Jeff kept darting to the hallway in hopes of witnessing the arrival of the pastries. At his insistence, Joni went with him to peer out the front door.
Herb steered Dirk into a corner. “What have you found?” he asked without preamble.
“I don’t think Joni killed Lowell, and I don’t believe he was stalking her. But I haven’t got a clue who is.”
“Is? Present tense?” His grandfather’s brows knitted in alarm.
“Very present tense.” Dirk described the duplicate knife, the footprint in the yard and the red paint on his car.
“What do the police think?”
“I’ve persuaded them to hold off filing charges for the time being,” Dirk said. “But I don’t think they’re eager to complicate their case.”
“If their evidence isn’t airtight, the lawyer I’m going to hire will mop up the courtroom with them,” Herb growled.
Dirk chuckled at his grandfather’s ferocity. Despite his heart condition, the man would go to any lengths to defend his family.
When Joni and Jeff returned, they invited Herb to picnic with them at Del Mar Park, but he declined. “Just be careful,” he said in parting.
An hour later, Dirk and Joni had changed into casual clothes and were finishing their take-out fried chicken at a picnic table while Jeff scampered off to play. He didn’t know the other two children at the playground, but soon they were all running and whooping together.
“He makes friends easily,” Dirk observed. “He’s more like Lowell than me in that respect.”
“Or me, either. I think he takes after Herb,” Joni said. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”
He listened to her description of the blood, or whatever it had been, on the patio. “Did you look out there this morning?”
“There was a trace of brown along the edge of the patio, but it might have been left from Wednesday,” she said.
“It didn’t appear to be red paint?”
“Too brown and too thick.”
“Since we’re playing show-and-tell, I’d like you to see this.” From his pocket, Dirk pulled out the black velvet jeweler’s box. He’d been carrying it with him, uneasy at leaving it anywhere else. “Lowell’s kiss-off gift to Kim.”
Joni read the note. “Everybody knew she was furious. It’s the kind of threat people make all the time.”
“But usually not to people who get killed,” he pointed out.
Sunlight played across her face as she rested her chin on one palm. In contrast to earlier this morning, a healthy pink flushed her cheeks, and threads of reddish-gold glinted in the hair that had pulled loose from its knot. “Kim would certainly have a motive to harass me. But I can’t see her overpowering Lowell.”
“Not to mention that the shoe print I saw in the blind was man-size,” Dirk noted. As the events at church this morning ran through his mind, he added, “By the way, was Mrs. Wright always this chilly toward you?”
“She used to acknowledge me, but not by much,” she said.
“Any idea why you two didn’t get along?”
“It wasn’t so bad right after we were married. Then a couple of years before the divorce, I stepped on her toes, I guess.” Joni pursed her lips at the memory. “I asked her where she went in the middle of the day. She would leave for several hours, two or three times a week.”
“Did she tell you?”
“No, she blew up. She said no one had ever questioned her integrity before,” Joni said. “I didn’t mean to criticize. It just struck me as odd.”
He recalled how the housekeeper had bristled yesterday when he asked if she was running errands. “What did Lowell say?”
“He told me Mrs. Wright was like a member of the family and she could come and go as she pleased.” Joni’s voice tightened as she recounted the rebuke. “Do you think I was out of line?”
“Considering you were her employer, I wouldn’t say so. If she’d made special arrangements with Lowell, he should’ve advised you.” Why had the woman been so touchy anyway? And where did she go?
Jeff and the other children jumped onto the swings and launched themselves into the air, whooping with glee. Eight years old. Dirk couldn’t even remember how it had felt to be that age. He wondered what his son had been like as an infant or a toddler. When he took his first step. On his first day at school.
“I’ve missed so much,” he said.
“You found more than the police did.” Joni reached across the table to pick a leaf off his hair.
The touch of her fingers heated his scalp. “I meant about Jeff, not the investigation. Like his birth. And birthdays. All the special times I wasn’t there.”
“If you’d known he was your son, would it have made any difference?” she asked.
Dirk had to admit the truth. “I suppose not. I did what my brother asked, then put it out of my mind. Maybe that was noble or maybe it was selfish. Nothing I can do about it now.”
“June seventeenth,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“His birthday.” She smiled. “We’ll be expecting you next year.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” At the far edge of the playground, a shadow moved in a thicket of tall bushes. Under the circumstances, Dirk was on permanent alert. “Any idea who that might be?”
Joni followed his gaze. “I can’t tell.”
“What’s on the far side of those bushes?”
“A soccer field. We practice there on Wednesday afternoons, in fact.”
If any teams were using the field now, they’d be making plenty of noise, Dirk thought. He heard nothing beyond the three children on the playground.
“I’ll go check it out.” Forcing himself to pretend disinterest, he strolled toward the field.
The shadow shifted as he approached, then vanished. Quickening his pace, Dirk loped into the thicket. A branch snagged his sweater, and by the time he tore free, he could see a man’s figure vanishing across the small slope that separated the low-lying park from the street beyond.
Dirk broke into a run. He had no reason to connect this onlooker to Lowell’s murder, but he’d feel better if he knew who the guy was. By the time Dirk topped the rise, he saw nothing but an empty sidewalk, a residential neighborhood and a scattering of parked cars.
He had left Joni alone at the picnic table. Suppose the intruder doubled back? Unwilling to risk searching for the man, Dirk returned to the playground.
“No luck,” he said.
Shivering, Joni wrapped her arms around herself. She’d worn a lavender sweater, not heavy enough for the cool October breeze.
“We could go home,” Dirk suggested.
“No. Jeff’s enjoying himself. He needs to release some of his grief and tension.”
He wasn’t going to let her catch cold no matter how cautious he intended to be, so Dirk sat beside Joni and drew her against his chest. Her trembling eased, even as fire ignited inside his own body. “Better?” he asked gruffly.
“Much better,” she whispered.
They nestled together, watching Jeff and his new friends play pirates on a jungle gym. As heat flowed between them, the floral scent of her shampoo proved a heady perfume.
Just sitting there, his arms wrapped around her, was an intensely sensual experience. It was a rare beautiful moment as they silently watched their son play.
An hour later, Jeff’s friends scampered off to join their parents. Reluctantly, Dirk conceded it was time to go.
“Maybe we can see them again sometime,” Jeff said. “Andy and Maggy come here almost every Sunday. Could we come back next week, Mom?”
“We can try,” Joni said.
“Uncle Dirk?”
“If I’m still—yes, sure.” He wouldn’t be gone that soon, would he? Dirk tried not to think about all the Sundays after that. The other afternoons that would pass as Jeff grew, the thousands of moments he wouldn’t share.
At home, to spare the front carpet from Jeff’s sandy shoes, they went to the back door. Dirk
, watching for any sign of the stalker, noticed a brick askew in a built-in planter alongside the house.
“Did you do that?” he asked, pointing.
Joni stopped. “Oh, my goodness. That’s where I hide the spare key!”
“Jeff? Did you move that this morning?”
The boy shook his head.
Joni bent to examine the brick. “Don’t touch it!” Dirk said. “There might be fingerprints.”
“I want to know if the key’s here!” Dropping to her knees, she pulled the brick out and scooped up a small object. “Thank goodness!”
Could there be some innocent explanation for the loose brick? “When’s the last time you took it out?”
“I can’t remember,” Joni said.
“Thursday.” They turned toward Jeff. “Mrs. Owens took it out,” he explained. “Remember, I had to get some stuff to sleep over at Grampa’s house.”
“That’s right. She brought me clean clothes, too.” Joni’s voice quavered as she added, “But the brick wasn’t like this yesterday or I’d have noticed.”
“Who else knows about the key?” Dirk asked.
“Just Herb.”
And anyone who’s been watching the house from the blind, he thought grimly. “I’ll get someone at the printshop to come out and change the locks. For the time being, please stop hiding a key.”
“Don’t worry,” she said fervently.
He insisted on going inside first, listening, watching, feeling for changes in air pressure. The only thing he noticed was a slow, creeping sensation on his skin. Dirk had learned to trust his gut feelings, and they were shouting, Intruder!
“If it’s the stalker, I’m sure he’s left some indication he was here,” he said. “He’d want to flaunt himself.”
Joni turned to Jeff. “You stay right here in the hall while we look.”
“Not by myself!” he protested.
“Both of you go into the kitchen and wait by the phone,” Dirk said. “Be ready to call 911.”
He poked through the house, every sense on edge. Even ordinary noises seemed sharper and the smells harsher than usual. However, no drawers had been ripped open and nothing appeared damaged. But there was a final test.
Thanks to his years in security work. Dirk always made small folds in the edges of his clothing that would fall open if they were disturbed. He opened the end table in the den and examined his clothing without moving it. The folds were gone.
Someone had poked through his things. At the discovery, the hairs bristled on the back of his neck.
As Dirk straightened, he noticed a hint of orange beneath the table. On closer inspection, it revealed itself to be a small ruffled ball of orange and purple. Squatting, he plucked it from the carpet. It was instantly recognizable as a fringed pom-pom pin, the kind Kim DeLong had been wearing the last time Dirk saw her.
Chapter Ten
Detective MacDougall brought a crime-scene crew to the house. Joni wasn’t thrilled about the mess they made, but she was glad that at least he was taking the break-in seriously.
Or so she hoped until he reported that the investigators had found nothing aside from the pom-pom pin. They could only assume that the intruder must have worn gloves and put plastic bags over his shoes.
She could read the unspoken tag line in his eyes. If there really was an intruder.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a lot to go on,” the detective growled as the team finished its work.
“What did you learn about the red paint?” Dirk asked.
“It’s a brand the hardware store sells, although they don’t remember anyone buying that shade recently,” MacDougall said. “Too bad your neighbor hosed down the brown stuff on the patio. We couldn’t find anything to test.”
They stood on the front porch, watching for a machinist who worked the weekend shift at Peterson Printing. Dirk had arranged for him to rekey all the locks as soon as the police finished.
“What about the pin?” she asked. “And the threatening note Kim DeLong wrote to Lowell?”
MacDougall’s face had a pouchy look, possibly from being called out three times on a weekend, or maybe from frustration. “The booster club sells those pins at games. As for the note, it doesn’t prove anything.”
She hated to admit it, but he was right. Their evidence didn’t add up to much.
“I have one more question for you,” MacDougall went on. “I didn’t realize yesterday, Mr. Peterson, that you were staying on the premises. Don’t you think that raises certain questions about your objectivity, if nothing else?”
She saw a muscle jump in Dirk’s jaw. The detective’s implication was unfair, and yet...
Since Dirk moved into the house, she’d been subliminally aware of him even when they were apart. The low timbre of his voice echoed in her bones; she awoke with vague memories of dreams filled with caresses and whispers. In the shower, when she passed the creamy soap across her skin, she could almost feel his presence, watching, touching, helping.
Could she be objective? Could he?
“My nephew and his mother are being stalked on the same property where my brother was murdered,” Dirk retorted. “Until we can get a security system installed, I’m staying. Unless you’re offering to post a round-the-clock guard?”
“We’re a small department. We don’t have that kind of manpower.”
“Or I could move them both to the Peterson estate,” he said. “Joni?”
Until these latest developments, the desire not to uproot Jeff had tipped the balance in favor of staying here. Now that someone had invaded the house, she wasn’t sure.
Joni pictured the meandering mansion in its isolated setting. There would be plenty of room for them, but they’d have to contend with a hostile housekeeper, keys floating around in the hands of servants and no neighbors close enough to hear a scream.
She supposed she could move to a motel, but that idea didn’t appeal to her, either. Flimsy doors, people coming and going outside and nowhere for her son to play.
“I’m staying put,” she said. “This stalker will find me no matter where I go.”
Dirk accepted her decision as if he’d expected it. To the detective, he said, “Will you talk to Mrs. DeLong about her pin?”
MacDougall stiffened. “I’m sure that will be part of the investigation.”
He wasn’t going to dig very hard, and Joni knew why. The detective didn’t believe there was a stalker. In his mind, she had killed Lowell, and now she or Dirk, or both, were trying to plant doubt about her guilt.
Dirk must have been thinking along the same lines because after the police left and Jeff went to his room, he said, “I’m afraid that once MacDougall talks to Kim and she denies everything, he’s going to turn his evidence over to the D.A.”
“You think they’ll charge me?” she asked numbly. “Why?”
“Because people don’t like to repeat their mistakes,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing some research on the Internet.” Dirk led the way into the living room, where he stood at the window watching the driveway below. “Trying to get background on everyone who’s relevant to this case. That includes the D.A.”
From his tone, she suspected she wouldn’t like what he’d found. “What did you learn?”
“A few years ago, he declined to file charges in a self-defense case,” he said. “The suspect was a former boxer. He said his wife came at him with a knife and he punched her too hard.
“A few months later, they found out he’d previously killed a girlfriend under identical circumstances in another state and gotten off with the same excuse. By that time, he’d disappeared. There was a big stink about letting a murderer get away with it.”
“So the D.A. won’t back off unless I have ironclad proof I didn’t do it.” Joni’s spirits sank. She didn’t even feel strong enough to go back to work yet; how was she going to face a jury?
“Herb’s got a top-ranking lawyer in mind,” Dirk
said. “If you like, I’ll engage him right away so he can put his investigative team to work.”
“I can’t deal with any more people right now.” Joni wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “You’re the only help I want.”
He rubbed his hands lightly along her shoulders. The friction lit a Same deep within her. “I may be doing you more harm than good. Now that he knows I’m staying here, MacDougall’s going to discount anything I come across.”
“I don’t care. I’m glad you’re with me.” Tears threatened to shatter her composure, but she forced them back. “Dirk, I’m barely holding myself together. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m not usually a wimp.”
“You’ve been operating on automatic since Wednesday night.” His fingers feathered along her neck beneath her loosened hair. “The trauma is catching up to you.”
“Just don’t leave. I don’t care what MacDougall thinks.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He moved closer, curving around her, lowering his face to hers. In another heartbeat, their lips would meet.
Outside, a vehicle downshifted as it ascended the driveway. A Peterson Printing van, she saw from the corner of her eye.
Unwillingly, Dirk released her. “We seem to have the world’s worst timing. Tell you what. Tonight, I’m building a fire in the fireplace. Got any hot dogs?”
She smiled. “There’s a package in the fridge.”
“Any long skewers?”
“Not only that,” she said, “I’ve got marshmallows.”
“A woman after my own heart.” The words lingered in the air as he went to meet the machinist.
THERE WERE MORE LOCKS than Dirk had realized—front door, back door, the door between the house and the garage, plus a side door from the garage to the yard.
The workman adjusted them all and handed him a set of keys. “I hope that takes care of the problem, Mr. Peterson.”
“I’ll see that you’re paid extra for your time,” Dirk said.
The man, a grizzled fellow who appeared to spend most of his spare time outdoors, shook his head. “I don’t need no extra pay,” he said. “What I want, like most of the guys, is for you to keep the company in the family.”
His Secret Son Page 11
