His Secret Son

by Jacqueline Diamond

  What had appeared to be a dense plant was instead a canopy formed by overgrown branches. In the space he had assumed would be filled by a thick truck, there was room for a man to hide.

  This cover stood no more than a dozen long strides from Joni’s back door. From here, through the rear windows, Dirk could have seen anyone standing at the sink or sitting at the kitchen table. He could also see the street and any cars that might come up the driveway.

  He shone his flashlight inside the blind, at the ground. When something glistened, Dirk knelt to check it out.

  Just a piece of quartz, he found to his disappointment. Then, still crouching, he spotted the heel print.

  It was a faint impression, but deep enough for him to see the kind of tread that came from an athletic shoe. The night Lowell died, according to the police report, he’d been wearing smooth-soled Italian leather.

  Dirk trained the flashlight closer. The shallow print showed no sign of rain damage. It must have been made since Wednesday night.

  His arms prickled. Someone had been watching the house yesterday or today. Watching Joni. And Jeff. And him.

  Detective MacDougall must have gone home for the night by now. He wouldn’t appreciate being rousted at this hour for anything less than an emergency, and this didn’t qualify. But Dirk vowed to call the man first thing in the morning.

  He wondered if Lowell had discovered the blind, or if he’d waited for Joni, oblivious, only a few feet from a hidden observer. It was an unnerving possibility.

  To complete the survey, Dirk retraced his steps toward the patio. The dusty light globe glared into his eyes, blocking his vision as it would have done to Lowell in his final moments of life. His brother could have made out Joni’s figure on the patio, but he couldn’t have seen much beyond that. The slope to his left and the lawn and trees beyond the patio were blotted out.

  And, of course, he wouldn’t have seen someone approaching from behind. From the leafy hideout.

  In the woods, a coyote howled, its wail bouncing and echoing. The sound made Dirk jump. Annoyed at himself, he crossed the patio, skirting the heavy glass table. It took several seconds before his night vision returned.

  From a reverse angle, he surveyed the scene. The patio. The slope. The trees above, black against a charcoal sky.

  In the woods, he spotted a pinprick of light.

  Dirk stared at it in confusion. For a moment, he thought it might be a safety light, but why only one? Besides, it wasn’t large enough to provide security.

  Then it moved. Gripping the flashlight, he aimed it up the slope, but its beam wasn’t strong enough to penetrate that far. The light vanished. Did the intruder realize he’d been noticed?

  Instinct urged Dirk to give chase, but the other person had a head start and knew the terrain. A newcomer would likely reap nothing more than a twisted ankle. Worse, he would leave Joni unguarded.

  There was no proof, of course, that this person had any connection to Wednesday’s tragedy. Anyone who lived in the area might be taking a walk.

  But only a fool ignored patterns, and one was definitely taking shape here. The second knife. The footprint inside a hiding place. The light on the hill.

  The odds had shifted. It seemed less and less likely that Joni had been the one who wielded the murder weapon. Or that his brother had been her stalker. More likely, Lowell had appointed himself as lookout to nab the prowler in the act. A prowler who was still free, his existence not even suspected by the police.

  To keep his promise to Herb, Dirk would have to expand his scope. Instead of a narrow probe into Lowell’s state of mind, he was now looking for a killer who might be anyone.

  JONI AWOKE SHORTLY AFTER nine o’clock on Saturday morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late.

  From the den came the chatter of a cartoon show. Outside, a car turned into the driveway. Dragging herself to the window, she spotted a light brown sedan with Detective MacDougall at the wheel. What was he doing here?

  Moving stiffly, she pulled on some clothes, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. After downing some aspirin, she went into the den.

  “Uncle Dirk’s in the backyard,” Jeff announced from where he sat watching TV.

  “Is the police officer with him?”

  “I guess so.” He showed no further interest. Normally, her son was underfoot when anything happened, peppering the grown-ups with questions.

  “Jeff?” she said. “Do you feel all right?”

  “I just don’t want to go outside.” His hunched shoulders revealed more about his anxiety than any words could have.

  Joni gave her son a hug. He’d lost his father and, on top of that, had to deal with the fact that the death had occurred under their noses. She wished she could make the pain go away, but children, like adults, needed time to grieve.

  “I love you,” she said. “Everything’s under control, honey. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He returned his gaze to the screen, obviously uncomfortable with talking about his feelings.

  In any case, Joni needed to find out what the detective was doing. She wouldn’t be much good to her son if she went to prison. Between her house and the neighbor’s, she found Dirk holding up a heavy branch for the detective, who was inspecting the ground. Behind MacDougall stood Celia, watching with lively interest.

  “What’s going on?” Joni asked.

  Three faces turned toward her. “Your brother-in-law has discovered a possible hideout for our stalker,” MacDougall said. “Only problem is, there’s no evidence anyone’s used it”

  “There was a heel print here last night.” Dirk brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead. “Someone’s erased it. And I saw a light moving in the woods.”

  “You came out here last night?” she asked.

  “I figured I might learn something if I retraced Lowell’s steps,” he said. “Apparently, I was light”

  Celia hugged herself. Although she was neatly dressed in an embroidered blouse over black pants, her tangled hair indicated she’d dressed quickly. “You saw someone on hill? What time?”

  “About eight-thirty,” Dirk said. “He must have seen me discover the blind.”

  Joni’s hands went cold. If it were a casual hiker, he wouldn’t have erased the footprint. There really was someone watching her house.

  The detective looked up from making notes. “This does put a different slant on things, although it’s too bad we don’t have the print. You say it was some kind of athletic shoe?”

  “I couldn’t be sure which brand, but it was that type of tread.”

  “Lowell never wore his Nike shoes outside the health club.” Joni barely managed to keep her voice steady.

  “I don’t believe my brother could have left that print. It showed no rain damage.” Dirk’s concerned gaze met hers.

  He’d shaved this morning and put on a V-necked navy sweater over a crisp tan shirt and pressed jeans. It seemed unfair that anyone could look so well put together this early on a Saturday, she reflected irrelevantly.

  “Have you seen any prowlers, ma’am?” the detective asked Celia.

  “No, but I keep my blinds drawn after dark,” she said. “Especially when my husband’s away.” He had departed the previous week for a monthlong business trip to Taiwan and Singapore.

  MacDougall checked the area. Then, accompanied by Dirk, he stomped up the slope to the edge of the woods. Leaving Celia to trail them, Joni went inside.

  Judging by the crumb-covered plates in the kitchen sink, her son and Dirk had already fixed toast for breakfast. Since Jeff was afraid of burning himself, Dirk must have toasted the bread for both of them.

  A mother excelled at detective work when it came to figuring out household behavior, she thought wryly. Too bad she couldn’t do the same for a murder.

  As she fixed herself a bowl of cereal, Joni reviewed what Dirk had discovered. The footprint and the way it had been wiped clean, together with the knife, dispelled any lingerin
g doubts. She knew with absolute certainty that she hadn’t stabbed Lowell.

  She was glad Jeff wouldn’t have to grow up with the knowledge that his mother had killed his father, even in self-defense. And whatever Lowell might have done in the past, it repelled her to think of wreaking such violence on a man she’d once loved.

  But now, Joni thought grimly, she had to deal with the frightening prospect that remained. A murderer had been on her property last night.

  She was grateful that her brother-in-law had security training. And that he cared enough about the truth to keep searching for it when the police had been ready to accept her guilt at face value. She wondered whether his support had anything to do with his being Jeff’s biological father. In truth, his motivation no longer mattered. She was just glad he was here.

  “Mom?” Jeff wandered in, holding a stuffed dragon named Yoshi. To her knowledge, he hadn’t carried it out of his bedroom in months, but now, apparently, he needed the reassurance. “Don’t I have a soccer game?”

  “Oh, my gosh!” She jumped up. “I’m not supposed to bring the snacks today, am I?”

  “You brought granola bars last week,” her son reminded her.

  She sighed. “Oh, right. Where would I be without your memory?”

  “Panicking,” Jeff said tartly, and went off to change clothes.

  The prospect of attending the game lifted Joni’s spirits. She needed something normal to hang on to, and what could be more normal than kids’ soccer?

  She was sitting on the edge of the opened couch in the den, lacing her tennis shoes, when Dirk came in. Outside, the detective’s car rattled away.

  “Find anything?” she asked.

  His mouth twisted. “Nothing. No pun intended. By the way, I trimmed back the branches as far as I could with the tools from your garage. I don’t think anyone will be hiding there for a while.”

  “Thanks,” Joni said. “Dirk, your help means more than I can say.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” The flimsy sofa bed sank as he sat beside her. “It’s why you have to put up with my dishes in the sink and my shaving kit in the bathroom,”

  “I don’t mind. Not at all.” It must be the light-headedness from her injury, Joni thought, that made her so aware that she was sitting next to an incredibly desirable man. His spicy scent pervaded the sheets and surrounded her like a cocoon. She ached to curve against his broad chest and feel the strength of those muscular shoulders. To cup his well-shaped head in her hands.

  A bed. A man. What would it feel like to lie here with him?

  She didn’t intend to find out. Life was too complicated already.

  Down the hall, she could hear Jeff clomping about in his bedroom. The boy could make more noise fishing his shin guards and spiked shoes out of the closet than Joni could make dropping an entire stack of pots and pans. Well, almost.

  “Something going on?” Dirk raised an eyebrow.

  “Soccer game,” she said.

  “You’re into that?” An indentation flashed in his cheek as he smiled. “Do you realize that soccer moms have become legendary?”

  “I’m not much of a soccer mom,” Joni confessed as she retied one shoe. “I hid in the back when they asked for someone to make the team banner.”

  “Didn’t they catch you?” he teased.

  “No, but Jeff’s best friend’s mother volunteered.” Joni sighed. “I had to spend a whole Sunday afternoon helping her cut out pieces of felt and glue them together. It looks pretty good, no thanks to me. Kathryn’s the talented one.”

  “Where do they hold these games?” he asked.

  “It depends on who else needs the fields. Today we’re playing at the high school.” Joni stood, trying to convince herself that she didn’t feel the other shoelace working its way loose.

  “This should be interesting.” Dirk uncoiled from the low bed.

  “You’re coming?”

  “Whoever’s been watching you is most likely an acquaintance,” he said. “I need to get to know your friends.”

  Jeff trudged in, wearing shorts and a jersey in the team colors of black and silver. “Are you coming, Uncle Dirk?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  The boy straightened as if an invisible burden had been lifted. “Great!”

  The two of them walked ahead of Joni through the house. Their sturdy gaits had the same boyish swing, she noticed with a pang.

  They took Dirk’s car. It was a pleasure, Joni discovered, to get away from the house.

  As sunshine flooded through the windshield, an oldies song bounced from the radio. In the back seat, Jeff danced in place. Amused, Dirk kept glancing at the boy in the rearview mirror.

  Being together, the three of them, felt like the old days when she’d been part of a two-parent family, Joni mused. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that sense of completion.

  But a deep uneasiness refused to let her enjoy the good mood for long. As they turned left from Canyon Acres onto San Bernardo Road, Joni remembered what Dirk had said earlier. Whoever’s been watching you is most likely an acquaintance.

  In the bustle of getting out the door, she hadn’t given his assertion much thought. Now it struck her with painful clarity.

  The stalker might be someone they would see at the game. The coach or his assistant. One of the parents. A soccer-league official.

  Until this case was resolved, she couldn’t trust anyone. She had to stay on the alert, even among friends. Or perhaps, as Dirk had indicated, especially among friends.

  Chapter Seven

  Cars filled much of the high school parking lot. It was a quarter to eleven, Joni saw from her watch, and pregame practice had started half an hour ago. Jeff had missed that, but at least he’d attended practice last Wednesday. And he was here for the game.

  “I didn’t realize soccer was so popular.” Dirk angled his rental car between a van and a station wagon. “There are quite a few cars here.”

  “There are two teams with about a dozen kids on each, so it does get crowded.” A synchronized cheer drifted from the nearby gymnasium. “Also, it sounds like the cheerleaders are practicing today, too.”

  “This whole scene reminds me of a sixties TV show about middle America.” Dirk cut off the engine. “It’s another lifetime, if not another world.”

  “You grew up here,” Joni pointed out. “It shouldn’t seem that strange.”

  “After watching Melrose Place in Nairobi and The Brady Bunch in Bombay, dubbed into the local languages, it’s hard to view America the same way,” he said.

  “There’s Coach!” Grabbing his soccer ball, Jeff waved to Charlie, who was shading his eyes on the playing field. The coach waved back.

  “Bobby’s here.” Joni pointed to the Owenses’ white minivan, distinguished by the black and silver racing stripes Kathryn had painted along the side.

  “Bobby, I take it, is a good friend?” Dirk asked his nephew.

  “The best!” Jeff loped ahead of them across the blacktop, and on the field his friends cheered his approach.

  “We should have been here early for practice,” Joni admitted as she walked beside Dirk. Her head and ribs ached dully. “I hope that, under the circumstances, the coach will understand.”

  “Whether he understands isn’t important,” he said. “Joni, I know these are familiar surroundings, but this situation isn’t normal. You can’t afford to let your guard down. You have to imagine we’re in a foreign country where we don’t know whom to trust.”

  Was that possible? she wondered as they passed a group of three team mothers, one with a baby in a stroller, the others shepherding toddlers. Exchanging startled glances, the women turned away without greeting Joni. They’d always acted friendly before, but until now, she reflected, she hadn’t been suspected of killing anyone.

  “I guess I might as well be in a foreign country,” she agreed sadly.

  On the playing field, Jeff joined the other boys milling around. As his assistant herded them
into line, the coach turned to stare at Joni.

  She waved. “Thanks for the flowers!”

  He nodded, but his half smile vanished as he turned his attention to Dirk. Was she imagining it, or was that a look of hostility?

  Tapping her companion’s arm, she asked, “Do you know him?”

  Dirk glanced at the coach. “Not that I recall. Did he grow up around here?”

  Now that she thought about it, Joni recalled hearing that Charlie had moved to town a couple of years ago. “I guess not. He seems to have taken a dislike to you, though.”

  The man on the field turned abruptly away. “Temper, temper,” Dirk murmured. “You said he’s been paying attention to you? I need to have a talk with that guy.”

  To their left, a silver-and-black banner displayed a soccer ball and the slogan, “Win, Raiders!” Across the field, a blue-and-white banner proclaimed, “Sting ’Em, Hornets!” In both sets of bleachers, parents were spreading out their blankets.

  “Friendly rivalry?” Dirk asked.

  “Most of the time,” she said. “Some of the parents get carried away. Did you ever play when you were a kid?”

  “One season of Little League,” he said. “That was the popular sport back then.”

  “Lowell had a couple of trophies,” she recalled. “He encouraged Jeff to go out for soccer.”

  “My brother was a star.” Dirk spoke without rancor. “Maybe I could’ve been, maybe not. What I couldn’t take was my father standing on the sidelines screaming at me whenever I made a mistake. How well did you know Dad anyway?”

  Donald Peterson had been the hard-driving head of Peterson Printing when Joni went to work there. To her, he’d remained a distant, intimidating figure until his death from a heart attack two years after her marriage.

  “Not well,” she admitted. “I was grateful he didn’t object to Lowell’s marrying me.”

  “Knowing my father, he saw you as suitable material to carry on the line,” Dirk said. “An obedient wife who wouldn’t put her career or her social life ahead of having children.”

  “I never considered it that way.” It hadn’t occurred to Joni that a lack of accomplishments might be viewed as an advantage. “Oh, there are the Owenses! Let me introduce you.”