“We haven’t made a decision about that.” Dirk wasn’t surprised to learn that the staff had been speculating about the future. Their jobs might be at stake after all. “Unfortunately, there won’t be anyone in the family who could run the place until Jeff grows up.”
“Unless, well, unless you was to stay on.” The man braced himself against his van. “I don’t guess it’s as excitin’ as what you regularly do. But your brother was talkin’ about startin’ up his own publishing imprint. We was lookin’ forward to seein’ what he’d do.”
“He mentioned it to me on the phone recently, as a matter of fact.” Lowell, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, had suggested they work together on lining up big-name experts to write high-tech and business-oriented books, then market the imprint internationally. It sounded feasible, but Dirk assumed the publishing project had died with Lowell.
His own specialty was establishing new projects in developing nations, not running them day to day. He only stuck around until a company got off the ground.
He knew better, however, than to cut off his options. “It’s still up in the air,” he said. “Thanks for your input.
“Any time, Mr. Peterson.” After a firm handshake, the man climbed into his van.
As he drove away, Jeff came out of the house dribbling a ball. “Hey, Uncle Dirk, want to play handball?”
Dirk felt he could use a workout, and it was a good chance to spend time with his son. “Sure.”
Whacking the ball against the garage door and chasing it soon had him breathing hard. A lot harder than Jeff. Considering that the kid had run all over the playground earlier that afternoon, his stamina was impressive.
“You’re quite an athlete,” Dirk observed as Jeff returned a difficult serve.
“Dad says I take after him.”
The ball flew into some bushes. Dirk loped over and collected it. “Lowell was a good sportsman.”
“Yeah.” The little boy drooped, and Dirk realized his use of the past tense had been a reminder of Lowell’s death. “I’ll never be as good as him, though.”
Dirk put an arm around his son’s shoulders. “I don’t see why not. Being an athlete runs in the family. Did you know my father was the star of the high school basketball team?”
“No,” the boy said. “I didn’t.”
Donald had died in his mid-fifties, before his only grandson was conceived. Unlike Herb, he’d refused to obey the doctor’s orders to diet, exercise and quit smoking.
“Your great-grandfather was a ballplayer, too,” Dirk said. “Herb led his team to two basketball trophies. I bet you could, too, if you wanted to.”
The child’s face brightened. Such keen blue eyes and such an open, joyful expression. Joni had done a wonderful job of raising him.
With a pang, Dirk wondered whether Herb’s proximity and his own occasional visits would be enough masculine support to guide the boy into manhood. Even if they were enough for Jeff, did he himself really want to miss these years with the only son he might ever have?
He refused to yield to impulse. The worst thing he could do was to promise more than he could deliver.
“Want to play some more?” Jeff asked.
Dirk gestured toward a pile of logs. “How about helping me build a fire instead?”
“Could we really?”
“I promised your mom we’d have a wienie roast for dinner,” he said. “We’ll have to be careful not to set the house ablaze, though.”
“We can roast hot dogs in the fireplace?” The boy whooped. “Dad would never have gone for something like that!”
“Your dad probably had more sense than I do,” Dirk muttered, but he was human enough to enjoy the compliment.
INSIDE THE GRATE, sparks snapped and leaped from a log. On the brick hearth lay blackened skewers, testament to a merry meal of hot dogs and marshmallows.
Joni lay back among the cushions she’d pulled from the couch. Jeff had gone to bed half an hour ago while, nearby, Dirk watched the fire through half-closed eyes. Her sense of contentment wouldn’t last, she knew. That made her treasure it all the more.
“A penny for your thoughts.” Lying on the carpet, she could feel Dirk’s baritone voice ripple through the underlying boards.
Half-formed ideas sprang out before she even knew what she intended to say. “I have the oddest feeling that everything will come to a head by Thursday.”
“Thursday?” he echoed. “Halloween?”
“Also my birthday,” she admitted. “The big threeoh.”
“Ah.” Dirk stretched lazily along his cushions. “I remember my thirtieth birthday. Some friends took me to dinner in Rome.”
“That sounds glamomus.”
“Rome is more friendly than glamorous,” he said. “We had a traveling party, from the restaurant to a nightclub, picking up more people at every stage. People we knew, or thought we knew, or who said witty things in passing, or who laughed at our jokes. I felt like a college student again.”
Through the fire tangoed filaments of red and yellow, blue and black. “I never had that kind of carefree experience,” Joni admitted. “I wish I had.”
“I needed it.” Dirk knit his hands behind his head. “I had to get away from here.”
“Why?” she asked. “I know you and Lowell didn’t get along, but he would never say why.”
“Dad pitted us against each other,” he said. “I guess it was his way of trying to spur me to be the kind of kid he wanted me to be, and I was too stubborn to yield. Lowell sure enjoyed needling me.”
“He could be very cruel.” She’d learned that all too well from her own experience.
“When we were little, I adored him.” A touch of bitterness laced his words. “So when we were teenagers and he began taunting me, I supposed he must be right, that I really was inferior. It hurt so much that I couldn’t deal with it, so I hid my feelings. I didn’t even fight back.”
“Not ever?” she probed.
“Not until my senior year in high school,” he said. “Lowell came home from college and found out I’d taken up boxing. I was doing well at it, too, which galled him.”
“Did he box?” Joni recalled a scar alongside her ex-husband’s eye; she’d asked about it, but he’d brushed the question aside.
“No, but he didn’t like seeing me succeed at sports. I guess it threatened his position as the brother who was better at everything,” Dirk said.
She waited, hoping that he’d go on. After a moment’s reflection, he did.
“One afternoon at the club, he and some of his friends started giving me a hard time,” Dirk said. “Mostly it was Lowell. Calling me names, shoving me. He challenged me to a boxing match. I knew my coach wouldn’t approve, but I’d had enough.”
“You two fought?” she asked. “Where?”
“We found an exercise room that wasn’t being used,” he said. “Put on the gloves and went at each other. Lowell lacked experience, but he was bigger than me.”
“He won?” Joni hugged her knees. She could almost see the two brothers squaring off; hear the catcalls of Lowell’s friends; smell the fighters’ sweat.
“He landed more blows than I did although they didn’t do much damage,” Dirk said. “He told me I was a loser and I’d always be a loser. I told him to quit acting like a jerk and that I’d had enough. When I started to leave, he suddenly swung around and socked me in the gut. I wasn’t expecting it.”
Joni flinched. “He cheated?”
“He wanted total and absolute victory, and I wouldn’t give it to him, so he took it any way he could.” Dirk grimaced.
“Were you badly hurt?”
“I could hardly breathe. Then I got mad,” he said. “I’ve heard of people seeing red, but I never knew it could be literally true. Well, it is. I felt this rage, years and years of it that had been bottled up. I don’t remember what happened, except that I attacked him with everything I was worth.”
“So that’s how he got the scar,” she guessed. “
Next to his eye.”
Dirk nodded. “I might’ve hurt him even worse if his friends hadn’t pulled me off. I got loose and went at him again until Lowell had to turn tail and flee. He hated me for humiliating him, and I figured he owed me an apology. That was fifteen years ago.”
“I’m sorry you never had a chance to reconcile,” Joni said. “Lowell must’ve realized that was the biggest mistake he ever made.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Dirk’s blue gaze burrowed into her. “His biggest mistake was falling in love and then being too stupid to hold on to the most precious thing in his life.”
The intensity of his stare held her motionless. It flooded her with a delicious sense of her own femininity, a sensation Lowell had all but destroyed when he rejected her to have an affair.
She could scarcely breathe, and she didn’t know why until she realized that she wanted desperately for Dirk to hold her. A voice inside warned that she shouldn’t yield to this weakness. She didn’t care. Wasn’t it worth the risk to have something precious even if she couldn’t keep it?
Whatever lay ahead, Joni couldn’t think about it now. The only reality was the sheen of firelight on Dirk’s bronzed skin and the inviting warmth of his smile. Without conscious intent, she shifted toward him.
He met her halfway, one hand catching her waist, the other cupping her cheek. Their mouths came together, tongue to tongue. They sank onto the pillows, their legs entwined. After holding back for so long, she arched wildly against him. Wherever they touched, pleasure sprang up, so powerful it ached.
His shoulders rippled beneath her hands. His mouth caught hers again, ravaging and teasing. Her breasts yielded beneath the hard pressure of his chest, and her nipples sprang erect, daring him to take more.
She’d always felt her rangy, boyish body was awkward. But not with Dirk. Angles melted and what had been stiff became molten; she dissolved into him.
His breathing roughened as his hands slipped beneath her sweater. He pulled it up, and fire licked across her breasts as he tasted them. Desire took tangible shape, the shape of flames. Hungrily, Joni loosened Dirk’s belt, wanting all of him.
His movements stopped. She felt his head brush her chest, the hair tickling her sensitized nipples. When he pulled away, a chill rushed to take his place. In the flickering light, Dirk sat up. His face was flushed, and he was breathing rapidly.
Joni knew the moment had passed. There would be no more lovemaking, and yet her body defied her with its need. How could she gather her scattered, overheated molecules back into their ordinary shape?
“I can’t begin to tell you how difficult this is.” Raw emotion layered his voice. “Joni, don’t ever think I don’t want you. But I would only hurt you.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“I loved a woman once.” His voice sounded far away. “I wasn’t there when she needed me. She was a bodyguard, like me, and she got killed.”
No wonder he gave the impression of nursing a darkness inside. “It couldn’t have been your fault.”
“If I’d been the right kind of man, she wouldn’t have gone on that assignment,” he said. “And I’m still the same man I was then, Joni. I have the same needs, and they’ll take me away from here.”
She wanted to argue that she didn’t care, yet she knew it wasn’t true. Maybe in time he would change, but she wasn’t foolish enough to count on that. She had a child to take care of, and a community to face that already thought the worst of her. The last thing she needed was a dead-end love affair.
He reached for her hand. “It’s time we went to bed.”
“I wish that were an invitation,” she couldn’t help saying.
“So do I.”
Her body hummed defiantly as he helped her to her feet and put the cushions away. Joni collected the skewers and took them into the kitchen.
They’d gone to the edge tonight, she thought. She couldn’t help wondering what lay beyond it.
It was hard to accept that she might never find out.
ON THE AFTERNOON of Lowell’s burial, clouds glowered over the Viento del Mar Memorial Park, which was located on the far side of downtown, west of Canyon Vista Road. The planned memorial service had been changed to a funeral at the last minute when the coroner released his body.
Joni wasn’t sure whether, as Lowell’s ex-wife and suspected killer, she ought to attend. Jeff needed to be there, however, and she wouldn’t let him go without her. To wear black seemed presumptuous, so she chose a navy outfit. She and Dirk collected Jeff at school and met Herb at the memorial park.
People filled the chapel and spilled out the rear and side doors. The size of the crowd surprised her until Dirk explained that he’d given the printing staff time off to attend, and Herb added that he’d notified the local radio station.
Inside, flowers covered the dais and the gleaming closed casket. As she walked along the aisle, Joni saw heads turn and heard whispering. The Peterson Printing employees were keeping their expressions neutral. But the country-club set was a different story: tight mouths, narrow eyes and loud voices:
“How dare she come!”
“What a lot of nerve!”
“I’m surprised they haven’t locked her up yet!”
Dirk tucked Joni’s hand into the crook of his elbow. She guessed from his angry expression that he was weighing the effect of these remarks not only on her, but also on Jeff.
Fortunately, Herb was filling the boy’s ears with a running commentary on the types of flowers. Joni doubted her son even heard the rude remarks.
It surprised her not to see Kim DeLong among the mourners. It wasn’t like the woman to miss a chance to make her presence felt. A few hospital workers had come, including Basil. Even Detective MacDougall had arrived, lingering near the side door where he could survey the assembly. She wondered whom or what he expected to find.
Dirk escorted her to the front row, which was reserved for family. Already seated there, in a black dress and black hat, Mrs. Wright stiffened when she caught sight of the newcomers. The housekeeper nodded to Herb and Dirk, then resumed facing straight ahead.
Ten minutes later, the service began. Joni registered vaguely that the minister talked about Lowell’s dedication to the community and his love for his son.
Jeff squirmed, trying to see the other mourners. At eight years old, he couldn’t be expected to grasp the implications of a funeral.
Dirk stood up to say a few words about his thorny relationship with his brother and how they’d hoped to reconcile. Herb spoke about how Lowell had been changing and reassessing his values. No one mentioned the circumstances of his death.
Joni knew that Dirk had contemplated speaking out on her behalf, but she’d urged him not to. This was a time for people who had known Lowell all his life to come together in celebrating and mourning him. It was not a court of law in which to present her defense.
The burial was to be private, and after the service, only she, Herb, Dirk, the pastor and Jeff went to the grave site. Joni was grateful to be away from the disapproving gazes of so many people.
The newer section of the cemetery had the peaceful air of a country garden, with low trees scattered over its rolling lawns. Memorial plaques lay flat on the ground, in contrast to an older section, where headstones towered.
Lowell’s marker wasn’t ready yet; there was only the hole for the casket. With so little time to make arrangements, they hadn’t lined up any pallbearers, so a couple of cemetery workers transported the casket from the chapel and lowered it into the ground.
“Is Daddy really in there?” Jeff asked.
“Just his body,” Herb said. “His spirit is free.”
“Is he here?” The boy gazed around hopefully.
Joni exchanged troubled glances with Dirk. She wanted Jeff to feel that his father was close by but not to have unrealistic expectations.
“His love is here,” Dirk said after a moment. “For you.” He ruffled Jeff’s hair.
With t
he casket in place, Dirk tossed down the customary handful of earth. The pastor read a passage from the Bible, and then it was over.
Joni felt grateful for the leaden sky as they walked back to the car. A sunny day wouldn’t have felt right.
In the parking lot, one figure stood waiting for them—the detective. From the set of his jaw, he didn’t have good news. Joni wondered if he were going to arrest her. Couldn’t he at least wait until they left the cemetery?
When they came closer, MacDougall said, “I don’t suppose any of you have heard from Kim DeLong?”
Heads shook. “I didn’t see her at the service,” Joni said. “I wondered where she was.”
“No one’s seen her since Saturday afternoon,” the detective said. “She disappeared right after she talked to the two of you.”
Chapter Eleven
“Are you implying a connection, Detective?” Dirk demanded.
MacDougall’s pouchy eyes barely blinked. “Not necessarily. One of her friends saw her get into her car and drive off. We assume she arrived at home since her car is there. But she isn’t.”
Joni remembered a comment at church. “Could she have gone out of town?”
“Possible but unlikely.” The man studied each of their faces in turn. “Unless someone gave her a ride.” The nearest public airport was more than twenty miles away in Santa Barbara.
“We hope Mrs. DeLong turns up safe,” Herb said dryly, “but right now, we’ve just buried my grandson. If you have nothing further to add, Officer, we’d like to leave.”
“Sorry about the timing.” But MacDougall didn’t look sorry.
Dirk glared at the man’s back as he departed. “I wonder how hard he’s tried to find Kim. The police around here aren’t terribly thorough.”
He exchanged glances with his grandfather. “Well?” Herb prompted.
“I guess I’d better put in some calls to people who might’ve seen her,” Dirk said. “I ought to be able to track down some of her friends from San Francisco. Also find out whether she’s used a credit card the past couple of days, although I’m sure the police have already done that.”
His Secret Son Page 12
