Beyond the Quiet: Romantic Thriller Read online

  Until the cancer.

  With an effort, I pushed the past away. I wouldn’t allow myself to spend another evening wallowing in misery. I was going to make some changes in my life and start over in Minneapolis; I might be a little late and a lot older, but I could do it. I would be there for my daughter and my grandson.

  ***

  To my amazement, I slept well and woke about seven-thirty the next morning. I decided to get some housework done before returning the signs to the office.

  But, like a magnet, I was drawn to the notice in my handbag. I studied the date. A year ago this month, Mac had finally admitted that he could no longer struggle to work every day and had retired on disability. Even his desk job as technical illustrator proved to be too strenuous. He was crushed, his ego deflated when he told me, as if my love depended on his masculinity.

  I quit work to care for him. We were home together most of the time, so I couldn’t imagine why he’d need a private post office box. Folding the notice, I stuffed it back into my handbag. It was probably nothing, but I’d ask Stan. As Mac’s executor, he’d know if it was anything to be concerned about.

  I vacuumed the living room and hallway and checked the small bath downstairs. It looked pristine, even after Shanna’s visit—the strawberry hand towels folded neatly on the rod, the dish of pink soaps placed just so, and the sparkling sink free of soap scum.

  How I’d love to see Mac’s toiletries scattered on the marbled vanity. I wouldn’t even gripe at the little pile of whiskers he’d always left in the sink.

  The last year of Mac’s illness, when he was too weak to climb the stairs, I’d made a bed for him in the living room.

  One day, when we had felt especially disheartened, we looked around at all the drab furnishings and decided we needed some color in our lives. So we sold the white drapes and the beige sofa and chairs, pored over catalogs and ordered new furniture and drapes in a rich, burnished gold. The day everything was delivered, we were as excited as kids at Christmas and admired our new room like parents with a new offspring. Mac got out the wine, poured each of us a glass and held his high.

  “To all of our years together, some of them good,” he teased.

  “Some of them good?” I repeated, clicking glasses, loving him with every ounce of my being, terrified I was going to lose him.

  “Always remember the good times, and forgive the bad,” he said as his eyes met mine. “Unlock that big heart of yours, Lisa, and let those who love you fill your tomorrows.”

  Today, I took my coffee and sat on Mac’s sofa bed, desperately needing to feel something of him, his essence, his spirit for life.

  During the long nights after he died, I’d try to remember the look in his eyes—the frustration, the hopelessness of living with so much pain. He had tried so hard to put on a brave front for me, but all I had to do was look at him and I knew. When it was especially bad, I prayed for his death. Other days I was more selfish because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

  I took a sip of cold coffee and wished I’d been a better wife.

  I had loved him more than anyone and tried to show him, by keeping his clothes immaculate and the house spotless. But something was missing. I just couldn’t let my emotions show. Mac talked to me about it many times, told me he had never felt passion from me. I desperately wanted to please him, so I read everything I could about relaxing, especially before lovemaking. I tried eating, not eating, soaking in warm water, sipping wine—one time I gulped three daiquiris one after another. But I was never one to hold liquor well. Instead of feeling happy and sexy like most people, I became sleepy and morose.

  The phone rang. I didn’t recognize the ID or the man’s voice.

  “This is Terry O’Neal. You know, from yesterday, at the open house.”

  Oh no, I thought, wishing I’d let the machine answer. I tried to put a smile into my voice. “Mr. O’Neal. What can I do for you?”

  He hesitated, laughed, and sounded embarrassed. “I don’t know quite how to put this, but I have to tell you I’ve been thinking about you and had to hear your voice again.”

  I was so surprised that I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “I know you probably think I’m a nut,” Terry went on, “and I guess I am. But I’d really like to see you again. As soon as possible.”

  “Mr. O’Neal—”

  “Call me Terry, please.”

  “Mr. O’Neal, this conversation is completely inappropriate. I’m not interested.”

  “Please, Lisa. I haven’t dated in over thirty years and I’m probably going about it in the wrong way. But when I saw you, something...magical happened to me just like in the old songs. I have to see you again.”

  I had a sudden flash to the moment when he was leaving the house and our eyes met. I couldn’t deny I’d felt...something. Perhaps it was simply that knowledge women get when they knew a man was interested. For that one instant, I’d felt alive.

  Still, I had no interest in this man or anyone else. It took every ounce of strength I had to face each day, and there was no room for complications.

  “Mr. O’Neal, are you even looking for a house?”

  “Of course. It’s for Betty, my ex-wife. You met her yesterday.”

  “You’re buying a house for your ex-wife?”

  He sighed. “It’s a long story and I hope you’ll give me the chance to tell you about it.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but a client’s martial status was no concern of mine. Not that he was a client.

  “While this is very flattering,” I finally said, “I’m going to hang up.”

  “Wait!”

  For some inexplicable reason, I held on.

  “Please, Lisa. May I call you Lisa?”

  “Mr. O’Neal, I’m really not up to this. Yesterday was my first day back to work. My husband passed away last month...” My eyes filled.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” Terry said.

  “Thank you, but please don’t call again.”

  “Let’s start again. I’m serious about buying a house and you might as well get the commission.”

  I hesitated. Our insurance had refused to pay after Mac’s treatments reached five–hundred thousand, so we’d spent all of our savings. Even after Mac’s insurance and small pension came through and I sold the condo, I’d still have to watch every penny.

  “Well...”

  “You think about it and I’ll call you tomorrow. Then you can do your thing—you know, get all the information you need to help me find Betty a house.”

  Should I? He did have a nice voice, and he sounded sincere. But, it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “I’d be happy to give you the name of someone else in the office to help you,” I told him, thinking of Nina, the office receptionist and a single mother who was studying to be a realtor. She would love the referral.

  “No, that won’t do. It’s you I want, and I intend to call you again to persuade you to change your mind.”

  I punched the disconnect button. Of all the nerve.

  Heading west on I-10 to the Redlands office, my cell phone rang again. I glanced at the ID, relieved it was my brother-in-law rather than that nut from the open house.

  “Hey, babe,” Stan said, “how’s it going?”

  I told him about my first day back and mentioned the O’Neals and the morning call.

  “He bothering you?” he asked. “If he is, I’ll give him an attitude adjustment.”

  Dear, sweet, Stan. While Mac had been just over six feet, Stan was the bear in the family at six-five and two-hundred-fifty pounds, a man who looked so intimidating that no one would suspect he had the heart of a teddy bear. He was the one who taught me to fish at Big Bear Lake when Mac didn’t have the patience, laughing when I snagged his shirt or hat with my casting line. Not only was Stan my brother-in-law, but he was also our attorney and had been my right arm for the past year. I dearly loved him and his wife, Maggie, and didn’t know what I would have done without eithe
r one of them.

  “Nothing like that,” I told him. “The man was just a nuisance, a guy on the make. You know the type.” I asked him about their trip.

  “We fed the fish more than they fed us,” he said with a laugh, “but it was good to get away.” Then he asked about Shanna and the baby.

  “She wants me to move there, Stan, and I want to.”

  “That’s a big decision, Lisa. You sure you want to decide something like that now? Maybe you should wait a few months.”

  “It’ll be a few months anyway, until everything’s settled. But is there any way to speed things up? For some reason, Shanna wants me out there as soon as possible, and I’d like to go. She made me feel wanted.”

  Stan was silent a moment. Then, “I’ll see what I can do, doll, but you know how the system works. You doing anything later this afternoon?”

  “I’m on my way to the office.”

  “Tell you what. You come on over after you get loose and we’ll barbecue. Maggie’s about to have a conniption fit worrying about you.”

  “Conniption fit? You’re sounding more and more like Maggie all the time.”

  “I know. It was supposed to work the other way. Jesus, can’t you just see me in court, about to go for the jugular and something like that pops out? Kind of spoils the effect, doesn’t it?”

  We laughed. I was going to ask about the postal notice, but decided to wait until I saw him later. If it were anything to worry about, he’d know. As Mac had said countless times, there was no one better.

  ***

  When I pulled in front of the office, I scanned the cars to see who was working. I’d intended to stash the signs and beat a hasty retreat, but since there was only Ed Munson’s old Chevy sitting in the lot, I decided to check next week’s listings.

  I still avoided certain friends and work associates. It was always so stilted and awkward with them trying to express their sympathy and me trying to be brave and accepting when all I wanted to do was scream my rage that my husband had been taken from me.

  Even before Mac became ill, I’d avoided this place like the plague, showing up only for the required Monday morning meetings and an occasional shift of floor duty. My boss and broker, Ben Romero, made a rotating schedule for all the associates and the only excuse was death—yours, preferably—or showing a house to a client. I considered it a waste of time and got out of it as often as I could.

  It was worse now. Picking up the signs yesterday had been the pits. With so many people expressing sympathy, I was a wreck.

  Nina's reception desk was empty, but a half-filled coffee mug sat in the middle. Beyond a small waiting area, Ed sat at one of the eight sales desks talking on the phone.

  Funny, even when it felt as if a hundred years had passed and your entire life was altered, the rest of the world continued as if the cataclysm you had survived were nothing but a passing observance. Somehow, it didn’t seem right.

  Ed saw me and hung up the phone, grinning so broadly that I couldn't help grinning back. Everything about that guy was dull, from his sandy-colored hair to the tan rumpled suits he always wore. But when he smiled, he sparkled with genuine warmth and good will.

  “Well, hello again. You coming back full-time?”

  “No way.” I set my briefcase on the desk behind his. “Just waiting for things to be...settled, before moving to Minneapolis.”

  “What's in Minnesota?”

  “A whole new life.” When he looked puzzled, I added, “My daughter and grandson.”

  “Hmm.” He raised his eyebrows. “You're not going to turn into a mother-in-law, are you?”

  “God, I hope not. Mac and I had discussed moving out there before he...before the cancer...”

  “I don't blame you,” Ed broke in. He had a wife and four children and was always showing pictures. Everyone tried to scatter or look busy when he came into the office with that look in his eye.

  When his phone rang and he turned around to answer, I grabbed the current listings notebook from Nina’s desk and made a copy of the Yucaipa and Calimesa area as well as Redlands and the surrounding suburbs. Back at my desk, I marked the homes to preview and select for another open house.

  The front door opened and Rick Lanyi sauntered in. I’d hoped he would have drifted to another agency long ago, or better yet, skipped town. About thirty, he was a smooth talker who acted as if the key to success lay in his handsome Italian looks. He was also the cause of many sleepless nights for me while I reviewed conversations with him in which I wished I’d made a witty, cutting answer to one of his snide remarks. Unfortunately, I was never able to spout them when it came time to say something brilliant. Instead, I usually humiliated myself by coming up with nothing but polite banalities.

  “Well. The lady whiz at work again. What a sight to behold.” He dropped his sharkskin briefcase on his chair and perched on the edge of my desk. “I heard you were back.”

  “Hello, Rick.”

  He smoothed the sooty black hair at his temples, more to reassure himself, I'm sure, that every perfectly cut hair was in place. “So, you doing your homework like a good little girl?”

  I bristled. What was wrong with this guy? He’d hired on just about the time Mac became critically ill, when we’d been faced with catastrophic medical bills. I had worked all the time trying to make as much money as I could before I had to quit and take care of him. Most of the women in the office simpered at Rick like overgrown teenagers, but I’d been too preoccupied to pay him any attention.

  “I just want to make a living like everyone else.”

  “Yeah, I heard about your husband. Too bad...”

  “Yeah,” I answered in the same flat tone, “it is too bad.”

  “Guess I'll have to work a little harder now. I liked riding at the top of the board and having a little extra in my pocket.”

  Once a month, Ben posted the names of the top two salesmen on the bulletin board, and whoever outsold the other was rewarded with an increase in their commission. I had been the top salesperson every month of the last year I'd worked.

  “Everyone likes extra money,” I said. “Most of us need it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll put us all to shame.” He lowered his voice and gave me a sly smile. “Just remember one thing: if you get overworked, I have a great remedy for stress.”

  I’d hoped Rick, knowing I’d been recently widowed, would act like a gentleman. I was wrong. “I’ll find my own remedy, thank you. I certainly wouldn’t go for anything you have to offer.”

  Two points of color reddened his cheeks and he glanced at Ed still on the phone. Placing both his hands on my desk, he leaned down until his face was inches from mine.

  “Maybe you’d better take a look before you turn it down,” he whispered, flashing that stupid little grin. “Bet you never had anything this good.”

  Everything in me itched to slap the smirk off his face. “What makes you think for one moment,” I whispered, carefully enunciating every word, “that I’d ever be satisfied with a boy after I’ve had a man?”

  Rick stiffened. His eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists.

  I’d done it! Finally, I said something I wanted to say when I wanted to say it.

  He stared at me, his jaw muscles working frantically.

  Had I gone too far? Probably. But I felt so damn proud of myself that I didn’t care.

  “You think you’re such hot shit—”

  “Back off, Rick. Haven’t you heard of harassment?”

  “That doesn’t apply here. I’m not your boss.”

  “Want to fight it out in court?”

  He studied me as if trying to determine if I’d carry out my threat. I had always been quiet in the office, never feeling at ease around so many people. But I held his gaze, telling myself this was just like the times Shanna questioned my authority over something she’d wanted. I just hoped Rick wouldn’t put it to the test.

  Finally he drew a deep breath and glanced around the room. When he looked
back at me he wore that ridiculous grin. I felt a chill. Behind that smile was pure venom.

  “Hey,” he said, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean any harm. Just trying to be friendly.” Flipping me a cocky little salute, he sauntered back to his desk.

  No matter how proud I felt, my body still reacted to confrontations the same old way—my hands were shaking and bile rose in my throat. I wanted out of there but didn't want him to know he had rattled me.

  Ben walked into the office and held the door open for Nina and a tall, slim woman, whose elegant gray pantsuit was the exact shade as her hair.

  No matter the times, Ben remained the courtly gentleman, perhaps because he’d been raised in a different era. In his seventies, slightly rotund with a full head of white hair and freshly pressed suits, he presented an imposing, yet fatherly appearance. Few people realized that behind that benevolent face lurked the mind of a shrewd businessman. But he had always been fair with his employees and honest with his clients. I liked and respected him as a man, employer, and, as a friend.

  “That’s Andrea Prettenger, the new associate,” Ed whispered, indicated the tall woman. “Ben’s showing her around.”

  I’d had enough for today. I grabbed the week's listing, stuffed it into my briefcase and headed for the door. Although I’d seen Nina yesterday, she hugged me.

  “You leaving?” she asked, her chubby face pink from the sun.

  “I have things to do, but we’ll talk later.”

  Ben talked a few moments about Mac. I tried to escape before I started bawling. Nina’s eyes teared.

  “Well, got to go.” I edged toward the door.

  “Sorry you missed Friday,” Ben said, “but I hope to see you tomorrow.” Both he and Nina regularly teased me about missed meetings, but it was never an issue—as long as my sales record was good.

  “Before you go, I’d like you to meet our new associate.” Ben made the introductions and then told Andrea, “Pay attention to this little lady.” He slid his arm possessively around my waist. “You can learn a lot from her. She’s the best. Should be, I trained her myself.”

  Normally I basked in Ben’s praises, but I preferred them in private. Now I wanted to sink right through the floor.