The Lake

“Let me guess. You’ve come for your knife, right? I have it here. And your cap. Although I see you’ve found another one. Must need quite a wardrobe—going out, losing your things like that…”

“Okay, Warren. I confess. I did come back for my knife. It’s Mom’s, and she’ll go ballistic if she finds out it’s missing.”

“Looks remarkably like a vegetable knife to me.”

“So what? Any kinda knife is a good idea for someone out running at night.”

“Sure,” he said seriously. “But maybe it’s not such a wonderful idea. Midnight running, I mean. Especially for a young girl…”

“I’m eighteen. I can look after myself.”

“Eighteen?” He looked impressed. “All of eighteen?”

“Look. Hand me my knife, please, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Knife and cap. You ought to thank me.”

Uh-huh. Here it comes.

I have to thank him.

Serves me right for being so dumb.

For walking into his trap like a complete moron.

“Oh yeah? Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I meant by accepting my offer of cocoa. Nothing more.”

Warren seemed a little offended that she’d read something more into his words.

“Okay,” she replied, relenting slightly. “But we’ll have to make it snappy. I might be missed.” As an afterthought, she added: “Mom’s well in with a guy from Mill Valley PD.”

“Really? In that case, a quick swig of my special brew and you must be on your way. I’ll escort you, if you like. In case you meet up with Harry and Mommy Dearest again.”

“Whatever.” Deana was intrigued by his easy, lighthearted manner. He sure didn’t look threatening. She glanced at Sabre, lying, head on paws, under the sink unit. His bright eyes fixed on hers.

Watching every move.

Good one to have on the home team, Deana decided.

The cocoa was great. The best she’d tasted so far.

“What’s your recipe?” she asked.

“My secret,” he said, and smiled.

“Well, it’s tasty, I’ll give you that.”

He gave a smug smile, looking pompously complacent.

Then he winked at her.

“Told you I got awards for it. Anyway, how about you? At high school?”

“Going to Berkeley in the fall.”

“Mmmm…A little past that stage, myself. Though I confess, I do recall it with some affection.”

“Oh.” She looked at him. He didn’t exactly look like he was past it.

“What do you do, then?”

“I have a bookstore. In San Anselmo. I put out searches for rare and out-of-print books. Request a book, any book, and I’ll get it for you…Eureka.”

“Uhhh?”

“Eureka Bookstore. As in striking gold? Remember the old forty-niners?”

“Sure, sure. Got it.”

“Neat, huh?” He sounded childishly pleased, explaining the name of his place to her this way.

“Cute,” she replied. “Anyway, you look too young to be mixed up with old books.”

“I’m twenty-two, if that helps.” He smiled brightly.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Quite ancient, aren’t I? As for the bookstore, my parents left me a small sum after they died, and as I’ve always loved books, I decided to make them my life’s work. Voilà, I bought myself a bookstore.”

“You mentioned your sister…”

“Yes. Sheena. She’s out right now. Should be back around five-thirty. Home with the dawn chorus, usually.”

“Stays out late, your sister?”

“Mmmm. You could say that. She works at a club. In San Jose. Hangs around in case of trouble.”

“That so? She keeps fit, then?”

“Oh, sure. Used to coach for a college baseball team. Gave it up. Too much like hard work, she said.”

“Must be quite a gal.”

“She sure is.”

“Younger than you?”

“No. A little older.”

Deana began to feel uneasy. She was thinking about the car she’d seen earlier.

The black funeral car.

She shivered.

Okay, it was interesting enough, all this personal stuff, but she really oughta be getting on home now. If it weren’t for thinking about that goddamn car, and worrying about Mom’s knife, she told herself, she could have stayed all night, no problem.

Chatting about whatever came into their heads.

Perhaps even more personal stuff.

She had the feeling Warren would make a good listener. Maybe she should hang around a little longer…

Except Sheena might object and throw me out.

If I stayed till five-thirty. Which I won’t.

“I gotta go.”

“Of course,” Warren said. He rose and pulled open a drawer by the sink unit.

“Here’s your knife.” He handed it to her, handle first.

“Oh, and your cap. Sabre found it and brought it to me. You may have to launder it,” he added.

Fishing around in a lower cupboard, he picked out the cap and passed it over.

Deana sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and smiled.

“Get your drift. About laundering it, I mean.”

“I’ll see you home.”

“It’s okay. Really—”

“I’d like to see you home,” he interrupted, cutting her short. “I’d worry you might meet up with a real live rapist—or worse, Mommy Dearest again.”

“Okay. If you can keep up with me. I like to run.”

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

Warren held open the kitchen door for her, then looked back at the dog.

“Sabre. Stay.”