Authors: Erin Quinn
“Then why are you so quiet all of a sudden?”
She shook her head. “No reason.”
“You’re sure? Because something about the way you’re sitting over there—way over there, as in as far away from me as you can get in a car—that reminds me of something you used to do when you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad, Sam,” she said, scooting from the car before he could question her further. She didn’t want to get into her private feelings with him. She’d already said too much to him and now she felt vulnerable. She heard Sam’s frustrated sigh as he followed her. Ignoring the tight corners of his lips and the irritated gleam in his eyes, she stepped onto the sidewalk and faced the house.
It was just as she remembered, but now a brown layer of neglect covered it, giving it a faded, run-down look. The lush carpet of grass her mother had nurtured was now withered to a dried sienna.
How fast things change.
Broken glass surrounded a front window that had been “repaired” with a piece of cardboard. The screen door hung cockeyed on its hinges. On the side of the house, a haze of frenzied flies buzzed over a black-green trash bag and nearby, a couple of wild-looking cats lolled in the sunshine. Christie wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor that drifted toward her, frowning at the trash.
“Pfeiffer sold this house to settle the estate,” she said.
“The new owners don’t take very good care of it,” Sam said. “Your mom would cry if she saw this.”
“I wonder if someone is living here? See that trash?”
Sam nodded and shrugged.
“Don’t you think that’s strange?” she asked.
“That they have trash?” he said. “No.”
“But it doesn’t look like anyone’s even living here.”
“Do you want me to knock on the door?”
“Are you crazy?” Christie said. “What if
he’s
in there?”
“Then I’ll kick the holy shit out of him.”
“He’s a killer, Sam.”
He stared at her coldly. “He’s a woman-beating chicken shit and if anyone should be scared, it’s him.”
With that, Sam marched to the front door and pounded, waited a few seconds and banged again. Christie watched in the anticlimactic silence as a trickle of sweat slipped down her back.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Sam called.
A stranger’s voice answered from behind them. “He’s not around.”
They both jumped and spun to see the old man on the sidewalk at the end of the drive. He’d approached silently, even though his six-foot framed carried considerable bulk.
He wore camouflage pants and a flannel shirt buttoned to the neck in defiance of the blazing heat. His smile unearthed yellowed teeth that were staggered in the uneven turf of his gums like ancient ivory tombstones. Whiskers poked from his face like spines from a shriveled cactus. His flesh was the color of eggshells and it sagged on his bones.
“He’s not around. Hasn’t been since yesterday,” the man said, nodding while he spoke, as if agreeing with himself.
Sam stepped off the porch and approached the man. “Him who?”
“DC. That’s who you’re looking for, aren’t ya?”
“DC? You know DC?” Christie asked.
The man nodded, stepping closer. He smelled of Old Spice and motor oil. “I know him by sight. I know his comin’s and goin’s, you might say. Not that I spy. He’s just the loudest sumbitch I’ve ever heard. He’s got a car that sounds like a goddamn locomotive. That’s the truth.”
Christie shook her head in disbelief. “And he lives here?”
“He’s only been back a few days. He took off just before the woman died. You related to her?”
“I’m her daughter.”
“Thought so. It’s the eyes.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“Just to share a hello. I was sorry when she passed. She took good care of the place.”
Christie shook her head in confusion. “I thought this house had been sold after my mother died?”
“Naw. It hasn’t been for sale that I’ve seen, anyway.”
Sam frowned, staring at Christie. This time he didn’t even attempt to disguise his irritation with her. In fact, it seemed to have boiled to quite pissed off.
It was typical of him to get mad at her simply because he didn’t understand her. Some things change too fast; others, not at all.
“Didn’t you see the documentation on the sale, Christie?” he asked.
“I had a lot on my mind at the time, Sam. I thought I saw it, but I don’t know.”
“You would have had to sign it.”
She looked away.
“Don’t tell me you signed something that
Pfeiffer
gave you without reading it first?” he said, as if the very thought were too unthinkable to verbalize.
“I had a lot on my mind, Sam,” she repeated through clenched teeth, “I don’t even
remember
everything that I signed at the time.”
“Do you have copies?”
“Yes, at home.”
“I think it might be smart to take a look.” Sam looked back at the man who watched them with interest. “What about DC? You say he’s living here?”
“If you could call it that. He’s in and out like a wild wind. Lights go on and off a hundred times a night, but he don’t stay put longer than an hour or two.”
Christie looked over her shoulder as if expecting DC to zoom into the driveway as they stood there talking about him. She couldn’t suppress the shiver that shook her at the thought.
“When was the last time he was here?” Sam asked, following Christie’s troubled gaze down the street.
“Like I said, I saw him yesterday, hanging around like a skunk with the runs.”
“Huh?”
“Back and forth. In the house, out the house. Screen door must have slammed fifty times if it slammed once. Not that I was watching him, mind you. It was just too damn hot to sit in the house. I was on my porch.”
“What time did he leave?” Christie asked.
“I’d say it was about three. I hope he’s gone for good, but I know that that’s too much to ask for. He’ll be back, that shitty sumbitch.”
Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Would you give me a call if he comes back, Mr....?”
“Ives. Delmont Ives. Folks call me Del.”
Sam shook Del’s hand, introducing himself and Christie.
“I’d be glad to give you a ring if I see him. Got a beef with DC, do you?”
Sam’s grin held little amusement. “You might say that.”
Chapter Fifteen
“What do you think?” Christie asked as they walked away.
“I think we need to go over the estate papers as soon as we get home.”
“You think Pfeiffer lied?”
“I’d say that’s a fair bet.”
“You’re upset, aren’t you?”
“Another winner.”
He turned to watch her. “I just don’t get you, Christie. One minute I think we’re connecting—the next, you’re huddled against the door like I’m some kind of monster. I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were going to try to talk and be open with each other.”
“We are,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’ve told you everything.”
“Everything about DC—maybe,” he said softly. “About your mother—maybe. But not about you. When it comes to you, I’m always left waiting.”
The sincerity in his tone made her feel lost and defensive. “What do you want from me, Sam?” she demanded more sharply than she’d intended. “We have one morning of shared coffee and now everything else is changed? I don’t think so.”
“What about last night?”
“Oh, sorry. One night and one morning. You’re pushing again, Sam.”
“And you’re running away again, Christie.”
She stared at him hard. “I never stopped running.”
He opened her side of the Jeep and slammed it after she got in. By the time he circled to his side, though, he closed the door with less force. He started the Jeep and asked in a tired voice, “Where to? The clinic?”
“If you still want to.”
They drove in awkward silence, with a depressing gnaw of tension between them. Back to square one.
Christie sighed. “Pull over if you see a pay phone, please. I don’t know what good it will do, but I want to leave a message with the police. Let them know DC’s name and tell them what Del said.”
Sam pulled into a Circle K and bought a couple of sodas and a bag of chips as he waited. He chomped a few Fritos, watching her make the call.
She was right. He was pushing. What was it about her that made him act that way? He shook his head, starting the engine as she hung up and walked back to the Jeep. The wind teased her hair, chasing it across her face. She brushed it back with a careless hand, the movement somehow graceful. Sam didn’t need to ask himself what it was about her that he couldn’t resist.
“Well?” he asked, handing her a soda once she’d closed the door and fastened her seat belt.
She shrugged. “At least this time the person I talked to had a sympathetic ear—he listened, not that it’ll do me any good. Did you know that two little girls got kidnapped yesterday?”
“Two?”
She nodded. “The police don’t know if they’re related or separate crimes. I get the impression that they’re afraid all the sickos are coming out of the woodwork and snatching those poor kids.”
Sam passed her the chips, merging back into traffic as noon drivers attacked the roads. He dodged an illegal U-turner bent on reaching a drive-thru before anyone else and tried to concentrate on what the lunchtimers weren’t—the road.
“This whole damn city is full of nuts,” he said. “DC fits right in.”
“You’ve got that right,” Christie agreed, glad for the truce that seemed to have been struck while she was on the telephone.
“You know what though?” Sam said. “This DC, he’s not just crazy. I’ve got this feeling…. Maybe
I’m
the one who’s nuts, but I think DC and Pfeiffer have something going on. Maybe some scam…something to do with the houses. Who knows what Pfeiffer had you sign.”
“You think I signed everything over to him or something?’’
“That’s exactly what I think. And then he hired DC to kill you.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“But it doesn’t explain where the house in La Jolla came from in the first place, Sam.”
“That’s right. But we’re going to go through those papers as soon as we get back. I’ll bet somewhere we find the name of the original owner. If not, I’ve got a friend who’ll help us out. I want to get copies of your papers to
my
lawyer too. At least she’s honest.”
Christie stared out the window, thinking about Sam’s theory. Pfeiffer and DC. It didn’t sound right, but then again….
“You know, Sam. I do remember something Pfeiffer said in a phone conversation. He told me he’d helped my mom make some shrewd investments—” Christie turned halfway in her seat. “He said he’d helped her acquire the house with the profits. I just remembered that. At the time, it made sense. At the time, he could have said it was a gift from the king and I’d have believed it. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It sounded plausible anyway.”
“But Pfeiffer just told us she had the house when she came to him.”
“I know.”
Sam parked the Jeep in the lot that the Beth McClain Clinic shared with Vons and Osco Drugs and stared for a moment. A concrete walkway flounced the sunset-stuccoed building on two floors. An outside stairway with a wrought-iron railing climbed the side and connected the top to the bottom. As they stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of the Jeep, the hot sun burned them.
“I’m so sick of this heat,” Christie complained, unconsciously eyeing the parking lot for DC’s menacing face.
Sam grinned. “What heat?”
He could be comfortable in a sauna.
In spite of her complaint, Christie shivered as she stared at the door to the clinic. Suite 103. The last time she’d been there replayed in her mind. She’d been so scared. It seemed now that she’d spent each day since in a state of waiting. Waiting for DC.
“Hey? Christie? You there?” Sam asked, pausing to look over his shoulder at her.
She nodded. “I guess I just realized how much I hate DC. All this time, all these months, I’ve been so busy being afraid of him. It never occurred to me how much I hate him. That he should be afraid of me, too. I wonder if he’s smart enough to know that?”
“Not yet, but we’ll educate him.”
Sam opened the door to the clinic and they entered the hushed reception area. The air conditioner noiselessly chilled the climate to an icy cool and the carpet muffled their steps. A small bell tinkled as the door swung closed behind them. The place was bittersweet with memories of Christie’s mother. She missed her so much.
They stood just inside while their eyes adjusted to the muted elegance of the dim lobby. In seconds, a woman appeared from around the corner.
“Christie?” she exclaimed. “Christie, is that you?”
Beth McClain crossed from her office to where they stood, opening her arms like a soft, warm quilt and wrapping Christie in a warm embrace. Pressing her face to Beth’s sweet-smelling shoulder, Christie felt tears prick her eyes. This woman had done so much for her mother. Employed her. Shown her respect. Taught her respect. Given her the confidence to finally be a mother to Christie.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you. I wanted to call you, and then I’d change my mind and decide to come see you and then…time just got away and I was embarrassed by it. I’m so sorry. I should have gotten in touch.”
Christie pulled back, sniffling and nodding. “It’s okay, Beth. I thought about calling too….”
“Well, you’re here now. And who’s this? Your husband?”
Sam leaned forward and shook Beth’s outstretched hand. “Sam McCoy.”
“I thought so. Your mother was so pleased when you two married.” She winked at Christie. “She thought a lot of her son-in-law.”
Christie felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Someone should invent a separation announcement to prevent scenes like this one.
“What am I doing, standing here gabbing? Come in. Let’s have a cup of coffee or tea or something.”
As she spoke, Beth led them down the hall. On the way, they passed the closed door that once opened into Christie’s mother’s office. A new nameplate was stuck on the door.
“You did get your mother’s things, didn’t you?” Beth asked, following Christie’s gaze.