"Um." She dropped her water bottle on the counter. "I was out jogging and I ran out of water, and I was wondering if Loretta could just fill it up from the tap." She made an effort of looking for the diner's proprietress.
"Loretta's gone to the Save-A-Lot. Left me in charge." He stroked his chin. "But I'll be happy to fill 'er up for you. As pretty a thing as you are now."
"Thanks." She looked away as Ralph scooped up her bottle and lumbered into the back.
Marcy again caught the eye of the teen with the spiked black hair. He had been watching her. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering at least part of her bare midriff. She didn't remember seeing the boy before. He looked older than Ashley, but maybe still in high school. Of course, if he had undergone the same transformation the police chief's daughter had, she might know him from town and just not able to recognize him anymore.
"Here you go, little lady." Ralph leaned over the counter, offering the bottle of water as he leered. "Filled it from cold in the fridge."
She offered another quick smile, realizing she was going to have to take the bottle from Ralph's hand and risk touching him. "Thanks." She grabbed it quickly and darted for the door. "Tell Loretta I said hi."
"Be careful out there," Ralph warned. "It's hot for a little thing like you to be runnin'."
Outside, Marcy gave a shudder of disgust and jogged slowly across the parking lot, sipping the icy water. Instead of following the path she had taken coming into town, she took a parallel street. She crossed the Coastal Highway and headed inland. As she slowed to a walk, she glanced at the marquee in front of the Waterfront Realty building. Business space, it read. Restaurant Possibilities. Excellent location. It gave a property listing number.
As she headed down the country road that led to her development, Marcy thought about the marquee. She'd checked in with G & A Construction, reiterating what Dr. Larson had said about her not going back to work yet, but she had encouraged her old boss to go ahead and find a replacement for her. She'd been thinking more and more about her restaurant idea. She had money of her own, money her parents had left her when they died. Phoebe had blown through hers in less than a year and had nothing to show for it but her convertible. Marcy had been the conservative one. She hadn't spent a cent, but had invested sensibly instead. She could use the money as collateral to start a restaurant if she wanted to.
So far, though, she'd done nothing but daydream and tell Claire about the prospect. By the time she walked into her house, hot, sweaty, but feeling good, she had decided she would make the call to the real estate company. It was time for Marcy to take action.
* * *
The Bloodsucker lowered the flame on the stovetop and put a lid on his spaghetti sauce. Granny had never made spaghetti sauce. That was why he made it so often now. Why he liked it so much. He just bought the stuff in the jar, but he always added spices to it to brighten the bland taste; a little garlic, Italian seasoning... some other things. His mouth watered at the thought of it.
Something bumped into the Bloodsucker's leg and he glanced down. "Max." He smiled as he stooped down to pet his dog. Max had just been a stray he'd found eating fish guts out of a trash can behind a restaurant one night. He was a good dog, who never bit and never pissed on the floor. Best of all, he never complained. Never called a person ugly names.
The Bloodsucker scratched behind Max's ears and made little soothing sounds the way he had seen people on TV do. "That's right, Buddy. What a good boy. What a smart boy."
He said things to Max that a person might say to a child. Things Granny had never said to him.
Enjoying the attention, Max rubbed up against the Bloodsucker's black pant leg, leaving little brown hairs all over him. He laughed and brushed them off, then walked to the cupboard to get a dog treat. Getting a little animal hair on their clothes might have upset some people. It might have made them so angry that they would hit someone... or worse. But the hairs didn't make the Bloodsucker angry. They didn't because he had control. He was strong.
He made Max sit for the treat and gave him a pat as the dog bounded over. Then he went down the hall to the bathroom and used a lint remover to roll away the dog hair from his pant leg.
Back in the kitchen, he went to the stove to stir his sauce. It was cooking down nicely now, looking dark. It reminded him of Patti's blood, in a way, though it wasn't so black.
The thought of Patti sent a pleasantly surprising trill through him. He liked the way she had made him feel. Strong. Capable.
But the feeling wouldn't last forever, the Bloodsucker knew that It was already fading. He had to keep scooping it up, pulling it back toward him. Making it his own again.
He would have to kill again. He knew that. He had known it the first time he had seen Marcy with her slender new body, her lovely pale face.
"Patience," he whispered. "Patience." And then he lifted the wooden spoon dripping with red sauce to his mouth and let his eyes drift shut as the pleasure of the taste washed over him.
Chapter 5
"It's so nice of you to do this on such short notice." Marcy dared a look across the diner table at Seth Watkins. Both of them were armed with a cup of Loretta's coffee.
Marcy was glad she'd taken the time to dress nicely, not just so the realtor would take her seriously, but because he was kind of cute.
Seth Watkins was a little cleaner, a little smoother, than she usually found attractive, but a woman had to be open about these things, didn't she? Granted, his fingernails were professionally manicured and every hair on his head was glued precisely into place with some serious hair gel, but he was very friendly. And the fact that she got the idea he thought she was attractive didn't hurt.
"Not at all, Mrs. Edmond."
"Please." She added sweetener to her coffee and stirred it. "Call me Marcy."
He glanced at her left hand. "Divorced?" he asked, his voice low. He was wearing khakis and a form-fitting polo. She could tell he worked out and either spent a lot of time on the beach or had a membership at a tanning booth.
"Separated."
"I've never been married myself."
"Well, due to my situation, I'm very interested in buying property suitable for a small restaurant. If I find what I'm looking for, I may want to move quickly." She lowered her voice, adding to the intimate feeling between them that he had already established. Though it was early for the lunch crowd, she knew several people in the diner, like her, stopping for a cup of coffee. "I haven't told my—Jake about this yet, so I would appreciate you keeping it to yourself."
"Of course, of course," he assured her, reaching out to pat her hand. "You sure you wouldn't like a donut? A piece of pie?"
She laughed and shook her head thinking to herself, If he only knew how easily she once would have been tempted. "No thanks."
"Loretta makes a mean lemon meringue pie," he cajoled, smoothing his already smooth hair at his temple. "I eat here more often than I eat at home."
"I think everyone else in town does, too," she said, laughing.
He leaned forward on the table. "Listen, before we get started, I have to confess something."
She lifted a freshly plucked brow. She'd treated herself to a facial yesterday at the salon in town, in anticipation of this meeting today. She had hoped it would give her the extra boost of confidence she needed. So far, it seemed to be working.
"I pretended not to know who you were when I returned your message," Seth said. "But it wasn't true. Even though I haven't been in town long, I knew who you were the minute I heard your name on my voice mail. I've seen you around town, jogging, in the grocery store..." He had a handsome, boyish grin to go with his blond hair and all-American good looks. "Okay, so maybe I've been watching you around town."
She hid her smile by lifting the cup of coffee to her mouth. "I have to pick up my son at two; he's having lunch with his father. I'd really like to see what you have to show me in your folder there, and maybe look at a couple of places?" She gl
anced up. His attention made her feel bold. "If that can be arranged, Seth?"
"Of course that can be arranged. Now, let me give you a copy of the listings and one of my pens." He slid the folder across the table to her, along with a cheap plastic lime-green pen with his name printed on it in bold letters. "You can see my phone numbers are on there. Call me any time, day or night."
She flipped open the folder, trying not to think about how much she hated cheap ink pens. She couldn't hold that against the guy, could she?
Half an hour later, they were at the site of one of the available properties. Even though Seth said he liked to drive his clients around town, she had taken her own car. There'd be gossip enough when it got around that she had met with a realtor; she didn't want to fuel the fires with any other juicy tidbits considering the fact that everyone knew Jake had moved out.
The property was at the end of an upscale strip mall on the south edge of town and presently unoccupied. A Mexican restaurant had been there before. As Marcy walked past Seth into the dimly lit main dining room and gazed up at the sombreros still hanging from the ceiling, she heard him lock the outside door behind her. She turned around, her gaze shifting to the door, then to him. The idea of being locked inside with a man she didn't really know made her a little uneasy.
"A safety precaution," he explained, adding a grin for good measure. "You never know what kind of people might be hanging around."
She nodded, thinking that did make sense. And there were people walking by outside on the sidewalk. The entire front wall was glass; anyone who went by could see inside. She supposed she was safe enough. After all, a Realtor wouldn't make much of a living if he attacked his female clients, would he?
She turned back to the main dining room, listening as Seth began telling her about the property, practically touting it as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, falling somewhere between the hanging gardens of Babylon and the three great pyramids of Giza. She could tell that Seth was a brilliant salesman, but she also recognized quickly that she would have to take each thing he said with a grain of salt.
After the tour of the elaborately decorated dining room and the full kitchen, Marcy and Seth stood near the front door and talked. Somehow they got on the subject of France and he was telling her about his trip there the previous year. Marcy had only been there once, the summer after she graduated from high school. A gift to both her and Phoebe from their aging parents. Their mother had given birth to them late in life and had carried over certain ideas from her own youth, one being that young ladies should tour Europe. It was on that summer trip that the first seed had been planted in Marcy's head to own a bistro. But then, at the end of the summer, she had returned to the States and reality. She'd chosen a major in college that would put food on her own table.
Marcy glanced at her watch. "Oh, no!" She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I'm late. Listen, I have to run." She gestured for Seth to unlock the door. "But I'm very interested in this property and also the one just off the boardwalk on Seagrass Drive. Could you get those particulars together for me?"
"Sure." He turned his key and made a show of graciously holding the door open for her. "I'll call you. Tonight okay, if I get the info together?"
"Sure. Call me. You have my home number and my cell."
"And you have my numbers if you have any questions," he called after her. "The pen, right?"
She turned back to him, waving the pen as she climbed into her SUV. "Thanks, Seth."
"You bet. See you soon." He lifted his hand, cocking his thumb as if shooting her.
Corny, but he made her smile. It wasn't until she walked into Jake's office and saw her sulking son, seated in a chair in front of his father's desk, that her euphoria over the meeting subsided. She threw up her hands. "I know, I'm late. I'm sorry."
Jake looked up from his computer screen filled by an Excel spread sheet. "It's okay. You're not that late."
"But look at this puss." She reached out to stroke Ben's chin.
"You said we would go to the Big-Mart." Ben pouted. "I want to look at carbon dioxide detectors. You promised."
"I said I'm sorry." Marcy shifted her new khaki-colored Sak purse on her shoulder. She'd never owned anything so trendy, but it had looked so nice with the khaki pants and crisp white shirt that she had let the sales clerk talk her into it. "I told you I had an appointment."
"I see. Your hair," Jake said, admiring her. "It looks nice."
Marcy hadn't told Jake what her appointment was for when she'd asked him if he'd like to take their son for lunch today, but if he wanted to think it had been for a haircut, she'd let it go. Obviously, if she went through with this whole crazy restaurant scheme, she would have to tell him eventually, but that wasn't necessary yet.
Jake rose from his chair. He'd removed his suit jacket and was wearing a pale green shirt with a coral tie. He looked nice. She'd always liked that shirt and tie on him, and it looked even better now that he had lost a few pounds.
Marcy self-consciously brushed her hair off her shoulder, suddenly feeling guilty for not being entirely truthful. While there were problems in their marriage, dishonesty had never been one of them. She felt even worse because she'd been late, not because her appointment had taken longer than expected, but because she'd been flirting with Seth Watkins. Well, maybe she'd not been actively flirting, but she had certainly let him do his share.
"We should leave Daddy to his work, Ben." Marcy gave her son a nudge toward the door. "We'll stop at the Big-Mart on the way home."
"Thanks for coming." Jake put his arm around his son and kissed the top of his head, then tousled his sandy brown hair. "You mind waiting outside for your mom for a sec, buddy?"
"Sure." Ben put out his hand to his mother. "Keys."
She laughed, giving him one of those over my dead body looks. "Wait in the lobby, Ralph."
Jake watched him walk out the door, and then turned back to Marcy. She felt funny being alone with him like this. They hadn't been alone together since the night on the porch when she'd told him he had to move out.
Jake slipped his hands into his pants pockets. "So, how are you?"
"Good. Fine." She nodded, studying her sandals.
"Ben says swim lessons are going well. Told me he's saving his allowance to buy the rainforest?"
She smiled, not looking up at him, knowing he was looking at her. "A square inch, is all. It's some kind of preservation thing. I thought it would be fine. He'll get a certificate for his wall."
It was Jake's turn to nod. "And Katie tells me she's rich now?"
"She got her first paycheck. She and Phebes have already made plans to spend it a hundred times over. I'm not sure my sister is the person to be giving our daughter advice on finances."
He chuckled. "Phoebe always was good at spending other people's money, wasn't she?"
"Speaking of which, that reminds me." She hadn't intended to bring this up with Jake today and start an argument with him, but now that he had opened the door, she thought she might as well waltz through it. "You didn't tell me she had our bank debit card."
He lifted one broad shoulder, hands still in his pockets. "Didn't get a chance, I guess." He halted, and then went on. "Look, I had to do something when you were in the hospital. Leaving money on the counter didn't always work. She was always stopping for groceries, picking up my dry cleaning. I couldn't very well expect her to use her own money, could I?"
Marcy bristled. For some reason, the idea of Phoebe picking up Jake's dry cleaning irked her. It wasn't that she was particularly fond of the chore; she just didn't like the idea of her sister doing it. Talk about irrational thoughts. Maybe she did need to see that psychiatrist.
"Well, just so you know, I made her give it back to me and she's pretty pissed. Not with you, of course. Me. Is there something you needed?" Marcy's tone turned short, mostly to cover her own inner conflicts. She was angry with Jake for making her be the bad guy and have to ask for the bank card, but at the same ti
me, she didn't want to argue with him. She really missed him. "If not, Ben's waiting."
"I just wanted to know how you were."
"I'm fine. I—"
He reached out and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. She lifted her lashes to gaze into his brown eyes and felt a lump rise in her throat. Out of nowhere, she found herself so filled with emotion that she had to look away from him.
She was so confused. She had wanted Jake out of her life for months, years, hadn't she? Now that he was gone, what was this sense of regret that kept popping up whenever she saw him?
"You'll be by Friday night to pick up the kids, right?" She stepped away from him, toward the door.
"Yeah, right. Right after work." He hesitated. "I was wondering, could they stay the night? I mean, now that I have a place. An extra bedroom. Ben can sleep with me and Katie can have the other room." He stopped, then started again. "If you think they'd like to." He faltered again. "Marcy, I really miss them."
She gripped the door frame, refusing to turn back. She made herself concentrate on the property she had seen today and the infinite possibilities it held rather than the emotion in his voice. "You need to call them and ask them yourself, but I'm sure they'd both like it. Overnight is fine."
"Good. Okay. Well... see you later." He followed her as she passed through the doorway into the hall.
She didn't look back as she hurried down the hall because she didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes.
* * *
Claire's phone on her desk buzzed; a red light lit up. She punched the speaker phone with annoyance. "Jewel, I said hold my calls." She ran a hand over the glossy photos of Patti Lome's body spread on her desk.
"Sorry." Gum pop. "It's your daughter. She's called twice in the last hour. I thought you might want to talk to her."
Claire sighed, pushed back in her chair, and ran her hand over her face. "Sure. Yeah."
"Put her through?" Pop.
She'll Never Tell Page 9
