Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

J
ack Morales lived in an upscale retirement community in Banning, an oasis for seniors with shade trees, man-made waterfalls, and golf courses. Once through the manned security gate, we passed blocks of condos as well as free-standing homes, all with manicured lawns and pruned shrubs. Not one errant scrap of paper survived on the grass or in the street. As always, everything was impressive, including the palm-lined entrance to the country club.

“A cop’s salary mus
t be pretty damn good,” I said.

“It’s not his salary; it’s the private investigating he does on the side. Rich widows pay well to check out boyfriends.”

If I were a movie producer, I would never have selected Jack to play a cop. With his graying red hair, freckles and tall, slim build, he looked harmless. And friendly. Perhaps that was why he was so successful as an investigator.

“Damn, you look good,” he said, wrapping Terry in a bear hug. “About time. And Lisa.” He grabbed my hand. “You must
be the reason he looks so happy. I can see why.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, but his warmth quickly drew me in.

“I owe this man everything,” Jack went on. “Fifteen years ago he saved my daughter in a freak house fire, went in for her when the ceiling collapsed and she couldn’t get out. Thanks to him I have two grandchildren now.”

“Jack . . .
” Terry’s face flushed, actually turned red. I couldn’t believe it.

Jack clapped him on the back. “Come on, buddy, let’s get sinful.”

In the center of the patio table, a Boston cream pie sat, just lopsided enough to look homemade.

Terry eyed the pie. “Don’t tell me you made that.”

“You kidding? I have widows and divorcees all around me and they all think I need fattening up. They try to outdo each other and I get the results.” He smiled happily. “What a life.”

We demolished the entire thing. If I didn’t quit eating so much, I’d have to start wearing stretch pants.

When we sprawled back in our chairs with coffee, the rugged San Gorgonio mountain peaks as a backdrop, Jack took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down.

“So what’s going on?”

Terry brought him up to speed about Rick, and when Jack asked what had started it, I told him, in detail, about the conversation at the office.

“The son of a bitch,” Terry said, his hands tightening on the chair. “You didn’t tell me all that.”

“Cool it, bud,” Jack said. He asked me about running into Rick at the market.

“When he grinned at me in that smirky little way of his,” I said, “I knew he wanted me to know he was watching.”

“But he didn’t confront either of you?”

When I told him no, he
asked Terry, “Did you see him?”

“Not then, but later, when he drove by the real estate office.”

“Did he slow down or make any kind of a threatening gesture?”

“No. Just goes to show he wasn’t there for any real estate business.”

“But still, it could be argued that since he’s an agent, he had a legitimate purpose in being there, that perhaps when he saw you, he felt threatened so he drove on by.”

With each word Jack spoke, and from the tone of his voice, it became more and more apparent that we had no case.

“He’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?”

“If he’d made verbal threats, we could get him. Even if he’s too smart for that, we could still have a chance. Since the stalking laws were amended in ‘02, a person can be arrested for seriously alarming someone, but I’m not sure what you’ve described would even qualify for that.”

“He’s doing it on purpose,” I said quietly. “I just know.”

“You’re probably right,” Jack
said. “NVAW sponsored a survey—”

“Who?” I asked.

“National Violence Against Women. According to them, one out of twelve women will be stalked in her lifetime, and over a million are stalked annually. Some stalkers progress to violence, and I’d like to get this joker before he has a chance to do something nasty. Unfortunately, until he does something illegal, my hands are tied—officially, that is. Off the record, I suggest you protect yourself.

“Meanwhile, I’ll pay him a nice, friendly visit.”

***

Heading
home, the I-10 traffic was light except for a line of eighteen-wheelers. Terry put the car on cruise control. “You have to get a gun,” he said.

“I have one.”

He glanced at me, his expression incredulous. “You have a gun? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged, staring out the side window at the shrubs and cactuses in the sparsely vegetated desert between towns. We were heading west and the setting sun washed the dried scrub with an orange glare. In the distance, the San Gorgonio mountain range fa
ded in the late afternoon haze.

“I wouldn’t use it except in an emergency,” I said.

“What do you think this is?”

“A nuisance. A spoiled kid wanting something he can’t have.”

“Well, that spoiled kid is very capable of taking what he wants and no one knows that better than you.” Terry merged into far right lane. “You need some protection when you go out alone.”

“I’m not going to walk around with that gun in my hands, and it won’t do me any good in my purse. If someone grabs me they’re not going to stand around while I dig for a weapon.

“You’d better start thinking of something to help you. You’re such a tiny thing that you need something to balance the power.”

“Well, not that gun. It’s a .45, too big and heavy for me. Mac always kept it in the headboard, and that’s where it’s going to stay. Besides, I coul
d never actually shoot anyone.”

Terry rolled his eyes. “Heaven save me from bull-headed women.”

“You didn’t think I was so bad when we were on the sofa.”

“You had me at a disadvantage. You know how we men are when our pants are down.”

“I seem to remember you were the one who pulled them down and mine as well.”

Taking the exit to Yucaipa, Terry wiggled his eyebrows at me. “We’re almost home.
Shall we pull them down again?”

***

Over waffles the next morning Terry kept studying me.

“Okay, what is it?” I asked.

“Honey, let’s make a trip back to Milo’s. They had all kinds of weapons.”

“I told you—”

“How about a stun gun? That might be the perfect solution for you.”

“What about my pepper spray?” Gathering the dishes, I stacked them in the sink.

“It’s okay in some instances, but I think you need something more powerful, something that would drop a two-hundred pound man. At least take a look. If you don’t, I’ll worry myself sick about you.”

“Well, that’s not fair. Talk about coercion at its best. Or worst.”

He shrugged and pulled me onto his lap. “You know what they say about love and war.”

A half hour
later, we were back at Milo’s.

“What do y
ou have in stun guns?” I asked.

“Didn’t like the pepper spray?”

“We’d feel better—” Terry broke off at my look. “Okay,
I’d
feel better if she had something stronger, something I know will do the trick.”

Bruce took several items from the showcase and placed them on the counter. While most were black and varied from a smaller rectangle about five inches long to a large flashlight-shape of about twenty inches, two looked exactly like cell phones. I picked up the silver one.

“This is a stun gun?”

“Thought you’d like that. See this?” He pointed to the silver nodule on the end, to what I thought at first glance was the antenna. “This shoots 180,000 volts into your attacker. It’s also an alarm. You can carry that around and everyone will assume it’s your phone.”

Terry asked, “But is 180,000 volts enough to stop a two-hundred pound man?”

“The higher the voltage, the m
ore damage it’s going to do.” Bruce selected a three-inch rectangle with two little silver or chrome nodules on the end. “This little baby shoots a million volts. It also comes with a holster.”

“A million volts? I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Stun guns don’t kill. You have to have high amperage as well as voltage. Lightning’s amperage is high; that’s what fries the body. This plays on the attacker’s nervous system. A half-second zap will double him in pain, two seconds and you got spasms and disorientation. Over three will put him down. And, the higher voltage will travel easier through thick layers of clothing. Just remember, though, no matter the shape or price, the difference in voltage is the difference in how long it takes to put him down. So the question is, how long do you want to struggle with an attacker?”

We walked out with the million-volt gun.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Armed with my new stun gun, I previewed homes in San Bernardino early the next day. The first one was a three-bedroom ranch, but I didn’t get far. As soon as I opened the door, a musty, moldy smell hit me. I thought it might be water damage, and the bulging kitchen and dining room walls and warped floors confirmed my guess. Without venturing into the rest of the house, I turned around and left.

The next one on my list, a small three-bedroom ranch-style home, looked presentable from the street, but the weeds and loose trash scattered in the neighborhood caused me to pause. A group of teenage boys next door watched with sullen faces as I drove up, their baggy pants hanging to their knees and their caps on backward. The loud bass of their rap music throbbed in my ears, so I pressed the gas and drove on.

By three in the afternoon, I was so discouraged I headed east, thinking I’d stop first in Calimesa, then, if I didn’t find anything, continue on to Beaumont and Banning. I almost took the exit home, but if I wanted to have an open house that weekend, I needed to get the details to Ben for the newspaper.

On the freeway, I allowed myself to think about Shanna and her reaction to my letter, counting off the days until she returned from vacation. If they stayed the full two weeks, they wouldn’t return home for another four or five days. Then, depending on how late they got home, they could pick up the mail that day or the next. Maybe five, possibly six days until she called. Assuming she’d call after reading my letter. Of c
ourse she’d call. Wouldn’t she?

And when she did, what would she say? One part of me wanted desperately to know and the other was terrified at the thought of what she might decide to tell me.

That afternoon I previewed four more homes, determined to find something. Finally I checked a small two bedroom, one bath, in Banning. While it was tiny, the neighborhood showed well with mowed lawns, and the houses, while small, were all in good repair. Outside, young families worked on their lawns and washed cars. I liked the feeling of the neighborhood and the location was convenient to the market and drugstore. It would make a nice starter home, so I decided to book it. When I called the office, Nina said Ben wanted to talk to me.

“Can you drop by the office?” Ben asked.

“Anything wrong?”

“Just the contrary. I might have a buyer for your condo.”

I hustled back on the freeway, back to the office. A buyer? It couldn’t be; my condo wasn’t even in the system yet. And I wasn’t ready. I’d have to go through everything once again, sort what to keep, what to give to Shanna. Most of all, I didn’t know if I was going to get the new house. There hadn’t been enough time to even process the bids. Holy shit, where would I move?

Yet I couldn’t help but marvel at how fast my life was moving. And changing. After so many years of the same routine of working, coming home, preparing a family dinner on Sunday, then back to work on Monday and starting the process all over again, I felt a new excitement in life, something I’d never felt
even before Mac became so ill.

I punched in Terry’s cell number and swung by the house to pick him up. As my significa
nt other, I wanted him with me.

***

“I’m the buyer,” Ben told me, “and I’ll pay cash if you can vacate the condo in two weeks.”

I’m sure my mouth hung open. “You want my home? What on earth for?”

“I want to bring my aunt out from Ohio,” he said, his silver hair glistening under the high-density lamp he used to fill out contracts. “She’s my mother’s last living relative, and she’s too old to have to worry about the cold and the house’s upkeep.”

“That’s wonderful, for all of us, but two weeks? That’s
impossible, Ben. I don’t have the new house yet, and besides, there’s the time involved. How can I possibly get packed and moved when I have to work every day? I’d need at least a month.”

“My aunt has a buyer for her house and she needs to move quickly. I don’t want to put the old girl through the stress of having her things in storage while we find her something. Your condo would be perfect, but I need your answer now.”

Oh, damn. I must have looked panicked because Terry took my hand.

“It’s up to you, honey. If you want to take the offer, I’ll help you move.”

“But we don’t have a place to move to.” I swallowed hard.  Damn, what a decision. But cash? This deal was a sure thing and I wouldn’t have to sit out the time wondering if my house would sell. My mind whirled with possibilities, the image of sending a check to Stan and Maggie standing out as the brightest. But how could I possibly try to work and move in less than two weeks?

“How about if I sweeten the deal,” Ben said, as relaxed as if we were simply in a friendly conversation. If I hadn’t known he was such a consummate salesman, I would’ve sworn he didn’t really care if he made the deal or not. And, just like the typical client, I sweated, worried a
bout making the right decision.

“What if I upped the offer by another three-thousand?” Ben said. “Say, in cash, to help with the inconvenience of moving so quickly. That would bring the total up to your asking price. Now what do you say?” He sat back in his desk chair, tipping it back so far I worried it would flip over, but he patiently waited for my response, effectively using the age-old salesman’s technique of making the offer sound great, then keeping silent. The adage used to be, “The first one who speaks, loses,” and even knowing the game, it was working on me. I reacted just like a novice—fearful of committing so soon, yet afraid of losing the cash.

“Damn, Ben. No wonder you’re so successful,” I told him. “But I need some time to think straight.”

“Don’t take too much time. I want your answer by tomorrow or the deal’s off.”

***

On the way home, Terry and I discussed the pros and cons of Ben’s offer.

“If I take it, we wouldn’t have to bother about showings,” I said, driving east on Yucaipa Boulevard. “I hate trying to keep the house straight for people tromping through all the time. But the biggest consideration is the opportunity to pay off Stan and Maggie. Oh, how I want them out of my life, and the sooner the better.”

“I know that’s what you want, but are you sure that’s the wisest thing? Don’t forget, they’re your daughter’s aunt and uncle, and it’s going to be difficult for her if her mother and her father’s family
are at odds.”

Caught by the red light at Oak Glen Canyon Road, I thought about his words, but exhaust from the city bus in front filled
the car and my stomach rolled.

“I know you’re right,” I said, my hands tightening on the wheel, “but I’m not sure I’m that noble.” Damn, wouldn’t the light ever change? I felt a tightening of my neck and shoulder muscles and the beginning of a headache. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able
to forgive them. But not now.”

I rotated my head left and right to ease the pressure, but my temples were throbbing. I couldn’t wait to get home and out of my clothes. A nap would be heaven. I didn’t want to think about packing and moving, and I certainly didn’t want to think about forgiveness.

***

At home my stomach felt knotted so I fixed a light supper of scrambled eggs, toast and sliced tomatoes. Terry zapped some bacon in the microwave, but I didn’t think my stom
ach could take anything greasy.

“I still don’t know what to do,” I told him, munching on dry toast and taking a big drink of a diet cola, hoping the fizz would settle my stomach.

“Honey,” he said, helping himself to the bacon, “I’ll support your decision whatever it is, and you know I’ll help.”

Leaning over the table, I gave him a light kiss. “I appreciate it, but how can I work and get packed and moved at the same time?”

“I’m a great packer,” he said. “Don’t worry. You do your thing at work and I’ll do the packing. It won’t be so bad. At least you don’t have an attic full of stuff and your garage is pretty clean.”

While Terry cleared the table, I wandered the condo, assessing my belongings. After Mac’s death, Shanna had helped me sort Mac’s things, and about the only items I kept were family pictures, the boxes of cards, and a few personal items such as his wallet and cufflinks. Now, I just wanted rid of it all. After everything that had happened, I wanted to dump Mac’s things into the garbage, but there was Shanna to consider. And Kyle. Perhaps one day he’d like his grandfather’s jewelry, and Shanna, I’m sure, would want the pictures and cards. I made a mental note to ask when she called.
If
she called. I was beginning to wonder if the letter had been a good idea after all.

Terry came up from behind me and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I leaned back against him
.

“So many decisions to make, so much to do,” I said. “I just want to run away from home.”

“You can’t run without me, you know.” He nibbled my neck, and while I felt a delicious tingle, the strain of the past few days kept me from enjoying the kisses. I couldn’t relax.

“You need a massage.” Arm around me, Terry led me to the bed. “Strip down to your underwear and lie on your back. Or, you can take it all off, but you’re liab
le to get more than a massage.”

I’d never had a massage. In all my years of marriage, Mac had never offered to rub my feet or back. Sometimes, after standing all day at an open house, I’d feel achy all over and I’d ask him to rub my feet. I made sure I took a shower before asking, but even then he’d make it so clear he found the chore distasteful that I quit asking and rubbed my own feet.

Now, the prospect of a foot rub was more tempting than the best sex in the world. In just my bra and panties, I lay across the bed.

“Scoot down to the end so I can reach you,” Terry told me, returning from the bathroom with my body lotion.

I did so and waited, not knowing what to expect. He started with the fingers on one hand, gently working every inch to my shoulder, then moved to the other hand. After he massaged each hand and arm, he started on my feet, rubbing my heels, my ankles and even between my toes. He had me to turn over, and he concentrated on my shoulders, working his way to the base of my skull. His warm, slippery hands massaged and kneaded the tightened muscles until I moaned in pleasure. I couldn’t believe what I’d been missing all my life.

“You should make an appointment with Dr. Cole in Redlands,” he said. “He’s my chiropractor, and he’s the best.”

“Umm,” I answered. When he stretched out beside me, I felt liquid all over. “Want the favor returned?”

“Later. I want you to relax and feel better. You have some decisions to make and you need to make them tonight. I’ll heat some hot cocoa and we can talk.”

Damn, I loved that man. No wonder his wife hadn’t wanted to let him go.

I jerked upright. Where had that thought come from? I didn’t want to think of Terry’s wife. She was a shadowy figure in the background, an unwanted presence I didn’t want to acknowledge. When I heard Terry approaching the bedroom, I slipped on my robe and shoved all thoughts of her aside.

***

We sat in bed and sipped cocoa. “Okay,” Terry said, “let’s settle this so you can relax and get some sleep. What do you want to do? Without worrying about anything else, what does your first instinct tell you to do?”

I snuggled against him and sighed. “Take the offer and run.”

“Then that settles it. All the rest we’ll figure out as we go.”

“But all this stuff . . .”

“You let me worry about it. I’m more than a pretty face, you know. I’ll get it packed.”

“But where would we stay until the house is ready?”

“There’s my apartment,” Terry said. It’s a small one-bedroom, but it’ll do for now.”

“Funny, but I’d forgotten about your apartment. But what if we don’t get the house?”

Terry shrugged. “Then we’ll find another. Or, if you don’t get the house, you might consider following through on your original plan to move to Minnesota. I’d be willing to make the move. Hell, I’d go anywhere with you.”

I set the cup on the nightstand. “I’m not sure I want to do that now, not while things are so tense between Shanna and me. Besides, I have a job here.”

“You could get a job there.”

“But I know everyone here, the lenders, the mortgage brokers—”

“You could get to know them in Minnesota.”

“But I’d have to start from scratch there, and we’d have to find a place to live . . .”

“Honey, you’re talking about details. Where you live isn’t nearly as important as
how
you live. I’d like you to remember that.”

“But there are so many things to consider.”

“Of course there are, but nothing we can’t handle. What’s more important? Staying in one place because you’re worried about what could happen, or grabbing onto what you want and working out the details as they come? If Shanna were a baby, or even still living with you, then yes, you’d need to be concerned about everything affecting her.

“But honey,” he went on, “that’s not the case, and isn’t it about time you grabbed some happiness for yourself? As for Shanna and the baby, how can you make them happy if you’re not happy yourself?
Live life.
Don’t be afraid of it.”