholes. The second was to master religious ideals of American society that tugged on emotions. Her most useful source was the Jonathan Edwards classic, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. She’d absorbed the Pentecostal imagery and almost believed it. It would take a lot for her to singe the thread that held Jade. She’d never hang a client out to dry. She would defend her, even if she were at the business end of District Attorney Mainberger’s fiery pitchfork. This time was different, she knew. She’d defend with truth. Jade might be too mentally incompetent to parent. If she learned Vincent suffered at his mother’s hand, she’d scorch that thread and arrange an intervention. “May I call you Tara?” Jade pulled the quilt tighter. “Of course.” She’d focus on Vincent. “Tell me how your son is doing.”

Jade buried her face in her hands saying, “I don’t know where to begin. “You’ve said his illness is complex.” “Some people might think I’m practicing medicine. He’d be dead by now if it weren’t for me. The media hasn’t treated me fairly.” Jade spoke with composure, tilting her head to one side. The shape of her head and the way her lips curved into a smile reminded her of Kerrigan. “I want to understand how this recent accident took place.” Tara was taking it slow, empathizing like a neighbor, someone who brought food and love to her doorstep. Jade shut her eyes. “Do you ever eat?” She didn’t wait for an answer and ordered up two chicken caesar salads and iced teas from the first floor deli. Out of habit, she took Jade’s inventory from a juror’s perspective. She could portray her as a pathetic waif, a passive woman, possibly abused in her youth. In thrall to powerful men like Adrian Harris, Jade could pass as a woman whose own emotional damage made her a magnet for psychosis. Jade was charming but could be an icy child abuser. “Tell me more about Vincent.” “Very sick from the day he was born. Sometimes I had to force feed him. Otherwise, he would have died.” This time tears were produced and streamed down her face. She wiped her light blue eyes with a strand of long, strawberry hair. Tara pushed over a box of tissues. Jade continued. “Two weeks ago, I saw tiny threads on his skin, and I knew it was pinworms. I took him to the ER. Vincent gave them a stool sample. They didn’t find anything. I decided it must be the offspring of one of those large worms that live in the stomach and eat food of the host. Vincent was wasting away. The ER wasn’t doing anything, so I ordered a veterinary product that breaks any parasite’s life cycle.” “Vincent downed the worming medication.” “It’s probably what kept him alive even though the ER doctor didn’t agree.” Jade’s voice trembled into a sob, like a desperately caring mother. “Do you remember what the medicine was called?” Tara saw sincerity in her eyes. Even the mentally ill can be earnest and well meaning. “I printed the form when I ordered it on the Internet.” She handed the paper to Tara. “Hmmm, a veterinarian product with the pharmaceutical name Pyrantel tartrate.” Tara knew that some medical expertise was critical for the concoction of mysterious illnesses.

A delivery person from the deli brought up their order, and they moved into the conference room. Tara placed a candle that she had received as a gift from a client on the table and lit it. She wanted to create the illusion of two friends dining in. As they were eating, she leaned in. “Jade, I’d like to visit Vincent. How about Sunday around four?” “Okay. My four planets have told me you will bring positive changes.” Her voice dripped with honey. “Good. We’ll meet at the Landings Medical Center at four on Sunday afternoon. I’ll wait by the gift shop.” Because Tara got what she wanted, a meeting with Vincent, she decided to change the subject to fashion, knowing Jade owned a shop. “I like your camisole top.” “We have it in white or cream at Women Who Run.” “You must have an interesting selection.” “I have a creed. I can make ugly people think they look great. With accessories.” She laughed. “We like to dazzle ourselves with bright items.” “Customers charge exorbitant amounts on their plastic and don’t think twice about it if they think they look great.” **** Tara phoned Leviticus, who was out in the field. When he picked up, she asked, “How far did you get locating clients?” “Halfway through the list, and I updated the computer file as I went along.” “I’ll pick up on the second half. What do I do?” “I put together a database named petty_thieves_list. Tracked down clients’ current addresses and phone numbers with the help of Ditzman’s friend. He works in probation. After locating and interviewing each client, I enter ‘NO’ in the threat column. Like I said, I found everyone in the first half of the list. Phone numbers and locations of the rest of the clients are there.” “Very good.” Her voice was fatigued. Leviticus advised, “Do the last half any way you want. Maybe it would be easier to print out the database and just write notes on it.” “Maybe I will. Thanks so much.” “They’re petty thieves. None of them were really good at what they do. That’s why they got caught and still hang around.

“You agree with me that none of my former clients would blow out like a storm cone and try to kill somebody.” “Right. I met with the Jennings couple again. Bruce came out while we talked. While he was strangled, he remembered being told that he was going to live forever as punishment.” “Ugh. I hope he remembers more, though.” “Bruce gave me a list of kids he hung with because in ninety-nine percent of the cases…” “A victim is hurt by someone they know.” Identical thought trains often raced through their minds. He cleared his throat. “The cops are pursuing two other leads. The first is a carnival in town during the time Bruce went missing.” “That’s a broad lead, carnival workers. Do the cops have anything else?” “Yup, something no one wants to talk about. With the increased dropout rate, there’s an increase in drug activity here. Bruce used methamphetamine.” “At the hospital, did Bruce take a urine test that showed methamphetamine use?” “That and his teeth. Methamphetamine is a drug that leaves its mark.” His voice was sullen. “How do teeth look?” she asked. “Teeth turn a grayish-brown. With heavy use, they twist and fall out. His took on the characteristic texture that looks more like hardened fruit than enamel. The condition is called meth mouth. Bruce will need cosmetic dentistry.” “How sad. That drug is one of the worst things to come along in a long time.” She shook her head. “Lithium from car batteries and red phosphorus found in the strips of match boxes are caustic ingredients used in meth.” “We know it’s man made, not something out of Hellmouth.” She was referring to the mineshaft. It glowed red. “Jade Harris came in for an appointment and left.” “She’ll pay the freight.” “I’m going to make myself useful and phone the rest of that petty thieves list.” “Fine. One last thing. There’s a skydiving expedition at the beach tomorrow. Don’t go.” “Anything else?” “Mae is at your house. She doesn’t have cable in her apartment. She's watching a movie with your dogs.”

After every thug and white-collar thief was accounted for, she headed home. She looked forward to seeing Mae, her dogs, and the beach house that she bought just weeks before leaving for the desert. She rang the doorbell of her own house to give Mae a warning and enjoyed its traditional ding-dong. “Hello, Tara!” Mae’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. As Mae and Tara embraced, Merrylegs and Fauxpaws bounded through their legs, wagging their entire bodies. Any place she went, Tara would bring them. They weighed ninety pounds each. Strangers never imagined how gentle they were. “Mae, you look radiant!” She had a new hairstyle. There was a Nordstrom’s bag tucked inside her suitcase. “I feel glorious. Leviticus and I had lunch together yesterday. Tomorrow we’re getting together.” Tara petted her dogs, slipping into baby talk. “Puppies! Bet you like your pet sitter a lot better than the kennel people.” “Oh, the puppies are such good dogs.” Baby talk was catching. “Before I forget, Cordell Smith phoned a couple of times.” “Oh?” Mae said, “He feels guilty that his rally for re-election turned into a hatefest against you.” “All this attention is going to spoil me.” “Cord saw my totaled car at the auto body shop. I gave it to them for parts,” Mae said. “Around here, everybody knows everything.” “When he asked about my car, I ended up telling him everything about George Pritchett. I told him about the plan you and Leviticus concocted to get my money back.” “What was his reaction?” Tara asked. “He laughed. Promised not to breathe a word.” Mae grinned. “He’s a man who thinks before he talks.” Tara admired this and many other qualities about Cordell Smith. “Tara, he hopes the paranoia against you blows over.” Mae looked at her sympathetically. “In time, I suppose.” As Tara scooted into the foyer, she said, “Mae, were you able to point out George Pritchett to Leviticus when the two of you went to lunch yesterday?” “Yes, indeed, at the Landings’ Seasons. As we walked by, I waved a hello to George. He was alone. He wouldn’t be if he found a steady.”

“Good. You have secured the situation for Leviticus. It will take George awhile to woo someone worth his time. In the meantime we will locate a chump and orchestrate a meeting. Mae said, “You two really do have a plan to help me.” “We’ve done it before,” Tara said. “You and Leviticus are experienced in this type of thing?” “A similar situation happened to Leviticus about six months ago. He nearly lost his shirt. I never ever bring it up.” “Oh, my, yes. Mums the word.” Mae bit her lower lip. “The tricky part will be the timing, Mae. When the time is right, we will put the plan into action.” Tara rolled her luggage into her bedroom with her dogs at her heels. When she returned to the living room, she picked up a pile of mail from a worn leather hassock, holding the stack in her lap as she sat down. A few periodicals that Mae had been reading were laid open. She tore out subscription cards, marked Mae’s places, and placed them in a separate stack on the floor for Mae to bring home. When Tara sat down, she touched Mae’s hand and said, “How are you holding up?” Mae sighed. “Better. My heart is filled with appreciation. You and Leviticus are wonderful friends.” Her voice cracked. “Mae, you belong with us in our no-pretense world. I don’t have many friends right now. I’m glad you’re one of them.” Mae leaned over and gave her a hug. “I behaved like a fool, of course. I let George swindle my house right out from under me.” She inclined her head toward the only other house on the street. “You owned the house next door?” Tara said. “Yes. It was a part of my personal history. I can’t believe I was willing to risk so much for love.” “So, Mae, besides your savings, you took out a second mortgage so that you could borrow more.” “Yes. In short the bloodsucker didn’t make the payments, and the bank repossessed my home.” Mae leaned over like a soggy French fry and peered over her frames. Her mouth sagged downward, wrinkling her chin. Tara said, “There’s a reason why we have to scheme to get your money back. What George did was legal. He didn’t steal your money. But, don’t worry. We’ll get your money and your house back.” “I adore this neighborhood.” “Leviticus said you’ve been next door your entire life.”

Mae looked through a corner window, observing her former home. “The house was part of my inheritance. It was all my parents had except for wonderful memories. Their will was even probated there.” Tara bit her lip when she saw Mae’s eyes welling up. Mae spoke through clamped teeth. “Tough, isn’t it, for a girl as young and beautiful as I? Why couldn’t I have met someone nice before all this, Tara?” “Like Leviticus?” “Exactly like Leviticus.” “Now, you’ve met him, Mae.” “He feels sorry for me and extended an invitation to accompany him to that hang gliding extravaganza tomorrow.” “Leviticus enjoys your company. Earlier today, he told me about it. He said, ‘We’ll see you there.’ The ‘we’ meant you and him. Go and have fun, Mae.” “Sometimes in life, we get second chances. I won’t let that black wind keep howling.” “We shouldn’t pass them by because of pride.” “Tara, while you’ve been away, I’ve enjoyed being in your home with your dogs. They’ve been a comfort.” “Thanks to you, I didn’t worry about the pooches while I was gone.” Tara looked around the room. “Hey, I didn’t notice before. It looks like you’re having a little cocktail party.” Mae handed Tara a glass of V-8 with a sprig of celery. Colored toothpicks were placed in a plastic cup near cheese cubes. She shuffled on little cat feet, carrying her glass in one hand, raising it frequently when she spoke. “We’re having another movie night, the dogs and I.” “That’s cheery.” “Fake it till you make it, Tara. Works every time.” Mae punctuated her words with imperceptible sips of what you might think was a Bloody Mary. She was flamboyant. No wonder she was everyone’s favorite teacher. Tara enjoyed her lightheartedness. “Eat something, Tara,” Mae said as she bore down on her with the cheese plate. “Appetizers!” Tara picked up a toothpick and stabbed a piece of cheese. “You’re trying to watch a movie.” “Don’t worry, I’ve seen Gone with the Wind many times.” Mae settled on the couch. The dogs wandered over and curled up on her feet. “You know, my feet are always cold. The dogs just seem to know it.”

“It’s instinctive. They keep their pack warm.” Tara commented as she slipped the Atlantic Monthly, Sunset, and National Geographic under Mae’s purse for her to take home. “How nice that they’ve accepted me that way. Tara, I’ve been wondering. This is a toughie, a fill-in-the-blank question.” “My thinking cap is on. Fire away.” “Here it is. Why don’t they bark?” Mae looked at her pensively. “Well, when they were puppies, I was in an 850, small and attached. Their yipping irritated neighbors on both sides. So, I rewarded them with doggy treats when they didn’t bark. Soon, they barked only on command. Go ahead, Mae. Say, ‘bark,’ and see what happens. “Bark!” Mae yelled over their deep throated yelping, “That got them going, all right. So, that’s the command to make them bark. Now, how can I make them stop?” “Say, “No bark.” Tara laughed. Silence. Mae sighed with relief. The commercial break was over, and movie was back on. “Mae,” Tara said, “I’m going to hit the lap pool. I’ve got your check written out and here it is.” Tara handed it to her. Mae took the check and said, “Thank you, but no. You and Leviticus are doing work pro bono.” “Take it. We haven’t done anything for you, yet.” “I could use it.” Mae picked it up. “Have a nice swim, Tara. Leviticus says you swim every day.” “I think I could swim in my sleep. Leave whenever, Mae.” She gave her a peck on the cheek as she went out the door. Tara kept her swim gear in the trunk of her car. This meant that when she had the urge for a mood-lifting swim, her gear was available. As she drove, she thought about the day she moved in, the month before. Mae was strolling by on a walk, and since they knew each other from the tutoring center, they sat out in the yard and chatted. Tara mentioned that her parents, back from visiting family in La Cieba, were on their way over to see her new house. Mae left, and then reappeared with an apple pie and a pitcher of lemonade. She said it was the least she could do since she made them both from the trees in Tara’s yard. Now it made sense. Until recently Mae lived her whole life next door.

Tara bought the house with the contents. The former occupants were deceased, and their children had already taken what they wanted. Mae told them to sit at the table she said was antique Swedish. Mae knew where everything was and retrieved glasses, plates, and forks. Soon Tara’s Padre pried open windows that were painted shut, and Mama was sweeping up the paint that crumbled onto the floor. Tara cleaned the fireplace, and then made a hopeless attempt to wash the kitchen floor. The linoleum was worn black in front of the kitchen sink. A stackable washer-dryer unit was hidden in a broom closet by a shower curtain. Tara would make a few changes, but liked the old cupboards and the seasoned copper pots and pans. Mae pitched in as they cleaned. When Tara mentioned that she had dogs, Mae announced that she was a dog sitter. It was a pleasant afternoon. From Tara’s house to the lap pool was a ten-minute drive along a narrow coastal road. In one short section the road dipped into the canyon where willows and oaks wooded the creek bed on the right. On the other side, eucalyptus towered and reached over to the willows, forming a tunnel of branches. Ahead, a hawk, at first hidden high in the arch, took a dive across the road. Claws grasped an unsuspecting mouse. Tara slowed and saw the hawk tease it a bit before hauling it off for feasting. Nature could be cruel. Past the woods, fading light illuminated the sunset. The sky was swept by streaks of pale blue and a thin wash of magenta, giving the ocean beyond an ethereal quality. Opening the window to take in a deep breath of the salty breeze, she pondered the challenge of Jade’s case. In order to come to Vincent’s aid, Jade’s psychosis, child abuse by insanity, would have to be exposed. Jade wasn’t going to like it. A swim was what she needed to clear her mind, and she parked her car by the community pool overlooking the ocean, shrouded in mist and towering trees of an adjoining golf club. Since there was no one around, an escort wasn’t necessary. With spotlights underwater the aqua water of the pool lapped invitingly. Bringing her swim bag with the attached electronic key, she walked through fallen bougainvillea petals to the gate. The thick petals formed a magenta carpet, and like paper, they stuck to everything when damp. Later she would rinse them off her shoes. A sign was posted that the pool heater was broken. Usually there were one or two familiar fitness swimmers, but that day the cold water kept them

away. She walked toward the women’s locker room and into emptiness. As she walked out to the pool with a towel over her shoulder, she put wax in her ears, pulled on a cap, and adjusted a recent prize for a distance swim, zebra striped goggles. She plunged into the cold water. After one full lap her body was warm because she swam savagely. She swam a fast twenty. Bliss came in many forms. To Tara swimming was better than a massage. All muscles worked with almost no gravity. She stretched out her spine, and then plowed through the water gazing at the bottom of the pool. Ripples from the top reflected below as she followed the black line of her lane. The only one in the pool, she broke free of her lane and swam diagonally. Swimming had a way of opening the inner doors of her mind. Her reasoning became more creative. She thought outside of the box. Backstroking, she gazed at the stars, reflecting on how Jade chose her. First, Jade read her horoscope, and then she scanned through the names of lawyers, making Delacruz, “of the cross” fit into her horoscope, “there are four stars above you.” Jade twisted random information until it meshed with her needs. One thing was for sure. Jade didn’t reason like anyone she’d known. Feeling tranquil after a half-hour of freestyle laps, Tara climbed out and walked back into the locker room. She caught her reflection as she walked by the mirror. Legs, toned and long, her bathing suit simple but faded with chlorine soakings. The night temperature had dropped, and she stepped briskly into a hot shower and dried off water along with Cord’s phone numbers. It didn’t matter since she knew them and wasn’t going to call him anyway. She felt too exposed. One thing she knew. Love was a twist of fate. It never came when expected. Everything he said made her shimmer with emotion. Cord looked interested and acted interested, but that was because of his own agenda. He needed to keep angry citizens from doing physical harm to an unpopular citizen. Walking out of the locker room, she slipped into her white spa robe. Aware of heavy outlying footsteps and the hum of a battery-run car, she told herself not to over react. People had a right to clomp around and drive golf carts. Opening the pool gate, she headed toward her car. A foot away, she saw a deep gash. It curled around the car. A stick from an ironwood tree lay across the short hood. She picked up the stick with a towel. Under the

streetlight, she made out letters. “BITCH IN A SHOEBOX” was a message meant for her.

Chapter Nine Recent events had brought pain. She was not an opinion seeker. Maybe her hell-with-it attitude rubbed people the wrong way. Getting into her car, she swallowed back a yawn, a yawn of exhaustion, and made her way home. Words, sticks, and what next, stones? She pulled her gashed up car into the driveway. Walking to her front door, she studied the cracked cement. Weeds broke through. Part of the lawn was dry and brown where the sprinkler didn’t reach. She looked at her house, white with faded gray trim and a roof in disrepair. A month before, she’d seen its charm and potential. In reality, it was a small, shabby cottage dwarfed by the giant oaks. The air felt heavy and hot. No leaves stirred. Instead, they drooped. Her mood hung with them. The opposite end of the street loomed large with fervor. A boom box blared where frenzied teens surrounded a truck. They danced with a perplexing mania. That night the baseball field across the street was empty. In a quiet enclave Tara’s house and the Mae’s former house next-door were the only ones on the block. The manic teens were a contrast to the sylvan setting where no one stood except trees. The porch light was on when she approached her front door. Opening it, her dogs licked her knees and whined. Tara leaned down and patted them. They didn’t prance around in circles like they usually did. Something was wrong. Ire twisted inside her. “Mae, are you still here?” The house was dark. “Tara, in here.” Mae’s whispering voice came from the front room bay window. “I can watch the street better with the lights out. I’m a little spooked.”

“That’s a wild rave loaded with all kinds of potential. While I was at the pool, my car was gouged with an ironwood branch.” Tara looked at her for answers. “Hmmm. Ironwood.” The teacher side of Mae was revealing itself. “Ironwood is renowned as the world’s densest wood. It’s actually a legume.” “Legume. You don’t say.” Following Mae’s voice, she came close enough to see her face in the dim light. Mae’s nervous eyes blinked repeatedly. “What do we care about botanical phyla? Tara, look at those monsters all huddled around that big black truck.” “Trucks, electric golf carts, you name it, and they’re after me. At the pool I heard a hum like a golf cart. Did you hear how that truck sounded?” Tara asked. “Like rolling thunder, and I have my suspicions, Tara.” “Drug deal going down?” Before Tara could answer, a two-pound rock soared through the pane. They both ducked behind the sofa when more rocks shattered the glass. “Tara, follow me,” Mae said as she went into the kitchen. She pulled out a table knife and got down on her knees, searching the floor. “You’re obviously looking for something specific.” Tara watched her. “And, here it is.” With the table knife Mae levered open a trap door on the floor. She started down steps and waved Tara to follow. Tara took the steep stairway down to the cellar. Merrylegs and Fauxpaws made it in two leaps. Tara said, “With only moonlight coming through the basement windows, it’s hard to see. I think our eyes will adjust.” Mae whispered, “Close the trap door, Tara. Come over here to the couch and sit down. We’re going to have a quiet conversation until those teens, whoever they are, go away.” “I can’t argue with that. I’d like to avoid a stoning.” She kept her voice as a whisper and closed the trapdoor. “Don’t have my cell. Do you, Tara?” “No, which is too bad.” “We could get the cops out here fast with four complaints-- malicious mischief, suspicious vehicle, property damage, and disturbance.” Tara sat at the other end of the couch and looked at thick walls. “We’ll be just fine right here.” Mae was so relaxed that she smiled. Her peaceful composure was contagious. Tara heard windows smash upstairs but felt safe below. The dogs stayed quiet although they circled, sensing the unrest above.

Mae jolted with the startling crash of the bay window directly above them. After it completely crumbled, the noise died down. Tara asked, “Is this one of those root-cellars that everyone had a hundred years ago?” Mae answered, “Yes, they stored carrots, onions, and other vegetables for the few short months that nights were too cold for seeds to germinate. Look over there.” Mae motioned towards a short door. “I was curious about that little door. The realtor pointed out that cellar door from outside. He opened double metal doors at a slight angle off the ground. They led down a few brittle cement steps. It must have been that door.” Mae said, “It served as an entrance to the large vegetable garden on the side yard. A water pump still sits in the middle of where the garden used to be.” Tara said, “How convenient. They could wash vegetables before bringing them directly into the cellar.” Windows were still being broken above them, but since they knew they were out of sight, Mae continued with her history lesson. “Yes, vegetables were stored in bins of clean sand that stayed cold. There are a couple of winter months when nights get down to almost freezing.” “That’s overcoat weather. Anything growing there, now?” They had to pause when the shattering of the French doors became deafening. Mae moved closer so that her whispers could be heard. “Nothing except asparagus that reseeds itself. Now you know about the kitchen trapdoor and the cellar door, there’s a third.” “Where?” Tara was intrigued. “Do you see the large piece of furniture? The front is flush with the western wall, the wall closest to the ocean,” Mae explained. There she saw a huge armoire decorated with ornate floral carvings. Tara ambled over and opened the doors of the antique closet where overcoats and dresses hung. Tara said, “Antique armoire, very elegant.” She brushed her hand over the carved flowers, leaves, and molding. Mae squeezed in front of her, pushing old coats and dresses to one side. “Later, when you have time, you should look at these timeless dresses.” “I will, for a disguise. This closet’s big enough to spin around in. It smells nice in here.” “Cedar wood and lavender sachets.” Mae reached up on a shelf for a flashlight and turned it on. It was low on batteries but shown faintly, revealing a door. “Tara, take a look in the back of the armoire.”

“Odd place for a door. Against the wall?” Mae explained, “It leads through a forty-foot tunnel to the boathouse. A big piece of furniture was a common solution to hiding a secret exit. It’s been done for centuries.” “Trite as that is, I’d never have guessed. Where does it go?” Tara asked. “It gets you to the ocean via a boathouse. Push it, and you’ll see,” Mae said. Tara said, “Strange characters must have been roaming around when these houses were built.” “My, yes, Tara. But, besides the gun-slingers, there was prejudice against the Chinese. It was a time when, at best, my grandparents lived marginal lives. Come.” Mae stepped into the tunnel. Tara and the dogs followed her in. “A hiding place was vital. I’m sorry, Mae.” “Thank goodness, it’s different now. We’re part of the melting pot, vastly improved from when my relatives worked on the Central Pacific Railroad.” Mae scuttled along slowly. The only light was from a streetlight that shown into the cellar. “Railroad work was horribly hard. Most whites didn’t want those jobs. I wouldn’t think it would lead to prejudice.” Tara spoke in a normal tone, knowing their voices wouldn’t be heard. “It started because the Chinese didn’t get sick from dysentery. The white worker foremen drank unboiled ground water, and the Chinese drank hot tea.” “Were they suspected of witchcraft?” “Absolutely. They misunderstood the Chinese practice of herbal medicine.” “Discrimination must have made life rough for a long time.” “Yes, but they moved down here and made a go of orchard farming. They were indebted to the land, plentiful well water and the splendid sun for their fruit trees.” “I would have loved to see it.” “It was another era, long gone. Twenty acres of fresh corn grew across the street. Areas not planted were clover and timothy.” “Now it’s a baseball field.” “That’s another happy use of the land. I love hearing the kids screech and play. The game was called off because a storm was predicted for tonight.” Mae spoke affectionately. “Mae, does your house next door have a tunnel?”

Mae said, “It has a parallel passage, but it leads to a cave adjacent to your boathouse. My grandfather and his brother, my great-uncle, built these houses.” “What happened to your great-uncle’s family?” “They sold your house and moved to the Los Angeles to start a laundry.” “Did their Chinese laundry work out?” “Wonderfully. Many other Chinese bustled in L.A.’s China Town, but I’m glad we stayed in Landings Beach. Our new neighbors were warmhearted. They helped us assimilate.” “Did they ever use this tunnel?” “We gave them a tour, but no. They had no use for it. They didn’t tell their children because they were afraid it would collapse on them like the old mine. We mustn’t speak of it.” Tara looked up and touched the tunnel walls. “It wouldn’t have. It’s solidly constructed and not built deep in the ground. There’s only about a foot of soil with grass above us.” “Mae, as a girl I was fascinated with escapes behind bookcases, passages that led to somewhere else.” “You’re a woman like me. We have a need for secrets, independence, and privacy. There’s a light switch up here.” Mae switched it on. “I can’t believe the bulb still works.” “Wasn’t used much, I guess. Hmm, yes, the walls are solid, but it could use a sweeping.” Tara brushed away a cobweb. The dogs sniffed along. “Follow me,” Mae said. “At the end of the tunnel is a door. On the other side of it is the boathouse.” “I see the door.” Mae said, “Help me push it. It’s heavy because a shelf is attached to it on the other side. Tools and coiled ropes are fastened with glue to keep them on the shelves.” “Inside the boathouse, the door is hidden, too.” Tara put her back into it and it opened. Mae said, “Hiding a door with a shelf was my great-aunt’s suggestion.” “They must have had fun disguising it.” “My, yes, secrets are amusing. If it weren’t for the danger you’re in, we’d be having fun right now.” In the boathouse was a wooden sailboat with its mast, ropes, and sail bag leaning against it. Since Tara sailed, she wanted the property. Tara said, “This house has everything I’ve ever wanted.” She touched the rough deck, a combination of canvas and paint that had sand in it for traction. She remembered for a moment sailing a boat just like it, racing with

a friend who owned a boat. Sometimes when her friend was tired, she’d take the tiller. Always wanting to be the one chosen as crew, she did the work to put the boat away, sponging it out to perfection. Someday she would launch this one, rig up the sails, and head it close to the wind. Maybe her dogs would like to come. She longed for that special tranquility, working with wind. Mae said, “Let’s go back through the tunnel and sleep in the cellar.” Tara said, “I have another idea.” “I hope it’s not risky.” “I’d like to sneak around to the front and find out who’s out there.” “Oh, my, that’s very risky.” “I’m very, very curious.” Mae opened the door to the ocean and said, “If you must. Tara, I’m going to zip up the hill to my apartment. Leviticus believes that black truck is the source of crystal meth. I’ll phone the police.” It started to sprinkle. With the dogs at their heels, Tara offered her arm to Mae, supporting her as they walked up slippery ground to the lawn. “Take care, Mae.” Tara lifted her face to the ocean breeze and felt a spray from a breaker splash up the rocks. Heavy wind signaled the predicted squall. The worst of the weather was yet to come. Seagulls squawked, and rain fell. Mae had left, but she saw the shape of a person slipping off the roof of her boathouse. A terrible scraping sound like fingernails on a chalkboard made her duck around the corner and hide. The shape landed in front of her. She gasped at the coolie, now in regular clothing. Her dogs didn’t seem the least bit startled. “No be afraid.” He grabbed her arm, maybe for emphasis. “I live. I not die.” He regarded her for another moment before he turned. As she watched him run along the bluff toward the beach, she recognized Cord’s scent. Perhaps, she thought, it was her alienation by the town, but put her in a position to make an acute observation. A few residents never seemed to age, including Cord. It took Tara a moment to decide what to do next. Her dogs bolted toward the front yard instead of following the Chinese man. She calculated it would take Mae about five minutes to get home and another five before the cops would appear. She heard rustling ahead of her and low growls. Coming around the house, her dogs had pinned someone down. The rain became a downpour. “Get your dogs off me.” A scrawny kid couldn’t kick off them off. Huge dog shoulders bent over him.

“Here, Pups.” Her dogs moved off. Merrylegs held a large piece of fabric in her mouth. The dogs played tug of war with the sleeve of the kid’s jacket in the wet grass. She looked down at the kid. “You don’t look all that intimidating. You’re down there, I’m up here, and my dogs are…well, taking a pee. Where’s the rest of the rock throwers?” He struggled to get up. “Over there.” It was low and black, parked across the street from Mae’s former property. “Why were you attacking me and my house?” “Bruce Jennings, that’s why. He was strangled, left for dead, but then he didn’t die. You know what’s going on.” He got to his feet and moved to the porch steps. Even under the bright porch light, his eyes remained dilated. He didn’t apologize for the broken glass. “You seem to believe that.” Intentionally, Tara sat on a lower porch step. She could hear the dogs breathing behind her. She glanced at her watch. She had seven minutes before the cops stormed the property. “You’re hiding the strangler.” The light cast shadows on the bumpy skin of his face. His eyes stared intently as his chin frenzied back and forth. “That seems to be the consensus.” Tara pressed on but leaned back on an elbow. “My associate, a detective, and I have located all the clients I’ve ever represented. We’ve talked with them and generally know what they’re doing.” He looked at her intently. “None of them would have come after Bruce Jennings.” The kid looked more relaxed. His sneakers were ragged. “I heard about a detective asking questions.” “He’s in the Yellow Pages under private investigators, Blake, B L A K E. He’s working for the Jennings family. If you stay here much longer, you’ll be looking for a lawyer. The police are on their way. They’re interested in stolen goods and whatever else is in the black truck. So, go.” “Okay.” Tara watched as he sprung through the rain down the street. She ran behind trees to get a look at the truck. As it pulled away she saw that the license plate said “HAVOC”. As she walked back to her house, the kid lingered in her memory. He was about her height, 5’4”. With sandy blond hair he had a sweet face in spite of his anger and bad skin. He needed a good dermatologist. She didn’t get a look at his teeth. Since her front door was locked, Tara, soaking wet, and the dogs went back to the boathouse and through the tunnel. The secret door in the back

of the armoire was open. From the cellar, she climbed up the narrow steps, pushing up the trap door in the kitchen. She phoned Leviticus, telling him about the BITCH IN A SHOEBOX gashes on her car and the broken windows. His response was, “Girl, you ain’t takin care of your ass.” “From now on I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Mae ran up to her apartment. No doubt, by now she’s called the cops. Did she say anything about seeing a young Chinese man dressed like a railroad worker from the 1800s?” “Nope. You must be very, very tired. Mae told me about the big black ride. What’s your take on it?” he asked. “Just that, big and black, the Darth Vader of low-riders. To me it looks like a twenty-year-old Chevy, customized. It has a vanity plate, ‘H-A-V-OC’.” “There’s a heavy metal radio station called HAVOC,” Leviticus said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a shoplifting and possible drug subculture.” “I’ll phone Sergeant Ditzman and let him know about the gashes so that he can bring your car over to headquarters. He’ll call in a graphologist for handwriting analysis.” “I’m assuming he’ll compare various strokes, letter formations, and placement of letters on my car with carvings on victims.” “Right, along with another curious item.” “What?” “A wind chime that Cordell Smith bought. The recreation director at the hospital provides crafts for patients, kids and adults in long-term care, mostly in the cancer ward. The crafts are sold around town. The wind chime that has ‘HELL’S BELLS RINGING’ carved into the wood. He found an Xacto knife by the corpse.” “Creepy.” “Girl, I hear sirens through your phone.” “It’s accident reporting time.” “Uh huh. It was rainy and you can’t describe the kid. I’d like a chance to talk with him before Ditzman does, but go ahead and describe the black lowrider in as much detail as possible.” She did and then asked, “Do you think there’s a connection between a fence operation and the murder of Bruce Jennings?” “Possibly. Bruce was arrested for shoplifting video games. He was a high positive for methamphetamines,” Leviticus answered. “The truck was heading east on Windward Ave,” Tara said.

“Tell that to the cops. They’ll call it in faster than I can. See you at the beach tomorrow?” Leviticus asked. “I’ll be there. You’ll know me only by my dogs. Leviticus, wear the tshirt that says Blake Detective Agency with your phone number on the back. You might get a call from a scrawny kid.” Two police officers arrived and completed their report. Next, Tara left a message with her homeowners insurance that they would be receiving the police report that her windows were broken when her home was vandalized. She swept up the broken glass. Since she wanted to talk with Buck Toolbox, the handyman, she phoned him instead of a window company. She left a message for Buck that she wanted all the windows in her house replaced. Another phone call was to the auto body shop. “Hello, this is Tara Delacruz,” she said to the message machine. “My car was damaged, keyed actually, and will be at police headquarters for several days. I’d like to rent one of your loaners.” She was about to hang up when she heard a click. “Got it on the last ring. This is Rod. How soon do you need the loaner?” “Tomorrow would be fine if you’re willing to accept me as a customer.” “Don’t be silly. I’ve got a Lexus but the window on the driver’s side doesn’t work. It won’t roll down.” “I wanted to keep those tinted windows up anyway.” “I’ll drop it off with keys and paperwork in the morning, put stuff under the doormat.” “Thank you, Rod.” She put on pajama shorts and a t-shirt. The rain had stopped, and the sea breeze felt clean and cool as it streamed into her broken bedroom window. A full moon peered through a gap in the clouds. Apparently, the moon was in Capricorn. Tara spoke to her dogs as if she tucked in children. They curled up at the foot of her bed. She spotted a water bottle on her bedside table and took a long pull. She drained it halfway and felt better. Under a worn quilt, she listened to the surf and hoped some client might lead her to the brute. She pictured a few in her mind, white and blue collar thieves, prize jerks, and eccentrics when her cell rang. “Tara, it’s Cord. I’m at your front door. Mae called and told me.” She dropped her phone on the floor and ran to open it. He was dressed for home in khaki pants, a cashmere sweater without a shirt underneath, and his leather jacket. Slip-on shoes but no socks. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d wear in public.

There was no anger in his face. “I’m not going to fight with you about anything. You are who you are. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If we have disagreements, we’ll work them out.” He looked at her for another moment. “Okay?” She nodded. “You’re right.” He put a hand on her cheek and leaned over to kiss her softy on the mouth. She smoothed the collar of his jacket. “You have to talk to me. Trust me. We have to be open with each other. About everything. You can’t pick and choose what you want me to know about you or your past.” He let out a breath. “Tara, it’s not that easy.” “You know things about this place.” She pulled him in and shut the door. “I’m afraid I do.” His eyes closed. He leaned in so closely he was out of focus. He took her hand, gave it an open-mouth kiss and pressed it between his legs. “Is that for me?” If the feel of his erection constrained by his clothing and her hand was any indication, he had an impressive hunk of manhood. “Only if you’re good.” “I promise to be good.” “I can’t touch you anymore without making love to you.” He held her face firmly, as if she’d get away. His fingers clenched into her hair. His tongue moved in her mouth. When her hand tightened on him, he moaned. He kissed under her jaw and down her neck to the hollow of her throat. She placed her forehead on his shoulder and drew in a breath. “If you wanted me to, I would do anything.” He was holding perfectly still. And then she knew. He was waiting for her. “Right here, right now, I need to have you.” Her voice came out in a whisper, and she felt dizzy from wanting him. He brushed another kiss against her lips. “We have some business to attend to in my bedroom.” The confidence she heard in her own voice surprised her because she didn’t feel all that confident. She wanted Cord Smith more than anyone, but she was concerned about his experience. He seemed so worldly. She didn’t think she’d be a match for him. All doubts vanished when he brought his mouth down on hers. The outside world, the broken glass, the problems, ceased to be. Nothing existed except the two of them. His kiss deepened and sizzled. His touch was

gentle as he pulled her top over her head. The moment air wafted across her bare breasts, her already puckered nipples tightened into taut buds of need. Her heart beat jumped when his hand cupped her full breast. She shrugged out of her satin briefs and allowed them to drop to the floor. She felt free, open. It had been a long time since she’d felt so desirable. Whatever Cord wanted, she would willingly give. He seemed aware of her need. She shoved any confusing and troubling thoughts from her mind. Without breaking the kiss, he slowly moved her backward toward the bed. She felt the warmth of the palm of his hand as it glided across one nipple. He dragged in a breath against her neck and let it out. She hoped her bare skin excited his senses. She skimmed a hand over the crotch of his jeans. His hard erection pressed against the fabric and seemed to demand its freedom. His hand went for his zipper. Her words came out in a breath. “Let me do that.” He let her strip him. His penis twitched and jumped. She wanted it buried in the nest of her black curls that decorated her mound and framed her entrance. He said, “I want to take it slow. Make our first time special. Unfortunately, my level of excitement dictates something else. I can’t make a leisurely night of it.” “Anything you give me will satisfy. I’m desperate to have you, too.” He lightly traced the curve of her jaw, trailed his fingers down the side of her neck, across her shoulder and finally to her breasts. “Your beautiful brown skin makes my fingers tingle.” She saw his erection. “Penis and beautiful now fit together in my vocabulary.” She touched him and found him fully engorged and ready. She stroked his shaft. “Something deep inside me is hungry. It needs you. Fill it. Let it taste your maleness.” She placed a tender kiss on the tip of his hard erection. She laved her tongue along the underside of his length, and took him in her mouth. He let out a groan of pleasure and thrust his hips slightly forward. More than anything, she wanted to accommodate him. Her lips formed a tight seal around his girth. He inserted a finger between her wet folds and stimulated her nub with his thumb. She fluttered her tongue against his erection. He pulled his throbbing penis from her mouth and maneuvered her into the middle of the bed, keeping the rhythm he’d established with his finger. He replaced it with his length. She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting every movement with an upward thrust. He shuttled in and out. His mouth captured hers in a kiss.

Sensations were building inside her, and she was rewarded with layer on layer, more waves of ecstasy. She propelled him into an intense release. He rolled onto his back and took her with him. As he held her in his arms, she savored blissful contentment. Many minutes passed before he rearranged himself sideways and kissed her forehead. “You’re wonderful.” “We’re wonderful together.” She tousled his hair, already wild and uncombed. His eyes were fixed on hers, moving back and forth. His mouth pulled to one corner. She knew he was thinking about something, but she wasn’t going to ask. She wanted hope but didn’t want to be lied to. He reached for her hand. He raised it briefly to his lips, kissed her palm, and then held it on her thigh. “I’d like very much if things worked out between us.” She was surprised to hear those words come out so easily. “We’ll take one thing at a time. Maybe we’ll have a chance.” Silence. She imagined he had a lot on his mind. The powers that ruled the city came down hard on the mayor. He was thinking again, and maybe it wasn’t even about her. She clamped her fingers together. He shot a look at her, and she felt as if he could see past her external self and straight inside to the part of her that held her anxiety. It wasn’t a good feeling. “You’re a strong, independent woman.” She couldn’t find words for what seemed like a long time. Finally, she said, “Maybe I’m not as strong as you think.” She could feel him watching her. She couldn’t deny the intensity of his concern over her. “We have just done the friendliest thing a man and woman can do. We are each others new best friends.” “I’m glad you have the energy for sarcasm.” Helplessness and weakness washed through her in waves. The attacks against her, the pressures of Jade’s case, the sense of being in it all alone, and the worry that harm could come to someone because of what she did or didn’t do weighed on her like an anvil. She put her hands over her face. “Hey, so you’re human after all. Your secret is safe with me.” He spoke quietly, touching her arm and then pulling her close. She snuggled, needing to feel the solid support of someone stronger than she was. He smelled of anise. It’s pleasant, faint scent clung in the air about them. “Do you have any secrets?” She laughed. “Everyone is guilty of something.” He sat up, holding the sheet at his waist. “I’ll tell you in the strictest confidence, I’m immortal.”

“I’m not entirely shocked. Of late I’ve been an outsider. It’s made me a keen observer. You don’t age.” She had her voice and composure back. “What is it like, being immortal?” “Time ceases to mean anything. Something always feels wrong. The sky presses down. Even when the sun shines, the day feels ominous, dark, and gray. All the immortals feel it. It’s as if we’re in a dead calm with nothing to anticipate except losing those we love. I didn’t want to tell you. My honesty will mean death to our relationship.” “I’ll stay as long as you want me.” Over the next hour, he told her everything. He explained why immortals, The Others, carry the aroma. She wrapped herself in the sheet. Every cell of her attention was focused on him, and her heart bled for how he suffered. “My secret is a shock, I know. You can throw me out now.” “I’ll never throw you out.” She sat beside him and pulled his head to her breast. “You seem to understand the child inside the man.” She drew in a breath and let it out in a rush. “You’ve convinced me immortals are depressive.” “The human mind is based on a lifespan framework. Infinite time magnifies gloom.” “You’ve lost your loved ones in death, one by one.” She caressed the back of his head, “It surprises me, you care more about me than yourself. You’re a generous spirit and so damn cute the way you rush around. Never enough time, is there?” He sat up, braced against pillows. “Nope.” Her gaze watched him with unblinking intensity. “Do you think one of The Others is selling the ticks to an outsider?” “My guess is this. The outsider passes a box of critterlings to someone else, maybe not intentionally. What he has is treasured in the outside world.” “Treasured? This doesn’t mean they’re cleaned out, stewed, fried, and served with mustard turnip and collard greens, does it? In any case, critterlings would be a cheap imitation to chitterlings.” She coughed. He reached for a bottle of water and handed it to her. “This is too much for a mortal to comprehend.” She sipped. “Thank you.” She held the bottle and found that her hand was shaking. “This is a terrible thing. A terrible thing. I’m sorry.” She set the bottle on the opposite table. “This is no time to poke fun.”

He bent down to look more closely at her. “Apology accepted. I wasn’t offended. This is new to you. We’ll stop here.” His warm breath in her ear was so soft she barely heard him. “No, please go on. You were saying The Others call mutant ticks critterings.” “Critterlings serve as live containers of immortality. No fancy vials have to be kept at a given temperature, no needles. All it takes is one bite, and bacteria is loosed into the tick’s host.” “I’ve hobnobbed with the criminal element enough to know about dangerous charlatans. Public knowledge would attact them like bees to honey. Now I understand. The Others have instilled fire and brimstone with the mine. Successfully, I might add.” “We’re an isolated town, here on the peninsula. That aside, we’re looking for a Jeffrey Dahmer with a bottle of ketchup.” She glanced at her digital alarm clock. “You need to get home to Kerrigan.” He got up and dressed quickly, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. He reached for keys to Kerrigan’s car and slid them in his pocket.

Chapter Ten He needed to sell some of his old instruments and brought them to Ted’s Shed. The pawnshop was located in the immortal’s garage. Ted’s Shed was known long before Orange had become a county. These days he advertised over the Internet, “Nothin’ New. Packrattin’ since ‘78”. Since 1878, Ted’s satisfied customers continued to spread the good word. Cord listened to a voice message left by Ted himself and felt pleased. His marred alto sax and two electric guitars sold for twice the minimum he set when he dropped them off. According to Ted’s message, the quick sale was due to their mint condition and the fact that they belonged to Cordell Smith. That was a nice compliment, but he hadn’t learned anything about the buying or selling of tick critterlings. Ted promised to be on the lookout, and that made parting with his instruments less difficult. Sunny’s party put a present day, real life squeeze on him. He put math to its real life use. Instruments sold = 2(Kerrigan’s party). He’d have money left over. Sacrificing his used instruments was well worth it. She never asked for much even though her friends had everything. He had tintype photos dating back with those instruments and old friends, but heartfelt value couldn’t be photographed. Special times lay deep in the waters of his memory. His thoughts returned to Kerrigan. At the age of three, she’d become a tree climber with a simple trust. He’d be there to catch her. One day looking up with the sun shining behind her, he called her Sunny. That day he’d got up his nerve to stop by the Red Beat Café. He’d auditioned with the instruments pawned, an alto sax and two electric guitars. He’d found a reliable babysitter and quit his construction job. Too soon those moments of 'then' and 'when' were gone.

Now he was at a new place, 'here'. He wanted to hold on and not let them slip away unnoticed. 'Now' was today, but he knew too well how his loved ones became wavelets of memory. **** Mid-morning sun glimmered through shutters and made a pattern on Tara’s bedroom wall. She kicked off the quilt but lay there. It was the dawn of a new love. Cord attracted her like no other man. She was infatuated before they’d even exchanged words. His soul was in his music. Now they were star-crossed lovers. Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it and read the panel. “Good morning, Cord.” “Tara, listen to me. Be careful with Jade. She’s strange.” “The strange can be innocent.” “Strange is risky. Her guilt has not been proven, but I want you safe.” “Thank you. What are you doing this fine sunny Saturday?” “I’m kicking off a beach exposition with the band.” “What fun. I mean, for you, and everyone that might be going. Main beach is close to my house. In fact, I can hear voices of vendors setting up food and carnival type kiosks. I can’t imagine what workers are doing to make such a racket.” She hated being an outcast. “They’re putting up a pavilion for us.” She pushed back plantation shutters from her corner bedroom windows. “I can see that. Now they’re rolling planters on little wheels down a ramp from a truck. Going pretty fast down that sidewalk.” “The plants will be set around the pavilion as decoration.” “I have binoculars. I’ll listen to your wonderful music and watch the excitement from here.” “Stay put. If you come down here, they’ll make mincemeat out of you. Can we get together later?” “You and Kerrigan could come over for pizza.” “I’ll be in touch.” **** Even though it was daytime and her enormous dogs trotted after her wherever she went, she felt anxious about going outside. But, she needed her laptop and the dirty laundry bag from her car before Rod came by to tow it to his auto body shop.

When she opened her front door, Merrylegs and Fauxpaws bounded outside for their usual scratch and sniff. Morning sun blazed down on her yard. No one was around, but she was swift. Purposely, she left the keys in the ignition. She expected Rod, her loyal client from the auto body shop, to stop over to exchange cars. The dogs followed her in. Back in the house, she sorted dirty clothes, put them in the washing machine, and turned it on. The dogs, she noticed, were whimpering at the front facing bay window. The strange noises they made. Trained not to bark, they whined and then nuzzled her legs with their soft fur as she walked about. Before she’d left Lone Palm, her handyman client, Buck Toolbox, had installed a bank of timers for various lights, music, and coffee. She thought they’d be a bother to Mae when she’d left town and had turned them off. She craved coffee. It took a moment to synchronize the settings before water dripped in the pot. Whoops, a mistake. She’d forgotten to load it and punched the stop button. She scooped fresh beans and dumped them into the grinder. As it whirred and crushed, she enjoyed the aroma of the freshly grounds. Soon she had them in the basket, flipped the switch, and listened to the gentle drip. If you know what’s coming, you can time things just right. If you don’t, time and place are just a hunch. She heard the hum of a car and ran to her front window. “Well, pups, what you know, you know well.” With her ruckus in the kitchen, she hadn’t heard Rod deliver the navy Lexus and hook up the Scion. Her dogs had. She wanted to thank him, but the tow truck was halfway down the block with the Scion trailing behind. Opening her front door, she retrieved keys for the Lexus and rental paperwork. She filled it out, placed it in a priority mail envelope, slapped on some stamps, and dropped it into her porch mailbox. It would get to Rod on Monday. After a quick shower and her usual grooming routine, she put on clean underwear and a silky dog bone pattern chemise, a gift from her parents. She dropped her cell in the pocket but doubted if anyone would connect. She balanced a cup of brew and a fishcake, thawed and heated in the microwave, on a plate and slipped through the French doors to sit outside. She whiffed her mother’s fishcake and missed Momma’s practical personality. Momma had frozen a dozen during their last visit. Poppa had replaced a leaking faucet. They’d put her on pedestal. She didn’t want to shame them.

As she brushed dead blooms from the seat of an iron chair, she looked down at the creeping thyme growing between flagstones. She felt a kind of sorrowful loneliness, as she gazed at the wide expanse of ocean. This was the first day she had the luxury of time to look over her new property. She stood and strolled toward the boathouse. Wild mountain phlox and baby blue eyes bloomed down the bank and their hues disappeared into the blue beyond. Tucked among rocks, columbine, golden lupines, and tiny, wild orange poppies sprouted. Tender Chinese lanterns waved their heads with a subtle wash of wild buckwheat. Many gifts of nature didn’t have to be cultivated. That was good. Except for Kerrigan, she’d tired of caretaking. Her cell phone beeped in her pocket. Kerrigan sent a text. “R U going to the beach 2 day?” Tara wasn’t planning on it but couldn’t stay away. “Look 4 me in vintage.” She hustled inside and pulled out the dress she’d found in the armoire. The short-length, swing dress from the Big Band Era of the forties had pleated cap sleeves. The waist was waspish, and the rose gabardine was clingy. She threw on a garden hat. The brim shadowed her face. Since she was going to the beach, she wore sandals and dropped her wallet and cell in a plastic carryall. She snapped leashes on her dogs. A blast of wind caught her hat on the way down. She looked up to see a cluster of hang gliders as they soared from the coastal bluffs to the ocean. She couldn’t see that far but knew people riding gliders wore oxygen tanks. Out on the bay she watched a cruiser. Wreck Divers of the Pacific had taken on the job of directing hang gliders to a spot offshore. As they plunged into the water, volunteers in kayaks paddled around to retrieve the floating gliders. Those who road them dove underwater to the wreckage, a new adrenaline thrill. Coming closer, she scanned the crowd and spotted the music producer and critic, Stephen Lawson of Los Angeles, dressed in black. A record deal was about to happen. Lawson had come to Cord, not knowing he’d played the sax for over a hundred years. Effortlessly, he could produce the intensity of Coltrane, Bird, Ella, Monk or Mingus. He had the makings of a star with facial features balanced to perfection. His body exuded strong, lean ruggedness. More than technical talent was his unusual sensitivity. Maybe his gloom enabled him to produce sounds above reproach.

She listened as he moved from jazz to blue grass. With the tenor sax again, he played measures of silky harmony. He was backed with an alto sax and bass with a strong backbeat from Nat’s precision. With producers and talent scouts in the crowd, the band would soon be known beyond Orange County. The beach was choked with people. Some sat on blankets. Others brought elaborate camp tables, chairs, and sun protection umbrellas. The crowd was singing along. Cord sang a refrain, “I almost lost my little Midge as she glided past me onto the bridge.” The crowd repeated it. Keeping her distance put her in a position to observe a particular hang glider. It circled and then landed between boulders about 200 feet south of the pavilion. She guessed it had equipment problems. Her attention went to a tall black man wearing a black t-shirt. Printed across the back, “BLAKE DETECTIVE AGENCY” let her know it was Leviticus. When he and Mae saw the dogs, they waved her over. Mae smiled. “Today, you’re glamorous. It’s a scorching day, and you look as cool as a cucumber.” “An incognito cucumber,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve heeded my warning. The town perceives a threat.” Tara said, “Their fear has a face on it, and it’s mine.” “Oh, dear.” Mae bent down to pet her dogs. Kerrigan broke from her friends and headed their way. Dressed in a purple tank top and jeans shorts, Tara noticed Kerrigan’s thick, harsh eyeliner. She gave her a hug without teasing her about it. Mae greeted Kerrigan and introduced her to Leviticus. They spoke about the weather, the dogs, the hang gliders, and an essay assignment. Before long, Leviticus and Mae headed for the ice cream truck. She and Kerrigan decided to walk the beach instead of dancing in front of the pavilion. Kerrigan was more interested in the dogs than people. A split second later, Tara found herself glancing at Cord. He didn’t appear to have to concentrate as he played. His eyes followed Leviticus and Mae as they ate ice cream. He watched her, too, Kerrigan and the dogs. She blew him a kiss. He wound up their session with Barry Manilow’s hit single, ‘Somewhere down the Road.’ As he played, the lyrics echoed in her mind. ‘We had the right love at the wrong time. Guess I always knew inside, I wouldn’t have you for a long time.’ Wearing a black shirt and black pants, Stephen Lawson placed his business card on top of his saxophone case.

Cord gave him an affirmative nod and watched him leave. Looking toward the pavilion, Tara noticed the usual groupies. They wore revealing outfits that showed off pierced body parts. They mirrored the band’s pace and energy with funk and bootie shaking. Lillian strutted and waved her blue shawl. In a jazzy fedora, Sergeant Ditzman sat in the front row. Wearing sandals, he tapped a hairy white foot, lost in the scintillating, driving beat. They seemed to enjoy each other, and Tara was glad. Soon the band took their break, and she watched him cross the beach. Ahead, Kerrigan followed the dogs as they loped toward the boathouse. Running now, he yelled, “Hold up.” Kerrigan waved, grabbing at the dogs’ trailing leashes. Tara charged for him, her short dress flapping. “How nice to see you.” His smile was as sharp as a blade. “You have the grace of a dancer and a spine of steel.” With respect for his daughter’s presence, he spoke softly, out of her hearing range. “You played what should be our song.” “Yes, I did. I like your dress. Of course I remember that style. You’re as alluring coming as you are going.” The silky rose fabric molded her breasts, she knew. Her muscular buttocks rolled smoothly underneath, she knew that, too. No doubt, the pink made her brown skin radiant. She liked how his eyes danced with the look of a man aware of a woman. In his case, it was a wholesome look. He was wearing his brown contact lenses, a protection for his pale eyes. She knew his athletic body was the perfect size to cradle her in his arms. She remembered how it felt when he entered her. He looked at his watch. “Two more minutes and I’ll need to get back. Your dogs are heading home. I’ll finish in an hour and catch up.” “Okay, Jazzman.” He blinked his eyes. The high sun probably illuminated the oval gold pendant around her neck. On it was a single gold word, “GUILTY”. Cord leaned forward and picked up the ornament with his fingers. “Why would a woman who doesn’t seem to have a care in the world wear a necklace that says ‘GUILTY’?” “Flip it over.” He turned it over. The other side had two gold words, “NOT GUILTY.” “My parents gave me this necklace as a gift early in my career. I hide it in court.” “Too flippant?”

“Exactly. If both sides flipped back and forth, a judge would think I took his verdict and everything else too lightly.” He watched Kerrigan and the dogs vanish into some boulders near the tidal pool. Birds took to the air from waving cattails. “That used to be the Winslow garden.” “I know. You can’t see its ruins from here.” He placed his hands firmly on her upper arms and turned her toward him. “Tara. After Kerrigan was born, Jade took off. What kind of mother leaves a three month old baby?” “You must hate me for representing her.” “I’d never hate you. She makes me worry. Help me keep Kerrigan away from her.” “I will.” “I worry about you, too.” He kissed her and then swept his lips along her throat, gently biting her ear lobe. “You’re a hot tomato.” “I’m ready for plucking.” She gave his biceps a squeeze. “Isn’t that the truth. That’s a compliment.” He turned to go. “Take Kerrigan home with you. I’ll phone when the show’s over.” “Dazzle ‘em, Mayor.” She climbed the embankment to find Kerrigan sitting on a rock. Lying in the sun, the dogs looked at Kerrigan and wagged their tails. “Look how the dogs cock their heads when they look at you, Kerrigan.” As she looked at the dogs, Tara gave the dogs a signal. Behind the teen’s back, she held up her two hands up like paws. The dogs sat up and offered their paws in unison. “They’re so cute,” Kerrigan gushed. She shook their paws. Tara smiled. “That trick took me six months.” “Miss Delacruz. Jade is my mother. I hope you can help her. I doubt she hurt her son to get attention.” “Sometimes a child does have a genuine illness. Maybe it isn’t easily diagnosed, and a parent goes from doctor to doctor.” “So, that’s it.” “It’s possible. Your mother is accused of a rare and bizarre disorder. It has to do with causing a child’s illness to gain attention. I’m still learning about her case.” “You’re saying you have an open mind.” “I’ve only had one meeting with your mother. I admit it was brief, but I could see she functions in a detached manner in a world all her own.” “What is her world like?” “Tiny and inward. This doesn’t mean she would hurt her son, but she seems to crave a great deal of attention.”

“Maybe people should be nicer to her.” “I think you need to be cautious, let things ride awhile.” Tara took her hand and pushed open a narrow side door to the boathouse. “Come with me. I want to share a secret.” The dogs went in with them. “Smells musty.” She shoved her red hair out of her eyes as she peered over the sailboat. “Why are the dogs digging at the bottom of that shelf?” “That shelf is really a door. The door leads into a tunnel. They waddled through it last night and left their scent. Try to pick up that coil of rope.” Tara stepped aside. Kerrigan touched it. “It’s glued to the shelf.” “There’s a knob hidden behind it. See if you can open it.” She pulled the door open until it rammed the sailboat. “It’s wide enough to squeeze through. Mae and I came through here last night from my house.” Tara pointed into the tunnel. “Wow.” “We had problems pushing the door from the other side. The sailboat was lodged against it, too far up on its tracks.” Kerrigan looked at the sailboat and studied the trolley with railroad wheels attached. “Tracks go from the boathouse into the water. Through those double doors, right?” Small square windows over the westerly doors let in late afternoon sun. “Nice, huh? Above in the rafters, we have the mast, boom, halyards, and sails.” “I’m always interested in boat names.” “Let’s have a look.” Kerrigan stepped to the stern. “Heather Lee.” “The next time we see Mae Han, we’ll ask her about the boat’s history.” “Can we go through the tunnel?” “Sure, but I need to find the light switch.” Reaching behind the shelfdoor, Tara fumbled along the wall with her hands. “Miss Han would know where it is.” “Miss Han knows everything!” “And don’t we love her for it.” Her voice echoed in the chamber. “We’ll leave this door open for now.” “That should give us enough light.” Kerrigan squeezed in, and the dogs scampered ahead. Tara found the switch and turned it on. “I might as well shut the door. It keeps it secret.”

Kerrigan walked ahead. “Looks like it was built with railroad ties and rocks.” “And mortar. Mae said her relatives worked on the railroad. Maybe there were surplus supplies.” “Is it safe?” “Absolutely. It’s sound construction. Not like those old mines that go far into the ground. Nothing will fall in on us.” “The dogs are way up there.” She ran up to them. Reaching past the dogs, Tara pulled opened the door that led into the armoire. The dogs went in first and nosed through the other side. Soon they all stood in the cellar. Light from high narrow windows on the east side of the cellar glowed across the opposite white mortar walls. Kerrigan laughed. “We’re in your basement.” Tara flicked on the cellar light. “Yes, we are. Originally, this was used as a root cellar. I imagine owners kept plenty of food down here. There’s even a small bathroom, added later. Mae said former Chinese owners suffered setbacks from prejudice.” “That’s too bad.” Looking at the armoire that they had just come through, Kerrigan’s eyes blinked with excitement. “That thing reminds me of the wardrobe in the Chronicles of Narnia.” “Secret passages were common when people had to protect themselves. Many people had them.” “This was a hiding place, wasn’t it? People could stay down here for weeks on end.” Kerrigan turned around, gazing. “If things got really bad, they could launch a boat. That steep stairway leads to a trapdoor. The kitchen is above us.” “What about that little door?” Kerrigan pointed to a short door on the north side of the house. “It goes out to the side yard garden.” “They could sneak out at night and pick things.” “I hadn’t thought of that, but they could. Let’s go up.” Tara climbed the steps and pushed up the trapdoor. The dogs bounded past her. She climbed up behind them as Tara came behind and held the trapdoor up. Tara climbed through and shut it. “Look at the floor. The trapdoor is well hidden. It took Mae awhile to find it.” “Incredible!” The dogs slid around the corner, scurrying to their water and dry food bowl.

Kerrigan turned with her hands on her hips, looking around. “Your windows are broken.” “The window smashing happened last night. I’m not too popular right now. Some teenagers felt I had something to do with what happened to Bruce Jennings.” She looked troubled. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you had Mae here. She helped you find a hiding place.” “The dogs came with us. We sat in the dark just like her relatives did. Without any lights on, the rock throwers couldn’t see us.” “You disappeared into thin air. Were you scared?” “Sure was. The rain started up, but even when it fell heavily, our attackers didn’t leave until they heard police sirens.” “Miss Han lives next door, right?” “She did but doesn’t at the moment. There was a property mix-up. Mr. Blake and I will help her get her house back.” “Well, I hope you can. Miss Han has a flower garden. She hasn’t had a vase of flowers on her desk lately.” Kerrigan frowned. “I think she will again.” “Miss Delacruz, what made you want to buy this house?” “I liked the ocean front property and the old boathouse.” “Do you sail?” “As a kid I crewed for someone on a 14-foot Starr in Newport Harbor. I couldn’t afford one. By crewing I learned to sail. The old wooden sailboat in the boathouse is a Starr. When I looked at the house, it brought back how much I love sailing and all the rules that went with it. “Rules?” “I was captivated with right of way rules. It sounds crazy but it led me to becoming a lawyer. I played lawyer at protest hearings for my friends.” Kerrigan smiled. “Sailboats are beautiful. I even like how they look at anchor.” “Aren’t they lovely with their masts bobbing and their bows pointing into the wind? I’ll teach you to sail if you’re interested.” Tara smiled. “I’m very interested.” “Would you like a house tour?” “Sure.” Tara led her around the house. Forties era clothing was draped over the sofa. Noticing her second glance, Tara asked, “Would you like to have any of these dresses? I found them in the armoire along with this one I’m wearing.”

She picked up a hanger with a satin evening gown. “I love this peachy pink.” It was still in a drycleaner bag. “Try it on!” Tara got it out and held up the smooth fabric against Kerrigan’s face. “The color is perfect with your creamy skin and lovely red hair.” She pulled off her shorts and t-shirt. Tara helped her with the dress. When it was zipped up, Tara led her into her bedroom where the dressing table had a large mirror. Kerrigan flashed a grin. “This is a dress for a princess like you. Please take it. Sometime you’ll have an occasion to wear it.” “Friday is the prom! I have a dress, and it fits. And, I have date, Ben Goldstein.” “I know Ben! You two are always talking in Latin at the tutoring center.” “That’s him.” “I have a drawer full of makeup that isn’t right with my coloring.” Tara opened a drawer and laid out unopened packages of eye shadow and liner in soft greens and blues. “This blush is too pink for me. On you, these tones would be becoming.” “My dad would like a softer look.” “Well, take it and experiment. See what you think.” Tara went to the kitchen and returned with a zip-lock bag. She put the makeup in it. While Kerrigan changed back into her shorts and t-shirt, Tara folded the dress with tissue paper and put it in a box with the bag of makeup. The box had a handle that Tara pulled out as she handed it to her. She gave Tara a hug and said, “Magnum Gratium.” She sometimes said that at the tutoring center. “Tibi est welabilias.” Tara smiled, pointing to her watch. “Clockium Tickum. I made that one up.” She grabbed binoculars. They climbed down the kitchen ladder to the cellar, and walked through the armoire, tunnel, and out the boathouse. A wave of apprehension swept through Tara. “The beach looks empty.” “Where is everybody?” “Over there.” She handed Kerrigan the binoculars and pointed to the crowd clustered about two hundred feet beyond the pavilion. “Do you see that glider on the beach? People are standing behind the boulders.” They sprinted toward a crowd standing behind the yellow crime scene ribbons. Police were pushing the crowd back. Tara heard Sergeant Ditzman’s voice. “Hey, I’m maintaining a perimeter here.”

Cord met them. He put his arm around his daughter, shaded her eyes and then angled her body away. “Sunny, they’ve found a girl, barely alive.” Tara gasped. Sheer black fright swept through her. He pulled her to his other side. “One of the hang gliders spotted her.” His voice was dull and troubled. Kerrigan was trembling and leaned against her dad. Tears pricked at the back of Tara’s eyes. He said, “Sunny, I’ve put my instruments in your car. We’re going to go right home, but I need to do something first. Stay with Tara for a second.” Cord jumped up on the pavilion where a microphone was still in place and said to the stunned crowd, “As you know, another teen was found hurt but alive by a hang glider.” She was surprised at the crowd’s silence. Cord continued. “At times like this all of us want answers. Fingers pointed around and seemed to have rested on a certain criminal lawyer, but none of her clients could have done this. Tara Delacruz and Private Investigator Leviticus Blake have located former clients.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “Doesn’t mean a thing.” He ignored him. “Do we have a priest, rabbi, or a minister who could come up and lead us in prayer?” The minister from the Church of Our Redeemer walked up and stood by him. “Pastor Ray is going to say a few words.” Pastor Ray took the microphone. “The Lord knows the way of the righteous. The way of the ungodly shall perish. Evil is like straw that the wind blows away and will be lost forever.” He bowed his head in prayer. “God, bless these frightened people. Help us find this doer of evil. Amen.” They left the pavilion, and Cord walked toward them. Tara said, “Thank you, Cord, for your words.” “This isn’t over, and you’re still a target. Let me drop you off at your house.” She touched his arm. “Go, I’ll be fine.” “I’ll phone you, Tara.” She watched them leave and then trudged homeward. She saw Leviticus. “Hey. What happened here?” “A hang glider spotted the girl partially buried from a vantage of twenty feet.” “She was hidden between boulders, wasn’t she?” “Afraid so. Mae knows the girl’s mother. Nice people.” Leviticus spoke with sadness.

She felt frozen, mind and body numb. “Well, my dear friend, I’ll be going home.” She hugged him. “Where’s Mae?” “She’s in my truck. We’re going to drive to the mother’s home, pick her up and head for the hospital. Her daughter’s in a coma. Mae wants to be there to comfort her.” “Good of both of you.” She walked across the beach and up the bank to her boathouse. Before going in, she glanced back to see the young girl being loaded into the ambulance. Outraged, tears streamed down her face. What evil person claimed ownership over her body and soul before hurting her? Was the depraved strangulation pleasurable? Anger kindled. She’d find the monster, and whatever followed would be full compensation. Her dogs greeted her at her front door. She would be lost if they weren’t there, but the loss was a thousand-fold for a mother whose child had been tortured. That parent’s home would be empty tonight. Tara didn’t turn on any lights. Instead, she found her way to the sink for a glass of water before going to bed. She wasn’t hungry. Darkness began to fall, and darkness felt safer. Overcome with empathetic grief, she sobbed off and on into her pillow. Through the night she heard the screams of a hideous grackle and the moan of a dove. **** Cord carried a knot in his gut. He was scheduled to perform after they finished dinner. He didn’t usually allow girls for overnights. Tonight was different. “Sunny, call someone.” “I don’t feel like it.” She finished chewing a bite of salad as they sat together at the table. “I have plenty of friends. If I get nervous, I’ll call on Megan and her mom.” Cord let out an exasperated breath. “Of all nights, I’m going to work.” “You’re more worried than I am.” He grimaced as he stood up from the table and carried dishes to the sink. “The owner of the Red Beat phoned. The place is busting at the seams.” “It’s a night to show respect for those hurt. Bruce came out of his coma, but Dixie…” Kerrigan bit her lower lip. “I’ve picked out some selections that feel right. The night will be dedicated to Dixie’s recovery.” As he put away leftover pasta in a plastic container, he said, “Sunny...”

“Believe me,” she said between bites, “I don’t plan on being the third victim.” She finished the salad. “I’d die if something happened to you, Sunny.” Cord furrowed his brow as he watched her stack dishes of blue and white mixed patterns. It was her turn to do them. “Stop worrying. I don’t roam the beach by myself.” Watching her wash them, he remembered the day she picked them out at the thrift shop. Blue hues, from fresh bonnie blue to elegant navy, blended with elegance. Kerrigan had chosen the table, too. It was sturdy oak, round with two leaves. The leaf against the wall was down, leaving a three-quarter moon. He bought it for two, but there was room for three. Kerrigan picked up the vase of drooping black-eyed susans, dumping them as she laid the vase on the stack. Above the table a window was curtained with sheers. A bright porch light on the outside deck glared through. There she stood, his adorable Sunny, bathed in its glow. Her hair, shimmering red, fell around sparrow-bone shoulders that protruded under her t-shirt. They looked similar, but her mother was a tormented soul out of place in the real world. Kerrigan was a practical problem solver. Still, Cord knew that if she were in the wrong place at the wrong time, she wouldn’t stand a chance. “Sunny, do you remember meeting Leviticus Blake today?” “Of course, the detective.” “Right. Well, a few years ago he organized a phone tree for emergencies like earthquakes, fires, and mudslides. I’m going to phone him. See if I can use it to get a neighborhood watch program started.” “There’s no stopping you when you have an idea.” She dried and put away the dishes. Cord grabbed the phone book, looked up the number for the Blake Detective Agency and left a short message with his name and phone number. As soon as the kitchen was tidy, the phone rang. “Cord, Leviticus here. My beeper goes off when I get a call at the office. A neighborhood watch is a good idea.” “I’ll concentrate on the beach. I’d like to use your phone tree.” “Give me your email address. I’ll send the list over from my laptop.” He gave him his website. “I need to know. Were there razor carvings on Dixie?” “Yes.”

“I bought a wind-chime made by kids in the hospital. It has razor carvings on it, “HELLS BELLS RINGING.” “I’d like to take a look at it.” “Expect me at your office tomorrow. I’ll drop it off.” “The police have made the initial report public, so I can tell you more about Dixie Torres. She’s fourteen, lives with her mother at Terrace Park Trailer Court.” “I know who she is. I saw a group of teens at the beach and went down to have a talk with them.” Cord took in a breath. “Did you give them a piece of your mind about wasting their youth?” Leviticus seemed to appreciate his efforts. Cord pictured her before her attack. “Mrs. Torres wants to thank you. You made some headway. Dixie confessed to stealing electronics and giving them to a thug in a black low rider.” “Did anyone spot the license?” “Tara reported it. It’s a vanity plate, ‘HAVOC’. The vehicle was stolen out of an impound lot in South Vegas.” “Where’s the original owner?” “He’s in jail. The truck was put in the lot to be auctioned off.” He spent the next fifteen minutes placing volunteers in hidden areas behind shrubs or boulders. “Sunny, I’m going to lug my instruments to your car. Be right back.” “Okay.” She yelled from her bedroom. After he put them in the sparkly pink Honda, he turned on the estate’s floodlights. He thought about Landings Beach, a town of 54,000 where windows were left open. Often front doors were too, with just the screen door to let the fresh air in. Blinds weren’t always pulled down because there was trust. At least there used to be. He was back and heard sniffling. “Sunny.” “Dixie was kind. When Megan didn’t make the cheer squad, Dixie told her she had the prettiest smile.” “She’s going to come out of her coma.” Cord brought her a tissue and hugged her. “Sunny, believe me, I don’t want to go. But, now I’m late.” He walked around the apartment, pulling down blinds. “I’m going to finish the a few problems in accounting.” “That should put you to sleep in no time, Sunny.” Cord was preoccupied. He left his cell phone on the kitchen counter.

Chapter Eleven After midnight Tara heard her cell’s harsh melody. She knocked it off the table before she flipped it open. “Hello?” “Miss Delacruz, it’s me, Kerrigan. ” “What’re you doing up, Sweetie?” “I heard footsteps on the deck. Our wind chime clanged, really loud.” Her voice was a rapid outpouring of breath. “Your dad’s at work?” “Yes, and I called my friend, Megan, but she’s still out with her boyfriend.” Awkwardly, Kerrigan cleared her throat. “Megan’s mother answered. Said wind makes imaginations go wild.” “I’ll check around. What’s your address?” “100 Pacific Coast Highway. We’re in the apartment above a four-car garage. It looks like a carriage house. The steps are on the other side, facing the ocean.” “I know it well, the Aldridge Estate. My mother cleaned their house when I was a child. See you in ten.” She stepped over the dogs and slipped into a short skirt. Deciding she’d be cold in spaghetti straps, she stuck an arm in her robe. Bending down to find her slippers, she ruffled her dogs’ soft ears and thought out loud. “It’s an unconscious thing. I’ll let you know if it’s true.” She liked how they cocked their heads in fascination. Outside, as she dashed toward the loaner car, gusts swept and circled like birds playing a game. Maybe nothing more than the wind rattled Kerrigan, she thought. Not wanting to block the doors to the garage, she parked the Navy Lexus further down. Within two minutes, she was leaping up the steps to their apartment. She stopped when she heard a soft intermittent chime. Made from a license plate, massive branches blocked it from the stiff breeze. A person would

have to shake it to make it clang, but the porch light flickered. Lights glowed from inside. She knocked. “Kerrigan, it’s me, Tara.” As she waited for the door to open, she looked down. The half-round doormat caught her eye. Bougainvillea petals were stuck to the fibers. Down on her knees, she picked one up. Seeing a shadow move across, she looked up to see the parted curtains drop. The door opened. “What are you doing down there?” The teen treated her to an amused smile. “I’m picking up petals before they blow away. Do you have some plastic wrap?” The skinny teen went over to a kitchen drawer, tore off a piece, and returned. “What’s so interesting about them?” “My car was keyed by someone on Friday night. I was at the pool, and they got all over my sandals. Bougainvilleas drop their flowers at this time of year. They’re tissue-paper thin and stick to anything damp. You said you heard loud footsteps. I did, too. I pictured combat boots.” She dropped the wrapped petals into the pocket of her robe. “What will you do with them?” Kerrigan motioned her inside, shut the door, and locked it. “I’ll give them to Mr. Blake with mine.” “Miss Delacruz, would you like some hot chocolate?” “Love some. Do you have bougainvillea in your yard?” “We have white up the bank.” “I picked up both white and magenta from your mat.” Kerrigan got out a pot, poured in some milk and chocolate syrup. “You must have worked hard to become a lawyer.” “I was the poster child for hard work and dedication.” Tara eased into a maple captain’s chair at the table. “That’s good.” She stirred with one hand and dropped in marshmallows with the other. “Zealousness without depth is not so good.” “My dad said you get criminals off.” “I believe everyone deserves representation. My client’s innocence must be disproved. While the other side slings mud, I try to divert it.” “Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?” “In the case of Buck Toolbox, I should have talked with his psychiatrist. I knew he had one. I wasn’t thorough.” “Why weren’t you?” Kerrigan stirred the hot chocolate. “I didn’t want to learn something damaging. I was being cagey.”

“Were you sneaking around a rule?” She poured into mugs and added more marshmallows. “That’s exactly right. Everything a lawyer knows has to be shared with the opposing side.” “You can’t share what you don’t know.” “You’re very smart, Miss Smith. Truth is I’ve become curious. I’m willing to wade through the psychiatrist’s battery of paperwork. Something might lead me to the strangler.” “Are you going to phone his psychiatrist?” Kerrigan set down the mugs and pulled out a drawer for teaspoons. “Yes. Of course, Dr. Pugh will yell at me.” “Just apologize.” She sat down, handed Tara a teaspoon, and centered the napkin holder on the table. “Hey, World, I’m sorry.” Tara dropped her arms and threw her head back. “Apology accepted!” She smirked. “Thank you. It feels good to be forgiven.” Tara gave her an affectionate pat on the arm. Changing the subject, she asked, “What do you want to study when you go to college?” “I want to be a C.P.A. My dad thinks I’m going to get excited about music any day now. He’s going be disappointed. I like computers and accounting.” “Accounting is right for you. You meet the integrity challenges that go with it. Tell your dad. I guarantee, he’ll be proud,” she encouraged. “You don’t know him. He’s pigheaded.” “He’s stubborn about important things.” “I guess.” Kerrigan sighed. “I can’t wait to learn how debits and credits all fit together.” “It’s neat, isn’t it?” “A while back, I read my dad’s accounting software manual. He tracks income and expenses for the band. For him, it’s work. I love doing them.” A melted marshmallow stuck to her lips as she held her mug. “There’s a demand for accountants in the business world, a really big demand. And, they always have the fanciest mechanical pencils!” Tara smiled as she picked up her mug and gave Kerrigan’s mug a tap. “Here’s to numbers people.” “Cheers!” Kerrigan smiled and covered a yawn with her hand. “Let’s get you to bed.” Tara brought their mugs to the sink. “You make a great cup of hot chocolate, almost all marshmallows.” “That’s how I like it, too.”

Tara walked her to her room, one of the two master suites. “Hop into bed. I’ll take the sofa until your dad gets home.” She reached down to pull up the covers as the lanky teen hopped in. “Sleep tight.” “I will. Thank you for coming, Miss Delacruz.” “You are very welcome, Miss Smith.” “Miss Delacruz, use that extra pillow and blanket.” She pointed out bedding next to the box that contained the peach satin dress, now hanging in her closet. “Miss Smith, call me Tara.” She retrieved the pillow and blanket, and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Tara.” “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” Leaving her bedroom door open a crack, Tara took off her robe and laid it on the arm of the sofa. Her dog-paw printed spaghetti top and skirt were comfortable enough. Pulling the blanket around her, she was dead to the world as soon as her head hit the pillow. **** Cord arrived home at 2:30 a.m. and turned on the dim light above the microwave. He took out a bowl, dumped in some raisin bran and poured milk on it. Grabbing a spoon, he set the bowl down on the coffee table. Looking around for the remote to the TV, he sat on the sofa. “Hey.” The blanket moved and then fell away. Tara sat up, bra-less in a printed spaghetti strap. She adjusted her skirt. “What are you doing here?” He moved to an adjacent chair. “Kerrigan heard footsteps on the deck.” “Wind was like a gale. Thank you for coming over.” He ate his cereal and watched a strap from her tank top fall off her shoulder. Before she pulled it up, he managed to view her breasts, firm and round. His need to take her again was like a fire in his blood. She didn’t seem to notice. “This is a dangerous time, Cord. On nights you’re not home, she needs to stay with me.” “I’d be grateful.” He admired her shapely legs, but when he spoke, it was about her arms. “You have beautiful arms.” “I swim.” She stood up and walked around to the kitchen. “I meant to wash the mugs.” She turned on the water and squeezed the bottle of soap. Tiny bubbles drifted about. He came behind her, picked her up and set her on the corner of the counter. Her legs dangled. He pushed her skirt up and out of the way. “Those sheer panties are a barrier.”

“Are they?” She opened her thighs as an invitation. He tore out the crotch and exposed her intimate flesh. His fingers explored her depths. He liked how swollen and wet he made her. He stroked her folds. She leaned back and bracing herself with her arms. Her voice was a pleading rumble. Her womanly scent, a musky perfume, fueled him. He tasted her with his lathing tongue. “Someone sweet and innocent might awaken.” She blinked her eyes open. Stiffening, she slipped off the counter. “You want me, and I want you. But, we’re the adults here.” He could have held her there but agreed. It wasn’t proper. He dug his nails into his palms as he took notice of the smooth roll of her muscular behind under her skirt. Heading for the door, she folded her robe over an arm. He tried to read the logo on the terrycloth. “Hold up your robe so I can read it.” He was stalling. “‘Another Dog Day in Paradise’.” She slid into her flip-flops, sporting pink bones across the top. “I’ve always thought dogs dressed like people looked silly, but you look cute dressed like a dog.” She was hard to resist. When she stood up straight, her breasts jiggled. “My fashions haven’t gone to the dogs?” She picked up her purse. “Not at all.” He shivered, wanting her. “These items were gifts. My parents pick stuff up when they travel.” There was cheerfulness as she spoke of her parents. “Where do they usually go?” “La Cieba, Honduras. They live there about half the time.” “Can I follow you home, Tara?” “Thank you, no. Stay here with Kerrigan. I will be fine with my two very large dogs.” Not only were her dogs protective, her house had a hidden passage. “I’ll walk you down.” He took her hand. Outside, they took the steps. “Sorry I ripped through your flimsy panties.” “Don’t be. They’ll make a nice souvenir.” At the bottom, she stopped. “You were right to shield Kerrigan from her mother. Jade doesn’t validate her own daughter’s existence.” “My ex-wife was crazy-making. She never had much of an identity of her own. She adapts to those around her.” “Like a pod person?”

“For now, I’d like to forget about her.” He pulled Tara toward him and slanted his mouth over hers. They kissed again and again as he plundered her warm, wet interior. He cupped her breast in his hand, and found her nipple. It grew hard as he worked it softly. She slipped her hand along the front of his jeans. “This is mine, and I want it.” He adjusted himself so that she could reach down and touch him. She stroked him as they stood in shadows. She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest. “I’m guilty. I find you irresistible in the first degree.” He chuckled and pushed the bottom edge of her tank top up over her breasts. Exposed in the moonlight, he put his mouth over her nipples and worked them with his tongue. A tingle of excitement raced through him as she kissed his neck, as high as she could reach. He bent down, kissed her mouth while touching the hard peek of her nipple. Tucked under the deck was a chaise lounge chair. He adjusted it to a flat position and laid her down. She rolled it up further. Her bare breasts with the tank top rolled above tantalized him. “That’s coming off.” He pulled it over her head. When it was completely off, he folded it. “I’ve made a little pillow for you.” “A tank top pillow. Comfy.” When she raised her arms up and placed the pillow behind her head, her breasts rose. “In case you’re wondering, I’m going to hold this position. I can see it turns you on.” She kissed him with a hunger that belied her outer calm. “You’re beautiful.” He met her gaze before he brushed his day-old beard gently over her nipples. He took one nipple in his mouth and slowly traced a circle around the other. She kissed him with a fever when his fingers found her clitoris. He kissed her forehead while working her inner folds. Her mouth brushed his again, and her open fingers played with the wavy hair at the back of his neck. He liked working her body, making her writhe. His own need was raw and elemental. Tara was solidly female. Her form was like an hourglass. He hooked his thumbs at the waistband of her skirt. “Your skirt is cute but it has to go. You can keep your crotchless panties on.” He pulled the skirt off. He kissed her dense thicket between the ripped panties. He pealed off his jeans and briefs. Cupping her delightful rear, he opened her legs.

She shifted and parted her legs more. Her lack of modesty turned him on. Balancing himself on the lounge chair wasn’t easy. With knees on either side of her, he kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, and finally, he kissed her soft mouth. It burned with fire, and she drew him into her with her hands. She moved under him, hips arching, hands touching with quick little bites and scrapes of her nails that aroused him beyond belief. It made him almost weep to be touched by her again. He plunged with a cautious rise and fall. The whip of power slashed through him and locked him on the glorious edge between excitement and release where his blood raged and his body yearned. She shuttered beneath him, helplessly, every one of his burns battered her. When his hand stroked down to find her, she was hot and wet, and he wanted to take what was his. Pleasure radiated outward, and his liquid heat ran into her. Mine. You’re mine. Her damp, soft skin smelled of spring. He had taken what was his, and he had given all he had. The way they moved together, just this way, was as if they’d been together a hundred years. She held him with total acceptance as if she’d always held him. He knew he’d lose her someday. She crooned out his name and then moaned. “I love feeling the weight of your body on mine.” She linked her fingers with his. He brushed his lips over hers, fascinated by the way their hearts hammered together. “You humble me.” “Really? Because I was going to apologize for being tense. I couldn’t seem to relax tonight.” She gulped for a breath. “There’s so much going on. It’s strange, but I liked you all tense. It excited me.” He could hear every catch of her breath. He skimmed his fingers lightly over her. She was all soft skin and quivers. “Smooth, warm, beautiful.” He stoked her firm body. “And less tense now.” “Thanks to you.” Her long lashes brushed his cheekbones. She dragged in a shallow, satisfied breath. Her smile was a momentary flash of white. “Dream lover. When it comes to sex, you’ve won the genetic lottery.” “Tara, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve known a lot of women over one and a half centuries.” Again, she’d transported him to a soft and wispy cloud. He adored her lively personality and her affection toward his daughter. As they dressed, his mood fell to the edge of sadness. She must have noticed. “Immortals don’t stay happy for long. I’ve heard fragments. Your secret is in oral tradition and religion.”

“The pieces haven’t come together. Native Americans have known about it longer than The Others.” “Their culture isn’t as materialistic as ours. They probably knew about transforming into a joyless state for millions of years.” She smiled at him and touched his arm. “It could bring someone massive wealth. Imagine if slave owners had access to it. Sorry, I don’t mean to insult…” “It’s okay, you’re not accountable. To answer your question, yes, I can imagine the horror.” She touched his arm and then disappeared up the bank. He walked behind, just to make sure she got into her car safely. He watched it pull away and thought of the melody he’d carried in his head for a week. He wasn’t able to get past the first, fairly good stanza. Now, the song came. It sounded right, and he hurried inside. As he wrote it down, there was another sound in his head, Tara’s silvery laugh, natural and real.

Chapter Twelve “Are you in there? Your cell is dead.” Mae’s voice came from Tara’s bedroom window. “Sheesh, sorry, I forgot to charge it.” She kicked off the covers and staggered to the window. “Did you walk over, Mae?” “Didn’t take long.” Mae’s hand cupped her eyes to block the rising sun. “My apartment is up the hill.” She nodded eastward toward the stucco buildings up the bluff. The atrocious California design was known as a dingbat. In the fifties, dingbats served a low cost purpose with living quarters on the second level. The wood and stucco structures were balanced on concrete and steel poles to accommodate parking of cars. Mae didn’t have one. “Which one is yours in case I need to find you?” Tara knew the builders decorated the flat stucco facades with gaudy decorations called doodads and were along the lines of tikis, cutout planets, and starbursts. More individuality was sought with elegant names. “You’ll find me in the Capri.” The tacky names were scrolled at a diagonal in turquoise. The ‘i’ in Capri was dotted with a gold toned elongated star. Tara examined her phone and plugged it in for a recharge. “What’s going on, Mae?” Tara moved to a bench under the window. “Leviticus wants you at the exam of Dixie Torres.” “Don’t I need permission from Mrs. Torres to attend?” “That’s why I’m here.” Mae was bending down to talk. “I spoke with Sally Torres this morning. She wants you to come.” “Do you want to come in while I take a shower? I’m coming around to the front.” Tara dashed to the kitchen. She manually loaded and turned on the coffee pot on the way to her front door.

Mae was there when she open it, dressed in a shirtdress, hose, and loafers. “Mae, you look lovely. Step in.” “No, I miss my front porch. I’d like to sit here awhile.” She frowned and turned her head. A ‘For Sale’ sign was staked on her front lawn. Her home was going into foreclosure. “How do you take your coffee, Mae, light, sweet, or black?” “Light, thanks.” She settled onto the porch swing. Rushing to the kitchen, Tara poured two mugs of coffee. She added milk and headed to the porch. She set Mae’s coffee on a rattan table. “Thank you, dear.” Mae picked up the mug. “Dixie is in a coma. Her exam will be a lot like an autopsy.” “It won’t be a surgical procedure.” “Of course not, but the coroner, Dr. Sibley is performing it. The same lab tests will be used. I don’t have the stomach for any of this, believe me.” **** When Tara arrived at the hospital, she was greeted by a volunteer and led down a long hall. The examination room was very clinical. Bright light from overhead reflected off stainless-steel counters. Collecting equipment was neat and orderly in racks and bins. She saw a red biohazard can and a block of refrigerators. A computer terminal and printer were stuck in a corner. The lab was cool with an undertone of Pine-Sol. Dr. Sibley was conversing with Leviticus and Sergeant Ditzman. She sensed the coroner was being bombarded with their questions. As she approached, Bill Sibley, the coronor, nodded a polite hello. “I’ll do my best to preserve anything recovered. I completed a preliminary exam. Those findings will be shared as well.” As he spoke, his secretary typed on the computer. “Sergeant, you may begin.” Ditzman read his report for the record. Evidence would be heavily censored for investigative purposes, he said. Tara learned the 14-year-old Mexican-American girl, Dixie Torres, had been missing from her home two weeks before she was found. Someone in a hang glider flying low saw her protruding head. Dixie had been buried alive in a shallow grave. Dr. Sibley added that comatose, her hands were clenched into fists.

Next, Leviticus began his report. Dixie’s mother had given him a list of her daughter’s friends, but most of them hadn’t spent time with her recently. He stated that a teacher, Mae Han, described Dixie as a sweet but introverted high school freshman. Recently, she’d expanded her friendships with a more edgy crowd, a group Mrs. Torres didn’t know. One witness, a new owner of a health spa, saw Dixie the last night of her life. She’d worn a long gray sweatshirt and blue jeans when the spa owner had seen her. Later, she was seen walking along a poorly lit stretch of the boulevard. She headed toward the beach. That night temperatures were in the high 60s. Finally, the specialist in forensic science read his report. “Name: Dixie Anne Torres, Strangulation: Approx. May 15th. Urine panel revealed meth use. Body temperature, 104 degrees, bacterial infection. Clothed in a gray sweatshirt and blue jeans, no shoes. The girl is that of a normally developed, well-nourished Caucasian-Mexican female measuring 61 inches in length, weighing 105 pounds, and appearing generally consistent with the stated age of fourteen years. The scalp is covered by ten inch straight, dark brown hair. The body hair is female and average. The skull is symmetrical and intact. The breasts are female and contain no palpable masses. The abdomen is slightly protuberant and the pelvis is intact. The external genitalia are female and unremarkable. The back is symmetrical and intact. The upper and lower extremities are symmetric, normally developed and intact. Abrasions and contusions are noted on the hands and nails. Three fingernails on the right hand and two fingernails on the left hand are broken off at the fingertips. Injuries are consistent with defensive wounds. There are no residual scars, markings, or tattoos. No evidence of sexual intercourse, forced or consensual. Body temperature indicates a severe infection. Dixie Anne Torres survived both asphyxia and manual strangulation. She has bruises on her chin and neck, some blood and body fluids seeped out onto her sweatshirt. Burlap threads and ketchup noted in and around her mouth. Her teeth shows signs of meth use. There are cuts from a razor blade on her stomach with the words, ‘SHE WILL NOT BE MISSED.’ Tested positive for methamphetamine.” Tara picked up on her scent. “Why does she smell like licorice?” She knew but wondered if they did. The coroner stared at her. “She has a bacterial infection. Dr. Gredell is working on an antibody for it. Very successful so far on Bruce Jennings, by the way. He feels much better.” Tara doubted it could reverse immortality.

Dr. Sibley’s assistant brought Tara, Sergeant Ditzman, and Leviticus out to the reception room where they were offered coffee. Bill’s secretary printed copies of the reports. Ron Ditzman was the first to speak. “Funny, how you can drink a cup of coffee after one of these exams. I couldn’t eat a donut.” His comment didn’t add much substance. “You are absolutely right, Ron.” Leviticus’ politeness worked like honey on his cop buddy. The sergeant went on to state the obvious. “The condition of the body was identical to the other strangulation case. You know, Bruce Jennings.” “Yes, they were both buried in the sand with their heads protruding.” Tara added, “In the 1300s Dante wrote a satirical poem called the Divine Comedy. It’s a poem, a guided tour of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise.” Leviticus said, “I remember something about tortures suffered by the damned in the Inferno, pretty horrifying for a comedy.” Leviticus was humoring the sergeant, she knew. Ditzman frowned. “Why is this relevant? This isn’t the dark ages.” Tara answered, “In the deepest level of hell sinners are frozen deep in the ice, faces out. The mouths of the three black, red, and yellow faces of Satan gushed bloody foam. We have similar elements here. Faces out, ketchup squirted into their mouths.” “Good luck.” The cop snickered and shook his head as he poured himself a second cup of coffee. While the sergeant was busy trying out various flavored cream, Leviticus said, “After we leave here, we’ll head over to police headquarters with Ron.” “And, use his database?” “Download everything in the tri-state area that has to do with strangulations.” “I would go if I weren’t going to the hospital to meet Vincent Harris.” The coroner’s secretary returned and distributed copies of the autopsy. The city council had faxed an announcement, which the secretary read. “Landings Beach has put up a reward of $30,000 for information regarding the brutalities against Bruce Jennings and Dixie Torres.” Leviticus snapped his head toward her. “Dixie was propped up like a giant doll, eyes open, as if she were still watching her attacker. The razor cuts on her were deeper than on Bruce. Drooping daisies were planted in the gouges.” Tara shivered, wondering if Dixie had watched while these acts were committed on her. “It’s an escalating pattern of behavior. I’m glad there’s a reward.”

Ditzman arched a brow. “Maybe somebody will come forward.” He poured himself a second cup of coffee, this one with vanilla cream. “See you at headquarters.” Tara reached into her briefcase and handed Leviticus two labeled envelopes as they strolled out. “Whatcha got?” “Could you compare these two samples?” Leviticus opened the envelopes and looked inside. “What are these, little pieces of tissue paper?” “Magenta bougainvillea blossoms are in the first sample. They’re from the night my car was keyed at the pool. They stuck to my flip flops.” “And, the second?” “This sample is from last night. Kerrigan Smith phoned me when someone was creeping around on her deck. There are white in their yard. Both white and magenta blossoms stuck to the doormat. Maybe the same person stalked both of us.” “Cordell Smith phoned me, mentioning that. By the way I asked for his help.” “As an employee?” “I offered to pay him, but he turned me down.” “Hmm.” Looking at the envelopes, Leviticus said, “I’ll have them checked out for color and chemical consistency. The graphologist’s report should be complete by tomorrow.” They headed toward their respective cars. Tara got into hers and rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment. Automatically she inserted the key into the ignition. When she turned it on, she pictured Dixie’s body on the examining table. Sadness overwhelmed her, but there was work to be done. **** Kerrigan came into the living room. “Dad, I’d like to thank Tara properly for coming over last night. I’ll buy her a box of chocolates with a nice card.” “Nice idea, Sunny.” He handed her a couple of fives from his wallet. “Leviticus Blake asked me to come down to the police department. He invited you, too, after I told him about your interest in computers.” “What kind of information does a police department have?”

“Actually it’s public. There are records on stolen property such as cars, license plates, guns, securities, and criminal histories with descriptions of offenses. He’ll look through the most-wanted database and records from the booking system. He’s after crime descriptions.” “I think I understand how they’ll use the data. He’ll select records from a database if the crime description fits and the doer isn’t in jail.” “I think you’re right, Sunny.” “Do you think Leviticus will upload the data into relational databases for his searches?” “Relational databases? Searches?” “Called tables. You join them with identical data.” “You know more than I do, Sunny. My heart’s swelling with pride.” How foolish he’d been, not recognizing interests she had outside of his own. He pushed her to pursue music. He felt ridiculous but all he could do was smile. Kerrigan drove, tapping a rhythm on the gear shift. She pulled into the civic center parking lot. “I like the Egyptian motif.” “The police department is there.” He pointed to a sign. “We’ll wait on the bench for them.” They got out and walked along clusters of birds of paradise and other flowers bordering cypress and palms. She sat on a bench. “Where’s Tara today?” “She went to the hospital to meet Jade and get her son’s hospital records.” “If I were ever in some kind of bad situation, I’d want her for my lawyer.” “I doubt if you’ll ever be charged with anything.” Leviticus parked his blue truck next to Kerrigan’s pink Honda and walked to join them. Sergeant Ditzman pulled his cruiser up along the red curb. He chuckled as he got out. “I don’t think I’ll write myself a ticket. Come on in, kid.” He smiled at Kerrigan. “There’s lots of complicated stuff inside. You’ll be bored. Later, I’ll give you a tour of the jail.” As they entered the main lobby, Humbert Mainberger, the district attorney, sat on a cop’s desk. “Hello, Leviticus. Hello, Mayor. Hello, young lady.” Mainberger shook everyone’s hand. He rubbed his mustache with the knuckle of his forefinger, getting all the hairs going in one neat line. His mustache, dyed a solid brown, had grown out, showing a shock of white close to his skin. “I’m on my way out, folks.” He stopped to speak with Ditzman. “Sergeant, some woman

called in with a tip. She owns the spa, Clearwater.” He pointed to a pad with the message. “Call now.” “Yes, Sir.” Ditzman tore off the message and dialed. He was a discontented cop, unappreciated at the precinct, Cord knew. The chief of police rode his back like a monkey. Now, the D.A. joined in. Mainberger headed for the exit with the quick steps of a fat-legged man. Ditzman said, “Leviticus, you’ll have to excuse me. The files you want are on this computer. Browse through them and download whatever you need to solve the case. You promised, right? We’ll work together?” “That’s our deal, Ron. Good luck with that tip.” **** At half past four, it was clear that Jade was a no-show in hospital reception. Tara could see the admitting desk from her vantage point. Hiding behind a fichus tree, she took out her cell phone and dialed the woman sitting at the desk. The woman wore a volunteer’s pink cotton jacket and picked up the phone. “Landings Hospital admitting. May I help you?” “Could you please put me through to the room of Vincent Harris?” “Sorry, he doesn’t have a phone. I can connect you with the nurses’ station near his room.” “Thank you.” Tara heard a click, and a voice answered, “Fourth Floor Nurses’ Station.” “Hello. I’m trying to get in touch with Jade Harris.” “Jade Harris informed us she’s not taking calls.” “Thank you.” She knew Vincent’s location wouldn’t be disclosed, and there were lots of rooms on the fourth floor. Tara flipped through another Field and Stream. Hoping Jade would remember their appointment, she paced the hall with her briefcase, sat down, read another magazine, and then, agitated, paced the hall again. She noticed starched, pink cotton jackets hanging in a closet, opened just a crack. Her mood lifted. She planned to pass herself off as a member of the Landings Charity League. The tight little group clocked no less than fourteen hours a week to maintain active status. She threw on a pink jacket and almost strutted. Impressed with her resourcefulness, she’d come alive. Purple teddy bears caught her eye in the gift shop. She bought all six. Clutching them to her chest concealed the absence of a nametag. She ambled to the admitting desk and pulled out a piece of paper from her briefcase. In front of the pink-jacketed volunteer, she crackled it and smiled. “Hello. Looks like you’re busy servicing the public, too, today.”

“Actually, I’m relatively new.” The pretty woman adjusted a crushed velvet scarf under her pink jacket. Her hair was reddish brown, more frizzy than wavy, and her skin tone caramel. “Welcome.” She extended her hand. “I’m Tara Delacruz.” “Heatherlee Baronova. Nice to meet you, Tara.” “Heatherlee. What a lovely and unusual first name. I recently purchased a house with a boathouse. A sailboat came with it and carries the name, Heather Lee.” “I’m named for my grandmother, Heather Lee. If someone named a sailboat after her, I’m sure she’d be honored.” She sat at the computer full of valuable patient information. “Did your grandmother live in Landings?” Tara guessed Heatherlee was blended across racial lines. “Yes, a long time ago. My husband and I had been living in L.A. When the spa went up for sale, he wanted to buy it.” “When you’re new in town, it’s good to join every organization and then scale back. Landings Charity League is legendary here.” “It’s given me the push I need to get out. How about you?” Heatherlee twisted a three-caret diamond ring as she spoke. “An over-committed friend forced me in today.” Tara lied. “I’m filling in for her. Teddy Bear delivery.” “Your friend likes bears.” Heatherlee looked like she could use one. “You know, I believe she does. She gave me a list of kids getting purple bears. I have room numbers for everyone except one, Vincent Harris. Do you know where he’s located?” Heatherlee typed in “Harris” and said, “Up the elevator and to the right, room 457.” Her smile was warm. Servicing others without pay was thankless except for confirmation from other members of the inner circle. “Good. He’ll get his bear.” Tara added, “This is a charming village, but Landings is an insiders’ town. Landings Charity League is a nice way to meet the founding mothers.” “You’re so right. My husband and I want to expand the yoga and beauty spa we bought.” “Would that be Clearwater?” “We do everything from nails to hair. I design and sell jewelry. I’m training as a masseuse.” “You teach yoga and other new age exercises.” Tara had seen the sign in front of the spa. “Well, we’d like to push out toward the ocean for larger classes, maybe add a garden.”

“Let me guess, the architectural committee hasn’t gotten back to you.” “It’s been six months. Last week, a leaguer delivered our plan again. Now the committee is working on it. We’re expecting to jump through hoops.” “Under the circumstances, it’s understandable.” “Why’s that?” Heatherlee asked. “Because of what happened up on the bluff. Take a look at the monstrosities built in the fifties. Locals call it Stucco City Park. Ever since, any change sets off an alarm with the committee. They keep L.A. out of Landings.” “Well, you know where our spa is located.” “Yes, near the old canning district. Your building is part of a waterfront stretch. It’s rich in ambience and history.” The foundation of the cannery was built atop a craggy shoreline with railroad dock pilings and cement. Fishing boats pulled up to the dock to unload. Heatherlee said, “It’s quaint, that’s for sure. We want to expand and take advantage of our stunning ocean view.” Tara held up a bear like a puppet, playfully rocked it back and forth, and said in a squeaky voice, “Enjoy the journey. I have two extra bears. They’re yours, Heatherlee.” She placed two purple bears in front of her. “They’re adorable.” She let out a sigh. “All that’s going on, we’re questioning our move here.” Tara said, “If it’s of any consolation, the entire town’s begging to know what happened and why.” “The police haven’t turned up much.” Tara wondered how a newcomer would know that. “You think not?” “No, but the families of the deceased teens hired that private detective. He’s thorough and knows what he’s up against.” Tara asked, “Do you know him?” “I’ve talked with him.” Suddenly, Tara recalled that Leviticus mentioned something about a rape in an electrical substation north of Landings. The victim and her husband recently bought a spa in Landings. Knowing Heatherlee was dealing with tough issues, she didn’t want to invade her privacy. She wrote her home phone number on the back of a business card and handed it to her. “Heatherlee, please call if you ever feel like getting together, even if it’s just a walk along the waterfront.” “Thank you, Tara. I will.”

Tara walked to the elevator and stopped at the fourth floor. As she breezed past the nurses’ station, she picked up a carton of lemonade and a straw. Hearing Jade’s voice outside of Vincent’s doorway, she stood for a moment and listened. “It says you’re going to fall ill soon, Vincent.” Tara gave the door a rap and walked in. Vincent had a pillow over his head. Jade sat in a chair, using the side of the bed as a table. “Hello, Tara. Oh, my, I forgot.” She shuffled and cut tarot cards. “I’m glad you found us.” Tara could see she was engrossed. Jade said, “Vincent, I’m going to try again.” She rose and pulled the pillow from his head. Cards were turned over. “Pay attention. The spread isn’t coming out well at all.” Tara lined up the four purple bears at the foot of his bed. The boy’s sleepy eyes were on his mother. She said, “Swords are the suit of strife and misfortune. They’re everywhere. There are lots of reversed cards, too, not a good sign. Vincent! You’re sleeping through it all!” Angrily, she threw a handful of cards at him. “I’m awake, mother.” He blinked but held his pillow. Jade looked at Tara intently. “His heart is beating too rapidly.” She put her hand on Vincent’s chest. “Feels like a bird beating its wings.” Tara had a sudden urge to run away. “Maybe you should call the doctor.” She was hired to give advice. Some clients wanted her to take charge. Jade looked at her son with cold resolve. “I’m going to turn over another card.” Vincent rolled over and squinted out of one eye. His mother smiled. “Well, look at that, the card of hope.” “That sounds good.” Tara saw Vincent bury his head back in the pillow. Perhaps he wanted to avoid the discussion. Jade said, “I’m not done, Vincent. I have to do the outcome card.” She turned the last card over. Slowly, she held up a menacing skeleton armed with a scythe. Her stare was vacant. “Death.” Her brow broke into a sweat. Her son burrowed deep into the covers. He was rattled. Tara nodded, knowing this client needed an expert who could relate on her level. “Fortune telling would be out of business if the death card were taken literally. Tarot cards are not meant to be absolute or limiting. They’re meant to enrich you with solutions.” Jade gave her a quizzical look. “Are you’re saying the death card doesn’t mean physical death?”

“That’s right. It represents symbolic death like a missed opportunity. That happens regularly in life. There’s bad luck, and then something good unfolds.” Jade looked disappointed. Tara realized that her take on the death card was optimistic and not what Jade wanted. Jade looked like a picnicker hearing a forecast for a hailstorm. Her green-gray eyes darkened like angry thunderclouds. Tara wondered if it was the calm before the storm. But, in another minute, Jade brightened. Tara guessed one of her strange retrofits was on the way. “Symbolic death. I knew it.” She picked up a newspaper, glancing at the front page. “Read this.” She pointed to an article as she handed it to Tara. Above the article, she saw a photo of Adrian Harris, Jade’s husband, and his female partner. It was taken during his arrest with a woman named Singh. She read the text, 'Partners-- Human Smuggling Operation’ and scanned the article. Nearly a hundred aliens on a Chinese freighter, destined as garment industry workers, had been deported back to Hong Kong. Jade sputtered, bristling with indignation. “This is as devastating as a stock market crash. With them in jail, everything goes south. Adrian is a brilliant businessman.” She shook her head with disappointment. Tara said, “I crossed paths with Adrian when I represented the interests of Landings Savings and Loan in their merger with Pacific State Savings.” “Adrian wheels and deals as a middleman.” “That’s right. When a large sum of money exchanged hands, Adrian was there for his cut.” His middleman duties were miniscule. From that time on, she was aware of Adrian’s appearance whenever money was swapped over. “I don’t need this!” Jade’s voice trembled like low thunder. “It serves him right for how he ignored me. He has a woman in every port.” “Any wife would be upset if her husband was flumping his way back and forth around the world.” Adrian had a reputation for consuming women. “Totally. Where’s my monthly allowance going to come from if he’s put out of business?” Jade half-closed her blue-green eyes in concentration. Her regal mane of light red hair fell over her creamy shoulders. Vincent looked at his powerful queen mother. “Are we going to be poor, Mother?” Jade countered icily, “Not if I can help it.” Tara gave Vincent’s knee a light pat. “Your mother has a store. It’s making money. Vincent, I hope you like these silly bears. Here’s some lemonade.” She handed him the carton and straw.

When Vincent took it, he sat up. He glanced at the row of bears. He opened the carton, dropped in the straw, and sipped. “I could get you some ice cream, too, if you want from the nurses’ station.” “Aren’t they lucky,” Vincent said sourly. “Who?” “Nurses can eat ice cream whenever they want, and they get to hurt people.” “Stop that, Vincent,” Jade said sternly. “Don’t talk badly of people who want to help you. And, haven’t our neighbors been nice, sending flowers and bringing over food?” He put his tongue between his lips and made a rude sound. “Mom, you get the good stuff. I’m eating hospital food. I didn’t even know what kind of meat I had for lunch.” Tara said, “Wonder Meat. You wonder what it is.” Tara saw a fleeting grin on Vincent’s face, but he finished off the lemonade in silence. Jade was seething. “I hate your father.” Vincent looked dejected, like a hungry boy who didn’t get a chocolate bunny at Easter. He seemed unusually childlike for a fourteen-year-old. In spite of being very sick, he appeared broad shouldered and moderately tall for his age. His thick red hair was unbrushed. A nurse came in with a clipboard and a tiny med cup containing a pill. She set down her clipboard, poured water from a carafe into a plastic glass. While she handed Vincent the pill and water, Tara leaned in and read the pharmacy order on the clipboard. He was being sedated. “Jade, could you walk down to the administration office with me? I need you to sign off on Vincent’s hospital records.” “Yes. You must straightened out this mess.” Tara felt mixed emotions toward both of them. “Vincent, when we come back I’ll bring you some ice cream. They have vanilla with either strawberry or chocolate swirls. What will it be?” “Chocolate. Get me two.” He began to fidget with the automated bed buttons. He contorted the bed up and down, down then up. Tara walked over to the bed and tried to calm him down. “Vincent, be careful. You could pinch your fingers in those gears under the bed. If you’re going to give yourself a ride, keep both hands on top of the bed.” He kept pushing buttons but more carefully. He seemed to settle down, either from the sedatives or from a little attention. Half asleep, he and the bed went limp.

Tara forced her conflicting emotions into some sort of positive order as Vincent turned to face the wall. She said in a singsong voice, “I’ll bring back ice cream, two chocolate sundaes for Vincent.” His hair looked like a reddish mat as he curled into a fetal position. He looked pitiful, and she felt uncertainty. Jade tucked the horoscope page of the paper under her arm as she stood up to leave. She didn’t say anything to Vincent when she and Tara left the room, heading for the elevator down. From there, they walked to the Hospital Administrator’s office. Most of the staff was in the hospital’s shift turnover meeting. The “seven-to-threes” updated the “three-to-elevens”. Quickly, so that the administrator could join the meeting, he approved Jade’s request that a complete copy of Vincent’s records be turned over to her. His administrator sent the entire file to the print queue, and it would take about fifteen minutes to print. “Tara, I have phone calls to return from friends and neighbors. I return every single one.” She checked her watch. “Gotta run to my appointment at Clearwater. Could use a mask with aromatherapy.” “We could all use a mud bath.” “Here’s my card. Has my cell phone on it.” Jade shifted her gaze toward her car. “Fine.” Tara eyed the card handed to her as Jade walked away. A raised embossed monogram in a dusty green looked like a fine heirloom. Unlike the mainstay of business cards, calling cards had been out of vogue for a century. Monograms are as varied as people they represent, but woman separated for a decade didn't usually use the three-letter monogram of a married couple. A large “H” for Harris was in the center with smaller letters on either side, a “J” and “A”. Tara guessed Jade and Adrian were in an angry but intimate relationship. As out of touch with reality as Jade was, the card served a practical purpose for Tara. Jade’s cell phone number was at the bottom, and she said she returned her calls. She thought of another question to ask Jade and skipped after her across the parking lot. From a distance, she looked like a manikin in a peasant skirt with layers of ruffles, an embroidered denim jacket with a burgundy fake fur collar. Tara felt plain by comparison.

The sun was bright. Warmer outside than in the air-conditioned hospital, Jade took off her jacket and flung it over her shoulder. She reached her red Hummer. Accidentally dropping her keys, Jade looked at the ground for them. Coming toward the Hummer, Buck Toolbox nearly collided with her when she stood up with her keys. Jade seemed to know him because she gave him a kiss on the cheek. Joy bubbled in her laugh as she paused to talk. Her smile broadened in approval before he turned toward the hospital. In pursuit of Jade, she greeted him in passing. Buck called out, “Tara, I measured your windows this morning. Left brochures. Give me a call, and I’ll order them.” “Okay, Buck.” She rushed to the Hummer, as the big red door shut. Tara shouted, “Hold on, Jade. I have a question.” Jade rolled down her window. “Make it fast, please.” She looked at Jade’s eyes. She had been wrong about their color. They were not blue but green, a chameleon green. Their indefinite color changed like a whim. “I know you have a clothing store for women. What do you sell?” She wanted to start with a general, non-threatening question. “Touristy surf and beach stuff. I combine the spirit of Abercrombie urban gear with the intimacy of Victoria Secret. There are plenty of East Coast transplants that buy rich and sloppy.” “The weathered, frayed look is a trend. Does Adrian help you with your business?” She complimented, and then fished. “Adrian bought Abercrombie stock when he saw that my stock resembled their catalogs. I told my store manager to make our windows look like an Abercrombie West Coast version. We add a little beach spice to it.” “A good living can be made by imitating current fashion trends.” Jade glared at her. “Did I hit on a sore spot? That Adrian bought their stock?” “A festering one. I felt that he was making fun of my inability to be original. I wanted him to admire me. After the separation he decided to sell our stock and give me half of the proceeds.” “Did he?” “The Abercrombie stock fell through the cracks like some other things. He only bought a dozen shares. The stock dipped down before it tripled in value.” “A tripled dozen shares sounds better than a triple dozen quick-pix numbers. Where is your legal residence, Jade?”

“In Newport Beach. Adrian and I co-owned a condo in Lahaina, Maui. In Maui I’d hook up with the Filipinos or Chinese directly on Front Street. Every kind of business goes on at this bar called the Lava Flow. A sarong that costs me $1.50 sells at $14.99 at my Landings Beach store.” “So, you don’t own the condo now?” “No, we sold it because Adrian has another way to get our goods just as cheap. He has a partner. Business comes to him.” Tara knew the snakehead operation was the reason for that. Cheap clothing produced clothing in sweatshops. “What’s the name of your store here in Landings?” “Women Who Run.” Jade looked impatient. “Is there a Women Who Run with Wolves somewhere in Hawaii?” Tara asked. “That’s right. I dropped the ‘with wolves’ part,” explained Jade. “There’s a Women Who Run with Horses close to the equestrian neighborhoods in the City of Orange.” “Versatile, aren’t we? I like plain old Women Who Run the best. It puts women in a power position—running companies, running their lives, and pounding the pavement. In truth, you’ve been running with a wolf.” Tara noted Jade’s expression had gone from impatient to furious. “Adrian’s a wolf and not a lone one, at least alone with just me. During the last decade, I’ve kept up with his trophy girlfriends. I phone them up and scare them off by telling them we’re back together. We are, actually, when Vincent is sick.” “The two of you separated, what, ten years ago, Jade?” “Ten years ago on the 3rd of July. Adrian picked that date and took a vacation in Maui.” Her voice cracked. “Jade, this is the craziest thing. You’ve attached yourself to a man like a barnacle to a boat hull. Every time Adrian scraped you off, you latched on even tighter. This is called obsession. What men like is just the opposite, a good chase.” Jade’s eyes hardened. “There are other ways, believe me. With the trouble he’s in, he’s worth more dead than alive.” “You’re kidding, right?” “Right. I’m pissed, that’s all.” “Good, you had me worried for a minute. Relax at the spa. We’ve got enough to deal with your predicament with the hospital administrator. I’ll go back in. Pick up Vincent’s records.” “Yeah, fine.”

Chapter Thirteen Tara was in her office when Cord phoned. “Tara, I need your help.” His voice sounded empty, drained. “Where are you?” she asked. “I’m in jail and have one call to make. I’m calling you.” “On what charge, Cord?” She was dumbstruck. “Strangling a teen and burying her at low tide.” “Come on.” “Seems that Sergeant Ditzman and another cop interviewed all the businesses at the beach. A health spa owner described me while I was talking with kids. That got me arrested.” His mellow tenor was edged with fatigue. “Tara. Are you coming down?” “I’m in the elevator.” She had her briefcase that contained her laptop, legal pads and pens, and her purse. “They’ve set bail.” “I’ve got my checkbook.” “Tara, I’ll be forever indebted.” “Forever?” Bailing out Cord restored her with the kind of harmony she craved. It was hard breaking the rescue habit. Within ten minutes, she was at the jail, introducing herself to someone behind a window. An attendant brought her into a room. Ditzman, wearing his shiny badge and blues, brought Cord to meet her. “Thank you, Sergeant.” Cord looked as white as a ghost. In contrast, the sergeant’s face was red, with purple blotches at the temples. “Tara. The department has an artist that sketches for us.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Someone obviously described Cord’s face.” He showed both of them the police composite.

“Yes, and that’s because he did talk with the kids at the beach about drug use.” She knew she needed to be patient with Ditzman. The sergeant looked confused. “We put him in a line-up, and the spa owner picked him out.” “I know you’re under pressure to make headway on this case.” She struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. “Cord regularly spoke to the high school dropouts on the beach. You must know that the dropout rate and drug use are on the upswing.” The cop answered, “Yes, I do.” Cord said, “It’s a good thing if they stay in school, Sergeant. Some of our teens are discouraged.” Ditzman said, “When I find out who’s running this fence operation, I’m going to beat his brains in, his goddamned brains.” Ditzman gave the wall a blow where they were standing, and then kneaded his painful fist. Cord was quiet. Not in any mood to talk with Ditzman. Tara said, “Well, Dixie was a shoplifter of amazing proportions. She was a dealer as well as a user of meth.” Ditzman said, “Do you think that black truck belongs to the fence?” “Seems that way. Probably includes drug trafficking. When you arrest him, keep the kill rate down. Don’t shoot him between the eyes.” “Ha, ha, Tara.” The sergeant’s mood seemed to have improved. Tara and Cord looked at each other as they observed Ditzman. He ran true to form when he was angry. Like a movie rerun that was always the same, his teeth were clenched, and his fists were pounding. Ditzman gave a ‘hi’ sign to the bailiff, who brought over the bail bond document. Tara signed it, and then wrote a check as a surety, a check that she’d get back when Cord appeared as a defendant to answer questions at a proceeding. As she and Cord walked out of the station, Cord said, “Tara, I’m relieved. I could laugh or cry.” “Cord, you’re a complex man.” She smiled, but the thought was disturbing. “More than you know.” “Time for me to get restyled. They do hair at the Health Spa.” Cord said, “Shop’s in the cannery. It sits at the south end. The kids congregate on the beach and under the dock pilings beside it.” “I’ve met the owner, Heatherlee Baronova.” “Woo-hoo,” he said with weariness. They approached his motorcycle. “Ironic, isn’t it?” His voice was velvet. “Funny, too. For you, I’ll use my slickest tactics.”

“If you didn’t, I’d be coyotes’ food..” There was a faint tremor in his voice as though some emotion had touched him. His jaw was covered with stubble, his lips compressed. He wasn’t happy with his situation but not blown away by it either, she realized. He didn’t seem to believe in absolutes. To him people were more trustworthy or less trustworthy, but no one was completely trustworthy. And he was right, she thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Tara.” She loved hearing him say her name. “Cord, where’s Kerrigan today?” “She was still asleep when I got the call to come down. School was called off because of teacher in-service. That’s kind nice because it’s Flag Day. She planned to sleep late, maybe take in the parade on Landings Boulevard.” His face remained expressionless. She took a breath and sighed, the weight of the matter pressing down on her. “You didn’t want to upset Kerrigan over your arrest.” Cord met her gaze full on and then held up his hands as if to concede. He huffed a sigh but didn’t say a word. He reached out and took her hand, as if he wasn’t sure such contact would be appreciated. His fingers were hard and cold. He cradled her hand in his and stroked his thumb over her knuckles . When he threw a leg over his motorcycle, he had a deadly, sexy aura about him. She felt an easy affection coming from him. When he leaned to the opposite side, she heard a click and then a low hum. “Cord, don’t be so hard on yourself.” He started to say something, then reconsidered and shrugged. “You’d better not be blaming yourself,” she warned. “That would be self-indulgent bullshit. I’d have to kick your ass.” Then, an incredible thing happened. The corners of his mouth moved upward. She was astonished at the sight of him smiling and stared at him. “What?” he asked, no doubt bewildered by the way she was staring at him. “You’re smiling.” It was as if he had dropped part of his mask and was letting her see past the bold assuredness the mayor presented to the world. Astonishment, bewilderment, concern, and amusement had all been visible in his expression during the past minute. He pulled her in close. The tautness of his chest muscles shot passion through her veins. His kiss gave her a ripple of excitement. He sat back on the motorcycle and looked her over seductively.

“There’s something about a man straddling a motorcycle.” After one kiss, her body ached for his touch. “I have to visit the spa, Clearwater. Sometime soon I’d like to extend an invitation to you.” “Where?” “The Starlight Motel. I’ve seen their sign. Every room has a fireplace, hot tub, and colored TV.” His helmet was on. He buckled it. “I have to fill in at the Red Beat this afternoon. Call me. Let’s make it tonight.” She yelled after him, “The motel also sells t-shirts.” From her car she phoned Clearwater. “Heatherlee, this is Tara Delacruz.” “Of course, Tara. We met volunteering at the hospital.” “Did you say your spa includes hair care?” “Absolutely. We do it all.” “Do you have an opening for a cut and blow dry any time soon?” “Come now. I can squeeze you in. My shop is in the cannery, 2892 Rocky Point.” **** She parked in a lot near the sturdy redbrick low-rises. Cannery Row had personality to spare. She walked from her car. Soothing splashes came from a wall fountain with ‘ Clearwater’ written in an elegant arc over the top. Tara walked down a narrow cobblestone to the entrance of the full-service oceanfront spa. Cannery Row was zoned commercial, but in Heatherlee’s case, she lived there with her husband. The front door was open, and Tara walked in. Heatherlee was sweeping the floor between clean-lined upholstered metal furniture in earth colors. “Welcome, Tara. Refresh and revitalize.” “Clearwater is lovely.” “As you mentioned at the hospital, we’re situated inside a landmark.” She handed her a marketing brochure. It listed classes in meditation, Pilates, yoga, and gyrotonics. “I’ve been meaning to take a yoga class.” “I’ll phone you when the new session begins.” She gestured toward teagreen swivel chair. When Tara sat down, Heatherlee turned it toward the sink and lowered the back. “What are we doing today?” She began shampooing Tara's hair with something that smelled of almonds and cherry.

“Heatherlee, make me look as different as you can without coloring my hair.” “With your classic features, anything would look good.” Heatherlee tossed Tara’s black hair with her fingers and then looked closer. Her hair glistened as the sun shone through it. Tara said, “I know, some gray. Since I swim, I don’t want to color it.” “You swim every day?” “Almost every day.” “It has a healthy sheen. I can give you a new look. I’m into sculpture.” She blew it dry, and then opened a jar of texturizer. She pulled tiny globs of it through strands, lifting and separating them. “This is different. I look completely undone!” “That’s it, understated elegance.” Tara picked up the jar and read it out loud. “Create hip, chunky texture, hair that looks flirty, and fun.” “What do you think?” Heatherlee asked. “I think I’m having a good hair day. I’d like to buy some jars of that waxy, goopy stuff.” Her ship had come in. She wanted to look nice for Cord. “I also sell make up. Even if we’re perfect slates, we need brightening.” She opened drawers with items arranged in a rainbow. “Subtle.” Tara selected a lipstick called ‘Cappuccino’. She read cosmetic colors as she applied them lightly and then set them aside. Heatherlee added up the bill and placed it near Tara’s purse on the counter. Tara dabbed on a couple dots of ‘Light Fawn’ erase in the corners of her eyes and rubbed them in. She brushed her cheeks with ‘Sienna Blush’ and glided ‘Deep Sepia’ across her eyelids. If someone asked her to name two hobbies, she could say studying shades of brown and helping teens with their homework. Tara wrote out a check and handed it to her. “Thank you, Heatherlee.” Payment softened senses. Emerging from the chair and walking to the row of windows overlooking the ocean, she was ready to pry. “The teens seem to like to gather down by the boulders.” “That’s right. Sadly, that’s where the body of the boy was found. I try not to think about the murders, those two kids strangled on the beach.” Handing her the bag of make-up, Heatherlee sighed. Her face registered anguish. Tara had found her opening. “Both families hired Leviticus Blake.” “The private investigator?”

“We work together, and I see him totally immersed in finding the perpetrator. The town won’t sleep until he’s caught.” “Tara, something happened…” Heatherlee frowned. “Oh?” Tara asked, knowing she was about to learn something. “Two cops came by. I described a thirtyish man who talked with teens.” “Heatherlee, we have a pastor in town that tries to counsel them, too. Those kids are homeless drug users.” “I’ve been angry in general, upset over something awful that happened.” Tara guessed she was referring to being raped. “Heatherlee, did you ever see a black truck rumble through?” “Never did. What about it?” “Some kids support themselves in a possible fence operation. Maybe sell drugs.” “I was all confused when the cops were questioning me. Before I knew it I was asked to work with an artist. Then, I was called down this morning to pick out the man I described out of a line-up.” “Yes?” “They had me sign a statement that I saw the man talking with teens at the beach. The cop was overjoyed. Said he finally had someone to arrest.” “The cops are under pressure. They arrested him. He’s our town mayor, and he’s been trying to convince those kids to better their lives.” “Oh, no.” “Would you be willing to testify at a hearing that nothing was out of the ordinary when the man talked with the teens?” “Absolutely.” She looked relaxed. “I love my updated look!” Tara gave her a hug as she went out the door. Tara’s cell phone rang in her purse. “Hello.” “Hi, Tara. It’s Rod. Your Scion’s ready if you want to stop by.” “Great. I’ll come right over, Rod.”

Chapter Fourteen Teachers had an in-service day, and the schools were closed, Cord had told her. It was late afternoon on Flag Day, June 14th. Flags were everywhere, on the fronts of buildings, porches, and on the pole on Main Beach opposite the bubbling fountain of Naiad. Fewer people than usual milled about. No kids ripping up and down on their bikes. Something felt very wrong. Kerrigan had another essay due in Lit. Wondering how it was going, Tara gave her a call. There was no answer at the Smith apartment. Tara headed back to her office. There were no cars on the street. On the way the sign of Starlight Motel beckoned her. In an effort to cheer herself, she imagined herself and Cord in the motel’s t-shirts. Suddenly she pulled into a spot close to the entrance and went in. She bought two in starlight blue, one in a ‘small’ and another in ‘large.’ Back in her car she made another call to the Smith apartment before getting lost in work at the office. After hours spent drawing up a will, a trust, and a limited liability company, her mind was numb. She had completed enough billable hours to pay the freight for another few weeks. After Buck’s proceeding, she hadn’t unpacked the legal documents and papers. They were layered in an eight-inch thick leather briefcase. Files were saved for future reference. Taking out stacks and placing them in a file cabinet, she came across a letter from Buck’s psychiatrist, Philip Pugh, M.D. Months before, her client, Buck Toolbox, had signed a release that gave her permission to speak with him. Tara dialed Pugh to leave a message. The receptionist’s voice came on the answering machine. “You have reached the office of Philip Pugh, M.D., specialist in neurology and psychiatry. For an emergency, dial 911, otherwise stay on the line to leave a message.” Tara began speaking when someone picked up the phone.

“Dr. Pugh.” “Dr. Pugh, this is Tara Delacruz, the attorney who represented Buck O’Toole. I have a letter here that Buck signed. It gives me permission to speak to you about him.” “I remember. He gave me a copy. I followed the trial, Miss Delacruz. I assumed you thought my testimony would be detrimental.” “You’re right. If I had damaging information, I’d be obligated to present it. I couldn’t talk about what I didn’t know.” “You’re calling out of curiosity.” “Correct. I’m researching all my clients. To know if any of them have the capacity to kill.” “You worry about your clients like I worry about my patients. I put in a couple of all-nighters combing through files. Didn’t turn up a reason to suspect any of them.” “That must have been a relief.” “I can tell you what my testimony would have entailed. I’ll summarize over the phone. Hold on while I grab his file.” There was no sign of petulance in his voice. “Take your time,” she said as she heard the phone drop on the desk. The doctor was probably like most therapist types, thorough and exact. Expecting a wait, she sat down at her desk and looked at a picture of her two dogs. Honest dog eyes stared back at her from the photo. Merrylegs and Fauxpaws were like children, but she longed to have a real family. Her thoughts fell on sailing with Kerrigan when the phone rattled. Dr. Pugh picked it up and spoke. “Okay, here we go. O’Toole began shoplifting at the age of thirteen, items that boys want at that age like rubber fishing worms and candy bars. Later, it was liquor. At sixteen he was caught driving a moped out of a parking lot. The cop let him off with a warning. At eighteen he lifted just about anything he needed or could sell.” “So much for my judgment.” He laughed. “He’s a likeable guy with humorous stories. Once, he drove a new truck out of a dealer’s lot. He chopped and sold it. With the money he made, he went back to the same dealer and bought a van. Buck’s a thief and doesn’t plan to quit anytime soon.” “What about his personal relationships, Dr. Pugh?” “I wouldn’t discuss the details if they were damaging.” “Professional ethics.” “But, there’s nothing damaging about Buck having a common law wife.” “Sherry Sixkiller. She works for me as my receptionist.”

“She never cares for her employers. Never mentioned you.” “Oh.” “You must know that she has two children, a girl and a boy who carry her last name. Neither are Buck’s.” “I learned indirectly about Sherry’s daughter. She doesn’t talk about her like she does her son. I find it odd that Sherry is secretive about her older child.”. Tara hoped she could pump information out of him with the sheer dint of her will. “Macky, the little guy, seems okay so far. The fourteen-year-old girl, Blossom, is troubled. Both kids prefer Buck to Sherry.” “Because of her drinking?” The psychiatrist sighed into the phone. “Alcoholism becomes obvious to an employer, doesn’t it? Very few are skid row types. Alcoholism makes problems worse.” Tara said, “The buzz doesn’t last long enough to feel nice.” “The alcoholic drinks steadily past the buzz. Alcoholism carries into future generations.” “Why is that?” Experts liked being questioned in their area of expertise, and she hoped this would be the case with the shrink. “The alcoholic tends to be outgoing. He or she procreates. Drinking is tricky. After one or two, the drinker is friendly.” “That’s the buzz part.” The psychiatrist continued. “As drinking continues, some become melancholy, turning their anger inward. Others like Sherry become outwardly angry.” “And, Buck?” “They both have their dependencies. Buck’s been on the wagon since before the trial. His anger comes out in stealing. He doesn’t hurt people. Sherry’s rough on those kids, especially Blossom.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tara said. “Sometimes Sherry takes off. She’s a beautiful woman. Buck’s devoted.” “Being devoted is a good quality.” “Yes, Buck loves Sherry and the kids. The day I was telling you about, when he brought Sherry and the kids in? I talked to Sherry first. She asked me for prescription meds, but I refused to prescribe. I knew they’d end up in her recreational jar. The older girl left early by herself. Macky was getting fidgety. Buck took Macky across the street to the playground.” “Dr. Pugh, it sounds like Buck showed some responsibility towards Macky that day.” “Yes. He knows how to pull the kids away so that they don’t get hurt.”

“By Sherry.” “Buck shows warmth. The boy leaned on him, went through his pockets, kidded around. Buck was in drug rehab and was clean at his last visit here. That doesn’t mean he always will be. To sum up Buck O’Toole, he’s not a dangerous individual. Did I put your mind at ease?” “Yes, thank you, Dr. Pugh. Is there anything I can do for Blossom?” she asked. There was silence. Dr. Pugh sighed and then began slowly. “Blossom wouldn’t accept your charity. Sherry works for you. Blossom, by definition, would be railed against you.” “I see.” Changing the subject, Tara said, “I’m working on the Jade Harris case.” “Enjoyed catching you on the news.” “The prosecuting attorney’s office might invite you to a hearing.” “Humbert Mainberger has already shot over a subpoena.” “Must be tough being the only psychiatrist in Landings Beach.” Pugh laughed. “I sent back an affidavit. Truth is, I couldn’t help. The Harris couple came in for marriage counseling a decade ago. I didn’t do much. Jade preferred advice from her astrologist.” “Still does,” Tara said before saying good-bye. She was relieved that Buck wasn’t the strangler. Sherry, her receptionist, was abusive. She was probably too self-centered to realize how Blossom suffered. Sherry Sixkiller, a runner-up in the Miss Orange Grove Pageant, carried a unique surname that originated from gun-slinging days. It fit her. In any pageant she was in character. If there was a talent section required, she acted out a cameo from an old western movie. A voluptuous beauty with a kitten-like face, she milked it for all it was worth in tight fitting jeans, long, natural blonde hair, cowboy boots, and camisole tops. Sherry was to the Wild West as a hillbilly femme fatale was to the bayou. But, she wasn’t acting. Except for the rodeo circuit periphery, this cowgirl was out of synch with mainstream society. She belonged in the heart of Lone Palm County. Twin Palms was a six-block town subsisting on one gas station with an attached convenience store, two chain restaurants, an old train station, and a junkyard. Most inhabitants lived in singlewide trailers, no landscaping. If it weren’t for Buck’s trial, she would have driven through it with a blink of an eye. ****

Tara arrived home ravenous. She hadn’t eaten lunch and now it was time for dinner. In her kitchen she put together a tuna salad and got out a couple of whole-wheat slices from a frozen loaf in the freezer. She popped them into the toaster. While heating up tomato soup, her dogs’ furry chins draped over her feet. Before she had time to eat, the phone rang. “Tara, it’s Cord.” “Hey. I talked with the spa owner. Heatherlee Baronova didn’t mean for you to be arrested. She’ll testify that both you and Pastor Ray talked to kids on the beach.” “I’m grateful, Tara.” His voice was detached. It chilled her. “So, you’re not feeling like a clothes-on groping session?” There was silence. “I don’t hear exuberance from your end. What about lawn darts?” A warning voice whispered in her head. “Tara, I can’t locate Kerrigan. I’ve been out looking. I know she sometimes calls you about homework.” “How long do you think she’s been gone?” This was worse than relationship anxiety. “We had lunch together, burgers. That was before I left to fill in at the Red Beat. She eats about every three hours. Judging from peanut butter and jelly on a plate, she’s been gone two hours.” “I just got in. But, my message machine is blinking. I’ll listen and phone you back.” “Okay.” Cord sighed. Tara listened and dialed him back. “Kerrigan left two messages. The first had to do with the lit assignment we were going to work on. The second was that I didn’t need to because she was going out. That was two hours ago.” “Kerrigan and I argued again today. She wanted to meet Jade. Wanted me to arrange it. I’m not up for that.” “Cord, I’m going to drive to Jade’s. I set a speed dial to your cell number. I’ll be in touch,” Tara said and hung up. She turned the boiling soup off and rushed out. Her dogs sneaked between her legs. She didn’t want to double back. As she opened her car door, they hopped into the back seat. A military navigation system was installed by Rod when he first customized her Scion. The system was available for free when a marine base closed. He knew a marine who sold them.

She typed in the address from Jade’s business card. A map came up for directions. When she got there, the system would provide her with the layout if she needed it. The sky was a dark indigo that blended with the ocean as she drove up the Pacific Coast Highway. Ground mist lingered between silhouettes of gnarly Monterrey Pines on the west. On the other side of the highway the mist encircled hills. Spidery live oak branches gave off soft shadows across the road. She jumped when the voice on her navigation system activated with, “You have arrived at your destination.” The navigation system came up with architectural lines of Jade’s residence, Chaumont. It covered an entire point on the ocean. Tara examined the arched entrance of Chaumont. It was locked against intruders with a fifteen-foot iron gate. Parked in the stone circle drive, she saw a sparkling pink compact, completely out of place at the medieval estate. An unattended gatehouse was constructed with mortared granite blocks with separations wide enough for footholds. But, a digital protection system with better eyes and ears than a human was integral with someone watching somewhere. In order to avoid setting off alarms, she phoned Jade’s cell. “Hello,” Jade answered. “Jade, it’s Tara. Are you home?” “No, I’m rather busy. Vincent is. He was whining about going home. He missed his buggy.” “Oh, yes. I remember you told me about a golf cart of some kind.” “We call it his buggy. It’s an amphibious dune buggy that runs on a battery. And, since I’m being sued I felt like ignoring his doctor’s recommendations.” Jade was above the law. “So, Vincent was released this afternoon?” “He’ll be fine. My housekeeper, Juanita, is a licensed vocational nurse. I pay her twice what she’d make in Mexico. Illegals have limited choices.” Tara knew that well, but her parents had green cards. Her father worked as a migrant field hand and her mother cleaned houses when she was a young girl. “Jade, I’m in your neighborhood. Would you mind if I said hello to Vincent?” “Go ahead. I’ll phone Juanita. She watches the gate on a monitor. She’s already let in a couple of his friends and a girl who’s wormed her way out of my old woodwork.” Well, that was nasty. Tara spotted Kerrigan’s car. “We’ll talk later, Jade.” She clicked off and speed-dialed Cord.

He picked up on the first ring. “Tara?” She pressed the button at Chaumont’s gate. It opened with a metallic creak and she sped through. “Her car is here. I’m in the front of the house, rather, castle. I’ll phone when we leave.” She dropped her phone and keys into her pocket. Tara and her dogs walked past a monument, a bigger than life dragon like gargoyle, and up to double front doors. She pressed the bell. As she waited she glanced at what looked like a chapel attached to the main house. The scenes on the stained glass windows didn’t depict events in the life of Christ. Instead, they were scenes of life after death. There were ten windows. The first was a dark forest, ‘Evil in Life’. The next window was filled with distorted faces, ‘Lost Souls in Purgatory’. As the scenes progressed they became more horrific, with suffering individuals being punished for their sins by monsters, devils, and other creatures. The last window illustrated a bright terrace and mountain, ‘Paradise’. The windows represented Dante Alighieri’s phases of Hell from his classical epic poem, The Divine Comedy. She shivered as she rang again. The door wasn’t answered. Tara tried the knob, and it was unlocked. Walking in with her dogs, she heard an echo of distant voices and stood in the massive hallway to listen. Their resonance led her across a hall. She and her dogs skipped up spiral steps of a tower lit by flickering lamps. She peered out windows along the stairway. The ocean could have been the North Sea with Chaumont perched on a high crag. At the top of the spiral staircase she recognized Vincent’s chanting voice. As she approached a dim octagonal room, he said, “I like to eat the midgets because they are so delicious.” Vincent sat in all his nobleness on a Victorian chair pulled up to a round game table. Any sedatives had worn off. Blossom was parked opposite him in an identical chair. Straining a smile, Tara said, “Hello, Vincent. Who are you, a cat?” “That’s right. I’m Tomcat. Here’s Queenie.” He smiled at Blossom who was chewing gum loudly. “She helps me find mice.” One of the mice was Kerrigan. The other mouse was the kid that her dogs pinned down in front of her house. Tara chose her words carefully, forcing a friendly tone. “How is the queen cat’s broken arm?” “Having painkillers makes the broken arm worth it,” Blossom said. “I’m as high as a kite.” Intentionally, Tara didn’t respond to Vincent’s other guests, the two “mice”. Kerrigan sat adjacent on a bench across from the rock thrower.

Tara planned to remove Kerrigan. She hadn’t determined whether the boy opposite Kerrigan would leave with them or not. From the shadowy doorway a woman bustled in. Juanita, the nannynurse, placed medieval mugs around the table. “Hola. Tu’ eres Juanita?” Tara asked. “Hola.” Attempting to blend in with party spirit, Tara asked Juanita in Spanish what kind of grog was being served. Juanita answered in accented English. “Root beer floats. Doorbell, can’t hear. Kitchen in back. Come up service elevator. You attorney?” “Nice to meet you, Juanita.” Tara glanced at the thick wooden table. “Looks like a Dungeons and Dragons party.” “Si, Dragons.” “Is that what this is.” Kerrigan shuttered. Under the table Merrylegs greeted her by placing her tan furry chin on her knees. Kerrigan tickled behind the dog’s ears. Vincent said, “You can leave, Juanita. We’ll ring if we need something.” Juanita excused herself. Vincent’s eyes were hooded like a hawk. He glared at the rock thrower. “Corky likes to play just about any game.” Tara learned the boy’s name, Corky. Fauxpaws wrinkled his muzzle and sniffed the air. Some creatures were friends. Others were enemies. Body scents. The dogs would protect the frail. Corky was a friend. Fauxpaws pranced over and sat beside him. Corky stroked his black fur. Tara asked, “Do all of you know each other from school?” She took a seat in the far corner. Kerrigan shivered a response. “They used to be in band, Corky and Blossom.” “Call her Blackrose. It suits her better,” Vincent corrected. “But, Corky works for Corky. He just bobs along.” Speaking to the group, Kerrigan’s breath caught in her throat. “Vincent and I have the same Mom. We never met until tonight.” Vincent said, “I don’t think she’s a pest, but my mom does. Mom said, ‘Leave the horror behind. Leave bad memories behind.’” He sneered as he tugged at Kerrigan’s sweatshirt sleeve, “I have a sister, alive and well.” He swept his hand threw his thick, red disheveled hair. Blackrose howled with glee. “Kerrigan’d be dead by now if she lived here.” She sipped her root beer float.

“Are you still in band, Sis?” Corky mocked Kerrigan. “Yeah. It’s fun.” Kerrigan smoothed Merryleg’s golden tuft that stuck up over the dog’s collar. “I miss the band, actually.” Corky shrugged. Fauxpaws gave him a rub with his cold nose. “I was so busy practicing the trumpet that I didn’t have time for much.” “Much maladjustment?” Blackrose eyed him warily, chewing gum. “You’re such a nerd, Corky, but you did go into business for yourself.” Blossom smoothed her dull, dyed jet-black hair. She glanced at Vincent, who gave her an approving smirk. Vincent, the leader of his dark bastion, said, “Corky, let’s play ‘shrink and sicko’. Get you back on track.” “How’s that?” Corky asked, dazed and disturbed. “Yeah, back into abnormality,” Vincent bullied. “The time isn’t right to let you know what we have in mind.” He rolled his eyes in communication with Blossom. Corky’s bumpy cheeks reddened. Fauxpaws half-raised an eyebrow. Blackrose blew a large pink bubble and popped it near Corky’s face. It was meant to humiliate. The dog didn’t bark, but his doggy forehead knitted.

Chapter Fifteen Tara wondered if Blossom and Vincent bullied Corky in order to impress Kerrigan. It wasn’t working. Kerrigan looked petrified. Blackrose’s face went flat and empty. “Miss Perfect Teeth isn’t fitting in, Vincent. Being your blood relative doesn’t give her a special privilege. She’d have to earn it.” Kerrigan scowled at her. “You laugh but that expression on your face isn’t nice. I don’t need to prove anything to you. I need to get home.” Blackrose took out her gum and stuck it under the table. “Baby.” “Stay, Kerrigan,” Vincent feigned a begging tone. “After we finish this game, we’ll be on to a better one. Occult stuff.” “I’ll have to bow out. My dad will be looking for me.” “I’d best be going, too,” said Tara. “Would either of you like a ride?” Tara looked back and forth, at Corky and then at Blackrose. She wanted to avoid singling out Corky. “We’ll stay awhile,” Blackrose said. “Yeah.” Somehow Corky sounded reluctant. “Are you sure?” Tara asked. “He’s sure,” Vincent said. “We’ll let ourselves out.” Tara extended her hand, and Kerrigan went in front of her. “Good Night.” The dogs followed them downstairs when Kerrigan’s tears came without warning. Her face was wet, but she made no sound. Tara put her arm around her. “Curiosity pulled you here.” “Almost against my will. I knew I shouldn’t come. I needed to. If only I could just go home and sleep.” “Why can’t you?” “I’ve had frightening dreams night after night. Dreams of being chased.”

“I’ve had nightmares like that. Someone’s after me and I can’t move. Disappointment has a way of giving us nightmares.” She wiped away her tears with an open hand. “I’m sad, Tara. All these years, I thought my mother would want to meet me.” Her voice broke into a sob. “Kerrigan, Jade is a strange person. You wouldn’t want the life she’d provide for you.” She opened the massive front door, and the dogs scampered ahead. The dark blue sky had turned blue-black. A pale half moon reflected just enough light for them to find their cars. The wind picked up, making the trees whisper. She heard movement behind the tail of a marble gargoyle. The dogs’ ears stood up. They darted toward the monument. “Only a squirrel.” It ran up the dragon’s back. She glanced around, somehow drawn to the side of the mansion. A face appeared, and then hid in the shadow. Tara didn’t mention it. She wanted Kerrigan to get in her car and drive. It poked out again and disappeared just as quickly. Someone was there, watching. Wind swirled as she waited for Kerrigan to unlock her pink Honda and get in. The night was cool, but she’d broken into a sweat. Overhead, leaves rustled in an oak. A blackbird screeched and then clattered its wings. The Honda came to life, and Tara said, “The gate will automatically open when you approach it. I’ll follow you home in a couple of minutes. I’ll phone your dad to let him know you’re on your way.” “Thank you, Tara.” As Kerrigan drove through the gate, Tara and her dogs jumped into her Scion. When she started it, the doors locked. She entered a text message to Cord, “K driving home.” Looking into her rearview mirror she saw someone. A dark hood of a sweatshirt was pulled over his head. Even though she panted in terror, she turned around to watch out the back window. Someone was there. She’d learn his identity. Only a triangle of his face could be seen, part of his nose and eyes. Eyes so dark, they were almost black. She bolted and left the car door open. In hot pursuit of the figure, the dogs flushed him out. His eyes held fear. And then, the dogs licked him.

“Corky? This is the second time you’ve nearly given me a heart attack,” Tara gasped. “I wanted a ride.” “I was debating whether I should drag you out with us.” She hugged his emaciated shoulder as they walked to her car. “Come on, Corky, hop in.” With the dogs in the back seat, they drove through the gate and down the coast. “Drop me off anywhere along here,” he said. “Where do you live, Corky?” “Wherever. My mom’s boyfriend moved to Palm Springs. She couldn’t afford the rent here by herself.” “Why didn’t you move with her?” “I wasn’t invited along.” What’s your school situation?” “Dropped out.” “You’re staying with me. I have plenty of room.” Tara couldn’t believe a mother would leave her kid stranded. “Plenty of fresh air at your house.” “We’re fresh air people.” Tara pulled up to her house. “You can take the bedroom off the fireplace. There are fresh sheets on that bed. Come on, I’ll walk in with you.” “Your dogs won’t turn on me, will they?” They walked up the steps as the dogs wagged their tails. “No.” Corky was cold, scared, and no threat to them. He bent down and petted them. “Corky, I’ve learned a lot about myself lately. I like helping people, but I have to do it more intelligently. If you’re going to stay with me rent-free, you have to go by my rules.” “What are they?” “Don’t worry, there are only four. Get a part-time job, keep your room picked up, and let me know where you are. As soon as possible, we’ll get you back into school.” “The hard one is going to be getting a job.” “Do you have a social security card?” “Yes, right here in my wallet.” “There’s a new spa in town named Clearwater. They could use some help. When you fill out their application, bring your social security card. Memorize this: ‘Thank you for letting me fill out your application. I can start

immediately.’ I’ll write down our address and phone number for you in the morning. You can use my name as a reference.” “Gosh, Tara.” “Well, Corky, here we are,” she said as she pulled into her driveway. “After I get you something to eat…” “Did you say eat?” “Yeah. I was about to make a tuna sandwich before I left. Make it if you want. The stuff is all laid out.” “Great, thanks.” “I’ll be back in about an hour. I’ll borrow some clothes from a friend for you and pick up some items you’ll need at the drugstore.” As Tara was about to open the door, Corky said, “I want to come clean with you.” When Tara saw Corky’s jaw move quickly back and forth, something clicked. She had attributed his rapid speech to the excitement of the evening, and then remembered that Blossom had referred to Corky’s business. Corky looked at her with his dilated eyes and said, “I’ve been selling speed to support myself. I don’t think I can stop. I’ve tried.” “You are brave to tell the truth. I appreciate truth more than you’ll ever know.” “I was given a shitload of the stuff.” “Correct me if I’m wrong. You got a big supply after Dixie was killed.” Black circles ringed his eyes. He hadn’t slept in days. “A shitload and her customer list. Vincent and Blackrose are on it.” “How long have you been using meth?” Tara asked. “About six months. I want to quit,” Corky said. “No offense, Corky, but I’ve learned not to believe an addict. When did you last sleep?” “I’m on a run. I’ve been doing tweek every few hours and haven’t slept for four days.” “Change of plans. I know of a fine recovery center just a mile from here.” “Limestone? That’s for rich people.” “How old are you?” “Turned eighteen last month.” “You can sign yourself in, and I will pay for it. That is, if you’re willing to work their program, Corky.” “I am. My life’s a mess.” “Corky, if you’re willing, so am I.”

The dogs stayed on the front porch while Tara and Corky ambled toward the car. She said, “Time will pass, and you’ll grow strong. It will be hard. Change always is.” They got in and slammed the doors. “I’m not looking forward to coming down from meth.” He leaned down, putting his face in his hands. “Medication will help get you through it. You’ll come out with coping tools.” Corky said, “Okay. Let’s go.” “Hey, let’s give your mother a call from my cell phone. Here.” Tara flipped her cell open and handed it to him. “I’ll phone her, but she probably won’t pick up. Her boyfriend is the cooker’s right hand man,” Corky said as he dialed. Tara made a mental note and listened. A message machine came on with a friendly party voice, “Hey, you, this is Belinda. You know what to do.” Corky spoke. “Mom, it’s me. I’m going into rehab. I’ll phone in a week or so.” “May I save your mother’s number on my phone?” Tara asked. “Go ahead, but don’t expect too much. She’s wasted every single day.” Tara looked over at him. His eyes welled up, but his lips creased in anger. Tara said, “I’m sorry. At Limestone, you’ll have a chance to talk about that.” She saved the number he called and labeled it, “Belinda”. As she pulled into the street, she said, “You mentioned your mom’s boyfriend works with a cooker.” “He’s an anhydrous thief. He…” Corky’s face turned crimson. Tara said, “I know the process. Meth cookers pay about $400 for a gallon of anhydrous ammonia, a liquid fertilizer. All the thief has to do is cut the hose of a big tank and squirt it into a cooler.” “Once his trunk blew up,” Corky said, shaking his head. “My mom was in the car. That guy puts my mom in danger all the time.” “Any other kind of danger?” Tara asked. “Once my mom went to Colombia with some other mules. They were illegals with authentic looking green cards. Went back and forth frequently. Before they got on the plane they had to swallow a condom filled with cocaine.” Tara said, “I think I know the rest of that story. They were met at the airport, and then went to a house where they drank coffee and used chamber pots.”

Corky said, “It was fatal for one woman.” “The condom broke.” Tara shuttered inwardly as she pulled into the emergency entrance. After entering the Limestone Recovery Center, Tara gave the admissions clerk her credit card and signed the financial responsibility form. Since Corky had a wallet, they put it in a locker for him, assuring him he would get it when he was dismissed. Tara watched as he shakily filled out his paperwork and said, “So, your real name is Charles. I’ve always loved that name.” “Really? You can call me that if you want. What should I call you?” “Tara would be fine, Charles.” A middle-aged man with a clipboard and an assortment of tattoos greeted them. Recovered addicts were chosen above all other applicants at Limestone. “Good evening,” he said as he shook their hands. He put his arm around Charles. “I’m the night shift nurse, and my name is Rocco. Tomorrow, you’ll eat in the dining hall, but we have sandwiches available all night. Tuna or Italian, son?” “Well, I’m in the mood for tuna.” As they turned to walk down the hall Tara said, “Charles, I won’t be able to visit tonight, but I’ll drop off some items at the desk. They will get them to you. I plan to be here on Friday at seven o’clock. That’s family visiting hour.” When he turned to look at her, she gave him a wave with her copy of Limestone admitting papers. Back in her car, she decided to leave a message on Leviticus’s office phone. It would beep him. Tara spoke into the receiver. “Leviticus, Cord couldn’t find Kerrigan. I tracked her down at Jade Harris’ place. There was another kid there, and I dropped him at Limestone. More on that later. Apparently, Blossom Sixkiller and Vincent Harris are the best of friends. He calls her Blackrose, by the way.” **** Tara zoomed south to Cord’s apartment and pulled next to the Honda. She dashed around the garage and lunged up the steps to their apartment that faced the ocean. Kerrigan must have heard the racket as she pounded up because she waited at the top with the screen door open. “Tara, you took so long.”

Cord stood with his arm around his daughter. “You’re a tad late by our calculations.” The tension that charged the air at Chaumont hadn’t left her.. “When I was about to leave, Corky appeared from nowhere.” She held the redwood rail, panting. “He looked scared,” Kerrigan said. Tara’s breathing became more normal. “I dropped him off at a safe place.” Cord asked, “I hope, not at your place.” “Limestone. He’ll be in their drug recovery program.” “Really.” Cord held the door while Tara walked through it. She guessed he was full of mixed emotions, angry at Kerrigan for the anguish she caused him but relieved she was home. She found herself feeling the same way but smiled at her anyway. Cord lingered at the doorway before shutting it. His relationship with his daughter was pure love, she knew. It was untainted by anything she could possibly do to upset him. He took the chair and sat back, poised for listening. It was past the teen’s bedtime, but she seemed fully alert. “Corky doesn’t belong with Vincent and Blossom. He’s a sweet kid.” “He seems to be, but he’s a follower and has a drug problem he can’t shake.” Tara nudged beside her on the sofa. Kerrigan said, “He was selling something to Vincent and Blossom. Vincent gave him money.” Tara asked, “What went on at Chaumont before I got there?” “They were nice to him and mean to me. And then, it turned around. You were there when they called me Miss Perfect Teeth.” “That goody-goody-two-shoes name was intended to make you feel like an outsider, Kerrigan. They wanted you to beg for their acceptance.” Kerrigan looked at her dad. “I’m sorry about going over to Jade’s. I’ll never go there again.” Kerrigan got up and gave him a hug. “Maybe your curiosity is somewhat satisfied.” His words revealed his gamut of emotions. “I’m among the uncurious.” She perched on the arm of his chair. “Your dad was pretty worried.” Tara spoke lovingly. Cord asked, “Tara, would you like a cup of green tea?” “Sure, but I can’t stay but a couple of minutes. I do have a favor to ask.” She clutched her purse in her lap, unsettled by what went on at Chaumont. “Shoot. I owe you. It gives me pleasure you need something from me.” “I wondered if I might borrow some clothes for Corky. I know they’ll be

too big. Later, I’ll order clothes for him over the Internet. That stuff will be delivered to him.” “I’ve got a whole box. I meant to drop it off at the Salvation Army.” He disappeared into his bedroom. Kerrigan walked into the kitchen to put the teapot on the stove to boil. She returned to the sofa and sat cross-legged near Tara. “Sweetie, you’re shivering.” Tara gave her knee a pat and then walked into her bedroom and returned with the spare blanket. Looking at Kerrigan with her wavy red hair, freckles and a tiny snub of a nose, she looked about twelve years old. “Maybe this will warm you.” “Still shivering from fright, I guess.” “I know what you mean. I wouldn’t want to relive the time we spent over there.” “I’m ready to chill over the Jade thing.” Cord returned with a bundle of clothes and tossed them on a chair. Tara eyed a package of oatmeal cookies open on the counter. “Would you mind if I had one, maybe several? Forget the tea. Do you have a glass of milk?” Cord said, “Milk and cookies, it is.” He turned off the stove, poured and handed Tara a glass of milk. “This is dinner, by the way, and a fine one.” She placed three cookies on a napkin and sat at their sturdy oak kitchen table. “Sunny?” “None for me. I’m falling asleep out here. Good night, Daddy. Night, Tara.” She dragged her blanket as she walked across the living room. “Goodnight, Kerrigan.” “Sleep well, Sunny.” He turned toward Tara. She stood up and dropped the empty napkin into the wastebasket. “Cord, thank you for the clothes for Charles O’Connell.” She rinsed her glass. “Hope they’re of use.” He placed an olive cotton twill work shirt, two polo shirts, one white and one steel blue, a faded pair of jeans, two pair of socks, and two pair of boxers in a large brown shopping bag. “You said he’s having a bout with crystal meth. Using and selling?” “Both.” “I’m glad he’s at Limestone. Wouldn’t want him staying with you.” His brow furrowed. “Addicts coming down from an addiction go through a tough period.” Cord said, “Landings has the demographics of an average middle class town. Teen problems abound.”

“You’re good at identifying problems and coming up with practical solutions. That’s a step in the right direction. Good Night.” She stepped in front of him and felt the heat of an excited man. “Give me Corky’s bundle. I’ll carry it to your car.” He put on his leather jacket and opened the door to the balcony. “We’re calling him Charles from now on.” Tara took the steps cautiously in her boots with heels. Cord said, “Tara, you look pretty, very female.” “A skirt is any woman’s weapon of choice.” When she was at the bottom, she turned and met him with a kiss. “Thanks for the lovely dinner date.” “We’re approaching our private cubby hole.” He put the bag of clothes and his jacket down on a lawn chair stored neatly under the stairway. He leaned her against a post. With one hand, he bunched her skirt back up. With the other, he removed her panties and slipped two fingers into her. “Wet and wild is such a cliché, but that’s me.” Tara put her head on his chest. “I’ve come to appreciate this lounge chair.” “Maybe I’ll keep you standing.” He continued to caress her and claimed her mouth with another searing kiss. He was using his fingers and thumb to create mind-altering pleasure. Sensation rocked through her. Her thighs and nipples tingled. She’d lost all control. He hadn’t. She clutched his shoulders and arched toward him. She craved more, craved deeper. His fingers worked their magic. “You first, then me.” “Deal.” Her legs turned to rubber. He’d found a rhythm that made her writhe. Her body throbbed close to climax. On the brink of ecstasy, he slowed the movement of his hand and pressure of his thumb. He slid his fingers out and teased her with light touches. He slipped in again but withdrew. He circled his thumb then stopped before the expected effect. She whimpered. “The butterfly wants to come out of her cocoon.” “Take off your blouse and unhook your bra. I’m busy down here.” Her hands worked busily, and she tossed her blouse and bra on the chair. She removed her skirt and let it fall to a puddle around her boots. He stoked her in little increments, as if she were a skittish fawn. “I like looking at you.” His voice drifted up like a plume of smoke, needful and husky.

She balanced herself by putting her hands above her, holding onto the post, completely naked except for her boots. She’d never felt so desirable. His breath was hot and sweet over her body. Lightly, his tongue flicked over her taut nipple. His thumb hit her center, and spasms took her. His mouth was on her breast, sucking. He drew on her. He knew how to touch her, taking his time. As if from the depths of the ocean, she rose slowly to the surface with a burst of heat every time his hand moved. She writhed as he played with her nub. She moaned with his teasing strokes, but this was what she needed from him. He played her with finesse as if she were an instrument. His touch, like now, was never too much, never too little, Whatever happened before or after didn’t matter. He rubbed his chin, slightly scratch with the day’s beard, over her folds, ever so gently. The moonlight played on his hair, turning it a rich mahogany, as he took to a torturous edge. She wanted his maleness, the closest thing to his soul. “I need you.” She smoothed his leather jacket across the lounge chair. “On your back, please.” “Couldn’t take it anymore?” He obeyed, and she liked watching him move. He had the body of a dancer, slender and hard, with lines of muscle down his back and an ass she could grab onto to pull him tighter. Her needs had a focus as she unzipped his jeans. She felt him shudder as she pulled them down. With his boxers still on, she reached inside the front slit and cupped his weight gently. She held the base of his penis and stroked upward. She eased down with her mouth. “Come on, Butterfly. You’re driving me crazy.” She tongued his wet tip. As she knew he did, she loved having sexual power over him. She teased him up and down his shaft with her tongue. “Sit up.” He threw off his boxers while she arranged him on the lounge chair. “Penis and beautiful.” She knelt before him. She explored and played with his fire until he trembled. He braced both hands on the chair while she took his frenzy in her mouth. His climax came. She took the salty essence in her mouth. She took what the man had to offer and knew she would never deny him anything. She would always be the woman appraising the man she desired. Straddling him, she looked down at his handsome face. His eyes were still closed, and he looked completely comfortable in his own skin. He had a distinct air of authority about him, evident from the first time she’d seen him. But then, she argued, why not? He’d been living in this part of the country for over a hundred and fifty years. He knew human nature. He knew how to please a woman..

He touched her cheek. “You’re incredible, Butterfly.” His blue, light iridescent eyes gave her a slow assessing look that had her heart leaping to her throat. “Maybe I am. You’ve transformed me from a workaholic caterpillar.” “I see that.” He stroked her lower lip and then moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled her close. As soon as his mouth covered hers, she had to reach out and clutch the edges of the lounge chair for fear of falling. His simple kiss gave a quick, jittery jolt to her system. Her pulse throbbed at her temples. She took in a shaky breath. After another kiss and another revelation, it seemed the earth was tilting. “In all my life, no kiss has ever affected me like this.” “I’m yours, too. You’ve won me.” He spoke in a low voice. “Every part of this body, every part of this heart, I belong to you.” His shirt still unbuttoned, she leaned onto his chest and kissed it, playing with his nipples with her tongue. Her hand followed a path from his neck, chest, and hard flat stomach, to the generous, sometimes demanding shaft that lay along a dark thatch of hair between his legs. They were entwined again. “This time I really must go.” She held up her skirt, making sure it was right side out, and stepped into it. She managed to get the rest of her clothes and boots back on and smoothed her hair. He pulled on his jeans. “I hope my butterfly flutters back soon because she’s the reason behind my desire. I feel your love and desire you more because of it.” Cord picked up the bag of clothing, put his arm around her and walked her to her car. “We do have an amazing connection. I admire how you can put your feelings into words.” “Your car smells like paint.” Cord looked over the Scion, ran his hand along the driver’s door. “Rod got rid of the gouges. He does good work.” He kissed her on the back of the neck as she got in. He leaned in and tossed the bag over on the passenger side. He cupped her face, giving her a long kiss before backing out. “You’re the kind of girl I’d like to take on a picnic.” “A picnic sounds nice. The three of us should go. I make a mean potato salad.” “I promised to take you to dinner. We should go to the Palms in Pasadena. It has an incredible Cajun buffet.” Tara smiled. “It would be gourmet experience, I’m sure. I’d rather have milk and cookies followed by a glorious moment.” “Are you saying I’m the best you’ve had, Butterfly?”

“Yes.” Their coition was always sweet and soulful for one reason. She was deeply in love. “The fog is thick. Use your low beams.” He gently shut her door. As she drove up the coast, she could still smell the leather of his coat. **** Back in their apartment Cord bolted the door and hung his jacket in the closet. As he turned, Kerrigan came out of the bathroom. “I thought you were asleep, Sunny.” “I couldn’t get comfortable. I took a shower. The Harris castle felt musty and dirty. I think I’ll have some cereal.” She dried her wet hair with a towel. “I’ll join you.” He walked around the kitchen. He set two oversized mugs on the table and brought out a jug of milk and cereal boxes. As she ate she said, “I really like Tara. You should ask her to dinner or something.” “We’ll make time for that. The three of us are going on a picnic this weekend. Tara’s making the potato salad.” “That’s tight, Dad.” “Seriously, it may take a lot for me to keep up with her. It’s kind of like she dances the Mazurka.” “How does that compare with the hokey-pokey, shimmy, and the stomp?” “It’s full of twists and turns. It would be a challenge to keep up as her partner.” “I know what you’re worried about. Having enough time for your music. I like her a lot, don’t you?” “Of course, I do.” “What’s the matter, you don’t think she’s your type?” “Well…” It’s more like I’m not her type. I’m immortal. “Baloney, Dad. Was Jade your type? Jade’s a fruitcake. Is Megan’s mom your type? Megan’s mom is a flake. And, your librarian friend is a bit of a frump.” Cord had trouble keeping a straight face. “I didn’t know you knew about her. Fruitcake, flake, and frump. I’m glad those are the only F-words you use. Tomorrow’s a school day. We’re both beat. Turn out the lights, will you, Cupid?” He kissed her on her forehead and walked into his room. ****

Tara stopped at a drugstore and wandered through aisles buying odds and ends for Charles. She spotted a simple blue gym bag in the school supply section, gathered up some personal items for him, and checked out. Pulling into the treatment center parking lot, she saw flashing lights. An ambulance was stopped in front of the emergency entrance, the only entrance still open. She slowed the car and watched as paramedics carried someone on a stretcher. After parking, she took clothes out of bags and placed them neatly with Cord’s folded clothes in the gym bag. When she walked into the front office, she saw a young woman being rushed down the hall. On the counter Tara left the bag and a note. It read, “For Charles O’Connell. Love, Tara Delacruz.” **** A starless night with balmy Santa Ana Winds, Tara unlocked her door and let herself in. The dogs were on the mattress in front of the fireplace. Days before, she’d dragged it from one of the bedrooms. She walked past. The dogs flopped their tails a couple of times as a greeting and then followed her. She flipped on the hall light and peeked into another bedroom. It held a queen bed, purchased for her parents. It would have served as Charles’ room that night. There was nothing in particular she expected to see, but she was filled with a vague anxiety. In the kitchen, she loaded the coffee pot with fresh grounds for the morning. Not everything was automatic. She took a few minutes to order clothes for Charles from her laptop before turning in. When coffee began perking at six, Merrylegs carried a leash into Tara’s room and dropped it on the floor. Fauxpaws gave an excited, “Ruff.” “Okay, pups, you win. Let’s run down to the beach and back.” Tara grabbed a running bra from her dresser and put it on under a t-shirt. In pajama bottoms and barefoot, she ran out the French doors with the dogs toward the boathouse. The morning sun glowed golden and threw the boulders into sharp relief. Silhouettes of cypress were greenish black against the water. They climbed down the rocky embankment to the flat sand. Thick clouds were bright pink below and blue above. They softened the first light from the east with their canopy.

Her mind centered on the strangler’s size as she watched the dogs run ahead into a rougher terrain. She, less nimble footed, moved carefully through the rocks. Her feet hit the high tide water line. The sand was harder, and she sprinted. Merrylegs and Fauxpaws were equally matched in size and strength, she noticed. They chased each other into the breakers. Even when playing rough, they never hurt each other. She liked hearing their sounds of panting, “Huh-uh, huh-uh, huh-uh.” It sounded almost like a laugh, as if they were saying that everything was fine. They gave her boundless affection and asked for so little. As she ran the mile beach and back, her dogs heeled beside her. With an adrenaline rush, she climbed up the bank. Soon she and the dogs were back in the house. She placed their leashes on a hook in the kitchen and then replenished their water and dry food bowls. As she walked across the living room, she looked out to sea. It was a breathtaking view from her cottage even with the shabby, broken windows. She showered and dressed in periwinkle boatneck pullover, denim capris, and slipped into embroidered mocs from Honduras. She sautéed peppers, onion, scrambled in two eggs and filled a pita. Wrapping it in foil, she ate it in the car while sipping coffee. It was going to be a long day at the office. She stopped at a deli in the cannery and bought two Italian sandwiches to go with bottles of peach iced tea. She had guessed that Leviticus was already there. Sherry would be spending the day at home. **** Arriving at work earlier than usual, she didn’t want to startle Leviticus. As she unlocked their outer office door, she shouted, “Just me. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.” Ample warning was necessary at times like these. A gun sat loaded in his top drawer. He perused papers on his desk but looked up to see her standing in the doorway. “Uh, here comes trouble,” Leviticus kidded in a fatherly tone. “Why ya gotta give the girl a hard time?” She didn’t expect an answer. “What’ve you been up to?” “Skipped out of my church meeting early last night. Got your message. Headed over to the O’Toole-Sixkiller household to interview Blossom.” “Give me your take on them.” She leaned on the doorframe.

“When I stopped by, Blossom was out.” “A daughter who isn’t supposed to exist can’t feel terribly welcome.” “We could guess that Sherry has a dysfunctional daughter. What was she like last night at Jade’s?” Leviticus was listening while studying his computer printout. “Cunning and creepy. Sherry is the cause of it according to the town psychiatrist.” “You talked with Dr. Pugh?” “Yes. Having a teenage daughter makes Sherry feel old.” Tara looked at the floor, which was strewn with a computer printout. A when-and-wheretimeline with everyone Leviticus interviewed lay alongside a diagram of whoknows-whom-because. “First I left the info on Blossom blank. Then, I wrote ‘creepy.’ She stepped between the papers and approached the only chair without papers on it. She set down her purse and briefcase beside it. She eased into the chair with the bag from the deli on her lap. “You have been busy.” He didn’t react right away, which let her know something was up. “Tara, Adrian Harris’ time of death was at ten last night.” “Huh?” “Adrian Harris is dead.” A rush of guilt made her jump. The take-out bag and bottles of iced tea clunked on her lap. “Where was Jade at the time?” “Before he was killed, with him. They met for dinner.” “She killed him,” Tara said in one breath. “Accidentally.” She exhaled with, “It only looks that way. Where did they have dinner?” “Hip little joint on Main, The Red Beat Café.” “Known for cool jazz and one entree choice for each day of the week. Dinner is served at seven.” “You seem to know the place well.” Leviticus looked at her over his glasses. “I do. Sunday night is a goat cheese and asparagus pizza.” “Very good, now back to…” “Leviticus, I saw it coming!” She closed her eyes, blaming herself, and then began to panic. Her breathing was erratic. Leviticus stood up and took the items out of the bag. He handed her the emptied paper bag. “Breath into this.” Tara took a few breaths into the bag. “Now tell me why you saw it coming.”

“Jade was talking about Adrian at the hospital yesterday. It’s obvious now. My vision was narrow. I was looking for facts relating to Vincent.” “Of course you were, Tara. That’s what you were working on. No one can predict the future.” “Jade was complaining about Adrian.” “I read about the trouble he’s in.” “Two things make him worth more to her dead than alive. The first is being convicted of human trafficking charges and sent to prison. The second is that he’s earned the screwing-his-way-back-and-forth from Landings to Singapore badge. “Everyone complains about a separated spouse. People like to complain about how unfairly life’s forces unravel.” Leviticus pushed some papers aside and sat on his desk. Her breathing slowed. “As you were saying, Leviticus. Jade and Adrian drove in separate cars…” “Right, and they ate dinner together peacefully.” “How do you know that?” Tara’s forehead was pounding. “Phoned Cordell Smith early this morning. Woke him up. Cord knows the guy who plays the piano on Sunday. Cord phoned him. The piano player saw them and interacted. He was rewarded with a big tip.” “No food fight?” “Actually, they were cozy. Ate cheesecake with two spoons. Going out the door, they smooched. Adrian left in his Mercedes convertible.” “Was the car he drove important?” “Turned out it was.” Tara pushed her hair back, waiting for him to explain. “You can guess who the investigating officer was.” “Sergeant Ditzman in his accident investigation van?” “Yup. This is what Jade told Ditzman. She’d thought of something else she wanted to say to Adrian, but he wasn’t picking up his cell phone.” “He ignored her, and she felt ditched.” “That’s right, and she tore after him.” “Jade rages after him in her Hummer.” “Picture this. Surfboard’s mounted on top of her Hummer. The surfboard proved to be deadly.” “How’s that?” To explain the accident Leviticus gestured with his hands. “My fist is Jade’s Hummer. This hand is the surfboard mounted on top, raked at downward angle from back to front, like this.” “Got it. Surfboard on the Hummer. Go on.”

“Jade’s chasing after Adrian. There’s a red light. Adrian stops. She’s slams on her brakes behind him.” “The surfboard flies forward into his convertible.” She felt her body stiffen with shock. “It struck the back of his neck.” Leviticus said as he put a hand at the back of his neck. Tara closed her eyes. “Naturally, Jade is the first on the scene. What did she do, hysterically phone 9-1-1?” “You’ve got it, girl. Ditzman arrives and then the police photographer. Photos are taken when the paramedics get there. Jade insists on riding in the ambulance to the emergency room even though the paramedics says he’s dead.” “Sobbing over his body?” “Probably, since Humbert Mainberger, the prosecuting attorney, met them at the hospital. Jade ran into his arms. No one pressed charges against Jade on this one.” Tara glanced up in surprise. “Here I thought Mainberger was smart. That’s in spite of the fact that his half-white half-dyed mustache makes him look silly.” Leviticus said, “Seems that the Munchausen by Proxy Case is on the back burner.” “That’s ridiculous. The hospital administrator can’t possibly agree. He has huge evidence against Jade.” Leviticus stared wordlessly as he walked back to his chair. He eased down and let her talk. “When I met with Mainberger and the administrator, they didn’t even want to reshuffle a couple of deps.” She was perplexed at the turn of events. “I’m with you. Surprised that Mainberger didn’t’ jump all over this, too.” Leviticus shook his head. “Maybe Mainberger’s up to something. Maybe he’s setting a trap?” Tara asked hopefully. “Doubt it. He doesn’t set traps. What do you think about the charges Jade is up against?” “She’s guilty.” Her mind spun. “Jade’s the one setting the trap, and Mainberger is going for it.”

Chapter Sixteen Leviticus nodded. “Jade just might pull it off. Mainberger’s a man, and she’s good at finding a weakness.” “That’s too bad.” “Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. The facts on Mainberger haven’t crystallized. They’re just interesting.” “We’ve waded through a lot of cases. Most of them have been boring. That’s because dead people are less interesting than live ones. Motives fascinate me, and Jade usually gets what she wants.” “Seems that way.” He stretched. He looked tired. “Hate is more powerful than love.” His eyes blinked wearily as he reclined in his chair. “I know, but the death of Adrian Harris isn’t a murder case yet. We’ve got the teen homicides to worry about.” Tara looked at him, too old to work around the clock. She didn’t know him as a young investigator. He looked exhausted. He resumed his mechanical monotone of someone thinking aloud. “The examining physician at the ER…” “Your wife’s cousin if I remember correctly?” “Right, our cousin told me that the surfboard severed his spinal column just under the occipital bone causing immediate death. The snap was under the first cervical. The center of the brain that controls beating of the heart was interrupted.” She shook her head and looked down. “Adrian went into immediate cardiac arrest. If he had lived, he would have been a quadriplegic with plenty of disability care, but his life insurance policy wouldn’t kick in. Now it will.” He spread out the morning paper, which showed Jade’s Hummer with the empty carrier and the surfboard at rest in Adrian’s coupe.” “Catchy caption. Death by Surfboard.”

“Sells papers.” “When I was with Jade at the hospital, she showed me an article about Adrian facing a trial and possible jail time with his snakehead partner.” “Ah.” He blinked at his watch. “She’s due to arrive any minute.” It was almost nine when they opened the office. “Adrian’s snakehead woman partner? You have been busy.” “Yup. She saw your ad in the Yellow Pages, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’” For a tired man, he looked amused. “It’s an inclusive ad if I do say so myself.” “She called for an appointment, and I answered the phone. She’s upset that she lost her partner.” “Sure, she’s stuck with the sweatshop serfs. It might take her awhile to research Adrian’s connections. What else did she say?” “She and Adrian took out insurance policies on each other. She wants you to expedite it. That’s why she’s coming in.” “I can be a bureaucrat for anyone, even a snakehead.” “Human trafficking is one of the world’s oldest professions.” “Sadly.” “Oh, and Mae is scheduled to arrive at the same time.” “You’ve found your chump! Snakehead gets an insurance payout, and Mae introduces her to George Pritchett, the rat. Snakehead brags that she has money. Rat gets snakehead involved with him and his business.” “My guess is this. Our snakehead will pay him a fee for laundering some money.” “Maybe Mae will get her money back sooner than I thought.” Tara walked into the reception room. She straightened magazines with happy anticipation just as Adrian’s business partner, an Asian woman, burst in. Leviticus greeted her. “Hello,” he said to the stylish, middle-aged woman. “You must be Sunluck Singh.” “I go by Singh. Is the lawyer here?” The woman spoke with a neutral tone, dressed to the hilt in high couture. She hadn’t made eye contact with Tara. In casual clothing, Singh mistook Tara as the receptionist. “Hello, Singh. I’m Tara Delacruz, an attorney. Leviticus tells me you have a partner insurance policy to review. May I see it, please?” “Of course,” the woman said as she handed it over. Her hands revealed that she was a woman in her sixties. Her face was stretched into a Picasso block print, the Epicanthic folds removed from her Asian eyes. Puffed with collagen, her lips were bright red.

Tara studied the corporate papers Singh handed to her. She said routinely, “So, you and Adrian worked in the garment industry. I’ll review your policy in my office and then make the necessary phone calls for you.” Singh inquired, “How quickly can you move this along?” Her hands moved nervously. Tara answered, “This will go fast. As soon as I get a fax of your partner’s death certificate, the policy will be acted upon by the insurance company.” “Good,” Singh said. Tara disappeared into her office, leaving her door ajar. Leviticus bustled around with a pot, getting fresh water from the cooler. He poured it through the heating mechanism. He put out an assortment of tea bags as the hot water dripped down into the pot. Mae had breezed in, dressed in a silk chiffon dress with an Asian flower pattern. When he turned around, Mae pretended to be a stranger. “Are you a male receptionist?” “Yes, I am.” Leviticus seemed to be having fun. “I’m the history teacher at Landings High School. I’m Mae Han, here to pick up something from Miss Delacruz.” She set down her whimsical silk purse, designed like a takeout carton. Leviticus gave her a wink and said, “After this lady has been taken care of, Miss Delacruz will be right with you. He nodded his head toward Sunluck Singh. “Of course,” Mae helped herself to a cup of tea. Leviticus returned to his office and shut his door. Mae said to Singh, “May I bring you a cup of tea?” “Green tea, please.” Singh responded as if she were used to being waited on. “Where did you get your sandals?” “A boutique up Main called Chinese Laundry. Of course, I can’t walk around in these spike heels and ribbon toe straps for long.” Mae put down a paper cup of tea near Singh. Singh observed, “You look dressed for a gala event.” “My, you are insightful.” Leviticus had clued Mae in, that Singh earned profits by smuggling desperate women into sweatshops. Mae lied, “I’m here for a settlement of my own.” “Lucky you. A windfall must be nice for a teacher.” Suddenly Singh felt like sharing. “Money can be freeing. My partner died in some freak accident. Had life insurance on each other.”

Tara walked into the waiting room and said, “Mae, I have your settlement and will be with you in a moment. Singh, I’m ready for you. Please come into my office.” Singh licked her trout lips nervously. She rose and went into Tara’s office. “How much?” “You’ll get the full settlement of five million. If you have a check, write void on it. That way I can fax it to West Coast Reinsurance and Casualty. They’ll deposit directly into your checking account. You can move it from there into another account today if you wish.” Singh laughed with a relieving sigh. “What do I owe you for your services?” “My fee is two hundred,” Tara handed Singh a form faxed from the insurance company. “Singh, the insurance company has a branch in Landings Beach. If you don’t want to use a checking account, you can go there to collect. Their address is on this fax.” “The voided check is better.” Singh signed and handed Tara a check for her services and the voided check. She returned to the waiting room. She picked up her cup of tea and finished it off like she was taking a shot in celebration. “The result is good for you, I hope,” Mae whispered to Singh. Singh said, “Yes, I will have the cushion required to continue in my business.” She turned her back on Mae, an action that stopped their conversation. Tara walked in and handed an envelope to Mae. “Miss Han, this is for you. My goal as an attorney is to cut the red tape for my clients. Your auto insurance carrier will pay the estimate you gave them. Have a pleasant day, ladies.” Tara returned to her office with her door left open. Mae placed the envelope in her purse, knowing it was empty, and said to Singh, “Would you like to go to lunch? The Landings’ Seasons is just around the corner. It’s a hotel with a lovely restaurant.” From her office Tara observed Singh pursing her large lips at the effrontery of the request, but then paused for a moment. “Mae Han, I’d love to go to lunch with someone like you. A teacher is always respected.” Mae said, “Oh, yes. We’re pillars in this community.” Singh said, “I need a place to stay for a week or so. A place I can relax while I hole up. And, I hear the shops are exquisite around here. I’ll check in, and then we’ll have lunch.” “That would be nice.” Mae and Singh strolled out together.

Tara picked up Singh’s paper teacup and threw it away. She yelled through Leviticus’ door and teased, “My, you were quiet. Lunch?” He opened the door and brought out the items from the cannery deli that Tara had left in his office. Tara opened the window blinds overlooking the bay. She pushed a slider to let in fresh air and natural sunlight. “Things went well, didn’t they?” She turned and walked to the center of the reception room. Leviticus laid out the sandwiches and bottles of iced tea. Tara said, “Didn’t expect a chump to turn up this quickly.” “The pig in lipstick?” “That’s the one. Is the guy who swindled Mae out of her money still at the Landings’ Seasons?” “Yes, George Pritchett. He dines there every day.” “Well, I have Singh’s voided check. I’m going to make a call to the Feds.” She sat down at Sherry’s receptionist desk and picked up the phone. “The FBI’s closest office is in Santa Ana,” Leviticus reminded her. Tara got their number and talked with a department head in Human Rights about Adrian Harris’ business partner, suspected of the smuggling and trafficking of women destined for sweatshops. Tara gave them Singh’s bank account number so that they could connect it to other accounts and possibly laundering of funds. Since the department hoped to take down the trafficking operation and put the sweatshops out of business, they weren’t going to move in on Sunluck Singh for a couple of weeks. An FBI agent would move in next door to Singh at the Landings’ Seasons. Tara moved to sit near the coffee table and took a bite of her sandwich. “There’s no doubt that Singh is a liar and a cheat, but she is without motive in the death of Adrian Harris. Whatever she and Adrian were working on would be a done deal before he saw the inside of a courtroom.” “Agreed,” Leviticus said. “Singh takes care of rounding up able bodies. Adrian dealt with their placement. The pretty ones are forced into prostitution. The plain women toil 70-hour weeks at sewing machines with less than a living wage. And, sweatshop discipline is arbitrary.” Leviticus frowned. “It will take Singh time to research Adrian’s apparel pyramid,” Tara said. “When she figures that out and moves her workers, the feds will be right behind her. This could be the bust of the decade. But, as I was saying, Singh doesn’t have motive in the death of Adrian Harris.”

Leviticus said, “Do you think Jade does?” “I think she has two. The first is the award of insurance money. Both she and Vincent are beneficiaries. Adrian wouldn’t be able to support them if he went to prison. A life insurance policy would. The second is passionate hate, the flip side of love.” “If she can’t have him, she wants him dead.” “Jade is capable of violence, Leviticus. Munchausen by Proxy is plenty vicious.” Tara bit her lip. “It is.” Leviticus looked at the newspaper headline. “Strange weapon, a surfboard. Not the first choice for most homicides.” “Nope. Guns, knives, and heavy objects within reach are more common. Do you mind?” Tara snatched the newspaper from his hands and studied the picture of the carrier on top of Jade’s Hummer. She handed the newspaper back and said, “Leviticus, don’t move. I need to show you something.” Tara went into her office and retrieved a sketch from the Buck O’Toole file. Leviticus looked at it. “Buck Toolbox, the handyman, came up with this design for a car top carrier?” “See how it slants down from the back to the front like a ramp? His invention had a practical use when a solo handyman or do-it-yourselfer needs to get a heavy item off a truck alone.” “I can see that,” Leviticus said as he placed the sketch and photo side by side on the desk in front of them. “All that’s missing in the sketch is a release.” Leviticus sat back in his chair, cupping his chin in his hand. Tara said, “I find it surprising that he perfected that part.” “I’m sure he didn’t. There’s a company up in Irvine that does remote control technology. They’re specialists in wireless solutions.” Tara asked, “Are you saying that Buck could bring his design to them, and they’d figure it out?” “Yes, their standard FM transmitter and receiver would be customized slightly to suit Buck’s project. They sell thousands of units with just a few variations of programmable code.” Leviticus muttered when he was excited. “So, what Buck got from them is something like a car door opener with slight modification?” “That’s right, but we need to solidify the connection between Jade and Buck.” Leviticus took a swig of iced tea. Tara added, “Their children are friends. Vincent’s best friend is Blossom. Vincent calls her Blackrose.” Leviticus nodded. “That’s right.”

“I was at the hospital yesterday with Jade. When Buck and Jade crossed paths there, it was obvious that they knew each other.” “Hmmm.” Leviticus crossed his arms, listening. “When Jade was leaving the hospital, Buck walked in. Turned out his stepdaughter, Blossom, was in the ER with a broken arm. I think Sherry pushed her down the stairs, but that’s another story. Anyway, as they passed, Jade gave him a kiss on the cheek. She wanted to talk, but Buck didn’t break his stride for more than a moment.” “Let’s give Buck a call,” Leviticus suggested. Tara picked up his desk phone and dialed. “Buck. This is Tara Delacruz. I’m calling about the windows.” Tara held the phone between them so that Leviticus could hear. “Oh, yeah, Tara.” Buck sounded groggy even though it was late morning. “I submitted the measurements. If your windows are in at the warehouse tomorrow, I can transport them over and get going on the installation,” Buck said between yawns. “Is there a delivery fee? It would be hard to transport them by yourself.” “Delivery is part of my labor. It’s included,” Buck answered, sounding like a professional handyman. Tara said, “I remembered that you had designed a carrier. Is that what you called it, a carrier?” “Calling it The Solitary Mover. With a click of a switch, items slide forward. It fits anything with four wheels.” He spoke with pride. “The Solitary Mover turned out to be a successful invention, Buck. That must be exciting for you.” Buck, encouraged by her compliment, said, “I can get help loading at the warehouse, but I can get them off easily all alone. Like I said, Solitary Mover.” “So it is. Gravity works in your favor. Your load just slides off.” Tara’s pulse fluttered. “Ball bearings.” “Nice. Do you have your Solitary Mover on the market?” “Almost. There’s a company in Irvine that wants to start mass producing. They’ll do the marketing. But, I’ve sold my spare.” Buck brought her up to speed. “Who bought it?” Tara asked. “Jade Harris.” “Why did she need one?” Tara gave Leviticus a wink. “Thought it was cool, I guess.” Buck wasn’t making a secret of Jade buying it. He probably didn’t know how she used it.

“How did she know about it?” “I was doing some exterior painting for her a couple of days ago. My truck was parked in front of her garage. Ladders were loaded on top of my truck and my remote control for the carrier was in my pocket. I leaned over. Must have accidentally clicked the remote. The ladders flew off crashing into one of her four garage doors.” “Like a rocket launcher headed downward?” Tara guessed it sparked Jade’s interest. “Huh? Well, the garage door had to be replaced. Jade didn’t even charge me.” “Wasn’t she considerate,” Tara said sarcastically. “Yeah, it would have really set me back. Anyhow, she had me do some angle adjustments. Asked me to put a vintage surfboard on top. The Hummer has her shop name painted on the side. Said the surfboard would draw attention. Like a moving advertisement.” “Cute. I have another question to ask you, Buck. Sherry seemed angry at Blossom at the hospital yesterday. Why was she angry?” Tara wanted his take on it. “Sherry’s always mad at her.” Tara didn’t get a specific answer and tried something else. “I saw Blossom at Vincent Harris’ house last night. Is that where she spends her time?” “Lately, those two are together all the time,” Buck said. “What happened before Blossom broke her arm?” “Blossom wets the bed. That is, on those rare occasions that she sleeps at home.” “How’s school going?” “Blossom dropped out. Comes over here during the day when Sherry’s out. Sleeps most of the time. Tara, Sherry got another job.” Buck sounded apologetic. “So, Sherry resigned as our receptionist?” Tara gave Leviticus ‘a thumbs up’. “That’s right, she did.” “Tell Sherry I’ll drop her paycheck off. Don’t worry, I’ll phone first.” Tara hung up the phone and turned to Leviticus. He said, “Cord got me up to date on Kerrigan’s escapade to the Harris house. Mentioned that you got a homeless kid into Limestone.” “Kids call him Corky. His name is Charles O’Connell. Met him the night my windows were broken. He’s a meth addict. Took over Dixie’s line of work.”

“That Darth Vader low rider, as you called it, was the fence’s stolen vehicle. It was impounded in Vegas.” “Charles gave me a little more info on the fence. He’s his mother’s boyfriend, and I have his mother’s phone number.” “You do?” “Charles was phoning her to let her know he was living. I asked if I could save the number on my phone. Here it is. Her name is Belinda.” Tara scanned through her cell phone directory and showed him the number. As Leviticus wrote down Belinda’s number, Tara selected it to dial. It went to the answering machine like it did before. He phoned Sergeant Ditzman, giving him Belinda’s number. “They have the resources to find him fast. Thanks.” Tara said, “Putting the fence or drug baron out of business is good, but he may not be the root of all our evils. This little town could lull into dangerous complacency.” “You have a valid point. Let’s get back to Blackrose.” “She, Vincent, Charles O’Connell, and Kerrigan were the foursome at the Harris mansion in the early evening.” “And, you were there because Cord couldn’t find Kerrigan.” “I volunteer as a tutor and work with Kerrigan.” “I know. Mae said you’re close.” “Kerrigan wanted to meet her mother.” “Jade.” “Jade has ignored her since birth. Her curiosity is one of those unfinished teen-business things. Jade wasn’t there. Made it clear that she had better things to do. But, Vincent and Blackrose were. Charles wasn’t enjoying himself.” “Since Jade hired you as her lawyer, she thought you were dropping in on Vincent for a casual visit.” “Right.” “So, Kerrigan went home, and Charles O’Connell went to Limestone.” “It will be an expensive month for me. It’s worth it. I like him.” Leviticus said, “Mae told me he’s basically a nice kid. Apparently, his descent was rapid.” “Charles is determined.” Tara smiled confidently. “I need to keep my eye on my grandson,” Leviticus started blinking, something he did when he was upset. Walking over to the cooler, Tara filled up a coffee cup with water. “By the way, the coroner…” “Bill Sibley?”

“Yes, didn’t Bill say he thought the strangler was substantially larger, possibly twice the size of the victims?” Tara paced the floor. Leviticus said, “He was only saying it in passing. That’s because it’s always the case. The target being strangled is physically smaller.” “What if there were two people, two stranglers?” Tara asked. “That’s possible. I know what you’re thinking, but Vincent Harris is sickly and frail.” Tara sat down opposite Leviticus and said, “It’s a hunch. Weakened at times, but he’s a big, overweight angry fourteen-year-old. Oh, and not nice, either.” Leviticus said, “Mimicking his mother’s aggression is to be expected.” The sun poured in from a skylight, blindingly bright. Leviticus stood up and placed the newspaper and sketch of Buck’s carrier into a folder. Dazed, she looked at the floor and watched his tall stooping shadow move across the floor. Tall and angular, his shadow now fell upon her, somehow comforting. She looked up. “When I read Vincent’s medical chart, Leviticus, I felt angry. Still am, towards Jade. Vincent, even as a toddler had terrorizing surgeries, all designed and directed by Jade. Her reward was attention. Attention from everyone including her cold, now deceased, husband.” Leviticus bent toward her, listening, thinking. After a moment he spoke gently. “A teakettle has got to blow.” “His agony continues.” Leviticus said, “Vincent and Blossom fit the criteria for narcissistic psychopaths.” Leviticus’ face went ashen. Tara listened. “Psychopathic killers like to hunt. They’re brutally opportunistic.” “Leviticus. The strangled victims were hunted, weren’t they?” He nodded. “I’m going to make a run down to the police station. I know Jade’s your client and all, but…” “That’s fine, hand over Buck’s sketch that Jade used as her little killing machine. If you see Mainberger, give him a copy.” Tara went over to the Xerox machine and made copies. He took them when she handed them to him. “Will do. Mainberger spends more time at the station than his own office.” “Leviticus, tell Mainberger about the misgivings we have about Blossom and Vincent.” Even though the prosecuting attorney was Tara’s opponent, she had a certain respect for him. “I will.” “Leviticus, Jade’s a widow. Mainberger is a bachelor. He’d save her butt if he fell for her.”

“I get it. They could get married tomorrow.” Leviticus said. Tara picked up the remainders of their sandwiches and threw them away. She went into her office and pulled out the payroll folder that contained Sherry’s last check. “I’ll bring along my iced tea,” he said. “I’ll head out with you.” Tara brought her tea and went through the office door. Leviticus followed and locked it. “You’re going over to Buck and Sherry’s place?” Leviticus asked as they rode in the elevator. “I’ll drop by. See if I can awaken Blossom from her nap.” “I’m planning to meet up with Mae after her workshop. She’s heading it up, teaching other teachers.” “It’s not a school day then, is it?” “Nope, teachers are in school, but students have the day off,” Leviticus said as they headed for the elevator. “Well, you seem to know all about the school schedule, Leviticus,” Tara teased. “You and Mae have become good friends.” “More than that, we’re husband and wife.” “Stop!” She hit the ground floor button in the elevator. “Went to Vegas Saturday afternoon. The Chapel of Love is in the McCarran Airport.” “Congratulations, Leviticus. When this ends, and someday it will, there’s going to be a big celebration at my house.” Tara gave him a hug. “You both made wonderful choices.” Standing in the parking lot, he said, “We think so, but we haven’t told our families.” Leviticus’ blue truck was parked close. He unlocked the door and put the folder of Buck’s sketches on the passenger seat. “Do you know what I think, Leviticus?” “What?” “I think your family will be happy for you. They will adore Mae.” Tara walked toward her Scion. “Keep your phone on,” Leviticus yelled after her. Tara drove to the O’Toole-Sixkiller apartment and rang the doorbell. No one answered. She opened the mailbox and saw that the mail had been delivered that day. Knowing it would be safe there, she put Sherry’s pay envelope in it. ****

Some anomaly jerked at Tara that made her check up on Kerrigan. It was late afternoon. Cord would be heading off to work soon. She would invite Kerrigan to stay with her when he was at the Red Beat. Yesterday she tracked facts. Today she went by intuition. She dialed the Smiths’ apartment. The answering machine came on. Impulsively, she speed-dialed Cord’s cell phone, and he answered. “Cord.” She didn’t want to alarm him. “I’m in a meeting with the city council.” He sounded distant, distracted at work. “Sorry. I’m looking for Kerrigan. Wondered if she wanted to work on an assignment. Maybe spend the night at my place.” “She’d like that. But, Kerrigan said she was meeting a girl at the beach who wanted to apologize. Had a flower name. Hey, I’ve got to go.”

Chapter Seventeen Tara grabbed her briefcase from the front seat and barreled across the grassy bluff to her cottage. She bolted up her porch steps. Like everything in the house weathered by salt spray, they creaked. On the doorknob hung with a rubber band was Buck’s bill for the windows. Desperate to find Kerrigan, she let it remain there. Inside, she heard the dogs’ deep-mouthed bays coming from the wrong side of a back bedroom door. Shut in for the duration of the window installation, they had been forgotten. When she let them out, they pranced appreciatively. Their lashing tails whipped at her legs as she changed into running shorts. She placed her cell phone in a pocket. On the dresser was the bag with the two t-shirts from the Starlight Motel. She put hers on. The sweatshirt Kerrigan left there was folded on the living room sofa. She grabbed it as she hurried by. “Find Kerrigan.” She let the dogs whiff her sweatshirt. With the dogs scampering behind she charged down the kitchen trap door and stepped into the huge armoire. In the back of it, she pushed open the door that led to the tunnel. Not remembering where the light switch was, she felt along the rough wall and made her way in darkness. When she reached the end, the door to the boathouse didn’t open easily. She put her back into the heavy door. She shoved until it hit the sailboat and squeezed through. The dogs waddled through behind her. “Kerrigan,” she said again. She held the sweatshirt close to their noses. From inside the boathouse she opened the door to the ocean. Bright light and a warm wind blew in from the dunes below. She didn’t put leashes on them. They were working dogs now.

Merrylegs and Fauxpaws loped out ahead of her, disappearing down the bluff between rocks and bleached log piles. The dogs romped to an area seldom traveled by beachcombers, a thicket beside the tidal creek. She followed but jogged along an easier path, an antiquated winding lane of clamshells. Running past, she startled red-winged birds feeding in the undergrowth. One movement led to another, and cattails bobbed with the birds’ sudden flights. Intermittently, the dogs leaped back to her with a spattering of sandy muck. Becoming one with her urgency and agitation, they heeled in silence. The path led to an iron garden gate, and she scrinched it open. The dogs forged into the patch of property belonging to a cliff-side house, long forgotten by the present owner. Once grand, the iron fence contained tea roses. Now the roses had reseeded. Wild roses grew with trailing ivy. Beyond, she saw a screened gazebo sagging with decayed elegance. Death rasped, and the dogs fled for the old structure. Minutes passed as Tara approached, trying to keep up. She heard rustling. Partially hidden by large Victorian bench was a parked dune buggy. Looking between two cast-iron urns set on the gazebo’s steps, she made out a mauling and heard screams. Fauxpaws tore at the scalp of Vincent, whose massive weight was bearing down on someone whose head was covered with a gunnysack. Blossom knelt behind but kicked at Merrylegs. The dog’s teeth snarled and ripped at her black leather combat boots. Blossom groped for garden tools in a metal bin to beat off the dog, but Merrylegs bit her hand. Fauxpaws lunged at Vincent and knocked him off. Tara kept running toward them. The dogs kept the two at bay. Hope was unveiled when red hair tousled out from the gunnysack. As Kerrigan emerged, a clump of hair remained on the floor. Kerrigan rolled over and staggered up with a partially shaved head. Out the back of the gazebo with a dog bracing her on either side, Kerrigan stood up. Holding her chest she breathed deeply. She looked dazed as she held onto a post. The screen was ripped off in the back of the gazebo. Kerrigan stumbled through it and up the hill towards the boathouse. The dogs nudged her, instinctively leading her up on the diagonal toward home. Kerrigan painfully ambled along. Tara hoped she would hurry into the tunnel. Time was not on her side. Tara faced all her fears at the bottom of the gazebo steps.

Vincent yelled at her, “There’s been a dog violation here. You’re a lawyer. You know the city leash law. I’ve been mauled by your dogs and have bites to prove it.” Tara panted. “You were strangling Kerrigan.” “Correction,” Vincent said. “Blackrose does the strangling. I sit on them and force air out of their lungs.” Walking up the steps Tara said, “Shaving Kerrigan’s head is a new one.” Blossom said, “We wanted her to be a baldy, but she wouldn’t hold still. We’re only half done.” Vincent said, “I didn’t like her having red hair. It looks like mine and my mother’s.” Tara held open the screen door to their vine-covered niche. Blossom glared. “My mother works for you. That means I hate you.” Vincent chimed in, “And, you’re my mother’s lawyer. That means I hate you, too.” “Both of you seem to be reacting to your mothers.” Tara said. Vincent scowled. “I say that’s none of your business. Soon this will be a blur for you. After that, we’ll finish Kerrigan off.” Tara fumbled for her cell phone. It wasn’t there. It must have jiggled out of her pocket while she ran. Blossom looked up the hill at Kerrigan and said, “Not making much headway.” Kerrigan was halting, bending over. She put a hand on her chest. Trying to draw attention away from her, Tara said, “And, all this time the cops have been looking for a single strangler. They should have been looking for two.” Vincent said, “That’s right, we work as a pair. I sit on them and squeeze out the air. Blackrose chokes them and pinches their noses.” Blossom added, “We got her to turn almost purple.” Tara said, “And, your serial homicide has a signature. When it’s all over you write on them with a razor blade and make their mouths flow with ketchup.” Blossom said, “We do other stuff you don’t know about. “Such as?” Tara was buying time for Kerrigan. Blossom said, “We found a gunnysack along the way, when we strangled that little loser, Dixie Torres.” Tara swallowed in distress. “Like that one,” she pointed out, “the kind the gardeners use to contain cut grass and leaves?” “Yeah, we made Dixie kiss Vincent and tell him she loved him. She cried, and then I put the bag over her head, tight.”

Vincent said,” I sat on her and kissed her through the bag. I locked out the air. Pretty soon all we heard was a whimper.” Blossom chided, “Wasn’t she saying, ‘I love you’? After that, we heard a rattle and she went limp.” Tara burst in and said, “You need be telling this to the authorities.” When the screen groaned behind her, Tara turned to look at it. Vincent knocked her off balance. The last thing she saw was Blossom winding up a shovel and taking a back swing. **** Hours fled, which is the way with blankness. She remembered being dragged along the sand behind the buggy and lying in the sand. If she woke up, the shovel came down on her again. They buried her in the sand, squirted ketchup into her mouth, and left before the tide came in. She awoke now and then when her dogs licked her face and dug her out. When Tara came to, she was floating on her back about two hundred feet from shore. The afternoon had passed into evening. The furry mouth of Fauxpaws dragged her by the shirt through a bed of kelp. Merrylegs, the smaller of the two, swam alongside. Dogs had their reasons. They sensed danger on shore and were pulling her further out to sea. Tara coughed and threw up. Her forehead throbbed, but she could tread water. Slowly, she swam on her own. Nearby seals were diving for fish from a rocky outcropping. She swam toward it, changing the dogs’ direction. They were nearing the familiar string of outcroppings from her property. They fought the undertow. They couldn’t rest on the outcroppings because seals were territorial and known for their biting. Tara passed out again, but they pulled her toward the cave under the boathouse. When they reached the rocky shore, they licked her face until Tara crawled up into the opening. Too weak to move any further, she fell asleep curled up in the sand of the cave. The large dogs snuggled close, keeping her warm. When Tara opened her eyes, she recognized her dear friend, Mae Han. The woman was rubbing her arms to warm them and screamed, “She’s here, here with the dogs. Come quick, Cord, Dr. Sibley! Her head is caked with blood.” She saw flashlights outside the mouth of the cave before she passed out again. ****

Cord had put Mae and Dr. Sibley in charge of the beachside search for Tara. The chaos of Sunny’s ordeal and Tara’s disappearance was a jumbled blur. Too panicked to focus, he knew he needed help and asked for it. Immortality didn’t make him invincible. All things considered, he felt he did the right thing. Lights from cars and the ambulance gave off a carnival quality. Bill Sibley gave him a pat on the shoulder and said, “Tara wouldn’t need anything to calm her down. To give her anything like that would worsen her unconscious condition.” Cord wanted to hold her. Helplessness swirled in his head and he backed away as Bill Sibley moved closer. He tried to focus on the positive. Tara had been found. He’d be there to hold her when she needed to be held. Dr. Sibley asked, “Mae, how did you ever find her?” “Her dogs smell particularly rotten at the moment. Wet canine fur stinks like old pumpkins two weeks after Halloween.” “Ugh. More like a pile of fish that’s turned. But, a bad smell is wonderful, Mae. Here they are.” Bill wasn’t taken aback by the dogs’ stench. Cord appreciated their jovial mood at finding Tara, but her appearance brought him to sadness. She’d been through something horrible and could die. Death could happen any second, and he was jumping out of his skin. “Good dogs, remember me?” Mae said, rolling them over and petting their bellies. “Come, Pups, there’s not room for all of us in here.” While Dr. Sibley moved in to take Tara’s pulse, Mae dialed Leviticus with her cell and with a cracking voice said, “Leviticus! We found Tara. Is the ambulance still here or have they left with Kerrigan?” “They’re still here, Mae,” Leviticus said. “Kerrigan is doing okay with the oxygen. Where are you?” “In a cave beneath Tara’s boathouse. Have them bring down a stretcher, please,” Mae said. Dr. Sibley gently probed Tara’s skull for a fracture. Cord reached out to hold Tara’s hand. He gave it a little squeeze, but she wasn’t able to return it.. He kissed her forehead. “How long will she be like this, Bill?” “There’s no handbook for something like this. I don’t know. She’s had a severe blow. I don’t need to do an exam to know she needs immediate treatment for a subdural hematoma. She’ll have brain damage if they don’t act quickly.” Dr. Sibley dialed Landings Hospital to schedule emergency neurosurgery.

Cord prayed, “Please, God. Take care of my beautiful butterfly.” He watched Leviticus direct the ambulance driver to back up over Tara’s yard to the cave. Sergeant Ditzman walked along with a flashlight. Directed by Leviticus, another patrol officer turned on dim lights of their black-and-white cruiser and headed it toward the yard. The OCTV news team was conducting a live broadcast from a helicopter. Hollering into the cave, Mae said, “Doctor, they’re bringing in the stretcher.” Attendants laid it on the ground. “My Butterfly,” was all Cord managed to say. His arms encircled her, one hand in the small of her back. He noticed the t-shirt she wore from the Starlight Motel. The attendants assisted lifting her onto a stretcher. Cord had sent her a text-message. He asked her to marry him, to be his wife. She hadn’t seen it. He regretted that. As they carried the stretcher to the ambulance, he heard Dr. Sibley explain to the gathering crowd, “Cord and I are going to ride in the ambulance with both patients. Speaking softly to Cord he said, “If she doesn’t have surgery soon, she will have permanent and constant disorientation. Her other injuries aren’t life threatening.” Cord asked, “What caused the hematoma, Doc?” “She was beaten on the head with a hard object. Probably unconscious. After that, Vincent and Blossom dragged her through the sand behind their amphibious craft. They buried her in the sand. The tide was coming in, and they took to the water,” Dr. Sibley answered. Tara was brought into the ambulance alongside Kerrigan. Dr. Sibley and Cord climbed in between them. As the ambulance bumped along over the lawn and into the street, Dr. Sibley said, “Cord, I’m going to sit by the oxygen tank and monitor Kerrigan’s intake. You can sit between Kerrigan and Tara. Cord held both of their hands. When Kerrigan looked at him, Cord kissed her on the forehead. “Dad, is Tara okay? She’s not saying anything.” “Tara needs surgery,” Cord said, letting out a painful sigh. “She was beaten, buried up to her neck, and left to drown. Her dogs must have dug her out and somehow dragged her out to sea and to the cave under her boathouse.” “I wondered where the dogs went. After we went through the tunnel and up to the kitchen, I phoned 9-1-1, and then I phoned you. I was so scared that I hid under a bed until I heard your voice upstairs in the house.”

“You came up that trap door?” Cord kissed Kerrigan on the forehead again and said, “I love you, Sunny.” Kerrigan began sobbing through her oxygen mask. “Tara saved my life, and I love her. Can you love her, too?” “I already do, Sunny.” Cord’s voice faded inside his throat. Kerrigan squeezed his hand. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at Kerrigan and then at Tara. “It was nice that you made everyone wait for Tara. She has a chance with neurosurgery.” Kerrigan asked, “How are the dogs?” She was lifting off her oxygen mask to talk. Dr Sibley said, “Kerrigan, put that mask back on and breathe into it. Your dad can do the talking.” Cord nodded at Dr. Sibley and said, “Mae and Leviticus are dropping off the dogs for grooming, but they’ll meet us at the hospital.” Kerrigan raised her eyebrows in question. “The dogs smell like sea slime. Tomorrow morning Mae will pick them up. The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance. Cord stood up, wanting to get out of the way. When attendants opened the back door, lights from the OCTV cameras blinded Cord’s eyes as he and Dr. Sibley stepped out. Tara and Kerrigan were wheeled into the entrance followed by Cord. The crew was filming Cord while he filled out paperwork for Kerrigan. Leviticus walked up to the admitting desk and signed for Tara who was already whisked off for surgery. Mae was standing at Leviticus’ side phoning Tara’s parents, who were catching a flight from Honduras. A news broadcaster held a microphone, looked into eyes of a camera and said, “Kerrigan Smith, the third strangulation target, is being admitted for observation. Tara Delacruz, who came upon the incident, is in critical condition and is going into surgery for a severe head injury. For the first time in months, residents of Landings Beach will rest easy tonight.” When Leviticus finished filling out forms, he turned around. An OCTV broadcaster asked, “Detective Blake, can you get to the bottom of this for us? Who is the Landings Strangler?” Leviticus said, “The strangler turned out to be two teenagers acting together. The police have taken them into custody. Because they are under age, I can’t reveal who they are.” The broadcaster asked, “Can you tell us where this attempted strangulation of Kerrigan Smith took place?”

Leviticus answered, “One of them, a girl, lured her to an abandoned garden, part of the old Winslow Estate. Tara Delacruz and her two dogs found them before it was too late for Kerrigan.” “Without identifying who the two teens are, why did Tara Delacruz deduce that they might be responsible?” Leviticus said, “Both of the kids had morbid fascinations, and both were acquainted with the victims, Bruce Jennings and Dixie Torres.” “How did Kerrigan escape when Tara came upon them?” “She and the dogs climbed up the embankment, disappeared somewhere and managed to phone the Landings Police Department.” The cameraman turned and caught Ditzman, but flashed back on Leviticus who continued. “Kerrigan said that the dogs took off immediately. Now we know they were searching for Tara.” “How were the two stranglers seized?” “Sergeant Ditzman was fishing on his boat. They were heading toward Catalina in a small amphibious craft and ran out of gas. One of them, the boy, thought they had been caught and confessed because they recognized Sergeant Ditzman even though he wasn’t wearing his official uniform. The girl was furious at the boy for confessing.” “Where are they now?” The broadcaster’s expression morphed into a mask of professional concern. Leviticus answered, “In a juvenile facility.” He looked over at the crowd outside and continued, “The support given to Tara Delacruz is appreciated. Thank you, all.” He and Mae followed Cord up to the surgical reception room. They were in for a long night of waiting in the surgical reception room, and that’s when Cord told them the story of his immortality. When he was done, Leviticus told him he knew. “Do you remember the biochemist, Stuart Gredell?” “Yes.” “He’s been working with ticks for years. He has some altruistic uses for tick bacteria. Dr. Bill Sibley knows about it and approves. They’ve harvested them for cancer research, but they also know the problems. Along the way, Stuart concocted an antibody to reverse immortality.” “I’d like him to test it on me.” Mae smiled. “It will work. He’s already tried it on a Chinese man, Chung Han.” Leviticus pulled out his phone and dialed. “Stuart, get your antibody ready. Someone who’s been around for a long time would like to have his lifespan returned to him.”

Mae said, “We have some decisions to make having to do with that mine. We know Vincent overheard his father’s phone conversation.” Leviticus frowned. “Adrian was putting in a tick order with one of The Others. The mutant bacteria gave Adrian a means to keep sweatshop workers toiling around the clock. Vincent learned the identity of the supplier. Vincent and Blossom began their tirade at about this time last year. “Chung Han pointed him out, but he’s long gone.” Cord touched his fingertips to his forehead. “Mother sacrifices her son. Vincent made others pick up the tab.” Mae stood. “We need to get Cord over to see Dr. Gredell, and then we need to decide what to do about the mine.” Leviticus squinted over his glasses. “It needs to be destroyed. Cord, I know I speak for you when I say, the sooner the better.” He made a soft sigh. “Yes.” **** Missing Tara took Cord unawares. His grief came in the dead of the night and on the sunniest of days. At night he dreamt of her and during the day the terror she endured played in his mind. The one thing that made sense was his feelings. He loved her. A mortal now, he could tell her. On daily visits to her hospital room he ached with guilt, knowing he was acting in his old pattern, avoiding her. Their last conversation was unbearable, the way he brushed her off. His heart longed to try again. He’d never felt this deeply for any woman. He turned to her now, wishing for her smile. Sometimes when he saw her finger twitch or a fleeting expression, he’d stay longer with anxious hope that his sleeping beauty would awaken. Suddenly, Cord jerked back to reality when a man’s voice startled him. Mr. Aldridge, former mayor and owner of the estate where he and Kerrigan rented, extended his hand. “Kerrigan told me I’d find you here, and I wanted to pay Tara a visit. Do you see any improvement with her condition?” “The neurologist thinks so, Mr. Aldridge.” Cord shook his hand. “All we can do is pray, Cord.” Mr. Aldridge stood motionless, feeling his pain. “Good to see you. I wasn’t expecting you and Mrs. Aldridge for another week.” He pulled over a chair for the elderly gentleman, and they both sat down. “I heard you pulled out of the mayoral race.” “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all, Cord, not at all. You have scruples. That’s why I backed you in the first place. We came back early to see if you and Kerrigan needed us.” “We sure do.” Cord wiped a tear with the heel of his hand. Mr. Aldridge put his frail arm around his shoulders. “Cord, there were times when I hated this constituency. I mean voters, backers and the whole fickle lot.” Cord straightened in his chair. “Mrs. Aldridge and I wanted to take you to dinner. Are you free?” “Yes, we could really use being with the two of you.” Cord looked at his watch. Kerrigan’s psychiatrist appointment was about to end. “I’ll pick Kerrigan up. What time would you like to go?” “How’s an hour?” “That would be fine. You know how much your support--emotional support--means to me, I hope. It means the world.”

Chapter Eighteen When morning rays of light filled her hospital room, Tara moved her head, and it didn’t hurt. She had an overpowering desire to speak with someone and a vague recollection that Mae Han had come and gone. The phone rang. It stopped and wound up for another seven rings. On the third cycle she pulled herself to the bed rail. Her body cast hindered mobility, but she swung her legs, held the pole of the intravenous tower, and stumbled to the table. She lifted the receiver but held it in silence. “How is she today, Mae? Mae?” The man’s voice was Cord’s. She felt a warm glow pour through her but couldn’t make a sound. Sounds crawled up. Tense but concentrating, she thought about how she might arrange them into syllables and words. She cleared her throat. “Hey, ain’t anybody mindin’ the store?” Hearing his cowboy lingo again, she felt a bottomless peace. Slow speech was now hers. “Cord, it’s me. The phone kept ringing.” “Butterfly. It’s really you. I’d been prayin’ that someday you’d ride wild in a wheelchair.” He spoke in a tone filled with awe and respect. He hung up before she could form more words. She ambled toward the bathroom pulling the IV contraption, and stared into the mirror, mortified at her hallow eyes. She pumped soap and washed her face, scrubbing around her forehead where yellowish surgical soap settled. With a shovel, they’d beat her senseless. She concentrated on telltale signs of bandages, applied and removed. She put a toothbrush and toothpaste into brisk use on her teeth and tongue. The mint tasted so good. She swallowed. Her hair was a fright. She turned on the faucet to wet her hands and began molding her hair into a style. She pulled globs of wetted surgical soap through strands, lifting layers, giving it the classical undone look.

Mae was back. Her Asian eyes crinkled with her delightful smile. “Tara!” “Mae,” Tara called from the bathroom. Her friend’s name came out easily. Her mouth hung in awe. “Please forgive me. I stand here in shock. You’re walking.” Mae hugged her body cast. “What day is it?” “Saturday. You’ve spent the last two weeks in a coma. I’m filling in while your private nurse took the day off.” Mae stepped back to study her. “You look like that hair ad.” Leave it to Mae to keep things light. It forced her to picture their friend, Heatherlee, rattling off the jingle. She could think it but couldn’t say it. ‘Create hip, chunky texture, hair that looks flirty and fun.’ “How did you get your hair like that, Tara?” “Surgical soap.” Add water and work it like a gel. Cord might stop over. “Are showers allowed?” Mae replied, “They are if you’re in love and need to look good.” “I’m about to faint,” Tara admitted. “I’ll help you back into bed, dear. I’ll call in a nurse. She’ll do a nice bed bath.” “Clean would be wonderful, Mae.” While Tara was bathed and helped into a fresh gown, Mae phoned Leviticus. “Tara woke up. Sorry, I screamed in your ear, Darling. I should use my indoor voice in the hospital.” Tara heard herself let out a laugh. “After all, the teacher-of-the-year should know that.” The neurosurgeon, making his rounds, popped in. Astounded at her recovery, he phoned Bill Sibley, the coroner and chuckled, “Bill, our ‘Little Coma’ won’t need an autopsy.” Mae rolled her eyes. Tara read his nametag. “Dr. Katz, I’m one of those people who don’t think neurosurgeons are bastards. Thank you.” “You’re entirely welcome, Tara.” He gave her a brief exam. “I doubted you’d walk again. I’m going to schedule an EEG-EKG this afternoon. Rule out epilepsy, things like that. You’ll have to take it easy, but you’ll be given light food today.” Cord appeared at the doorway with a pot of living miniature red roses. Kerrigan burst through and darted past him. They raced to the edge of her bed, colliding before they sat down.

“I’ll call it a tie.” Tara reached behind his back and stroked his arm lightly with her fingers before she grasped Kerrigan’s hand. “You made it through hell and back.” “You both did.” He scooped her into his arms, pressed his lips to her cheek. He breathed her in. “I’m holding off the shakes.” He rocked her, hugging her with fury. “Am I knocking the wind out of you? I’m sorry.” “Nothing’s ever felt so safe.” She curled into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re okay.” He said it a half dozen times more as they held each other. Kerrigan said, “Everybody’s okay, Dad.” She wore a dreadful wig, the color darker than her natural red. “We love you, Tara.” When Cord laughed and leaned over to kiss Tara, water from the pot dripped mud onto his pant leg. He stood up and set the roses on her bedside table. He picked up her cell phone, gestured with it, and dropped it on her lap. “You didn’t see my text-message. Marry me?” Mae laughed. “By the way, Cord is a mortal. Dear, we have so much to explain.” He said, “Mae is right. My mainspring will run down. We can grow old together.” Tara said, “Nothing’s ever felt so right.” He kissed her forehead. His t-shirt was a walking ad and reminded her they’d never made it to the Starlight Motel. She whispered, “Wow, a fireplace, colored TV and hot tub in every room.” “Imagine that.” She moved a leg, and her cell slid off the blanket to the floor. His long muscular arm stretched to get it, and his short sleeve rose over a tattoo. On his upper arm, a butterfly was making a diagonal flight. She knew it was meant for her. “Let me see that up close.” She pulled him over and kissed the tattoo. His grin was as sharp as a blade. “I’m branded for life.” “My, this is a love fest.” Mae smiled. “Love’s made in heaven, but details must be worked out on earth.” Tara grinned. “Last I heard, you and Leviticus eloped to Vegas.” Leviticus, a widower, had become the spinster teacher’s soul mate when she came in for counsel. “How are your earthly details working out, married lady?”

Mae said, “Leviticus told his in-laws. They took it well. They’re generous people.” Tara straightened in her body cast. “Kerrigan, let’s have a wedding reception for Mr. and Mrs. Blake. Would that be okay with you and Leviticus, Mae?” “It would be lovely.” Mae’s eyes brightened. Kerrigan’s eyes were alive. “Let’s have it on the Fourth of July. Guests can watch the fireworks.” Tara said, “Kerrigan, we’ll spruce up the place.” Cord liked neatness and order. “Does this mean you’re going to replace the dagnabit dog mattress?” Tara winked, “Yes, it does, Cord. Kerrigan and I will go to the upholstery shop up Main. Get everything coordinated. Kerrigan, I love the colors of your dishes, all your blues blend. Could you pick out the fabric?” “That’d be fun. Maybe we’ll cover the dogs’ mattress in denim.” Kerrigan grinned at her dad. Cord laughed. “Maybe get a bin for the pooches’ toys. Hell, I don’t care. Those dogs of yours saved you and Kerrigan.” “I knew they were there, digging me out, dragging me.” Kerrigan said, “Dad, tell Tara about the song.” Tara was amused. “Cord, I’d love to hear it!” “No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “I rustled it up before all this happened. It’s too lighthearted, silly.” Tara asked, “I like silly. What’s it about?” Cord said, “Puppy love, set to music.” “Doggone it, tell me the lyrics.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I longed for a dog with a wiggly tail and spotted feet but became afflicted with the butterfly up the street.” Kerrigan said, “That would be you, Tara, up the Pacific Coast Highway. He wanted a dog but settled for a butterfly.” “It’s beautiful, Cord.” Her hand reached under the covers and poked him lovingly. Kerrigan elbowed him in the ribs. “Finally, you’re giving her attention. Don’t be harsh with Tara ever again.” Cord crossed his arms nervously. His eyes fell to the floor before he glanced back at his daughter. “Sunny, I missed Tara’s fire. Didn’t know ‘til I lost her. We’ll be roamin’ the hills when she’s feeling up to it. You’re welcome to come, Sunny.” He put his forehead against Tara’s and whispered, “Forgive me.”

Tara brushed his arm with her fingertips, and leaned her head toward Kerrigan. “Enough attention is tricky. Your dad has his music, and I have some obsessive interests of my own. We require space.” Mae said, “You compliment each other.” Her face lit up. “Good news, Tara. I’m back in my house.” “Fill me in.” Mae pulled up a chair near her bed and explained the trap Leviticus set for her former lover who’d swindled her. All went according to plan. Mae’s home came out of foreclosure, and money was returned to her savings account. Leviticus had sold his house and would move in with Mae. Tara felt jubilation, deep inside. “Mae, we’ll be next-door neighbors!” “That’ll be something.” Mae gave her leg a light slap. “What about your car?” Tara asked because Mae ran it into a telephone pole, a lucky break since she’d aimed for her lover. “I bought a new one, well, nearly new. It’s a Toyota Avalon, four years old.” “Now, Mae. Don’t get all snobby with me in that fancy Avalon,” she kidded. “Does anyone know how Charles is doing in rehab?” He was the street kid whose tip brought them closer to the terrifying pair of teens. Cord said, “Doing well, Tara. The psychiatrist, Dr. Pugh, has been working with him. He moved Charles into a sober living facility.” Mae said, “It’s 12-steppy and self-supporting. The residents get jobs. Some go to college. Leviticus and I visit. It’s near Stucco City Park, close to my old apartment. It’s filled with guys, eighteen to twenty-two.” Tara said, “Sounds like a sober frat house.” Kerrigan said, “Everyone’s calling him Charles now. How weird is that?” “Sunny, he introduces himself as Charles.” Kerrigan said, “I saw him at that new health spa. He’s working at the desk.” Mae added, “His skin cleared up after he stopped doing methamphetamines. Speed bumps look like acne.” At that moment Leviticus burst into the room. “We’ve got you back, Tara!” Leviticus encircled Mae as he spoke. In spite of a slight stoop, his vigor took over the room. After the men shook hands, Cord cocked his elbows and leaned back. “Leviticus, now that you’re here, we’ll fill Tara in on the rest.” “Shoot!” Tara puffed up pillows behind her and propped herself higher, ready to listen. Kerrigan crawled in, arm in arm with Tara. Leviticus pulled up a chair beside Mae. “Blossom Sixkiller and Vincent Harris spent their first night in the East End Juvenile Facility.”

Tara said, “Their madness set a panic loose all the way down our fogshrouded streets. I wouldn’t have thought that kind of evil was wielded by teens. How were they caught?” “I forgot. You’re waking up. We’ve had a couple of weeks to recover from this nightmare. I’ll back up.” Leviticus sighed. “Sergeant Ditzman was out fishing. He saw them adrift and phoned the Del Coronado Coast Guard. They picked them up halfway to Catalina Island, out of gas. Vincent thought they were being arrested and confessed.” Kerrigan whispered, “Blossom wanted to kill him.” Cord added, “She varnished his coffin, so to speak.” Leviticus said, “Vincent admitted to taking part in the strangulations of Bruce Jennings, Dixie Torres, and you since they left you buried at neck level in the sand.” Kerrigan twisted toward her. “Vincent thought you had drowned. The tide was coming in. He didn’t know your dogs dug you out of the sand.” Tara asked, “Did they come after you, Kerrigan?” “Sure did. I followed the dogs to your boathouse and into the tunnel. I don’t know where I got the strength to shut the door. It blended with the wall, and they didn’t know where I went. I made it to the cellar and hid. Merrylegs and Fauxpaws climbed the steps into the kitchen.” Mae said, “We think the dogs went back to the gazebo and then followed your scent. Danger on shore must have alerted them because they dragged you out to sea. At nightfall, I found you with your dogs in the cave under your boathouse.” “Pays to know the lay of the land, Mae. No one but you would have looked there. How are my big mutts?” Mae said, “Good, but they were caked with seaweed and saltwater. I had them groomed at Bow Wows.” “Did they talk you into their lemon-rosemary shampoo?” “Absolutely. Smelled heavenly when I picked them up. Thought I saw gratitude in their eyes. But, after I got them home, they whined and were restless. They remembered something drastic had happened to you.” “They missed me. Aren’t dogs sweet?” Tara winked. “Afraid so, they leaped through my screen door. Kerrigan, you tell her the rest, Honey.” “Tara, when Mae called to tell us the dogs ran away, we knew they were going home. Dad and I drove over. They went through their doggy door. I begged Dad to let me stay there to care for them.” “She talked me into it. We’re living in your house.”

Leviticus said, “I took the liberty to give Cord the spare key you keep at the office.” Cord said, “When we opened the front door, there they were, Merrylegs and Fauxpaws, sprattled side by side in front of the fireplace. They scurried up to Kerrigan. I pet them. A strange feeling came over me when their backs didn’t bristle.” Cord took her hand and held it snugly. “Without you, seeing them was mighty sad, Butterfly.” “I seem to be getting what I’ve wanted all along. You’ll be staying on, I hope, or off and on, whatever suits you.” Her eyes followed Leviticus as he walked over to the door and shut it. When he returned to his chair, she knew what he was about to say was privileged. “Vincent and Blossom were taken to a juvenile facility. It has lock-down rooms, barbed wire, and high security guards, but it’s not a traditional jail.” Tara knew the facility on Catalina. “You went for a visit?” “Yes. Provisions were made to make them as comfortable as possible.” “Could the staff get them settled?” “No. Vincent and Blossom shouted at each other through doors across a hallway. At other times Blossom shared some things with the staff about her mother, Sherry.” “You had access to her file?” Tara asked. “The woman attendant let me read it. Blossom had been a chronic bed wetter, terrified to go to sleep, for fear she might wet her bed. Sherry punished her severely.” Mae said, “Leviticus, tell Tara about the incident with the stray cat.” “Blossom’s hostility had a naïve quality. When they were out in the yard, Blossom grabbed a stray cat and teased it. The guard told her not to hurt the cat, but Blossom said, ‘I like hurting little things that can’t fight back.’” Cord winced. Leviticus said, “There were other incidents where attendants saw her as a scared little girl.” Mae added, “Blossom doesn’t grasp the nature of her actions. Leviticus and Sergeant Ditzman made a stop at Blossom’s home. Sherry, Buck, and little Macky were there. Even the sergeant commented it had no feeling of a home, just a shell. Sherry didn’t even ask to see Blossom.” Tara said, “At the office Sherry never told us that she had a daughter. Imagine the hurt to be an unmentionable. Did a psychiatrist evaluate Blossom?” Leviticus nodded affirmatively. “Dr. Pugh was called in. He wants to testify before a judge on Blossom’s behalf and describe her abusive home

life. According to Dr. Pugh, Blossom deserves sympathy points. Being unwanted from day one explains some behavior, but he’s never met anyone quite like her. She’s intelligent, manipulative, and menacing.” Tara knew he spoke in understatements. “Kerrigan, what did Blossom say to get you to meet with her?” “Blossom phoned me up, crying. Said she was sorry and wanted to tell me in person. Blossom was a brat, but I was ready to forgive and forget.” “Her apology turned mean.” Cord kissed Tara on the cheek. “You fluttered in and saved her, Butterfly. Walloped flat in the process.” Kerrigan adjusted her red wig. “I had no idea what was in store for me at Chaumont. It’s such a pretty place.” Tara said, “You had a visit into your mother’s sick world.” Cord said, “After the news broke, other kids came forward and told how Blossom and Vincent hurt them.” Leviticus said, “They operated as a team pretty early, I’m afraid. Sergeant Ditzman had a list of strange complaints.” Tara said, “My first tip-off was talking with Vincent at the hospital. He wanted to be a nurse so that he could hurt people. In retrospect, it fits.” Leviticus said, “The police searched both homes. In Vincent’s room Sergeant Ditzman found drawings. Vincent cut out a picture of Bruce Jennings from a yearbook and glued it into a scene they’d drawn.” “Buried neck level at low tide?” Tara chewed the inside of her cheek. “Their victims recovered, thank the Lord.” Mae said, “Vincent and Blossom visited the first one, Bruce, in the hospital. His mother was speechless when she saw him sketching her son. It was the two of them giggling that was the most offensive.” Cord said, “The police searched a cedar chest where Blossom keeps her stuff at Sherry and Buck’s apartment. There was a letter that Vincent mailed to Blossom from the hospital. At the bottom he wrote, ‘HELL’S BELLS. HE WON’T BE MISSED.’” “A code between them. Guess that explains the writing on the wind chime,” Tara frowned. Leviticus said, “Blossom said she keyed your car. That was no surprise.” Tara asked, “Normally, before a trial, accomplices are separated and not allowed to see each other.” Leviticus said, “That has been the case, here, also. Blossom was moved further down the hall but complained bitterly. I noticed they’re alike even in their expressions and have a strong bond. Yet, they’re willing to betray each other.”

Cord said, “When will the trial begin?” Leviticus answered, “There isn’t going to be one. District Attorney Humbert Mainberger convinced the judge that court proceedings would be too sensational for minors. They’ll stay where they are.” “What’s going on with Jade Harris’ case?” She glanced at Cord but couldn’t read his reaction about his ex-wife. Leviticus said, “On the surface, it looks like nothing. The hospital administrator dropped charges.” Tara stared at Leviticus. “Dropping charges is absurd. Wouldn’t you agree that Humbert Mainberger should resign as prosecuting attorney?” “He has.” Tara looked around at the group and shrugged, “What else am I missing?” “Jade’s mansion and shop were sold. She’s opening a new one on Catalina called, Women Who Swim. Mainberger is setting up a law practice there.” “Sounds like Jade and Humbert are in there like swimwear.” Tara shook her head. “I’m really frustrated.” “Tara.” Cord smiled. “Sounds like you’re concerned with justice. We’re on the same side for once.” “Jade got off, and that makes me angry.” Tara scowled. Cord said, “Yeah, we’re all about to explode.” Leviticus said, “Actually there is justice.” Mae chimed in. “Like Leviticus said, it only looks like nothing is going on. Go ahead, Darling.” “The FBI is all over it. Jade doesn’t have receipts for the goods she had been selling at Women Who Run. They’re also watching the hospital administrator’s accounts.” Tara said, “Blackmail, that’s good. FBI expects to see a payoff from Jade. I don’t think Mainberger’s looking for a payoff.” Cord said, “No, but he’d better be careful.” He stood up and stretched. Tara played with the hair on Kerrigan’s wig. “Kerrigan, you won’t need this wig for long. In two more weeks your hair will be a half-inch long. That’s long enough to do something cute.” Kerrigan said, “I’m glad you’re going to help me with it, Tara. This wig is miserably hot.” Tara said, “I’ve got some hats. We can glue some wisps of wig hair on the inside of the hats as soon as I’m out of here, Kerrigan.” The door opened. A nurse breezed in with a tray of broth, applesauce, and tea for Tara, and announced, “All visitors must leave. My patient needs

her rest.” Everyone headed toward the door except for Cord. He hesitated for a moment and whispered, “Tara, you probably know how to keep the roses alive.” He smoothed down a few stiff strands of hair and kissed the top of her head. “I do, Cord. I know all about them. Butterflies are attracted to wild roses. All you do is set them in the sun, water once in awhile, and ignore them. They bloom all by themselves.” “Tara, you inspire me. I had a melody in my head. I’m ready to write it down.” “When do I get to hear it, Cord?” “Soon.” He cracked the window in her room. Tara watched him walk out as the nurse put down her tray and wheeled the table to her bedside. Picking at her meal, Tara picked up her cell phone, and speed-dialed Cord. He must have read her number on his ringing phone because he asked, “How was lunch, Butterfly?” “Excellent. Cord, I’m thinking of changing my ad in the Yellow Pages.” “Whatever for? You cover every form of litigation with ‘Don’t Get Mad, Get Even’.” “I was thinking of something like, ‘Call for the legal document processing you needed yesterday. What do you think, Cord?” “Sounds boring. Don’t change your ad. You like being in the thick of things.” “That I do.” “I named the song, Butterfly. I’m in the parking lot. From your room, you should be able to hear me. A brass instrument carries sound great distances, and sound waves travel up.” He hung up. She moved to her window and nudged the sliding window open. His melody came out with intense purity. **** Back at home Tara drifted through the first few days. It was like a beautiful dream with sunny days, blue skies over the ocean, faces of two people she loved and her darling dogs. Cord had brought various pieces of furniture from their apartment over. Their oak drop-leaf table fit nicely in the previously empty bay window in the large country kitchen. She and Kerrigan replaced the old linoleum with new.

Tara’s dining room already had an antique table from Sweden, courtesy of the previous owners. Like the color green, wood tones blend. When Tara walked into the kitchen, Kerrigan said, “It’s only a week before the Fourth of July, and we need to send out invitations.” Cord asked, “Nerves taking over, Ladies?” Tara said, “Every hostess worries no one will show up, or those who do will stand around and blink in silence. Or, hate the food.” Kerrigan tapped her fingers on the table. “Adults think everything has to be perfect. We just want to be invited.” Cord gently put his hand on Tara’s shoulder. “What I’m about to say has roots in playin’ music at shindigs. There’s lots of waste and breaking of the bank.” Tara said, “You’re both right. Less perfectionism and lower expectations will drop the cost.” Kerrigan said, “I agree. Give me a budget, Tara, and I’ll make sure we hold down the cost.” Cord said, “You’re on the right track. Well, I am on my way to meet up with a realtor.” Tara bit her lip and looked up at him. “You aren’t going to buy a place and move out, are you, Cord?” “No, Butterfly. I’m buying an abandoned hardware store. It’ll give the band a place to practice.” “Where is it?” Tara asked. Kerrigan said, “I think I can answer that. His family owned it once, a couple miles out of town with machinery rusting in the back.” Cord said, “There’s also a weedy meadow near a creek with willows, and a small waterfall.” Tara said, “Sounds tranquil.” She pictured the band practicing in a meadow with maidenhair fern growing along a stream in the woods, trillium blooming through rocks, and a rainbow amidst a curtain of water. Her world was full of blue skies and people with very independent personalities. As her dad left, Kerrigan said, “Tara, let’s put an ad in the paper for the reception. Like you said, we don’t have time to mail invitations.” “Makes sense. Everyone who wants to come will come.” She thought about their newspaper. “The Landings Lighthouse only needs a lead-time of a day to place an ad. Maybe we could make it a potluck reception.” Kerrigan said, “You mean every family brings something?” “Exactly. Guests can bring a salad or main dish, paper plates, plastic forks, and cups.”

Kerrigan added, “…and their own chairs and blankets to watch the fireworks.” “We’ll provide lemonade, iced tea, cake, and ice cream. You know, Kerrigan, I think we’re going to have as much fun as our guests.” **** Tara placed a full-page ad in the local paper. They went over budget just a little by ordering an assortment of cold cuts, bread, and buckets of pasta salad from a deli in the cannery. Cord arranged the rental of banquet tables and linens. Working with Madge at the bakery, he ordered sheets and sheets of white frosted carrot cake. Heatherlee offered her artistic talents, suggesting a red, white, and blue motif. On the evening before the 4th she joined Tara and Kerrigan at Mae’s house. The four of them made centerpieces by layering red, white, and blue sand, available at a craft store, into glass vases. They added just enough water to moisten the sand and stuck in fresh red and white flowers and little flags. Mae stood up from the table to admire their handiwork. “I’m having a wonderful time.” She was a little teary eyed. Kerrigan asked, “What are you and Leviticus wearing at your reception, Mae?” “I bought a white sundress. Leviticus is wearing white slacks and a Hawaiian shirt in red, white, and blue. Are your parents coming, Tara?” “Oh, yes. They wouldn’t miss it for the world. Did I tell you that they sold their condo here in Landings? They’ll be up from Honduras frequently.” “We’ll have to go down for a visit in La Cieba one day.” Mae smiled. Kerrigan said, “I’m going to love having them stay at our house. With part of the money they’ll have when they sell their condo, they’re going to expand the third bedroom.” “Well,” Heatherlee said, “Your house is on the historical list like mine. I wish them luck getting that through the Landings architectural committee. Until then, I hope they like your third bedroom as is.” **** Heatherlee’s spa, Clearwater, was closed. Cord rang the doorbell while Kerrigan rapped on her door. Besides teaching yoga and Pilates and running the spa, Heatherlee made jewelry. When she opened the door she said, “Hello, Cord. Kerrigan. Hope you

weren’t waiting long. Follow me up to my apartment. It’s on the second level.” “We didn’t mind waiting. We were just sitting by the fountain.” Kerrigan was too enthusiastic to complain. Earlier she’d advised him to buy an engagement ring. He didn’t mind the wait either. Behind the row houses of the cannery district, the sunset looked like it sprang from a painting. At last he lived in the moment. Heatherlee said, “Your design turned out beautifully. It’s the most unique engagement ring I’ve ever made.” **** Lights strung around the pavilion glowed on the beach and reflected on the water like mercury. The Green Mission Band hadn’t played Sousa since the last Fourth of July. Cord listened as the band tuned up but wanted to sit this one out. A single meteor of fireworks spun above and then let go into a colorful umbrella against the pitch-black sky. Townspeople had packed up their belongings and were headed for Main Beach. After the fireworks everyone was invited to the reception. “Dad, we’ll see you down there. I’m leaving with Ben.” Kerrigan dispensed with the hat. “See you soon, Sunny.” Cord looked out over the bluff. Main Beach was packed. Fireworks filled the night sky. “Tara?” “Here I am, Cordell Smith.” Tara wore a red and white striped off-theshoulder top with fitted white capris. Cord led her over to a chaise lounge chair. He sat down, and then pulled her down on her lap. “Happy Independence Day, Butterfly.” “Happy Fourth, Cord!” Tenderly, Cord took her hands. “We’ll grow old together now that I have my lifespan back. That’s thanks to your client, Dr. Stuart Gredell. He came through for us.” “Did any of The Others choose to stay immortal?” “One. We don’t know where he is, but we’re not built for it. It kills me to know how happy I am that I’m going to die.” “Less time, more excitement?” He brought out a red velvet jewelry box. “I love you. I asked you to marry me.” “Did I say, maybe?”

“You’re a tease.” He opened the box. “It’s beautiful.” Tara took the gold and sapphire ring in her fingers and admired it. Tenderly, he guided it onto her fourth finger, left hand. “Three shimmering sapphires.” Her dark eyes blinked tears. “I commissioned Heatherlee to design this ring. You, Kerrigan, and I are a triple sapphire family. Look at the engraving inside.” “Forever Inseparable.” She kissed him thoroughly. “You and Kerrigan are everything to me.” He deepened the kiss. He noticed her tears and kissed her eyes. “You’ve been a terrific mother to dogs. Kerrigan thought she’d give you a try.” She laughed. “Everything’s the way it should be.” He nuzzled her hair. “I’ve arranged for a room at the Starlight. He pulled out a room key and dangled it.” **** “I bought this container of bubble bath today.” He dumped its entire contents into the hot tub and filled it. “I figured you’d like bubbles.” “You figured right.” The tub frothed and bubbled with a citrusy scent. He put a pillar candles on the ledge of the tub and lit them. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, most women liked little flames. He must have hit the mark because she was removing her clothing. He took out two glasses and filled them with champagne. “More bubbles!” She accepted the flute of champagne. “I love you, Cord Smith.” He cupped her chin. “At this moment, this very moment, I know I love you more than a man should ever love a woman. And, that’s fine by me.” “Strip and get in, partner.” THE END

TuÉâà à{x Tâà{ÉÜ Kathleen Rowland creates stories about people broadsided with difficulty and have to fight their way out. Her fictional characters have at least one major flaw, but they can readily fall in love. When they do, they learn to make their relationships work and get what they need. They seldom get what they think they want. Her family is blended across racial lines. She and her CPA husband live in Southern California where the last of their five children will soon leave for college. Oh my, she’ll have him all to herself again. A computer consultant with an M.S. in software engineering, she writes in technical areas but finds office politics and other treachery interesting.