"He left the house with Mr. Landware at about four o'clock this afternoon."
Saunders looked at Mike, his eyes asking a silent question.
Mike said, "Paul and I were going for a hike." Mike told Saunders about him and Paul meeting Jared, and of their calling Robin about the change in plans.
"And when was the last time you saw the boys?"
"Out front of the convenience store. I sat in my Jeep and watched them walk toward town."
"Did anyone see you?"
"See me sitting in my Jeep? I guess so. They know me at the store. Mr. Barva or one of his daughters is always working the counter. They'd have seen me unless they were busy."
Robin's expression clouded. "Why are you asking if anyone saw Mike?"
"Just routine, ma'am."
"He knows something about me," said Mike. "Don't you, Chief?"
Saunders paused a moment to mull over his response, then he nodded. "I put through a background check on you. Had to. Matter of fact, it was routine. New man moves into town, single fella with no family, no job, then bad things start happening. I had to check."
Robin was staring at Saunders. "You don't think Mike has anything to do with . . . anything?"
"If I thought that, ma'am, right now I'd have him under arrest. And I wouldn't have come out here alone. Mr. Landware appears to me to be a man who knows how to handle himself. If I'd come to arrest him, I'd have some backup."
"I'm no tough guy," said Mike.
Robin turned inquisitive eyes on him. "I don't understand. What's he talking about, Michael?"
Mike looked her straight in those uncertain, inquisitive eyes. This was the moment of truth. However she judged him now would dictate everything that happened between them from this moment on.
"I dropped Paul and Jared off at the convenience store and that's the last I saw of them. I'm as worried about them as you are."
Their eyes held.
"I believe you," she said. "But there's more. I want to hear all of it."
Mike felt Saunders' cop eyes boring into him.
"I told you that my wife died in Albuquerque," he told Robin. "But you're right. There is more to it. Carol was murdered. I was teaching a night class at the university when it happened. She was raped and stabbed in our apartment off campus. She was five months pregnant."
Robin flinched as if physically slapped.
"Oh, Mike—"
Saunders continued the story. His flinty stare never shifted from Mike. "A car was seen driving away at a high rate of speed. A witness wrote down the license number. A man was arrested. He refused to make a statement. He was the handyman at the apartment complex; had sexual misdemeanors and a history of mental illness that they didn't know about when they hired him. It's important to tell you, ma'am, that there was no physical evidence linking Mr. Landware to that crime. I spoke with the detective in charge of the investigation."
"Lieutenant Ordway," said Mike. "Yeah, he interrogated me. He suggested that I could have made it from my classroom to the apartment while my students were taking a test I'd given them that night. Funny, I don't remember much about Ordway. I was still in shock from . . . seeing Carol. From seeing her body. They were damn brutal about the way they showed her to me for the first time."
Saunders told Robin, "They held the handyman in jail on suspicion. He was scheduled for a hearing the next morning. But he never made it. On his way to the hearing, he broke loose from his guards and threw himself over the railing of the walkway from the jail to the courthouse. It was a three-story drop. He broke his neck. The police and most everyone wrote off the handyman's suicide as confession of his guilt. But the case was never officially closed."
"I didn't murder my wife," said Mike. "I haven't killed anyone since before I came home from Vietnam and that was more than twenty years ago."
Saunders' gaze softened slightly. "Trust me, son, I want to believe you."
"Well, I believe him," said Robin. "And I want to know what we can do about my son," she said to Saunders. She heard the wind outside. She shivered. "Paul and his friend are out there. What can we do to find them?"
"As soon as your call came in, I put through a requisition for a search and rescue at daybreak, if the boys are still unaccounted for."
"Daybreak?" Robin's voice rose an octave. "But they could be lost! I heard a weather report on my car radio. It might snow tonight in the mountains."
"Ma'am, it takes time to initiate search services. I have to follow the book. I'm doing everything I can."
"I know. I'm upset. I'm sorry. I don't want to take it out on you, Chief. But I do want to play some part in your search, if it comes to that."
"Wouldn't have it any other way." Saunders still held his Stetson in both hands, and became momentarily distracted with rotating it in slow circles. "I'm, uh, sorry to both of you for any embarrassment I may have caused, bringing up what happened in Albuquerque. But you'd best be advised, Mr. Landware. There are people in this town who don't know anything about any of that, but they're drawing conclusions of their own because bad things did start happening as soon as you moved here. I wish I could keep people from thinking and talking like that, but I can't."
"Doesn't make a man feel too welcome," Mike said.
"It's not the way these folks are normally, believe me. They're good people. Decent folks. But everyone in town is under a lot of pressure right now, with all these things that've been happening. I mean, we can even count Mrs. Lufkin's suicide in that list."
Mike said, in a metallic monotone, "I did not kill Mrs. Lufkin."
"Of course you didn't. No one is thinking that. I just meant that it's all building up, like steam in a pressure cooker. What's going on, it's eating away at this town, eating down deep into the bones, into the soul of the town."
"Is there a chance that everything that's happening could be related? I know that sounds crazy."
"I don't rightly figure how that could be," said Saunders. "Who'd stand to gain from something like that, and how could everything be connected? There'd have to be some thread linking it all together. Bobby Caldwell killed himself after what he did. His brother Tobe is cooling his heels in the county jail, so he's not a serial killer. And what could Mrs. Lufkin have to do with any of it? That old lady used to give my family pecans from her orchard when I was just a pup. She was one of the finest, most generous people this town will ever know. She couldn't be part of anything like what's been going on." Saunders shook his head. "This here's a situation I don't know what to make of. Never seen so many ills visited on a community this size in so short a time. But I'll tell you what. I intend to put a stop to it, and I reckon that's the business I ought to be about right now. I'll do what I can to get helicopters out tonight to fly over the mountain to look for those boys, ma'am. They'll show. But if not, well . . . you just look for us along the highway, most likely near the Philbin boy's house. In the meantime, you give me a call first thing you get word from your boy, would you please?"
"Of course. Most of me expects Paul to walk through that door at any minute."
"Well, good night, folks."
"Good night, Chief."
"Night, Chief."
They stood side by side at the front door, watching Saunders back his police car out of the driveway and drive off.
"I can leave, too," Mike said. "If you want to be alone—"
"I don't want to be alone." She crossed her arms before her, clasping them tightly as if trying to retain body warmth. "It was me needing to be alone that sent Paul out of here this afternoon. I was so selfish. His safety and well being are my responsibility. He's only twelve years old! And I, quote, needed some space, unquote."
"Robin, stop it. Don't think like that."
She moved to a couch that faced the window, looking out across the patio, at the mountains that she and Mrs. Lufkin had admired and talked about only, what was it, only seven days ago? So much had changed. She sat, staring out at the gathering gloom. He sat next to her, sideways up
on the couch, facing her. And she told him about her nightmare that night in this house, after Paul had come home with his wild story of murder and suicide. She told Mike about the dream of being awakened, of walking up a staircase to a room of shadows at the top of the stairs where she had seen her own dead face strangled at the end of a rope. Exactly as she found Mrs. Lufkin.
When she was finished, she asked in a quiet voice, "Mike, how can such a thing be?"
"I don't know."
"Where's Paul? Why hasn't he called? Why isn't he here?"
"Something's not right. We both know that. So does the Chief. But, Robin, you've raised a tough, self-reliant kid. I don't know what's going on either, but that boy of yours is a survivor. You're the reason he's that way. He'll be all right."
"It's nice of you to try and make me feel as if I don't bear responsibility for him being out there."
"It isn't your fault. We both thought he was going to Jared's. You acted responsibly."
"I think I made one hell of a mistake moving here," she said, "you know that? I should have never left Chicago. I'm very good at making very big mistakes. I made one with Paul's father. I should have seen the way Jeff was before we ever got married. My parents tried to warn me. They died before I ever got the chance to tell them how right they were."
"Robin, don't sink into self-pity. You don't owe that to Paul or to yourself."
"I'm just saying that when I make a mistake, it's a doozie. My parents met Jeff when we were in college. He'd asked me to marry him and I said yes, so of course I wanted him to meet the folks. Dad was a career military man, and he and Mom didn't take to Jeff from the start. We went out to dinner and the evening ended in a terrible argument about something, I forget what. Vietnam. After that I only spoke to my parents on the telephone. I felt they weren't giving Jeff a fair chance, that they were letting some difference in politics stand in the way of our love and happiness. At that age, I guess their disapproval only drove me closer to him. They didn't come to the wedding. I never saw them again after that night. They were killed in an automobile accident that winter. But they saw something in Jeff during that one evening that I didn't. So you see, I can make very big mistakes. And thinking that I could start a perfect new life by moving to Devil Creek, New Mexico, definitely ranks at the top of the list of real big mistakes."
"I hope you don't think you're making a mistake, trusting me."
"I don't think I'm making a mistake."
"That picture the Chief painted . . . I can understand how someone could draw the wrong conclusions."
"The Chief doesn't believe those things."
"Maybe. Maybe he's just waiting. Waiting for some solid evidence to come along."
"You've told the truth," she said. "Now I'll give you some of my truth. I hadn't planned to, but here it is. Mike, you're not like any man I've ever known. Jeff is, was, the only man I've known, and he's like too many of the others out there; not a man at all, just an insecure little boy in a man's body, trying to prove to everyone that he's a man because he's hustling other people out of their hard-earned money or bedding every bimbo who comes along. You're a real man. You don't have to prove anything to anybody, including yourself. Including me. You just are. You're confident. You're strong and you're tender. You're compassionate. I sensed those things about you the day we met and nothing I've seen or learned about you since has changed my estimation of you. From your friendship with Paul to your being at the community meeting this morning, to the way you always treat me with friendship and respect, the way a woman likes to be treated—my heart tells me you're a good man, Michael, and that I'm not making a mistake about you. I sensed your sadness when we met. Now I know what you've been through. You've been through a living hell and you've hurt like no one should have to, yet you've emerged intact, the strong good man that you are. I'm trusting you." Robin gave a humorless, self-conscious smile. "Stress can make for compulsive chatter, I'm told."
"I have done bad things in my life, Robin. That is truth."
"I know. Vietnam. But that was war, Michael. I told you, my father was a soldier. I understand. War is obscene, brutal, dehumanizing. But a soldier follows orders and does what he has to do to survive, both for the ones who depend on him in combat and for the ones back home who love him, so he can return safely to them." Again the smallest trace of a humorless smile. "You see, there aren't a lot of perks to being an army brat, but one can learn a few things."
His mouth was a grim line. His eyes were somber. "After Vietnam, I swore on my parents' graves that I'd never kill again. I wanted to break that vow after what happened to Carol. I wanted to find whoever did that to her and strangle him with my bare hands. But I never got the chance."
Robin looked deeply into his eyes. "The fact that you made such a vow tells me all I need to know," she said. "Just like the way you didn't come on to me that night at the barbecue the way you could have. You don't know how much I appreciated that. But the fact of the matter is, well, it just made you all the more attractive to me. I'm lucky to have you as my friend, Michael. I want to feel sorry for myself and cry, but I can't. Not now. When I do, it will be later, after it's over and Paul is back. Right now, I'm going to sit right here and wait for the telephone to ring or for my son to come walking through that door with one whopper of an excuse for causing all of this concern."
"And I want to stay with you," he said, "until one of those things happen."
She rested the back of her head against the back of the couch. She contemplated the ceiling, not really seeing it. "I wanted to be independent and never need anyone except Paul."
"Flesh and blood is good," Mike acknowledged, "but even with that, everyone needs someone."
"God," she blurted with an intensity that surprised her, "I want to be part of a couple tonight." She felt as if she were venting aloud, more than talking to him. "Until we know what's going to happen next . . . Mike, I need to be held."
He situated himself with one movement that allowed one of his arms to encircle her waist, and he drew her to him with a strength that was inviting, not forceful, and she yielded, feeling the contours of her body press against his chest. It was the first time a man had held her like that since Jeff, and she couldn't remember the last time that was. Years ago.
"So tonight we are a couple," said Mike, making no attempt to kiss her. But he held her like that, and his strength was the tender embrace she needed.
Her face was inches from his. She said, "You make me feel safe."
"It might sound funny coming from me," he said, "but, lady, holding you makes me feel the same way."
Their first kiss lingered and was many things, by turns sweet and tentative, the brushing of her moist lips to his leathery ones, and then his arm, the one encircling her waist, clutched her tighter, not brusquely, but not gently and the unbidden mewing from her throat harmonized with the masculine growl from deep in his chest that sounded like a waking bull, and the tentative kiss became hotly compressing lips, plenty of heat and the progression seemed so natural that her tongue darted into his mouth like a fiery wet serpent to entwine just once with his tongue before she felt wanton and ended the kiss, drawing back but remaining in his embrace, gasping for breath.
"Well," she said.
They were both smiling like silly high school kids. "You're a good kisser, lady."
She started to smile and mouth a pert response when everything washed across her consciousness again and their moment was lost. But she did not withdraw from his embrace.
"And if we're a couple for tonight," she asked, "what about after tonight?"
"Why don't we take it one night at a time?"
She laughed despite the circumstances.
"Spoken like a true man." The laugh was a brief one, and her expression became serious again. "You're good company, Mike. You're welcome to stay and wait with me if you want to."
When he did not move to get up, she guided one of his arms around her shoulder and nestled against him with her head on his ch
est. And so he sat with her on her couch, with his arm around her, staring at their reflection in the window now darkened by nightfall. He listened to her breathing. She must have fallen asleep instantly. He had not held a woman like this since Carol.
And then he realized for the first time that he had fallen in love with Robin Curtis.
Chapter Thirty
Mike snapped back to full consciousness as if a switch inside his brain had been flicked on and for a single instant, he flashed back to Nam, to when he'd grab shut eye whenever he could on those penetrations behind Charlie's lines. After forty-eight hours at a stretch, with nothing but paranoia and bennies to keep going, after the heat and the humidity and the physical exertion of hacking through the endless jungle, after the team was flat-ass worn out and couldn't, just plain couldn't, push on one more step, then a security perimeter would be established. Then he'd catch some z's, trading off with his buddies—until the snap of a twig or a bird call from a treetop kicked him wide awake from the deepest black of dreamless sleep.
His first conscious thought was anger at himself. He'd realized he was growing drowsy, but he certainly hadn't intended to fall asleep. Yet he'd drifted off to dreamland there on the couch, an arm around Robin, her head resting against his chest, the scent of her—not perfume, not soap, just the natural, pleasing womanly scent of her—lulling his senses. Now those senses awakened as in the old days.
She stood at the window, her back to him, staring out into the night.
But it was not like Vietnam at all, because it was not her rising from his embrace that had awakened him. Robin had been up for awhile. She wore hiking boots, jeans, and a down jacket over a flannel shirt. Lightning ripped across the sky, followed by rolling thunder. The thunder had awakened him. That, or the night wind whistling and moaning around the house, louder than before.
He joined her at the window. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."
"I woke up in a panic," she said in a small voice. "It's four in the morning and my son isn't home. I can't just sit here and wait for daylight. I've got to get out there and do something, or try to."
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