Slow Burn

by Heather Graham

  You know, he told himself, if you’re going to keep starting things with Spencer, it’s too bad you don’t do it at bedtime. Sleeping might be a hell of a lot more comfortable that way.

  No. He didn’t want to wind up in Danny’s bed with Danny’s widow again. He would just have her in the pool instead, he mocked himself.

  And he had been ready to admonish poor Jimmy for the way he had been behaving!

  He tossed and turned in bed, the sheets twisting around him. When he got his hands on Harris, he was going to twist his neck, he thought angrily.

  What the hell was going on here? Last night it had been someone small in Frye boots, tonight a voyeur in a blue sedan. The same person? Two different people?

  And why?

  The doorbell was ringing. David rose, blinking in the sunlight, and went to answer the summons, certain it was Jimmy, come to take his turn on watch. He stumbled to the door and looked through the peephole.

  Sly was standing on the walk.

  Sly, in a white-and-gold shirt and beige shorts, standing ramrod straight, as always, but just a little bit thin now for his height. David stepped back, turned off the alarm and opened the door.

  “Mornin’,” Sly said. “Everything all right?”

  “Ah…yeah.” David wasn’t ready to tell Sly too much yet.

  “Coffee ready?” Sly asked.

  “Spencer’s not up yet,” David began, but Spencer was up. She was coming down the stairway in bare feet and a sundress, blond hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head.

  “Sly!”

  “I’ve come to take you to breakfast,” her grandfather told her. “Both of you.”

  “Sorry, Sly, I can’t go. I’ve got a little bit of catching up to do this morning,” David said.

  Sly gave David the once-over. “You do look like pure hell, boy.”

  “Thanks,” David acknowledged dryly.

  “Spencer, I won’t take no from you,” Sly said.

  “I have no intention of refusing you,” Spencer said. “You can come to church with me after.” She glanced at her watch. “Or first. I’ll just get some shoes and a purse. You can let David out for me, right? Unless he wants to make some coffee for you?”

  “Are you kidding?” Sly said. “I’ve had his coffee!”

  “Jimmy should be here any second, right?” Spencer said, staring at David. “Maybe he’d like to come to breakfast with us, too, Sly.” Watching David, Spencer shivered. Why on earth had she baited him that way?

  Then David looked over at Sly. “That’s Jimmy pulling up outside right now. He’ll be taking the day shift. And I’m sure he’d enjoy breakfast.” He shifted his attention to Spencer, his eyes suddenly cold. “He seems to enjoy everything Spencer has to offer.”

  David turned and disappeared into the family room, returning a moment later with his shirt and shoes in his hands. He didn’t even bother to put them on. He just told Sly goodbye and walked out.

  Spencer felt ill again, worse than she had felt yet. Maybe she was getting an ulcer. Her emotions had been gnawing away at her insides for a long time now, but she caused so much of her pain herself. She wondered if there was a way to tell David that she was finally coming to terms with herself over Danny’s death.

  She wondered if there was a way to tell David anything.

  David went home to shower and shave, then drove to his office. He began going through his files while he hit the play button on the phone answering machine. The first three messages were inquiries about his services. He would have Reva get back to them on Monday.

  The fourth call had come from the police lab downtown. The cops had combed the bushes and the ground outside Spencer’s fence again. This time they’d found only one fairly mangled print, but the lab had identified it as a size-twelve Rockport men’s loafer.

  The fifth call caused him to stop dead still. It had come from one of the officers who’d been investigating the accident in Rhode Island.

  “We’re not sure if this is anything or not yet, Mr. Delgado, but the rental agency called us about something rather strange. The mechanic who’d worked on the car Mrs. Huntington rented disappeared a few days after the accident. Of course, the agency blamed it on us, saying we’d destroyed his confidence with our questions or some crap like that. But when we tried to check him out further, we couldn’t come up with anything on him. All the information he’d given on his application was false. We checked his social security number and discovered it belongs to someone who’s been dead for nearly twenty years. Anyway, we got one of his fingerprints off a tool he used, and you’ll never guess…he was an ex-con. He’d escaped from prison, where he was serving ten to twelve on an armed robbery conviction. And guess who he’d last been working for? A man I’m sure you know. Ricky Garcia. That’s all we’ve got so far, but if I can be of any more help, give me a call. The number here is—”

  David was already dialing as he listened.

  Spencer spent the entire day with Sly. And Jimmy.

  It was surprisingly nice, relaxing. Over breakfast she toyed with the idea of mentioning that she wanted to go to the yacht club for lunch on Monday, but she was afraid that Sly would just turn around and tell David, ruining her chance to meet with Vichy. As far as she knew, David still felt she was safe when she was at work, so he wouldn’t be watching her tomorrow, leaving her free to inveigle Sly into taking her to the club.

  After church and breakfast, they went by the house Spencer had told Sandy she planned to buy, since she still had the keys. As far as she was concerned, it was already her house.

  “Are you buying this place just because it’s close to me?” Sly asked.

  “You know me better than that,” she said.

  “Are you?”

  She shrugged. “It is a bonus that you’re just down the street.”

  “What are you going to do with your place?”

  “Sell it, I guess. I don’t need two houses. And it’s going to cost a fortune to fix this place up.”

  Sly looked around slowly, staring up the stairs to the balcony. Spencer shivered, remembering how frightened she had been when she stood there with Jared.

  It must have been her imagination! With everything else going on, she was crazy to be frightened of her cousin.

  “What’s wrong, Spencer?” Sly asked, sensing her changed mood.

  “Nothing.”

  “You look scared.”

  “Nothing’s scaring me. You’re the fussbudget.”

  “A man gets no respect once he gets old.”

  “No whining. You’re younger than guys who could be your grandsons. Age is just a state of mind, remember?”

  “I remember, but my kidneys don’t always. And let me warn you, young lady, youth is no guarantee of safety!”

  “Ah, but I have a grandfather to set guards on me day and night.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  She remembered how frightened she had been with Jared the other day and realized that she was actually grateful to be guarded day and night. She just wasn’t sure she was grateful that the guard was so often David.

  “Let me show you the rest of the house.” She looked around him to Jimmy. “Want to see the rest?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said politely.

  She smiled, starting through the living room. Jimmy was absolutely unimpressed with the house. All he could see was the decay. He was being polite.

  He was being a marvelous watchdog.

  She decided to cook that night. Roast leg of lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, salad with her own raspberry vinaigrette.

  She didn’t know if she was calm because she was hoping David would appear, or glad and relaxed because he didn’t. In any case, Jimmy and Sly were both very complimentary about the meal.

  Sly left about nine, and Jimmy told her that he was going to keep vigil in front of the house.

  At eleven she gave up waiting for David and went to bed, where she lay awake, praying for her inner tension to unwi
nd. She couldn’t go on living like this. Something had to break—fast.

  Sometime after twelve she fell asleep.

  Sometime after two she woke up again.

  She looked out the window. David was standing vigil now, leaning against his car.

  Half of her wanted to go down and insist he come inside. The other half of her wanted him to go away. Far, far away.

  She lay down. She had to stay away from him, she thought, the tension within her knotting even more tightly. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Pounded her pillow. Rose, paced. Lay down and pounded her pillow again.

  It was another long night. When morning came she felt like hell. Not even coffee tasted good.

  David parked in front of the club.

  Sly had called him about an hour ago to let him know where they were going. The club was always busy, and at first, David hadn’t felt any concern. Then, for no reason, trepidation had started to set in, and he realized he hadn’t had lunch here in a long time, so why not now?

  He was walking past the large outdoor pool that overlooked the rows of docks and sleek, expensive pleasure craft when he heard someone call his name. He paused, turning toward the pool. Cecily Monteith was there, stretched out on one of the lounges, dark glasses over her eyes, her mostly exposed body shiny with oil. “You really are right on my cousin-in-law’s trail like a bloodhound, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you here in years.”

  “I haven’t been here in years.”

  She shrugged, looking around. “I always love coming here. Especially in summer. There’s a day-care kind of thing, you know. They teach the kids how to sail.”

  “That’s nice. Did you come with Spencer and Sly?”

  Cecily shook her head, smiling. “I’m not into the business thing. I just like the sun. Want a drink?”

  “Thanks anyway, but I think I’ll go see what Sly and Spencer are up to.”

  “Lunch, a boring business lunch.” Cecily made a face, then smiled, very much the flirt. She could be bluntly, blatantly honest, sometimes funny, sometimes sweet. And, when she wanted, damned catty.

  She hadn’t changed much since high school, he thought wryly. Maybe none of them had, not inside, where it counted.

  “Sit down for a minute,” she invited. “I’m worried about Spencer.”

  “Why?”

  “Come on, sit a minute!”

  He sat down. A poolside waitress in short shorts came by. He ordered a beer.

  “Why are you worried about Spencer? Sly thinks she’s in danger, but I thought pretty much everyone else was of the opinion that he was being paranoid.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Anyway, it’s not her safety I’m worried about. I mean, she’s got you, David the wonder boy, protecting her, right?”

  “Cecily…”

  “Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the mud. I’m teasing.”

  His beer came, and as he sipped it he realized that Cecily loved the idea that she was sitting half-naked with a man other than her husband. She was still an attractive woman. It was a pity she felt so insecure. “So, you were saying…?” he said, trying to get her back on track.

  “Well, I think Spencer’s…sick. You know.”

  “No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  Cecily sighed. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake.”

  “Maybe you have.”

  She sighed again. “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you….”

  “Cecily, you’re obviously trying to tell me something, whether you should be talking to me or not, so spit it out now or I’ll throttle you.”

  “Ooh, I love it when you talk tough!” she teased.

  “Cecily…”

  “Oh, all right!” She paused for a moment, savoring her power, then went on. “Well, she didn’t eat any of that Cuban food the other night. And Sly was clucking like an old hen today because she hadn’t touched her breakfast yesterday.”

  “Cecily, just what are you getting at?”

  She leaned forward. “I’m wondering who she’s seeing, that’s all. I’m telling you, wonder boy, I’d be willing to bet that my saintly cousin-in-law is in a very delicate position. Pregnant, David. And I’m just wondering who the daddy might be, since Danny has been dead too long for a posthumous baby, don’t you think?”

  He would have loved to slap her. Instead he slammed his beer glass down and stood. “Cecily, maybe you should discuss this with Spencer herself, since you seem to be so curious. Personally, I think she might consider it none of your business.”

  “Let’s just hope she doesn’t think it’s none of yours,” Cecily said sweetly.

  “Thanks for the beer,” he told her curtly, then threw his jacket over his shoulder and headed inside.

  16

  Getting Sly to take her to the club had been easy. Leaving him for long enough to have her meeting with Gene Vichy was not.

  She finally escaped when they ordered coffee, telling him that she was going to the ladies’ room and then had a few quick calls to make. From that point on, though, it was a piece of cake. Vichy found her.

  “Mrs. Huntington.”

  He was all in white, silver hair neatly brushed back, his appearance dapper. He’d been wearing dark glasses, but he removed them as he stood and offered her the chair opposite him.

  She sat down, assessing him. He was a striking man, with an extremely handsome face. Very sensual lips, bright eyes. At any age, she thought, he had been a lady-killer.

  Perhaps literally.

  “Can I get you coffee? Or something a bit stronger?”

  “I’m having a coffee with my grandfather. Just say what you’ve got to say, Mr. Vichy.”

  “My, my, you’re a feisty little thing. Stronger than your husband, Mrs. Huntington.”

  “If you’ve got something to tell me—”

  “I wanted to tell you that I did not kill your husband,” he said, leaning back. “I did not kill my wife, and I did not kill your husband. It’s very strange. I am suspected of killing my wife with a blow to the head and of shooting your husband. It’s almost like a game of Clue. My wife in the bedroom with a blunt object. Your husband on the street with a gun. But things don’t happen like that in real life, Mrs. Huntington. I asked to meet you because I hoped you would find me sincere when we spoke. I’m growing very tired of this constant police harassment, and you are a big reason for it. I hoped to convince you to ask the police to leave me alone. Then, of course, if that doesn’t work, I want you to know that I’ll sue you.”

  “You’ll sue me!” Spencer said, astounded.

  “Indeed.”

  She rose, looking at him incredulously. “Mr. Vichy, let me assure you, you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning a case against me! I’m not guilty of anything in regard to you, so you can just take your threats and—”

  “He threatened you?” The words sounded more like a growl than a human voice. She was trembling inside as she spun around.

  Damn it! David!

  “No,” Spencer began.

  Vichy was on his feet, staring at David, and looking decidedly pale. “Delgado, if you even come near me, I’ll sue you for assault and battery.”

  “Touch her, call her, say her name again, asshole, and you’ll be too damned dead to sue anyone for anything!” David snapped.

  “David!” Spencer said firmly.

  Vichy smiled. “Police harassment.”

  “I’m not a cop anymore. You won’t be able to do anything to the force because of me, Vichy. And you know what? Eventually, they will fry your butt!”

  “Mr. Delgado, alas! Birth will tell. Your kind should not be allowed in this club.”

  “Mr. Vichy, your kind shouldn’t be allowed anywhere on the streets, and I assure you, I will be doing my best to see that you’re kept off them! Come on, Spencer.”

  “David—”

  What in God’s name was wrong with him? His fingers were wrapped around her upper arm as if they were bands of steel, and he was
walking so fast that it was hard to keep up, especially since she was wearing heels.

  Was he angry because she hadn’t told him about the meeting? But how could he know it had been planned? She might simply have run into Vichy here. Suddenly she realized that he was heading toward the boats.

  “David, Sly is in—”

  “Sly is on his way back to work,” David said briefly. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Wait a minute!”

  “No!”

  She didn’t balk until they reached the Reckless Lady, Sly’s sleek yacht. Thirty feet, she slept six comfortably, with every amenity known to man.

  David knew the yacht well enough. Sly had owned it for at least fifteen years.

  “Hop on,” David told her.

  “No. I’ve had it. I have absolutely had it with this whole thing. I would rather be shot—”

  “I’ll shoot you myself if you don’t get on!” he informed her.

  He leaped over to the bow and extended a hand toward her. It was her chance to escape, but she was afraid he would tackle her if she tried to make it back to the club.

  “I’m not dressed for this. Walking around on board a boat in heels—”

  “You’ve got plenty of clothing stored on the Lady. And more shoes than Imelda Marcos.”

  “The hell I do!”

  “Come on.” He reached for her hand again, caught it, and brought her aboard. Then he released the tie lines and left her standing on the bow while he went to the stern and started the motor.

  She made her way precariously from the bow to the stern in his wake. By the time she got there, he had backed the vessel from her berth and headed her out to the bay.

  “Where are we going?” She had to shout to be heard over the roar of the motor.

  “Out!”

  “Out where? And why?”

  “I’ll know when I get there, and I’ll tell you why then.”

  She climbed carefully down the ladder to the cabin below. She came to the galley first, and dining area and chart desk. Two small sleeping cabins came next, one on either side of the narrow aisleway, while the master cabin was beneath the bow. He’d been right about one thing; she did keep sneakers and some casual clothing here. She changed into white cutoffs, sneakers and a sleeveless tailored shirt.