I stroked Gammon's huge belly and listened to the frantic ravings of the radio evangelist until Mrs. Harris turned the radio off. To my surprise, the recorder picked up the hourly gong of the grandfather clock, making it easy to keep track of the time. It was just after eight when I heard the door creak open and Joel's voice in the hallway.
From the second he came in the door, she was on him, but I could tell Joel was handling things differently than usual. He was barely stuttering, for one thing. And his voice seemed older than it had earlier.
"What do you mean you'll think about it? I told you to do it and I mean right now."
"I said I'd think about it, M-Mother. I have a lot on my m-mind right now."
"What has gotten into you!" Mrs. Harris sounded furious, but also a little afraid.
"Did I tell you I d-d-dreamed about you last night?" Joel asked.
"What? Don't you get cheeky with me, young man."
"F-f-f. . ."
"What! Spit it out!"
I held my breath, thinking Joel was about to repeat what he'd said to Roy.
"Forget it," he said. The transmitter clearly picked up the sound of the front door slamming.
"Bravo for you, Joel," I said aloud. I fast-forwarded the tape but the only sound came when Mrs. Harris turned on the radio again, so I rewound the tape and reset it to record.
I thought of calling Maggie to tell her of Joel's mini-breakthrough, then thought better of it. She'd looked exhausted after the therapy session, and she still had two clients to go. It was clear this whole mess was taking its toll on her emotionally. The least I could do was let her get some sleep.
I poured myself another glass of Cabernet and went out to the hot tub. The night was clear, and stars studded the sky in a brilliant array of patterns. I slid into the steaming water, careful not to let the bubbles float into my glass, and tried to sort my thoughts. I studied the constellations and listened to a bullfrog singing from the creek, but my mind kept floating back to Maggie. So far, I'd managed to avoid any real conversation with her, but I knew I couldn't put it off forever. I was going to have to come to terms with my own anger. And who was I really angry at? I asked myself. With Maggie for leaving me to care for a dying ex-lover? Or at myself for wanting her back, even after she'd hurt me?
I thought of Donna Lee and Stella, staying with boyfriends who beat them, and shook my head. I'd never do that, I knew. I wasn't about to let someone trample all over me. Is that how I thought of Maggie's actions? Trampling all over me?
"It's something I have to do," she'd said. What choice did I have? Beg her to stay? Insist on going with her? Scream and cry? I'd done nothing. I'd watched her go and it had broken my heart.
I finished the wine and climbed out of the tub, letting the cool night air chill my body. If I was ever going to forgive Maggie, I decided, I'd have to learn to forgive myself first.
"It's okay to be angry," I said aloud to the stars. A frog croaked in the distance, startling me. "I just need to know if it's okay to still be in love with her?" The frog was far too savvy to answer that one, leaving me to ponder the answer on my own.
Chapter Twelve
As much as I needed sleep, it eluded me, and once again I spent the night tossing and turning. Like a few nights earlier, I felt as if someone were yanking me awake just as I was about to slip into slumber. It was nearly two in the morning when I settled into a half-sleep. Just like before, I seemed to be watching myself dream.
The child was running. Small feet pounded down me wooden stairs toward a triangle of light pouring through the cracked-open door. Almost there! Now, I was the child and I reached out for the knob, my heart surging. The cold metal of the knob was an instant comfort, and I tugged the door open, lunging for safety. But a shadow rose up from behind, looming huge. The door slammed shut and I was yanked back into the room, my arm nearly torn from the socket.
Just before sinking into the black depths of oblivion, I realized that the screaming I heard was coming from my own throat.
I woke with a start, my heart pounding, my throat as raw as if I'd been screaming myself. I clutched the sheets around me, wondering what was going on. Who was this kid? Could someone else be in danger? Was someone sending me dreams, like they had Maggie? I reached to turn on the light and nearly leaped out of bed when the phone rang. It was still pitch black outside. I glanced at the clock. It was just past two in the morning.
"Cass, I had another one!" Maggie's voice was almost hysterical.
"Are you sure? Maybe it was just a nightmare."
"I don't think so. It was like the others."
"Okay, Maggie. Tell me what happened."
"It's Roy! I just got through hanging him from a giant hook somewhere on a boat!"
My mind raced. "Call Martha," I said. "Right now. Tell her to meet us at Donna Lee's houseboat. I've seen that hook before. It's on Roy's boat and he's tied up in the slip next to Donna Lee's at the marina. I'll meet you there!"
I raced out the door, throwing on jeans, a T-shirt and jacket all the way to my boat. I hurriedly untied the ropes, leaped in and gunned it across the dark, silent lake. It was one of the few times in my life I regretted not having road access.
Once in my Jeep, I put the pedal to the floor and practically flew toward Kings Harbor. There was no one on the road at all. Even the truckers were still sleeping. When I pulled into the Harbor Marina, red and blue lights lit up the place. Martha's Ranger was parked haphazardly next to an ambulance and two patrol cars. Maggie had driven her BMW halfway onto the sidewalk. People had stumbled out of their houseboats and were staring at the commotion. Even the media had arrived, probably picking up the story on their police scanners.
I started toward the Sea Gypsy but stopped in my tracks. The paramedics were wheeling a gurney right toward me. Roy's face was beaten to a pulp, and blood soaked through the wrappings around his midsection where a third paramedic was applying pressure. A news cameraman hustled along beside them, filming the scene.
I moved aside to let them pass, wondering if Roy had been conscious enough to tell the police what happened. When I saw Martha, I jogged toward her, but she waved me away. I searched around for Maggie and finally spotted her being questioned by Sergeant Grimes. No wonder Martha didn't want me butting in. Grimes was a self-avowed good ol' boy, an opinionated bigot who thought that women belonged in the kitchen, not on the police force, and certainly not in the private investigating business. I'd learned to steer clear of him as much as possible. I waited back by the cars until Martha finally freed herself long enough to come fill me in.
"The dipshit thinks Maggie had something to do with this," she said. "The last thing he needs is to see you and her together. It's bad enough that I know her. He's got a real problem with dykes."
"I know, I know. What happened?"
"Someone beat the shit out of this guy, then tried to hang him by the balls. I kid you not, Cass. They put some big old hook up there right through the gonads and pulled him up with the pulley. Luckily for him, his skin tore and he dropped back into the boat. Had he landed in the water, he'd've most likely drowned. As it is, he's barely conscious."
"Did he say who did it?"
She shook her head. "He's not exactly coherent at the moment. Grimes can't believe Maggie dreamed this and that's how she knew. He thinks she's covering for a client. Like someone did the deed then called her, which prompted her to call me, et cetera. Grimes doesn't believe in psychics, Cass. This is going to get sticky, I'm afraid."
"How's Donna Lee?"
"Who?"
"Roy's girlfriend." When she looked blank, I blanched. "You mean no one's even checked? Come on! She lives on the boat next to his." I led Martha around the corner and jogged toward the Sea Gypsy which was bathed in light from the commotion on Roy's boat. A local TV station had their cameras trained on the giant fish hook and police were busy trying to keep them from trampling the crime scene. There was no sign of Donna Lee, but her light was on and the door was unlocked. I kn
ocked on the door, then opened it slowly.
"Oh, shit," Martha said behind me, peering into the cabin. I saw Donna at the same time, and my heart lurched. She lay face down on her bed, her hands and ankles bound behind her. She was gagged and naked. Red welts covered her back and buttocks. She strained to look up, and I saw both shame and terror on her face.
Martha and I moved in unison, untying her as gently as we could. The knots came free with relative ease and I was surprised that she hadn't been able to get free herself.
"What's happening?" Donna Lee wailed when I pulled the gag from her mouth.
"Let me get a clean cloth for your back," I said.
"What's happening!" She pushed the curtain aside and looked frantically out the window.
"Someone beat up Roy pretty bad," I said. I gently pressed a wet cloth to the red welts on her back, wondering what he'd used. From the size and shape, I'd have to guess his belt. Donna Lee pulled away.
"He said he'd hurt me where no one could see this time. To teach me a lesson." Tears had started to fall silently down her face. "God, I hate that bastard."
"Any idea who beat him up?" Martha asked.
"I don't know. He just left me like this. I thought he was coming back. Then I heard all the noise on his boat and I thought he was going to leave for good. I was afraid I'd lie here for days and no one would find me. The next thing I know, there's all these sirens and then you came in and—" She couldn't hold back the sobs any longer. She collapsed onto the bed and let herself cry.
"You better go," Martha said to me. "Wait at Maggie's. I'll need to tell Grimes about this and he'll want to question her. It's going to be a long night."
I hated to leave, but I knew she was right. As soon as Grimes saw me, he'd be twice as suspicious of Maggie. I slipped out and walked back to my Jeep, blending in with the other lookie-loos as best I could.
It was almost four-thirty before Maggie's BMW pulled into her driveway. I'd been waiting in my Jeep, alternating between dozing off and trying to keep myself awake. The second I saw her, I leaped out and ran to meet her.
"Just hold me," she said.
I opened my arms and Maggie fell against me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me close. She was trembling, and before I knew it, I was stroking her hair, murmuring soothing sounds while I held her. Finally, she pulled away and led me silently to the house.
I followed her through the downstairs office, up the stairs to a place I hadn't been in a very long time: her living quarters.
"It's too early for coffee and too late for wine," she said, taking off her jacket. She walked straight past the kitchen and living room, heading, I knew, for the bedroom.
"Maggie, are you okay?" I asked, following her in the darkness. She hadn't even turned on the lights.
"I'm so exhausted I can't even talk right now, Cass."
I could see her silhouette next to the bed as she peeled off layers of clothing and let them fall to the floor.
"Can I get you something?" Watching her disrobe, I felt an odd lump in my throat.
"You can get your ass over here, slide into this bed and hold me," she said. "I can't seem to stop shaking." She pulled back the covers and slid underneath them, curling into a fetal position.
"Uh, maybe I should get you a blanket..."
"Honest, Cass. I just need to be held."
Dutifully, but with an accelerated pulse, I stripped down to my underwear and shirt and did as she asked.
I inched up against her and wrapped my arm around her waist, careful not to let my hand slide any higher or lower as I pulled her against me. We were touching the entire length of our bodies, and I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent I knew so well.
"Thank you," she mumbled into her pillow. Her shivering had given way to a deep, steady breathing, and soon she was asleep. I tried to pull away once, but she stirred, clutched at my hand and held me where I was. The first fingers of dawn lightened the bedroom before I let myself join Maggie in slumber.
Sometime later, the rich scent of her nearness penetrated my sleep and stirred something deep within me, I was suddenly aware that the feel of her satin skin against my body caused me to tremble. Maggie had rolled over and it was no longer her back that pressed against me, but the taut fullness of her breasts.
I thought of pulling away, but when I tried to, she draped a long leg across mine, pinning me beneath her.
"Maggie," I mumbled, but her lips were suddenly brushing mine, silencing my feeble protest, and her hands moved down my body with the sure deftness of someone who knew my body better than I knew it myself.
"I want you," she murmured, her voice full and husky. I felt her fingers and arched to meet them as her gentleness gave way to a pent-up passion that threatened to engulf us both.
Suddenly, I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. The movement caused Maggie to stir beside me, and with a pang I realized that she was deep in slumber, still safely turned away from me. The dream had been so real that my body still trembled with desire. I gazed at Maggie's body, longing to caress her, to pull her to me, to finish what she had started in my dream.
Sighing heavily, I inched back down beneath the sheets, keeping a safe layer of space between us and willed myself back to sleep. Then, for the second time that night, the child took control of my dreams, but there was something terribly wrong.
I was upside down, being hefted by my ankles up toward the barn ceiling. The rope around my ankles dug into the bones and my head pounded with blood. Was the Bad One going to drop me on my head? No. The Bad One was laughing, in a merry mood, and he had tied a bandanna around his eyes and was twirling around in the barn, making himself dizzy. Then I saw the bat and understood. The Bad One was going to play piñata again. I closed my eyes, waiting in terror for the first swing to connect.
I awoke feeling both terrified and angry. That poor abused child was no more than a punching bag, a plaything for an evil, sick monster. But did the child really exist? If so, where? And why was I dreaming about him or her?
That was another thing that baffled me. I could never see the child. I only saw what the child saw and felt what the child felt. Just like Maggie's dreams. Was the person who was sending Maggie dreams also sending dreams to me? But how could that be? I was almost certain Maggie's sender was the killer. And then it hit me. Could this be the killer as a child?
I opened my eyes and realized I was alone in the bed. The smell of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, but the note on the pillow told me Maggie had already gone to work. I looked at her familiar, neat penmanship and smiled at the words.
"I owe you one, sweetpea."
Sweetpea. My cheeks flushed at the memory. Maggie had often called me that after making love, and for a moment, I wondered if somehow, she had been aware of my dream.
I dressed, made up the bed and poured myself a cup of coffee, allowing myself a moment to enjoy being back in Maggie's house. I wandered around, touching the furniture, noticing the changes. There was a new photo on the fireplace mantel and I picked it up, staring into the gaunt, emaciated face of Maggie's ex, Cecily. The chemo had taken her hair but not the light in her fierce eyes. It must've been shot during the remission, I thought. She'd been a beautiful woman, even toward the end. Feeling like an intruder, I carefully set the photo back in its place and went downstairs.
Maggie's office door was shut and I could hear voices within. I walked out to the front desk but Buddy, who'd obviously already been in, was nowhere in sight. I was eager to talk to Martha to find out what they'd learned about Roy's attacker, so I sat at Buddy's desk and punched in Martha's number. I got her voice mail and left a message, telling her to contact me at Maggie's. There was no one in the waiting room, which I hoped meant that Maggie's nine o'clock appointment would be her last for a while and she could tell me what had happened with Grimes.
Since Buddy had left her computer on, she probably hadn't gone far, I thought. Idly, I clicked on Netscape to check my e-mail and was disappointed
to find my mailbox empty. There wasn't even a note from Psychic Junkie. I decided to send her a note myself.
"Hi, P.J. Got another question for you. Is it possible to tap into someone's past? I mean telepathically? For example, could a person who sends one person pictures of what they're doing in the present send another person pictures of what happened to them in the past? Okay, so this is more than one question, but I'm totally confused. Please help."
I was about to sign off when the front door opened and Buddy swept into the room. I hit the send button and stood up, embarrassed to be at her desk.
"Caught you!" she said good-naturedly.
"I was just checking my e-mail," I said, moving around to the other side of the counter so she could sit at her desk.
"Darn, I thought you were finishing my work. Want a doughnut?" She held out the white bag and waited while I chose a chocolate-covered twist.
"You always buy enough for an army?" I asked, my mouth full.
"I saw your Jeep in the lot. I figured you were sleeping in and thought you might be hungry."
I raised an eyebrow and she laughed.
"Maggie told me what happened to our Abortion Clinic Attacker last night. Sounds like he got the crap beat out of him. Though I guess he had it coming."
"Why do you say that?"
"Hey, I'm not dense, you know. Who else gave Donna Lee that shiner? And Mr. Bone was mad enough to tear the guy's head off. I thought we were going to have a real fight on our hands." She ran her fingers through her dark glossy hair and smiled. She was dressed for summer in a white tank top that showed off her tanned, well-defined biceps, and another pair of plaid shorts.
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