by Meryl Sawyer
Somehow she'd known this even before she'd made love to him. Maybe she'd realized how she felt that afternoon on the beach. That's why she'd made love to him—and made a commitment.
He swung her into his arms and bent down to kiss her. He stopped as she brushed her finger across his swollen lip. They hugged, and she permitted herself to revel in the safety of being held, to savor the bone-deep warmth of his powerful body. And to realize she was no longer alone.
"Dana, I really care for you. I've been waiting for a chance to be with you since the night we met… years ago. The more time we spend together, the more sure I am that you were worth the wait."
She honestly didn't know what to say. She'd been hoping that he would tell her that he loved her, but maybe it was too soon. Could she say those words herself? No. Not yet. But she didn't doubt Rob cared about her. Last night he'd risked his life for her. Didn't actions speak louder than words?
They stood in the bedroom for a few minutes, cuddling each other, but not talking. She wished that they could spare the time to really get to know each other without all the problems she had. Why couldn't this have happened six months ago when her life had been simpler?
After a few minutes Rob said, "I'd better get in the shower."
"I'm going next door and tell Lillian that I'm back. I can see the street from her house. I'll run home if Big Daddy shows up."
Rob disappeared into the guest bath, and Dana checked her image in the hall mirror. She looked about the same, but she felt different. She'd suffered a severe psychological trauma and kept it hidden for so long that her suppressed emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she struggled to make sense of what had happened last night.
A crucial part of her, which she hadn't quite known was lost, had been found. Making love to Rob, taking charge, had given her a measure of self-control. But it went beyond that. Her response to him revealed a part of her psyche that she'd never explored: her willingness to trust a man enough to truly care about him. Until now she'd been able to go only so far before pulling back.
Last night she'd vaulted over that hurdle. Now she had an all-consuming need to discover everything about Rob. Everything. Oh, Lordy, she hadn't, had she? She hadn't fallen totally for Rob Tagett?
She tried to keep her mind on Lillian's problems, not on Rob, as she walked up to her friend's home. Would the daughter help her mother stay in the home she loved? Dana wondered. She pressed the bell and a woman in her mid-forties opened the door, greeting Dana with a challenging glare.
"Hi. I'm Dana Hamilton." She waved her hand toward her house. "I live next door. You must be Lillian's daughter."
"Yeah, I'm Fran Martin." She spoke with a three-pack-a-day rasp. "So you're the hoity-toity judge who's filled Ma's head with crazy ideas about livin' alone."
Fran's hostility was so unexpected that for a moment it left Dana speechless. Didn't she care one iota about her mother? Maybe not. Fran never visited and rarely called. So why the sudden appearance?
"Ma's moving to the Twin Palms nursing home. They'll take care of her."
"Have you visited the facility?" Dana asked, keeping her tone light. Alienating this woman further wasn't going to help Lillian.
"Of course. It's very nice."
Dana doubted that Fran knew or cared about how the Twin Palms rated. Many facilities did nothing more than warehouse the elderly. Dana had never been inside the Twin Palms, but judging from the exterior—with paint so old the building appeared to be molting—it wasn't the best facility in Honolulu.
"Is Lillian home?" Dana asked, deciding to speak with her before confronting Fran.
"She's sleeping."
"At this hour? She's usually out in the garden by now."
"Ma's not feelin' so good."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"Nah. It's nuthin'."
"Maybe I'd better take a look at her." Dana barged in before Fran could object. "Lillian," she called.
"Dana?" The voice was weak. "That you?"
She walked into the bedroom and saw the drapes were drawn against the brilliant sun. Lillian was in bed, her face almost as pale as the pillow.
"You've been gone for weeks," Lillian said.
It had only been a few days. Lillian was losing it— a little—but did that mean she had to be yanked out of her home and sent to an institution?
"I'm back now." Dana sat at the edge of the bed. "Are you ill? Do you want me to call Dr. Winston?"
"No. I'm just tired." She looked at the door, seeming to check for her daughter, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Fran's going to put me into a home. She took me to see it." Lillian was silent for a moment, tears filling in her eyes. "It smelled awful. They had people strapped to their chairs to keep them from falling out. They were all lined up in the hall. I don't want to be sitting there with them."
Dana took Lillian's hand. It was thin, the blue veins raised. "Fran can't make you go there. Just tell her that you won't. I'll stand by you."
Lillian dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "You don't understand. If I don't sell the house and move to Twin Palms, Fran won't ever speak to me again."
"Does she call now, or come to see you?"
"No," Lillian admitted, tears now seeping over her lashes. "But she says she's sorry and she's going to be better."
Dana thought this was about as likely as Mick Jaggar becoming the Pope, but she didn't voice her opinion. Lillian was a lonely old lady, and like many parents who were alienated from their children, she prayed that things would change. "If you sell the house, who's going to manage your money?"
"Fran will see that the nursing home gets money to keep me."
Exactly what Dana suspected. Fran didn't give a hoot about Lillian. She merely wanted the money. Lillian would end up strapped into a chair, brokenhearted. Alone.
"You don't have to go into a home. Let me talk to Fran," Dana said, although she had no idea how she could persuade such a hardcase to change her mind.
"I wish you were my daughter." Lillian squeezed Dana's hand, her fingers trembling. "I know you'd never toss me away like some worn-out old shoe."
Dana gazed at the older woman in despair. "We're calabash cousins, you know."
The Hawaiian term for friends who were as close as relatives garnered a suggestion of a smile from Lillian. She loved the island lore and often told Dana stories based on the ancient menehune legends like the night marchers.
"I'll help you all I can. You don't have to let Fran bttdger you into moving to Twin Palms."
"I know you will, sweetie, but…"
But what? Dana wanted to scream. Why wouldn't Lillian defy a daughter who didn't give a hoot about her anyway?
"I don't think it matters anymore," Lillian insisted. "I hear the night marchers all the time now. They're coming for me."
Dana sucked in a calming breath. First Lillian was convinced she'd spend her final days strapped to a chair at a decrepit nursing home; now she was certain she was going to die. She was confused and lonely, but she didn't need to be bullied by an ungrateful daughter. She needed tenderness and understanding.
"When I'm gone, promise me you'll take Molly. I don't want Fran to put her to sleep."
"Of course, I will," Dana said, picturing the marmalade-colored cat who'd wandered into the neighborhood and immediately found the softest touch on the block, Lillian Hurley. "But you and Molly are going to be together for a long time."
Lillian shook her head. "No. The night marchers keep getting closer and closer. I want to know those I love are in good hands."
A wild flash of grief ripped through Dana. What if Lillian died? She was such a sweet lady. Why hadn't Dana spent more time with her? Dana stroked her cheek, brushing Lillian's soft white hair off her face. "You know you can count on me. I'm positive you'll be fine and we'll work this out with Fran, but if something happens, I'll take care of Molly."
"I miss you already," Lillian whispered. "You're the best thing t
hat's ever happened to me. Since you moved in I've been happier. I tried to mother you a little, pretending you were my daughter."
A sob stalled in Dana's throat as she noticed the forlorn shadows beneath Lillian's eyes. In the older woman's expression she saw sadness and something deeper, something she intuitively recognized because she'd just discovered it. Love.
"I'd counted on being at your wedding," Lillian confessed. "You're going to be such a beautiful bride. But now I know I won't live that long. I won't see your children either. I wanted to hold them and cuddle them the way I did Fran."
Dana didn't trust her voice. If there was ever a perfect grandmother, it was Lillian. How could life be so unfair, cursing her with a daughter like Fran?
"Give me a hug and a kiss," Lillian said. "Tell me good-bye."
Dana gathered Lillian into her arms, surprised at Lillian's frailness. "I'm not telling you good-bye, because—"
"Don't worry, Dana. I'll be in a better place than the Twin Palms. I'll be with the menehunes, watching over you."
Tears welled up in Dana's eyes and she opened them wide to keep the tears at bay. Until now she hadn't realized how special Lillian was, how much she counted on seeing her each day. She couldn't face losing her.
"Hey, lady!" boomed Fran's voice from the other room. "A limo just pulled up in front of your house."
Big Daddy! She'd forgotten all about him. She tried to let go of Lillian, promising herself she'd deal with Fran later, but Lillian refused to release her.
Frail arms locked around her, Lillian stared into Dana's eyes. "Promise me you won't forget me. I want somebody on this earth to remember that I lived and loved and did my best to be a good mother."
"Oh, Lillian. You are just like a mother to me. A wonderful, loving mother. I won't forget you, I swear."
"And promise me you'll be very careful after I'm gone." Her voice dropped until it was nothing more than a whisper on the wind. "The night marchers are coming for you next."
22
Night marchers? Dana thought as she sprinted across Lillian's backyard and into her own. Was Lillian really losing it? Or did she somehow sense danger? Well, Lillian did seem a bit off-kilter. But…
Dana had to admit that she'd felt a certain uneasiness, a chill of apprehension. It had certainly been with her that day at the beach. She wasn't prone to such thoughts, but that day when she'd been caught in the riptide, she'd believed that she had heard the night marchers.
Later that afternoon when she'd climbed the hill, she'd heard them again. Maybe it was a premonition. A warning.
She skirted the pygmy palm Lillian had planted for her earlier that summer and dodged the chaise where she'd made love to Rob. Breathless, she dashed through the back door into her kitchen.
Rob was waiting for her. "Let Coltrane do the talking. That way we'll know what he's up to. I've rigged your answering machine to record everything he says, but I doubt he'll be stupid enough to say anything incriminating."
"Good thinking," she replied.
Big Daddy was here. Now she would find out if he was the one blackmailing her. The bell rang, and the blood throbbed in Dana's temples as she followed Rob into the living room.
He sank onto the sofa and Dana quickly noticed he'd cleaned the room. There wasn't a trace of last night's brawl. Except for the cut on his lip, Rob didn't appear to have been in a fight. He'd shaved and must have found her makeup and used it to conceal the livid bruise that shadowed his jaw.
Dana raked her fingers through her hair, then opened the door. She longed to blast Coltrane with some cutting remark, but Rob's warning reminded her to keep a stranglehold on her temper.
"Where's Vanessa?" Big Daddy barged past her.
"She's in a safe place where you'll never find her." Rob's voice had the immutable ring of authority.
Coltrane halted, glaring at Rob, who was still seated, one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa. While his posture was relaxed, his expression was one Dana had never seen before. It clearly said: Don't screw with me.
Big Daddy's gaze swept the room as he seemed to consider his options. Finally he turned to Dana. "Let's talk this over."
Without waiting for an invitation he dropped into a chair, and Dana sat beside Rob. The older man looked at Dana, his black shark's eyes appearing even more threatening beneath the shock of arctic-white hair that glistened in the morning light. "Let's do a little horse trading. You've got what I want, and I've got what you want."
Here it comes, Dana thought. He is the blackmailer.
"You'll come up for election next year. I can help your campaign. I could deliver two ken clubs. Imagine all of them waving signs with your name on them."
This was the last thing she expected Big Daddy to say. True, she had been appointed to the bench and would have to run for election next year. She hadn't yet tackled how she would mount a campaign. Hawaiians disdained mainland media blitzes. During elections, supporters stood on street corners, waving posters with their candidate's name on them.
Mustering enough supporters to stand around in the broiling sun was an awesome challenge, but ken clubs, associations of Japanese-Americans who were very powerful in the islands, would be a godsend. To work her way up the judicial ladder Dana needed to hang on to her seat until she was appointed to a higher court. That meant running—and winning—in the next election. Big Daddy had to know how tempting his offer was.
"I'll get those ken clubs behind you," Big Daddy promised. He paused and grinned slyly. "I can convince them that you're the best judge around. All you have to do is persuade Vanessa and Jason to come home."
Dana waited silently for him to mention Hank Rawlins's death, but he didn't. Finally she said, "This is Vanessa's decision, not mine. I won't trade my career for her happiness."
"Think twice," Big Daddy warned, rising to his feet. He crossed the room and yanked the plug out of the answering machine. "I can ruin you."
"Don't threaten her," Rob said, his voice low but forceful. "Think of what it would do to your reputation if people knew you were nothing more than a lowlife Peeping Tom who spies on his guests."
"You can't prove shit. It'll be my word against yours."
"True, but you know how devastating gossip can be. What if the story appeared in Mirah's column in the Waikiki Tattler?"
That got him. His wild brows furrowed into a deep vee above his eyes. The Tattler, the island tabloid devoted to muckraking, had a distinct fondness for reporting the real—or invented—sexual peccadilloes of well-known islanders. People claimed they never read it, yet its biweekly issues sold out.
"You're bluffing," Big Daddy said, but he didn't sound convinced. Again he turned to Dana. "I have witnesses who'll swear Vanessa is an unfit mother— a wacko. The court will give Eric full custody. You'll see."
Dana's temper flared and she almost lashed out at Big Daddy, but Rob's steadying hand on her arm reminded her to let Coltrane do the talking. As she stared at him, his expression like the devil's death mask, she realized this threat was his trump card.
An uneasy silence filled the room and she stole a quick glance at Rob. A flicker in his eyes confirmed her suspicions. A kaleidoscope of images whipped through her head. Big Daddy with bloody clothes from the pig sticking. The kapu sign. Big Daddy "talking story" about the three sharks he'd killed.
The man was many things. A sneak. A pervert. A disgusting human being. But he wasn't the blackmailer. He isn't the one blackmailing me. The thought ricocheted through her brain. She almost gasped out loud, stopping herself just in time. Oh, my God, they'd been on the wrong track.
Big Daddy isn't the blackmailer.
This should have been a comforting thought, but it wasn't. There was someone else out there who hated her. An unknown enemy. Somehow that was even more chilling. Vanessa's divorce would make an enemy of Big Daddy. Now she would have two enemies. A double threat.
Concentrate on this situation, she told herself. She couldn't do anything about the blackmailer right no
w, but she could help Vanessa get away from the Coltranes. The thought of Big Daddy spying on her sister sickened her. What would become of Jason if this monster raised him?
Dana couldn't allow that to happen. She loved Jason, and she loved Vanessa too. She'd been there when Dana needed her. A mother, a sister, a best friend. Big Daddy could try to ruin her, but she wasn't giving up without the fight of her life.
Big Daddy rose, his eyes still on Dana. "Think it over carefully. Don't do anything you're going to regret."
"Speaking of regrets," Rob fired back, "the mokes you sent last night are going to get what they deserve—and so are you."
Garth awakened to the happy sounds of Puni and Jason chanting, "Sue the bastards! Sue the bastards! Sue their asses!"
He dressed and wheeled into the kitchen, cheered by the thoroughly domestic scene. Jason was sitting at the breakfast table with Puni moonwalking up his arm, while Vanessa made coffee.
"Morning," Garth muttered, uncertain of what to say. Last night they'd sat on the lanai, their hands linked, until the first etchings of a tropical dawn seeped up from the horizon in a misty mauve that soon became the sharp crimson halo of the sun. The cooing of dozens of awakening birds, harbingers of a new day, had reminded them that it was time to part.
They'd said good night, but he doubted either of them had slept much. He certainly hadn't; the few hours he'd spent in bed had done little to rest him. If anything, he was more keyed-up now—and less tired—than he had been in weeks. He couldn't help thinking about Vanessa. And wondering.
The telephone rang, and Vanessa hushed Jason and Puni while Garth answered it. "Rob," he mouthed to Vanessa as he listened with mounting concern.
"What's wrong?" Vanessa asked after he hung up, and Garth rolled his eyes at Jason. Immediately she caught on. "Jason, why don't you take Puni outside?"
"Ooookay, Puni, here we go." Jason moonwalked backward to the door that opened onto the fern-filled lanai.
Vanessa joined him on the sofa in the alcove overlooking the lanai, her blue eyes troubled. "What happened?"
