The Lake

“She was the prettiest little thing,” he said. “Blond. Five two and a bit, and neat with it. Y’know? Her dad died when she was a year old. Her mom committed suicide, so she was brought up by an old aunt.

“Wanda was an old-fashioned kinda girl. Quiet. Kept to herself.” He eased back into the sofa, staring through the glass wall into the night.

“Oh, Mace. What a terrible story. And for her to get murdered…”

“You move on, Leigh. Have to. Otherwise you break. Anyway,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, “you said you met someone from your past. Tell me about it.”

“How about a Courvoisier?” Leigh asked him.

“Long story, huh?”

“No. That time of night, is all.”

“Sure. I’m not on duty. A drink’d be fine.”

Leigh stepped over to the bar and decanted cognac into two balloon glasses. She handed one to Mace, took the other, and sat sideways on the sofa, facing him.

“It was eighteen years ago. I was pregnant with Deana. Mom and Dad sent me to an aunt in San Diego…” She caught the question in his eyes. “I was eighteen and single,” she explained. “I needed somewhere to have my baby.”

Mace frowned.

“I had my baby. Made a life for myself. Oh, I was capable, all right. Knew it all. Rebellious. Anti-everything, so Dad said. Practically a member of the Great Unwashed…” She grimaced at the thought. “I went on marches, though. Did demos.”

Mace grinned. “You were a hippie?”

“Looking back, I suppose you could say that. But it wasn’t all flowers in the hair, peace, man, and all that jazz. Sure, I did demos. Got involved with the cops.

“Anyway, that was here in Tiburon. Before I got myself pregnant. After that…” She paused. “When I went to San Diego, I met a young art student, Cherry Dornay. She was a great kid. Free as the wind, happy, and a real pleasure to be around, I guess.

“She had a brother, Ben. Now, he was a real hippie. Long hair, beard, wild shirts, Jesus boots. Into the Beatles. The works.”

She broke off, embarrassed. She felt awkward. Guilty, divulging this piece of her personal past to a comparative stranger. She hadn’t even told Deana about her friendship with Cherry and Ben.

Mace was smiling at her. She relaxed again. The mood was just right: warm, friendly, with more than a hint of sexual awareness, which she knew they both were feeling. Her heartbeat quickened, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

“Sounds like you really enjoyed life back there,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“And you met this girl again, today?”

“Right. It was a…wonderful surprise. We had a lot of catching up to do.”

“You never kept in touch?”

“No,” Leigh gave a wistful smile. “I guess I was too busy. Too busy making plans. Set my heart on having my own restaurant. Not easy, with a baby. But I managed; Mom and Dad helped me financially. Kept us both clothed and fed…”

“You didn’t go back there. Home, I mean?”

“Not straightaway. I was proud. Wanted to prove myself. Wanted to redeem myself, I guess. Show Mom and Dad I could be a success. Show them I’d grown up and could look after my daughter okay.”

“You’ve sure done all of that, Leigh. You’ve got a great kid who’s going to college in the fall, and a successful restaurant. Your folks must be real proud of you.”

Leigh saw a shadow cross his face.

Maybe not. Trick of the light, she guessed.

Sighing, she glanced at her wristwatch.

Almost midnight. Deana’s probably asleep by now.

“I can take a hint. Time I was somewhere else, Leigh. Thanks for the drink. And your company,” he whispered. “My treat next time. You choose the place—and we’ll make a date.”

“I’d like that, Mace.”

“You would?” He smiled eagerly.

“Yes, I would. Very much.”

He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“ ’Night, Leigh. Take care, now.”

Her heart raced again.

She saw him to the door, then watched the taillights of his black Trans Am snake away into the night.

TWENTY-THREE

Deana lay in bed.

Listening to Mace go.

She heard Mom’s voice. Light. Laughing a little. Then Mace’s, low and intimate.

Looks like he got Mom on the hop.

Bastard!

It was one of those nights again, hot and muggy.

I sure could use a shower.

She shoved the sheet down with her feet and lay still.

Feeling the sweat go cold on her body.

She lifted her nightgown away from her breasts and blew down inside the bodice. It made her feel hotter.

“Phewww!”

A night like this when I had my dream…

That was no dream. It was the real thing.

Nelson and his hatchet.

Sorry. Meat cleaver.

What’s the difference?

Either way, you end up the same—a chopped-up body.

Could’ve been my chopped up body.

Oh God. Let them find him soon.

Mom thinks he threw himself off the bridge.

Hope so.

Then we’d all be safe.

But he was out of his tree.

Anyone could see that.

Those wild eyes. Mistake. That wild eye. Slobbering mouth.

Uhhh. Yuck!

She swung her legs out of bed and stood up.