Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller Page 20

  Inside, I found hardwood floors, high ceilings and crown moldings. The out-dated wooden kitchen cabinets desperately needed attention, but someone had remodeled the two bathrooms, installing new tile as well as pedestal sinks and a claw-foot bathtub.

  Walking from room to room, I pictured how I’d decorate if it were mine. A loft area outside the upstairs bedrooms would be a perfect reading area, and I imagined lining the walls with bookcases and sitting on a comfortable chair in the evenings, Kyle selecting toys from a nearby chest.

  Even though the house had been built in the early nineteen-hundreds and needed some repair work, I adored it and wondered if Terry would like it as well. We hadn’t even discussed living arrangements beyond the brief discussion in the beginning of our relationship, but I considered the possibilities. I could sell the condo, and even if the new place was mortgaged to the ceiling, Terry and I could start all over in our own home, with no hidden or hostile memories to mar our life together.

  Excited by the thought, I rushed down the hillside to Redlands to run the specs on my condo and the new neighborhood before calling Terry. I discovered that while prices were down, the condo had appreciated just enough in price in the year since Mac had mortgaged it that I could sell it and pay off Stan and Maggie. That alone was the deciding factor. If I could pay them off entirely and have enough left over to make a down payment on something else, I’d do it.

  Too excited to wait, I punched in Terry’s cell number. When he answered, I told him about finding the house and running the specs on my condo.

  “Whoa, honey. Isn’t this a little sudden? Maybe you should give this a little more thought. You don’t want to make a mistake by selling too soon.”

  “You’re right. I’ll think about it.” I held the phone and glanced at Nina at her desk, at Ed at his, and finally, out the window at the sunny day. “Okay,” I said to Terry. “I’ve thought about it. Shall I pick you up?”

  ***

  Terry loved the house as much as I did, and after doing his thing, like jumping on the floors and examining the foundation, he eyed the two pine trees in front.

  “Perfect spacing for a hammock,” he said.

  “Good heavens, I haven’t seen a hammock since I was a child.”

  “Can’t think of a better way to spend a lazy summer afternoon. Afterwards, that is.” He grinned. “I think they have hammocks big enough for two.” He gave me a kiss. “If we’re going to buy a house together, how about marrying me?”

  “Sorry. Not ready yet. What’s the matter? Don’t you want to live in sin?”

  “Living in sin has its advantages, but we might shock the neighbors.”

  “I doubt our living in sin will bother them,” I said, bantering back. “It’s the swinging parties they might not like.”

  He smiled, then was quiet a moment. “Honey,” he finally said, “I love the house, but before you go further, you better take some time to give this some serious thought.”

  “Serious thought about what?”

  “I’m thinking about Shanna. I’m sure she associates the condo with her father. It might be hard for her to think about you in a different house, especially with me. Perhaps you should take one step at a time. For her sake.”

  I had to admit he had a point. But I wanted a new start in a new house. I wanted a new life.

  “I hope she can come to accept everything that’s happened,” I told him, “but I can’t wait to live my life until she approves.” I took a deep breath. “Ready to go to the office? We can fill out the contract.”

  ***

  We spent the next couple of hours with Ben filling out forms on the condo as well as the new house. While Terry would move in and help with the house, he insisted on presenting the contract in my name only.

  “It’s better this way,” he said. “You’ll have your own home and I won’t have any legal complications.”

  When we left the building, he slipped his arm around me. “It’s official now,” he said. “Any regrets?”

  “Absolutely not.” I took a deep breath. “Now, if the contract’s accepted, we can truly start fresh.”

  Just as we reached our cars, the loud sound of a revving engine caught our attention. Burning rubber, Rick’s Corvette sped into the street and passed us.

  “Look!” I pointed. This time Terry saw it.

  “What the hell,” he said, staring after the car. His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw worked.

  “That tears it. Come on.” He led me into his car, and after we were seated, he punched in a number on his cell phone. He turned to me. “I’m calling Jack. He’s a cop.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jack 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 must 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 faded 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 could 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 you 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 more 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 course 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 significant 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?