by Janet Dailey
Lillian spoke. “I know you. Ain’t you Marlena and John’s boy? David. Ain’t that your name?”
David still looked puzzled, but he was a polite young man. “Yes,” he said. “But my parents aren’t married anymore. They’re—”
“Don’t you know me, boy?” she demanded. “I’m your grandma!”
Emma had moved to a spot near the front door to intercept any customers who might walk in on the drama. From where she stood, she could see the emotions warring in David’s young face as he tried to make sense of what he’d just been told. She saw surprise, then denial, then at least a measure of acceptance.
“Well?” At least Lillian wasn’t holding out her arms for a hug. “Don’t you remember me at all? Hell, boy, when you was born, I was the one who delivered you. I was the first one to hold you. You was the cutest little black-haired thing. When I gave you to your dad, he was shaking so hard I was afraid he was gonna drop you. You don’t remember me at all?”
David shook his head. “I was pretty little back then.”
“And your mother never told you about me?”
“Mom never talked about you much. So I don’t really feel like I know you.” He managed a smile. “But maybe we can start over from here.”
He held out his hand. Lillian seized it, clasping it hard. It wasn’t a hug, but it was something, at least.
Emma felt a surge of emotion. Well played, David, she thought. John would be proud of you.
Moments later, a familiar black Escalade screeched to a halt outside. Marlena flung herself out of the driver’s seat and strode into the restaurant. “You, David, into the car,” she said. “Now.”
David stood his ground. “Sorry, Mom, but I can’t leave. I’m at work.”
“Then get to work. There’s plenty of it waiting for you in here.” Pearl steered him into the kitchen, disarming the standoff before it happened. Emma moved back to her place at the door. There’d be customers coming soon, and this wasn’t her battle to fight.
Mother and daughter faced each other across the table. “Well, I see you ain’t changed,” Lillian said. “You’re as bossy as ever.”
“Stay away from my son!” Marlena snapped. “I mean it, Mother. I don’t want you near him.”
The defiance went out of Lillian. Her shoulders sagged. “I ain’t here about your son,” she said. “I’m here to beg for your help. For Ezra. You know he can’t be locked up in that jail. He’ll die. Please, Marlena. Ezra never hurt you like Boone did. He was always kind. And he’s your own flesh and blood.”
Marlena sighed. “What is it you need me to do?”
“Just go with me to talk to the police, and to his lawyer, if he’s got one. They won’t listen to an old woman like me. But they will if you’re there to back me up. That’s all I’m askin’.”
Marlena sighed. “Oh, all right. Let me make some calls first.”
Pearl stepped up. “We’ve got customers coming in. I’ll let you two into the dining room. You can talk and make calls in there. I’ll have Emma bring you something to drink. More coffee, Lillian?”
“Yes, and you can bring that pie for me to finish.”
“Just coffee for me,” Marlena said.
Pearl opened the unused dining room and they took a table near the door. Emma eavesdropped shamelessly while she served them, finding excuses to wipe the tables and straighten the chairs nearby. Marlena usually treated her as if she were invisible. Today that was an advantage.
A call to the police station got Marlena the phone number of Robert Falconi, Ezra’s court-appointed lawyer. She called him, and they talked for a few minutes while Lillian finished her pie and ice cream. After Marlena had ended the call, she turned to her mother.
“We’re going to see the lawyer in a few minutes,” she said. “He’s going to ask you some questions. He told me what they’d be. I want you to be ready. No surprises. So let’s practice. Pretend I’m him, asking you. First, did Ezra know where the trailer was?”
“We both knew,” Lillian said. “It was Boone’s private place. He didn’t want us snoopin’ around there, so we stayed away.”
“Did Ezra ever go there alone?” Marlena asked.
Lillian shook her head. “The trailer and the homestead are about twenty miles apart. You know that Ezra couldn’t ever learn to drive. When we go to town or anywhere else, I always take him. That’s how I know he couldn’t have gone to Boone’s trailer and killed that poor woman.”
“Could he have walked that far?”
“He’s got bad knees. Rheumatism. I think it came on young from him bein’ so big.”
“All right, another question. When the state troopers were at the trailer site, Ezra was seen running away after he shot a search dog. How do you explain that?”
Lillian sighed and sipped the coffee Emma had poured to refill her cup. “Boone came by the day before. He said the lawmen would be nosin’ around his property, and there was things he didn’t want them to find. Lord, I was thinkin’ maybe drugs, not a body. Anyway, he said that if they had a dog, Ezra was supposed to shoot it. I drove us there and waited in the truck while Ezra went in through the trees. He cried after he had to shoot that dog.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, Mr. Falconi mentioned that the dog was all right.”
“Thank goodness. Ezra will be glad for that.”
“Do you and Ezra always do what Boone tells you to?”
“Boone was born mean, and he’s growed up meaner. You know that, Marlena. It don’t pay to rile him. It’s easier to just do like he says.”
“So if Ezra didn’t kill that woman and bury her, who do you think did it?”
Lillian didn’t answer. She was quietly weeping.
* * *
Emma was clearing the table in the dining room after the two women left, putting the cups and saucers on a tray, when David wandered in. He stood for a moment, watching her. “Sorry, I guess that’s my job you’re doing,” he said.
“Don’t worry, it’s almost done.” Emma sprayed the table, wiped it clean, and looked up at him. “Are you all right, David?”
He shrugged, looking vaguely troubled. “I guess so. I was just thinking, a few weeks ago everything was normal. I was starting school, hanging out with my friends, wanting a car, and needing a job to pay for it. Then I came here to work, and it’s like my whole life’s gone a little crazy.”
“Crazy how?” Emma asked, pleased that he was opening up to her.
He frowned, as if groping for words. “It’s mostly family, I guess. My mother’s life before she married Carl—my dad—has always been like this . . . this brick wall. She never talks about the family she grew up with. And she only mentions John because he’s how I got here. All she’s ever said about him was that he was a no-good drunk and an unfit father, and that’s why she got custody of me. Oh—and that he was an Indian. That’s why I’m so dark. I guess her family never liked Indians much. I knew who he was, but that’s about all.”
“So how’s that crazy?” She knew but she wanted to hear it from him.
“Just . . . you know. Finding out that my real father isn’t such a jerk after all. And finding out that I can choose not to be an alcoholic like he was. He taught me that. It’s been crazy, but it’s been good crazy. It’s helped me understand myself better.”
“He really loves you, you know,” Emma said. “All these years, he’s wanted to be in your life, but he’s stayed away because he didn’t want to stir up trouble with your family. You know that little bike that I have in the storage closet? It’s really yours. He bought it for your twelfth birthday, and then he wasn’t allowed to give it to you.” She looked him up and down. “I’d offer it to you now, but I think you’ve outgrown it.”
He grinned. “He must like you a lot, or he wouldn’t have let you take it. I get the feeling you like him, too. If there’s a chance you could end up being my stepmom, I want you to know that it’s cool with me.”
Emma felt the heat rise in her face. “Thanks,
but it’s way too soon to talk about that,” she said. “What about today? I thought you handled the surprise really well. Are you all right with that?”
“You mean with having a redneck grandma I don’t even remember? I could get used to that, I guess. She didn’t seem too bad. Not that my mom’s about to let me spend any time with her. And I guess I’ve got two uncles. I don’t know much about them.”
Emma wondered how much he’d heard after Pearl hustled him off to the kitchen. He might have been listening. But it wasn’t her place to tell him about Boone and Ezra, she decided. That should be left to Marlena.
“Hey, you two.” Pearl stood in the doorway to the dining room. “We’ve got customers coming in. Time to get back to work.”
Emma hurried back into the restaurant. David had stopped and was talking to Pearl. Emma was close enough to hear their conversation. “Aunt Pearl, there’s a big football game at school tomorrow afternoon. I’d really like to go with my friends. Would it be okay if I took tomorrow off? There’s a party after, but I don’t need to go. I could come in when the game’s over.”
Pearl looked displeased. “You really need to take this job more seriously, David. But all right, just this once. And don’t worry about coming in after the game. You can work extra hours on the weekend if you want the time. Now get busy!”
David went off to the kitchen. Emma grabbed a handful of menus, fixed her face in a welcoming smile, and hurried to the door to greet her customers.
* * *
The dinner hour was even busier than usual, with a private wedding party in the dining room. Emma, David, and an extra server hired for the night had worn themselves out running between the tables, the bar, and the kitchen.
By the time Marlena picked up David at ten o’clock, Emma was dead on her feet. The pistol in her pocket felt as heavy as a sledgehammer as she carted the last load of dishes to the kitchen, crossed the lobby, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. A hot soak in the tub and a night between clean sheets would be pure heaven.
She unlocked the door, and, as was her habit, drew her pistol and scanned the room before stepping over the threshold. What she saw made her gasp. There on the dresser, resplendent in a cut glass vase, was a lavish bouquet of two dozen red roses.
Her heart slammed. Such a romantic gesture didn’t seem typical of John, but the man was full of surprises. Emma checked the closet and the bathroom before locking the door. The scent of the flowers, almost dizzying in its sweetness, filled the room.
A small white envelope with her name on it was attached to the bouquet with a plastic clip. Heart pounding, Emma opened it and read the card inside—a single line.
Soon, my love.
Very romantic. Yes, the flowers could be from John, but how did they get into her room? She had to find out.
Locking her door, she hurried back downstairs to the lobby. “There are flowers in my room,” she said.
The girl, one of several who worked the late shift, smiled. “Yes, I know. Aren’t they lovely?”
“Were you here when they came? Can you tell me who delivered them?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It was the woman who runs the flower shop. I know her. They came about six. Since you were working, and I was afraid they’d wilt, I took the liberty of putting them in a vase we had here and taking them up to your room. I hope that was okay.”
“Yes, it was fine. Thanks.” Emma went back upstairs to her room. The scent of roses washed over her as she stepped inside and locked the door. She picked up the card, which she’d tossed on the bed to go downstairs. The message on the card was hand-printed, probably by the florist, which meant they would have been ordered by phone or on-line—something John could have done, even from Sitka. And they were truly beautiful, every flower perfect. They must have been very expensive.
Soon, my love . . .
So why was she feeling troubled?
She was in love with John. The giddy, pulse-pounding magic she felt when she was with him was all too familiar. She recognized it because she’d felt the same sensations when she was with Boone, and he had all but destroyed her.
She’d been head over heels in love with Boone without ever knowing who he really was. Now, less than two weeks later, she was in love with John. Could she trust her inexperienced heart? Did she even know what real love was?
Could she love John unconditionally? After what had happened the last time, could she give herself to him with complete trust, holding back nothing, for the rest of her life? If the answer was yes, why was she saving her restaurant tips for that “Plan B” airline ticket?
Was she afraid that he’d turn out to be like Boone?
Soon, my love . . .
After laying her gun on the nightstand, she walked into the bathroom, stripped down, and washed the aromas of fish, burger grease, and French fries from her skin and hair. Then she pulled on John’s thermals, laid the card on the nightstand, and crawled into bed. Usually she enjoyed an hour of reading before she fell asleep. Tonight she was exhausted. With her senses awash in the fragrance of roses, she drifted into sleep.
She’d just begun to dream when her cell phone rang. The sound startled her awake. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding as the phone rang again, then again. Reminding herself that only John and Judge Falconi had the number of her disposable phone, she picked up the call.
It was John, sounding upbeat. “Good news,” he said. “We put the new float on the plane and towed it to Sitka. The repair work on the wing will be done tomorrow morning. The engine started up fine. Unless we find problems on the test flight tomorrow, I should be back in Refuge Cove in time to kiss you good night.”
“That’s great to hear,” she said, wondering if he was waiting for her to mention the roses. “I have good news for you, too. Thanks to Marlena and her mother, Ezra’s likely going to be cleared of the murder charge. I’ll find out for sure tomorrow.”
“Marlena and her mother? I never thought I’d live to see that.” He chuckled, then his voice grew serious. “If Ezra’s cleared, there won’t be anybody for the law to go after except Boone. It’s about time they put that murderer behind bars. Has there been any sign of him?”
“None that I know of. If Ezra goes free and Boone gets word of it, he could be on the run.”
“Don’t count on it. He could be anywhere. Stay in the hotel and keep your gun close by until you know for sure he’s been arrested.”
“I’ll be careful,” Emma promised. “And by the way, thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.”
“Roses?”
Her heart seemed to stop. She knew. “Roses and a note.”
“Emma, I didn’t send you roses. I didn’t send you anything.”
Her body had gone cold. “He’s playing with me, isn’t he? Like a cat playing with a mouse!” She was shaking, as much from anger as from fear. How could she not have realized, as soon as she saw those roses, that Boone had sent them?
Soon, my love. He was taunting her.
“He’s planning something, Emma,” John said. “Don’t do anything until I get back tomorrow. You might even want to call in sick and stay in your room. If he’s not in jail by the time I get there, I’ll deal with him myself. He’ll never hurt you again, I promise. Now double-check your door and get some rest.”
Get some rest.
That was a joke, Emma thought as she ended the call with yet another promise to be careful. As long as Boone was stalking her, there would be no rest. She would be hunted prey.
After placing the phone on the nightstand, she went to the door and made sure all three locks were securely fastened. The flowers sat in the vase on the dresser—their color bloodred, their cloying scent reminding her of the funerals she’d sat through, the loved ones she’d lost—her parents, who’d died in a car crash when she was in her early teens, and later, her grandmother, who’d slipped away at eighty-seven.
The single window in Emma’s room was on the back of the building, overlooking an alley
. The window appeared to be painted shut, but when she unlatched the top and pushed upward on the sash, it moved easily. A cold night wind blew into the room as she carried the vase to the open window, leaned over the sill, and dumped the flowers into the alley below. Then she snatched up the note and envelope, ripped them into tiny pieces, and tossed them after the roses.
For several minutes she left the window open, letting the fresh air flow into the room. But even after she closed it, crawled back into bed, and huddled shivering under the covers, the fragrance lingered to haunt her memory.
Soon, my love . . .
* * *
John had never been more anxious to get home. As he followed the jagged coastline south, with the Beaver performing well, his thoughts turned again and again to Emma.
The call he’d made to Sergeant Packard early that afternoon confirmed that Ezra Swenson had been released to go home with his mother, and that the troopers and local police had put out a dragnet for Boone. But so far, Bethany Ann’s killer was nowhere to be found.
It made sense that, with Ezra cleared of the murder, Boone would either be running for the Canadian border, hiding out in the remote bush, or maybe on a boat, bound for some faraway part of Alaska. But as of last night it appeared he was still close by, and still intent on tormenting Emma.
Boone was obsessed with her—an obsession that made him reckless, vindictive, and as dangerous as a rabid wolf. If he was determined enough to get to her, even the hotel would no longer be safe.
John had phoned her that morning after a sleepless night. The strain in her voice had told him that her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She needed him. And the need to be there to protect her was like a cry inside him.
He thought of the ruse he’d put in place two days ago, passing word through Philpot that he had vital evidence to trade. He could have saved himself the trouble. By now, the police and troopers knew that Boone was the killer they were looking for. Boone wouldn’t care about getting the bullet, and any confession from him would be superfluous.
