“I wouldn’t put it past the woman to hide out just to get attention,” his grandfather muttered.
Joni thought about the pom-pom pin Dirk had found in her house. Was it possible Kim had gone off the deep end and was lying in wait?
It would almost be a relief to be able to give the stalker a name and a face. Yet she had a hard time seeing Kim DeLong in that role. Kim might be vicious, but she was no monster.
“I need to use the computer at the office,” Dirk said. “Herb, would you take Joni and Jeff home?”
“And join us for dinner?” Joni added.
“With pleasure.” Gallantly, the older man offered his arm. “Then I will trounce this young hotshot at one of those video games.”
“The heck you will!” Jeff cried, clearly looking forward to the prospect of defeating his great-grandfather.
Dirk’s eyes met Joni’s over the boy’s head. The tenderness she saw there reminded her of what had happened the night before. And, even more forcefully, of what he hadn’t allowed to happen.
She suspected Dirk planned to stay out late deliberately to avoid a repeat. Well, he needn’t worry. He’d made the limits clear, and she intended to honor them.
ON TUESDAY MORNING, Joni returned to work with a sense of relief. The familiar smell of antiseptic at the hospital, the crackle of the intercom and the blandness of the decor helped restore her equilibrium.
Dirk hadn’t found any trace of Kim DeLong yesterday. The woman’s unexplained absence added yet another puzzle and made Joni long even more for her normal, predictable routine.
“What do you plan to put in next month’s employee newsletter?” Basil asked, emerging from his office just as she reached her desk. It apparently never occurred to him to inquire after her health; social graces were not his strong point. “We’re behind schedule.”
Joni didn’t mind her boss’s gruff manner. At least, here in the office, she felt safe. “I’ll have a list of ideas on your desk by lunchtime.” She hoped the staff members had e-mailed her some suggestions while she was gone. In the last newsletter, she’d urged them to do so.
“Also, we need to plan the Christmas party,” her boss went on. The public relations team, which consisted of the two of them plus a part-time secretary who was off duty today, was responsible for organizing the affair.
Because nurses, orderlies, technicians and doctors worked around the clock, the party had to overlap two shifts. A small budget made the planning especially tricky.
“I think we should concentrate our efforts this year,” she said. “One special tree instead of a lot of cheap decorations. Also, let’s skip the party favors and put the money into hiring an outside caterer.”
“Food Services will be insulted!”
“Food Services deserves a holiday break too, don’t they?” she countered.
“I’ll consider it,” Basil said, and trudged away. The time change and the early darkness were making him even gloomier than usual, she noted.
Joni sat down to check her e-mail and found, as she’d hoped, a long queue. Food Services proposed on article on how to avoid going overboard on holiday calories; she made a note to follow up on it.
One of the custodians suggested a profile of his dog, Patches, which had placed third in a Frisbee-catching contest. Joni set that one aside, to use only if she were desperate.
She pulled together the best suggestions and printed them out, then opened her accumulated mail and interoffice envelopes. After that, she went over a press release Basil had left for her to expand and edit concerning the acquisition of new imaging equipment.
It lacked details, which she would need to research herself. He’d indicated the press release should go out today, and when Joni checked her watch, she was surprised to see it was already midmorning.
She spent the next hour in the radiology department, learning the ins and outs of the new equipment. Finally, she had enough details and quotes to round out a feature-style release.
At lunchtime, she returned to the office, grabbed her brown bag and headed for the cafeteria. The route took her by the temporary dialysis unit, which had been relocated while the hospital’s renal center in a separate building was being remodeled.
As she passed it, two women emerged. One, a heavyset, elderly woman, was Edith Owens, Fred’s mother. She had suffered kidney failure the previous year as a result of diabetes.
The other was Mrs. Wright.
The housekeeper’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Joni, then snapped shut. She brushed past, making no attempt to explain. Not that there could be much doubt what she was doing there. No wonder the woman disappeared for hours at a time! She must be undergoing dialysis several times a week.
Joni wanted to reassure her that the Petersons would never penalize her for a health problem. But perhaps pride, or an intense desire for privacy, explained her reaction rather than concern about her job.
“Goodness,” Edith said, staring after Mrs. Wright’s rapidly departing back. “I wonder what got into her.”
“I don’t think she wanted me to know about her...condition,” Joni said.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Bobby’s grandmother said. Joni frequently ran into her at Fred and Kathryn’s home; the woman had become close to her daughter-in-law. “Dialysis may be an inconvenience, but it keeps us alive.”
“I guess everybody takes it differently.” Joni smiled. “I’m on my way to lunch. Care to join me?”
The older woman sighed. “I have to be so careful about what I eat and drink these days that it’s easier to dine at home. But thanks for the invitation.”
The cafeteria was a dark, low-ceilinged room with an uninspired selection of food. Not recognizing anyone among the diners, Joni bought some soup and a carton of milk, then sat at a table by herself.
So Mrs. Wright had to undergo kidney dialysis. If only she’d felt comfortable confiding in her employer, so much unpleasantness could have been avoided.
Troubled, Joni didn’t pay much attention as she finished her soup and pulled her sandwich from its bag. Then something tickled her hand.
She glanced down. A couple of strands of purple and orange were dangling from atop the sandwich bag. For several confused moments, she tried to figure out how they’d gotten there. Jeff often left toys, rocks and other miscellany lying around. Could these bits of fringe have stuck to the sandwich bag by accident?
Purple and orange. The detective had taken Kim’s pom-pom pin as evidence; there’d been no fringe left, as far as Joni knew.
She’d left her lunch sack unattended in her office for about an hour this morning. Someone must have entered and placed the strands inside.
If she was right, the stalker had been in the hospital. He had walked into her office. He had touched her lunch.
Her first impulse was to throw the thing in the trash, but she stopped herself. Detective MacDougall might not find this any more convincing than the pom-pom at her house, but perhaps she ought to report it.
Still debating what to do, she dropped the sandwich into the sack. On her way back to the public relations department, she found herself studying everyone she passed, wondering which of them might have done this.
On the threshold of her office, Joni experienced a profound uneasiness. What if the killer had come back while she was gone? Was she going to find some other indication of his presence?
Then she saw the message blinking on her computer screen, indicating an e-mail. That reminded her that she’d forgotten to log off when she left for radiology; but then, she’d never had reason to worry about anyone invading her space.
With a heavy feeling, Joni approached the computer and clicked on the e-mail. Onto the screen flashed a message: “Kick that jerk out of your house or the same thing will happen to him that happened to his brother. I’ll be watching.”
She stared at it numbly. Who had done this? Why couldn’t he leave her alone?
Something Dirk had said came back to her, about the killer wa
nting to possess her. And to punish her for becoming friendly with Lowell. Was that what this beast was doing—punishing her for letting Dirk move in?
Forcing down her alarm, she checked the tag line and time. The e-mail bore the name Peters and had been sent an hour ago, which meant it had arrived while she was in radiology.
Bernice Peters was the secretary to the hospital’s finance director. Fumbling for the phone, Joni dialed her extension.
“Finance director’s office.”
“Bernice? This is Joni Peterson.”
“Hi! Welcome back!”
“Listen, I got a strange e-mail that was sent from your terminal,” she said. “Did you see anyone lurking around your office an hour ago?”
“No, Mr. Drummond and I were both in a meeting with the administrator,” the secretary said. “Oh, my gosh, I didn’t think to log off. It’s never been a problem.”
The finance office was situated along the hospital’s main corridor, with a stream of patients, staff and visitors going by. Easily accessible, although also easily observed. The killer had taken quite a chance. He must have a good excuse for being in the hospital and figured he could bluff his way out if questioned.
Mrs. Wright came to mind. She’d been there, but the scenario didn’t fit with Joni’s impression of the older woman.
Kim DeLong served on the hospital’s governing board; her father had been one of the institution’s original investors. Under normal circumstances, she could easily have done this. But she’d been missing since Saturday.
The perpetrator was probably too smart to have left fingerprints in Bernice’s office, but Joni had to report this. She didn’t realize how deeply she’d been disturbed until she picked up the phone to call the police and saw her hands were trembling.
DIRK. COULD HARDLY srr still all day Tuesday. A restlessness nagged at him as he placed one phone call after another to his associates abroad; pounded on the computer keyboard; prowled through the printing company’s offices.
He needed answers. And he needed relief from his own turmoil.
His old foe, self-doubt, whispered that he was failing Joni. That he wasn’t smart enough or quick enough to save her from this darkness closing in around them. That he had barely been strong enough to rein in his own desires.
On Sunday, when they fell into each other’s arms, he’d wanted to take her ten different ways. To open himself to her, demand more of her than she’d ever given before and let the fire consume them both.
It was more than physical desire. He’d kept aloof from any real attachment for so long that he hadn’t realized how much he ached for intimacy. Returning to Viento del Mar had unleashed a lot of demons: along with self-doubt, an aching need to belong to someone, a wild passion that impeded rational thought.
This time, however, there was a real demon. A killer who possessed an uncanny ability to counter their movements and to prowl freely, unobserved. To taunt them.
Dirk’s searches on the Internet yielded frustratingly inconclusive tidbits. Celia Lu’s husband had been investigated on suspicion of smuggling Chinese artifacts, but these consisted of so few items that they were most likely personal possessions not intended for sale. Customs authorities had declined to prosecute.
Three years earlier, Basil Dupont had been convicted of drunken driving but had remained clean ever since. As for the soccer coach, even this small town had four residents named Charles Rogers, two of whom lived in the same apartment building. Dirk left a message at the soccer league’s office requesting the man’s driver’s license number. Since most of the league officials knew the Peterson family, he hoped they would cooperate.
Kim DeLong hadn’t used her credit card since Friday. None of her old friends would admit to having heard from her, either.
By lunchtime, Dirk began to wonder if he were coming down with a fever. His body felt hot, on the edge of exploding.
He took a walk to burn off energy. After a few blocks, he passed the hospital and wondered how Joni was feeling. But he didn’t want to disturb her at work.
At the intersection of Canyon Vista and San Bernardo roads stood a real-estate company. Impulsively, Dirk went inside and talked to a Realtor about selling the Peterson mansion, noting that he preferred a buyer who would retain the present staff. The man promised to draw up paperwork for a listing.
The prospect of putting the house on the market gave Dirk a small sense of relief. That and the walk helped dispel his tension, and that afternoon he was able to focus on the material his brother had left regarding the new publishing venture.
Lowell had acquired one manuscript already. Wondering whether Joni might enjoy editing it, Dirk thumbed through the typed pages. The Post-Millennial Boom: Beyond the Internet, written by an Australian computer whiz, speculated about evolving technologies that would revolutionize international business dealings. Dirk found it fascinating.
By the time he finished, several hours had passed. His mind hummed with possibilities, both for marketing this book and for commissioning others. This line could be sold around the world via the Internet from a base right here in Viento del Mar.
But he couldn’t stay. The town was too confining and too full of ghosts from Dirk’s past for him ever to live there again.
On the drive home, he saw that the cloud cover had thinned, permitting a streaky pink sunset. However, the radio forecast called for rain later in the week. By prior arrangement, he picked up a pizza. Finding himself the first one home, he changed out of his suit and sat down to watch the business news on PBS.
“The market apparently got the pre-Halloween jitters today,” the announcer began. “It was definitely a trick rather than a treat for investors...”
Thursday would be Halloween, Dirk recalled. It was also Joni’s thirtieth birthday. What kind of gift could he give her? Something special, but not excessive. Something brother-in-lawish, he thought with a trace of irony.
Into his mind popped an image of the velvet jewelry box his brother had given Kim. Diamond earrings hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances, however. A gold watch? Too impersonal. A hair ornament? Too ordinary, he mused.
The perfect gift lay just out of reach in the back of his mind, taunting him. Well, he would figure it out by Thursday, Dirk told himself.
The whir of the garage door announced Jeff and Joni’s arrival. As soon as he saw her pale, drawn face, he knew something was wrong.
“I’m just tired,” Joni responded to his questions, but he sensed she didn’t want to talk in front of the boy. “I’m going to rest.”
“I’ll bring you dinner on a tray later,” he said.
Unaware of the undercurrents, Jeff chattered as he ate. His P.E. instructor, he informed Dirk, had tested the third graders for fitness, and he’d been the second fastest runner in his class.
“Good for you!”
The little boy let out a long breath. “I wish I could tell Dad.”
He touched the little boy’s hand. “Wherever he is, I’ll bet he’s proud of you.”
Jeff smiled, but he didn’t look convinced.
Afterward, Dirk helped him go over his math homework. Jeff had a quick mind but tended to be careless; once he added where he should have subtracted and he forgot to carry a number while multiplying.
“Accuracy is vital,” Dirk said. “Suppose NASA miscalculated and they sent a rocket to Jupiter instead of Mars? They might run out of fuel.”
“They should carry extra gas just in case,” Jeff proposed.
“It would be easier to do the math right in the first place.”
The little boy wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, okay.”
Being able to help his son, even for that little bit, gave Dirk a sense of satisfaction. Long after Jeff went to bed, it continued to warm him.
He cleaned up the kitchen and then checked on his son. Jeff had fallen asleep with Charlotte’s Web propped on his chest. Smiling, Dirk set the book aside and switched off the lamp. He lingered there, drinking in the peace
ful sight of the little boy sleeping.
When he withdrew, he saw that the door to Joni’s room stood ajar. Inside, a light was on. It was time to keep his promise of bringing her dinner.
In a kitchen cabinet, he found a wooden tray with snap-open legs. Dirk reheated some pizza, added a few sprigs of parsley to dress it up and poured a glass of mineral water. He would’ve liked to complete the picture with a rosebud but didn’t want to stumble around outside in the dark trying to pick one.
Humming, he carried the tray through the house. Without a free hand, he couldn’t knock, but he bumped the door a couple of times with his knee. When Joni didn’t answer, he shouldered it open and went in.
The bedroom was empty, but the door to the master bath stood ajar. “Joni?” he called. “I’ve brought dinner.”
“In here!” Her voice had a refreshing lilt. “It’s okay. I’m decent.”
Curious, Dirk edged inside with the tray. The room was larger than he’d expected, with a spa set into an alcove beneath a rippled window.
Amid a light froth of bubbles, Joni reclined in the water. She wore a Hawaiian-print swimsuit, ruffled at the bust and clinging to her slender midriff. Blond hair wisped from its knot atop her head, creating a halo around her face. In the rising steam, her skin appeared creamy and moist.
Dirk could feel his muscles tightening. Getting a grip on himself, he set the tray on the edge of the spa.
“I’m glad to see you’re relaxing.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Do you always wear a swimsuit in the tub?”
“No, but it occurred to me, with all that’s been going on, I should be prepared to get out in a hurry.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “Anyway, this looks terrific. Thank you.”
Dirk sat on the edge of the spa. He knew it would be prudent to leave, but they needed to talk. “You were upset about something earlier.”
She finished a bite of pizza. “At work, I got an e-mail threatening your life if you don’t move out. I tried to call you, but you were out and you must have had your cell phone switched off.”
“The battery died,” he said. “I didn’t realize it until later.” He’d found a replacement in Lowell’s desk.
His Secret Son Page 13
