Richard Laymon - The Lake
“Just remember, my darling daughter, that Mace is here to do a job of work. As in nailing Allan’s killer.”
Leigh had had a special meal brought in from the restaurant. We both deserve a break, she’d decided. These last few days have been a nightmare.
Beef Willington may have been off the menu, but Carl, her new, hastily appointed chef at the Bayview, had produced a wonderful dinner of marinated swordfish topped with spicy mango and tomato salsa.
Squishy chocolate dessert followed.
Deana’s favorite.
“Here’s to us! One door closes, another opens,” Leigh proclaimed with a wry smile. She took a sip of cool sparkling Californian wine. “Mmmm. This is good. And Carl’s doing great, too.”
“Yeah. Good riddance to you-know-who.”
“Well, not exactly, honey. Nelson did have his moments. And he’d made a name for himself. In Tiburon, at least. Apparently, his previous experience came from working with some fancy Italian supremo at a top joint in New York. So he told me.”
“Pity he hadn’t stayed there.”
“Mmmm…” Leigh was more relaxed than she’d felt since Mom and Dad departed after the family get-together.
Only it hadn’t turned out to be a proper family get-together.
All that awkward stuff with Mom…And Deana and Allan leaving so soon after dinner…
Thank God, Mom and Dad had gone off to Boulder to be with Aunt Abby. Before everything happened.
Leigh glanced fondly at Deana. So young to have gone through such an awful experience. But, apart from her bruised jaw and a faraway look in her eyes now and then, Deana seemed to be holding up.
As funerals went, Allan’s had been pretty tense and grim. Understandably, she reckoned. Mary Powers, a single mother, so it turned out, was pale, tearful, and near to collapse. Luckily, there’d been a sister, Allan’s aunt Beth, to support her and help her through the ceremony.
Both had been distant with Leigh and Deana, darting just brief looks of recognition at the outset.
Nothing more.
Unlike Leigh’s own nightmares over Charlie’s funeral…
Charlie.
After eighteen years, memories of his death still lingered.
Maybe there is a curse on us, after all…
Leigh dismissed her gloomy thoughts and looked over at Deana. She gave a contented sigh. It was good, sitting here in the candlelight, chatting, eating nice food.
Despite the cloud of Allan’s death still hanging over us…
Not wanting to spoil tonight for either of them, she made a determined effort to lighten up, recalling another event.
One that had happened only that day.
A vivid reminder of the past.
Cherry.
“Cherry. Cherry Dornay!”
The red-haired girl looked up.
“Leigh West. As I live and breathe.”
“How’re things, Cherry? And,” Leigh paused, “how’s Ben?”
“Oh, Ben’s okay. Never married, of course.”
There was an awkward silence. The red-haired girl moved on, hastily. “And you? I recall you were set on owning your own restaurant all those years ago.”
“Yeah. I was. And I did.”
“Huh? You mean…all this is yours?”
Leigh gave a pleased smile, and Cherry said, “Wow!”
They chatted.
About this and that.
The old days.
How things had changed. Cherry taught art now, and was living in the San Fernando Valley. Ben was in IT—and still in San Diego.
They laughed a lot, reminiscing together. Yet Leigh still felt an awkwardness, a barrier that time had placed between them. She smiled at Cherry, remembering the seventies. San Diego. Lazy days on Mission Beach; meeting up with the crowd at Pepe’s Place on J Street. That trip to Tijuana when Ben had lost his precious guitar…
So much had gone on since then.
A lot of water had gone under quite a few bridges.
She thought of Ben. Strong, gentle; fair curly hair, worn shoulder length, hippie style. And the beard. Don’t forget the beard!
Yeah. Ben had been quite a guy.
Leigh and Cherry exchanged telephone numbers.
Promising to keep in touch.
Maybe.
“Mom. The door. I’ll get it.”
Deana left the table and went into the hallway.
“Wait, honey. Don’t open up yet.”
Deana looked through the spyhole.
Mace.
Does the guy never give up?
“Well?” Leigh asked.
“It’s Mace.” Deana pouted. Ordinarily, she would have been a little excited. Tonight she was disappointed. She’d had Leigh all to herself—and they’d been sharing some rare intimate moments.
Precious mom-and-daughter time.
Till around thirty seconds ago.
Screw Mace.
Was he redundant, or what?
Leigh opened the door.
“Why, Mace!” Her head lifted. She laughed, raking a hand through her hair. “This is a surprise.”
“Yeah,” Deana muttered. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Stepping inside, Mace threw her a beamer, not missing a beat.
He fished around in his pocket and came up with a palmful of sunflower seeds. He tossed them into his mouth, watching her all the time. His jaws worked around the seeds.
Deana frowned back.
Who does he think he is, Fox fuckin’ Mulder?
Still grinning, his lips peeled back, showing her his rows of straight white teeth.
But his eyes stayed cool. Alert.
He turned to Leigh.
“Dropped by to say we backed your hunch that Nelson maybe was in the Golden Gate vicinity last night. We have a coupla police launches patroling the area—in the unlikely event they find his body.”
Mace and Leigh sauntered off into the living room.
Deana followed, suddenly feeling left out.
Looked like Mom and Mace were already an item.
Christ!
Okay. Maybe Mom does need a boyfriend.
But Mace?
She pictured Mom and Mace making mad, passionate love. His mouth on hers. Running his hands over her naked body…Mom panting a little, pushing him into her…
Deana squirmed at the thought.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Mace said, eyeing the table. “Were you two having dinner? I’ll be on my way. Have to catch up with Mattie, anyhow. This time of night and she’s still at the depot. Spends more time on her computer these days than she ever did when we were out on the streets.”
“Thought you and she were history. Like, you’re no longer partners?”
“Right. Mattie got a little bored in the car all day. Cramped her style, she said. Got herself an office job instead.” Mace huffed out a harsh little laugh.
Looking at him, Deana got the feeling there was probably more to Mace and Mattie than met the eye.
Maybe they had been an item, both on and off duty.
“Deana,” Leigh put in. “How about some coffee?”
Trying to get rid of me, Mom? Okay, but please don’t make a fool of yourself. I’m not jealous. Just don’t want you getting hurt…
“This is my first day back at the restaurant,” Leigh was telling Mace.
“That so? Sure you’re up to it?”
“Yeah. Got to make a start sometime. Besides, what else can I do to solve the mystery of Nelson’s disappearance? It’s up to you guys now.”
She changed the subject.
“Seems like the new chef is shaping up real good. Thank heavens.” Leigh gestured toward the remains of their meal—and the wine.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mace. Would you have preferred a glass of wine rather than coffee? I do apologize. But, naturally, I thought you were still on duty…”
“I’m not, as it happens. But coffee’s fine. Just mighty pleased to see you and Deana are coping so well. Under the circumstances.”
“Well, we’ve felt better, I can assure you. But we’re getting there. We’ll be okay when you find Nelson. He seemed like a man at his wits’ end—so maybe he won’t be much of a threat to us anymore.”
“Can’t be too sure about that, Leigh.” Mace met her eyes candidly. For a moment, her heart warmed. He was being very thoughtful. And she was grateful for that.
Briefly, she considered the yawning gap in her life. The space that one day, she hoped, a partner would fill.
Admit it, Leigh, she told herself. A man in your life could be a lotta fun.
Yeah. In my dreams!
There had been guys.
After Charlie.
A handful. Maybe even more. But her life had always been too busy for a full-on relationship.
Because there’d been Deana. Not counting the restaurant. Plus the hard work that went with all of that.
The late nights. Early mornings.
There’d been no time, no place for a permanent man in her life.
Looking back, there’d only been one who’d even remotely fitted the bill. He’d have married her like a shot if she hadn’t been so goddamned intent on her career.
Ben.
What a fool I’ve been.
He’d have made the perfect partner.
Meeting Cherry today brought all those memories flooding back…
“Something on your mind?” Mace placed a warm hand over her cool one.
She started. “Sorry. I…met someone today. Someone from the old days. Triggered off a few memories, I guess. A blast from the past, you might say.”
She smiled into his eyes. They were dark; she hadn’t noticed how dark before. Looking into them now, she saw warmth and concern—and behind that, a raunchy twinkle.
He likes me, Leigh told herself.
Mace likes me.
A squirm of excitement stirred between her thighs. It had been far too long…
“Come and get it!” Deana bustled in with the coffeepot, cream, and sugar on a serving tray. She paused, sensing the atmosphere.
Seems like I’m interrupting a special moment here.
Good.
“Uh-huh.” Clearing a space on the table in front of them, she plonked the tray on it.
“I feel a date with my TV coming on. According to TVS, Sleepy Hollow’s showing after the news. So it’s coffee for two, I’m afraid, folks.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Mace almost sounded sorry. “Well, don’t wait up. I’ll stay and chat with Mom a while longer.”
Deana threw Leigh a questioning glance.
Is this really what you want?
Leigh’s face stayed bland.
“Okay, honey. Try to get some rest, now. I won’t be long.” With a thoughtful face, Leigh watched Deana go.
“Hey. The kid’ll get over it. Kids do. It’s been a real bad experience for her—for you both—but she’s a survivor. She’ll be okay.”
“Think so, Mace?” Leigh seemed unsure. She concentrated on pouring the coffee. Black for Mace; white, no sugar for herself.
“Right on. Few weeks from now and it never happened.”
She still wore a worried frown, and he took her hand in his.
“Nice place you got here, Leigh. Great view of the Bay. I’d sure like to take some shots. All that perspective, sweeping down to the Gate. Wonderful vantage point—best I’ve seen.”
“Shots?”
He laughed. “Not those kinda shots. Shots as in photographs.”
“Oh, you take pictures. Professionally?”
“Nah. Just a hobby. But I like to think, once in a while, they’ll be good enough for exhibition. Had one or two in an L.A. gallery last year. Got some okay reviews.”
“Nice going, Mace. And sure. Feel free. You’re welcome to take shots from my window anytime!”
They exchanged glances and smiled.
Sharing the joke.
They lapsed into silence. It was one of those rare, comfortable moments when Leigh felt at peace with the world.
It was a good feeling.
“Mace?”
“Uh-huh?”
“This is great. Y’know that?”
“Mmmm…Yeah. Suits me, too.”
“Do you…have anyone? I mean, anyone special?”
“Me? Nope. Girl I met at college was the last special one that I recall. Wanda Baker, her name was. Yeah. She was something special. Till she got herself carved up, that is.”
“Mace! Whatever happened?” She glanced at his face. It looked dark. Closed. She shivered a little, then said, “There’s no need to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have a problem with that. Not anymore.”
He leaned forward, studying his Nike sneakers, arms resting on his knees, hands hanging slack between his thighs.
“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.
