His lips curved. His eyes glittered, black, sloelike.
Leigh got it, all right. No problem. The truth came at her thick and fast. She raised her head. Saw the smear of sweat gathering on Mace’s upper lip.
“He’s getting off on this,” she told herself. “He’s enjoying every minute of it.”
She knew it now. Jess was Mace.
Charlie’s brother. Deana’s uncle.
Oh my God, I don’t believe this. Please let it be some terrible mistake…
She thought about the insanity in the Payne family. Edith Payne, screaming at her, eyes dark and wild. Seems like Charlie’s pa was mad, too. Liquored up, and on another planet. A killer. Of a tiny baby. A baby hacked in such a horrible way. And Mace. Hard. Cruel. Raging when she’d uncovered him last night. Seen his black body hair.
Must’ve bleached the hair on his head to appear blond to the outside world. Trying to hide, eradicate, all trace of the familial black growth.
And Deana.
Oh my God, my darling daughter. Her thick black hair. The body hair she was always complaining about. From her father’s side. From the Payne side.
She pictured Deana, her own dark-haired daughter—the vision merging with Edith Payne’s Tania. But, she told herself gratefully, Deana had no manic streaks, no strange ways; nothing to say she’d inherited the “bad” Payne blood.
Thank God, Deana had West genes, too.
I was a bit of a rebel though, she reminded herself, recalling the hippie days, the demos, her anti-everything buttons pinned all over her clothes…A teenage rebel she’d definitely been.
But Deana hadn’t caused her that much trouble. Had she?
“Coffee. Black. And plenty of it!” Mattie brought in three steaming mugs on a tray.
“Gee, thanks, Mats.” Mace grinned. “Just what we need. A shot of good ol’ caffeine to get us all spiced up and rarin’ to go. What say you, Leigh darlin’?”
“Coffee. Sure,” Leigh said uncertainly. What a nightmare. Looks like he’s not going to let us go. So how do we get out of here in one piece…?
“Y’always did make great coffee,” Mace went on. “Am I right, Mattie?”
“Okay, Mace. Quit the bullshit. Whatever it is you and Leigh have got going here, I’m outta this place. You comin’, Leigh?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mattie. You an’ Leigh ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Mace reached behind. Fingering his holster.
“Mace. You’re making one big mistake.”
“Come now, Mattie. You know better than to go against ol’ Mace. You know who’s boss around here.”
“Quit playin’ around, Mace, I put one call through and the cops’ll be buzzin’ around here like flies, an’ you know it.”
“Think so, Mats?”
“Know so, Mace. Just stay cool and let us pass.”
“You were breakin’ and enterin’, Mattie. And you, Leigh. Wouldn’t have thought it of you. So ladylike an’ all.”
“Mattie. Meet Mace, Deana’s uncle. Surprised, huh?” Leigh gave a mirthless laugh. She was playing for time. Trying to catch him off guard. What then? She’d no idea.
Go with the flow. Take our chances, I guess…
“Thought there was something more to our friend than he made out,” Mattie put in, looking at Leigh. She turned to Mace. “Let us pass, Mace. You want to continue your illustrious career at the department? Let us by and we won’t say a word.”
“Mmmm. Not bad, Mattie. Not bad at all. Taught you well, didn’t I? Tricky situation, and you turn the tables with a slick remark. Won’t work this time, Mattie baby. You’re talking to the master. I got me two perps here. On a breakin’-and-enterin’ charge. I got me a result.”
Leigh’s mind worked overtime. She was sure Mace planned to finish what Charlie Senior had been unable to do.
She remembered Mace’s theory about Nelson. “He might come back. Finish where he left off,” he’d said.
Charlie Payne Sr. didn’t get to kill his black-haired baby girl. So now Mace wants to do it for him. No Tania around? So what about Deana, Charlie’s black-haired daughter?
Oh my God. Deana.
I gotta get on home. Protect her. Send her away. Like Ma Payne sent Tania away.
Well, not quite the same.
Talk to Mace, she decided. Persuade him to let us go. But don’t let him know I’m onto his little game.
She turned to Mattie.
“Mattie, why don’t you clear away the coffee things? Mace and I need to talk.”
A brief glance at Leigh and Mattie took the hint.
Right. I go out into the kitchen. Deposit the mugs. Leigh keeps Mace talking. His back’s turned to the door and I come out, guns blazing…
“Well, now, Leigh. Thought we’d finished talking for good last night. Nothing much left to say.” He tilted his head, watching her, his eyes half closed, skimming her body, undressing her as she stood before him. Like he’d done so many times before. How she’d enjoyed him doing that.
She blushed slightly, annoyed with herself for the predictable reaction. “Mace,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for the way I behaved last night…” She took a step forward. Playing for time. Looking guileless, innocent.
She smiled at him. That special, intimate smile she often gave him.
Except it wasn’t working today.
He was tense, alert. Listening. But not to Leigh.
He whirled around. Grabbed Mattie’s hand, the one holding the gun. He twisted it up. The gun pointed skyward.
“Yo! Gotcha, Mattie baby. Can’t cheat ol’ Mace. Should know that by now!”
“Oh no?” Mattie’s left leg shot out in a karate kick to the groin. He dropped her arm, danced back, and came up with a sideways chop to her neck. Mattie gasped, whirled away, but dropped her gun. Leigh sprang forward, snatched it up, and jabbed it against Mace’s head.
Mattie dove into her back pocket, opened a pair of cuffs, and snapped them around his wrists. Grabbing the gun from Leigh, she swiped the handle end across Mace’s head.
A short “Uhhhh” burst from his lips as he folded to the floor. He collapsed in a heap.
Mattie grabbed Leigh’s arm and they both made for the door. They heard Mace groan, turned, and saw him shake his head. They didn’t wait; they bolted, disappeared down the hallway, and raced out into the street.
Driving back to Del Mar, Mattie said, “So what is it with you and Mace? Care to tell me?”
Leigh hesitated, then said, “It’s a long story, Mattie.”
God, my life’s one procession of “long stories.”
She took a deep breath. “Here goes. When I was eighteen, I went to visit an aunt and uncle in Milwaukee. Out in Lake Country…” She told her tale, briefly and to the point, ending with Charlie’s death and how she’d found herself pregnant.
There was a long silence.
Then:
“Wow,” Mattie said with a low whistle. “That’s one helluva story…” She paused. “So now Mace has this thing about dark-haired girls…”
Looking at each other, the same thought occurred to them both.
“But all the time,” Mattie went on, “Mace is really searching for Tania. Meanwhile, he can’t find her, so any dark-haired girl will do.”
In her mind, Leigh saw the gruesome pictures in Mace’s scrapbook. “Don’t, Mattie, please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think about it…”
“Leigh. We gotta get to Deana. Fast.”
“Oh my God,” Leigh breathed, her eyes filling up. Her mind raced, considering the awful possibilities if Mace got there first. She felt trapped. Helpless. This was one helluva nightmare, all right.
If Deana was a target.
Maybe she wasn’t.
Maybe Tania’d show up.
Like that’s gonna happen…
Mattie changed gear, making a right into Del Mar. Driving up toward Leigh’s house, she wondered how she was going to deal with this one. They had no positive proof Mace was involved in murder. Without it, she knew the department would never believe her. So he saves gruesome pictures. Could be the scrapbook’s something he picked up someplace.
No accounting for taste.
She’d have it out with Mace…Oh yeah? She grimaced. She could see it now. Mace saying, “Gee, thanks, Mattie, that was some slug you threw back there…Guess I owe you one for that.”
For a moment, she saw herself lying at his feet, her lifeblood spilling out, soaking the carpet…Maybe dead.
Hell no. It wouldn’t be like that.
Mace was no killer. He had a temper and a weird taste in pictures, but they were buddies, weren’t they? They could always talk things through. She’d suggest he take time off, she’d cover for him…She’d wheedle the truth out of him. What he intended to do…
“Mattie.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Why d’you call people Charlie?”
Mattie gave a hoot of laughter. “Why do I call people Charlie, huh? I guess that holds a little resonance for you right now. Yes?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, it’s like this, Leigh. Remember little ol’ Yellow Bend? Like I told you, where I came from?”
Leigh nodded.
“S’far as I remember, seemed like everybody was called Charlie in that goddamn town. So, talk to a person whose name you didn’t know—I reckoned if you called ’em Charlie, you’d be right on the nose!”
“Makes sense. I think.”
“So you thought I knew about your Charlie, did ya?”
“It’s possible Mace could’ve told you!”
“Huh!” Mattie snorted. Then: “Okay, Charlie. You’re home.” Showing her even white teeth in a broad smile, she turned into the driveway. The battered Ford rumbled to a halt at the front stoop. Leigh got out of the car, closed the door, turned, and leaned in through the open window. Mattie liked the window open. Cleared out the fumes, she’d told her.
“Thanks a lot, Mattie. Looks like, between us, we brought matters to a head. Mace-wise that is. You gonna be okay?”
“Sure.” Mattie grinned. “Leave Mace to me, I can handle him. Just watch out for that daughter of yours.”
Leigh wondered if Mattie could handle Mace. After all, things had taken a turn for the worse—he could get nasty. She hesitated, then asked a question she’d thought about for a long time. “Mattie. Have you and Mace ever…”
“Nope.” Mattie smiled back. “Wasn’t that kinda relationship. Tried it on a coupla times, but he wasn’t having any. At the time, I guessed he must’ve been ‘funny’ that way. Y’know? As in gay? Turned out I was wrong. He fell for you all right, Leigh!”
“You think so?”
“I know so. ’Bye. Take extra care, you and Deana. I’ll keep you posted.”
It was late afternoon. Time for a shower, Leigh decided. Then I’ll prepare supper. Wonder what Deana had for lunch?
She eased the key into the lock. The door swung open.
“Deana,” she called.
No reply.
Her heart racing a little, Leigh bit her lip.
No worries, she thought.
Maybe Deana went over to Warren’s place.
FIFTY-ONE
The sun was going from the front of the house.
Fingers of shadow spread across the hallway.
Leigh held her breath; a twinge of dread plucked at her stomach.
She listened.
Heard a slight flutter…
Probably a bird outside…
Then:
Light footfalls scurried behind her.
A hand clawed out roughly, catching her hair, cupping her mouth.
Cutting off her cry of “HELPPP—”
Struggling wildly, she broke free. Twisting away, she swung around.
And gasped, her heart lurching, the color draining from her face. Her legs trembled.
She felt herself swaying.
It can’t be.
It was…
Nelson.
FIFTY-TWO
“I’d best be getting on home. Mom’ll be worried. I called to say I’d be back by ten.”
Warren glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen.
“I’ll drive you,” he said, adding, “I’d be happier that way.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They stepped into the darkness. It was cooler now. And quiet—except for the breeze stirring the leaves around them. Deana thought about the funeral car and shivered.
Inside the Porsche, she said, “Mom worries about me these days. Since…it all happened. I guess I should really be home, keeping her company.”
“Y’know, that’s what I love about you, Deana. You’re so nice to your mom.”
“Oh yeah? How about all that poetic stuff? Skin like milk, eyes like deep pools, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Oh, so you want Dark Lady of the Sonnets?”
“Mmmm, Shakespeare. Now you’re talking—although I’ll have you know, Warren Hastings, my reputation is whiter than white. Compared to the Dark Lady’s, that is!”
An excited tingle began in her stomach. Warren hadn’t mentioned the word “love” before. Allan had, when they talked about the Friday the 13th movie, the night he got killed. “I love the way you squeal and cover your eyes…and peek through your fingers,” he’d said.
But when Warren said “love” in that quiet, sincere way, the word took on a whole new meaning. He said it as if he really meant it.
As she stole a glance at him, her excitement mounted. She hardly dared breathe. He slid the key in the ignition and started the car. Reaching the end of the driveway, he made a right and slowed down. He brought it to a halt.
Turning to her, he said softly, “Y’know, I do care about you, Deana. I care a lot.”
He’s gonna kiss me, I know it…
She swallowed hard, and whispered, “And I like you, Warren. You’ve been great this last coupla weeks or so.” Then, as an afterthought: “And Mom likes you, too.”
She cringed inside, and made a face.
And Mom likes you, too!
What a dork! As sweet nothings go, Deana West, that sure takes the biscuit!
She gave a wry grin.
“Great,” he said, winking at her. “A guy always likes to know he has parental approval!”
She grew embarrassed. “Why d’you always make a joke of everything?”
“Nerves. When things get serious, I resort to humor. Which, I might add, doesn’t mean I’m any the less serious about you—if you get my meaning?”
“Sure I do, Warren. That’s why I like you. You’re so…”
“Mature?”
“Well, yeah, that’s the word—now you’re joking again!”
Their eyes met. She caught a ragged breath. Her heart pounded. Deliciously aware of his proximity, she reached over and gave his knee a tentative squeeze. Looking deep into her eyes, he began tracing a fingertip down her cheek.
She shivered, pressing her thighs together, feeling the sharp tingly buzz between them.
