Hannah uncoiled her legs and did a half somersault as she got beneath the sheet then pulled it up around her shoulders. The bedspread had been kicked to the floor.
''Some women know when it's not real, Hannah. Some women don't want to jeopardize what they have.'' Josie almost took the sheet to tuck it under Hannah's chin then thought better of it. Instead, she turned out the light and changed the subject. ''I'm really proud of you. You were amazing tonight. I'm not just talking about your paintings. You were amazing because you didn't freak when I left the party.''
When Hannah stayed quiet, Josie took a few steps to the window. Hannah's room sat at the juncture of Hermosa Boulevard and the end of their walking street. Thanks to the double panes noise was minimal. Because of the right angled bank of windows the room was flooded with moonlight.
Slowly, thoughtfully, Josie closed the plantation shutters. Her mind was a jumble with everything that had happened that day, not the least of which was Hannah's reaction to seeing Matthew in the house, close to Josie, touching her. In Hannah's mind there were only two reasons a man touched a woman: to hurt her or as a prelude to sex. Hannah didn't like either option with the tall, handsome man who eyed her with the same suspicion she afforded him.
''You know, your friend thought I was your daughter. He didn't like thinking that.'' Hannah's voice was muffled as she snuggled into the pillow but Josie heard everything she needed to hear.
Hannah was right. Josie had seen the flight of questions and conclusions in his eyes. A black lover? A husband in the wings? A bastard child? As quickly as those thoughts came, they went. The timing was off. The girl was too old. The truth was fascinating to Matthew because Josie had never wanted children. Now here was one, almost grown up, smart, sharp eyed and not even Josie's biological child.
''Matthew was just surprised. He didn't think I had a maternal bone in my body.'' Josie closed another shutter.
''He's wrong you know. You're. . .''
Josie almost turned her head to look at Hannah but she tuned out as she noticed the big car across the street and the man leaning across the hood, his arms crossed. It was dark outside and Hermosa Boulevard was wide so Josie couldn't see his face but she could feel his interest; as if he was looking through the house and into Hannah's room zeroing in on Josie, forcing her to acknowledge him.
Adjusting the louvers, Josie narrowed her eyes but all she could make out was the angle of a shoulder, the shape of a head. Perhaps Matthew had paused and looked back. But she couldn't imagine him driving an SUV no matter how state of the art. Maybe it was Tim Douglas waiting to drive Matthew home. Oh, Lord, maybe it was Kevin O'Connel come to make good on his promise to come after her.
''Josie?''
Hannah was sitting up in her bed, the sheet falling away as she reached for the light.
''Don't.'' Josie held out a hand to stop her.
''What's wrong?''
''Nothing. I just thought I saw something across the street.''
Josie looked out the window again. The car was still there but the man was gone. She had imagined his interest, yet the unsettling sense of the perceived surveillance lingered. Josie closed the windows and locked them.
''Josie, I'll die in here if you don't leave the window opened,'' Hannah complained.
''I'll leave the air-conditioning on all night. I'll feel better when the trees grow up and give us a little privacy from the street.'' Josie held the sheet high and Hannah lay down once more. Before she left, Josie put a hand on the girl's head. ''Congratulations, Rembrandt.''
''Thanks.'' Hannah turned on her side and Josie could hear contentment in her voice.
Josie was smiling as she went to her own room. There she turned on the news, put away her clothes, waited for Hannah to check to make sure Josie was still in the house and all was well. She only poked her head in three times. They were doing okay.
Hannah was growing out of her obsessions and compulsions and Josie growing more comfortable with her new role. When she was sure Hannah was down for the night, Josie took her father's gun out of the drawer in the bedside table. For a long while she sat and looked out onto her patio, waiting to be sure that the world around them slept. As the night wore on, the gun in her lap grew as heavy as the feeling in her heart that something bad was coming down the road.
Matthew McCreary sat in the front seat of his car. The key was in the ignition but hadn't been turned. The radio was silent. The windows were up but he ignored the suffocating heat. He had been too busy making calls in the last few minutes to worry about it. Tim Douglas was working on a press release. Helen Crane had spoken to the District Attorney of Los Angeles, a dear old friend who would, she hoped, touch base with the D.A. in Long Beach. They could only wait and see if any of this would help Grace. Finally, Matthew McCreary turned the key and the big engine came to life.
Looking over his shoulder to check for traffic he found himself unable to turn the wheel, unable to drive as he caught by the sight of Josie's place. It fit the kind of woman she was now. Just big enough, just cool enough, just rich enough. He threw the car into park . He should go back, tell her what she needed to know about Grace. A second later he changed his mind. What Josie didn't know couldn't hurt her so Matthew McCreary turned out of the parking space and went on to the next item on his agenda.
''Jesus, this place if fuckin' incredible.'' The big man who slid into the back booth at Sangria's had no neck. His head was square, his hair shaved and his chin sported a goatee. He looked as out of place as Kevin O'Connel who was well into his fourth beer before his buddy made it through the door. ''Check it out, man, there must be fifty televisions in here. And all this fuckin' neon blue sparkle plastic. I had a chevy once looked just like this.''
Lovingly, the man ran his hand over the sparkly, sky blue bench upholstery. His head rotated on his nonexistent neck and made him look like a bobble-head doll. He gave Kevin a nudge in the ribs and yelled in his ear to be heard over the music.
''You see all these chicks? They are hot, man. So hot.'' He flicked his hand like he'd just been burned then grinned as if he honestly thought he had a chance with one of them.
''Shut up. Shut up,'' Kevin muttered into his beer. He took a long pull and shoved aside the empty glass. He raised his voice. ''Was it her?''
''Yeah.'' The big man ran the back of his hand over his nose, sniffed a time or two like he was important. ''It was her. Man she's tall. She runs fast. I followed her all the way past the pier. She walked back again otherwise I woulda lost her. I'd like a piece of that though. Never had a really tall woman before.''
''I'd like a piece of her, too, shitty little bitch.'' Kevin put the bottle to his lips and poured it down his throat. ''So now we know where she lives.''
''There was a guy there. A suit.''
''She's married?''
''Naw, man, I don't think so,'' the man said. ''I don't think he lives there. He took off and she like stood in the doorway and watched for a minute but that was it.''
''Anything else?''
The guy beside Kevin raised his hand and caught the eye of the waitress, held up two fingers of one hand and Kevin's empty mug with the other. She gave him a head's up. He was satisfied she got it and checked out her rear end a second longer before he got back to Kevin.
''There's a girl in the house, too. Heinz 57. Know what I mean?''
''Well, how about that,'' Kevin laughed and crossed his arms on the table. ''She's got a kid and she's not particular who she sleeps with. Well, well.''
His head hung low. He swung it one way then the other looking at every woman, then every part of every woman. The only thing that seemed to ward off the scrutiny was the look of a man who took exception to Kevin leering at his woman. When he was challenged that way, It just pissed Kevin O'Connel off royally but he turned his eyes away.
''Yeah,'' Kevin's friend muttered, ''A kid. Teenager. A babe, considering.''
''Nobody else?''
''Not that I could see.'' The waitress put two beers i
n front of them. The man with the square head grinned at her. She skedaddled with six bucks. ''Anyway, I don't think Susan's there. I didn't see no one else.''
''Okay, but the lawyer knows where she is.''
''Like she's going to tell you?'' Square Head laughed.
''She'll tell me,'' Kevin assured him.
''Yeah. Right. What are you going to do? Beat it out of her?''
Square Head chuckled and snorted into his beer, drank deep then fell silent when he saw the way Kevin O'Connel was looking at him.
CHAPTER 14
''I don't want to do this. I don't think I can do this.''
Susan O'Connel paced the floor. Even to Josie, the studio apartment felt like a cage. Nondescript, furnished by a landlord who probably hadn't been inside of the place since he bought the building, the closets and cabinets held only the bare necessities: a few donated, mismatched dishes, clothes from the shelter. Six months ago when Susan O'Connel left the safe house and ventured out on her own there was only the promise of a settlement against her husband. The promise had been fulfilled and now Susan had cold feet.
''Susan. Sit down. Down.''
Josie touched her client on the next pass and was immediately sorry. Susan O'Connel shrank away, unable to differentiate between help and hurt. Embarrassed, she muttered ‘sorry' and sat primly on the edge of a worn chair, her hands beside her, palms down on the cushions, ready to push off, to run for her life if necessary.
''Look, now isn't the time to quit. If you go back to that man you're as good as dead,'' Josie argued.
''But it's different now because I know why Kevin is angry,'' Susan insisted, warming to her logic. ''Josie, it would have been one thing if we just won enough to keep me living until I could get a job but, that jury gave me everything Kevin has. Everything he worked for.''
''And your point is?''
Josie moved to the far end of the couch into the shade. It was hard to look at Susan O'Connel in the sunlight. The glare that came through the window made it impossible for Josie to even pretend the woman was still pretty. Her nose was flat and misshapen. The nerves at her temple had been damaged, her right eye didn't move. A long, ragged scar ran across her neck, a souvenir from a bout with Kevin when he thought slashing her throat would teach her a lesson. After each incident Susan O'Connel had refused to press charges, fearful that doing so would make her husband angrier still. She was terrified until she met Josie and Josie wasn't about to let her knew found strength of purpose waiver now. Second guessing was understandable but it was also a luxury neither of them could afford. Susan's job now was to stay the course and Josie's was to get to Grace McCreary's place. Unfortunately, Susan wasn't on the same page. She still squabbled.
''But if we ruin him then he'll never stop coming after me. Don't you see?'' Susan insisted anxiously. ''You've already proven you've got power over him and he'll know that if he hurts me again then you'll take him back to court and. . .''
''It doesn't work that way, Susan,'' Josie interrupted. ''The civil case is over. You have a judgment. No judge in the world will be sympathetic if you go back to Kevin and he hurts you again. And Kevin isn't going to be grateful that you let him off the hook. You know that,'' Josie insisted. ''Susan, think. The fact that we beat him in court is enough to make him crazy. If you let him know you pity him he'll see that as an opening. Let me find the assets, get the money and you can go anywhere you want.'' Josie cajoled softly before lowering her voice even further. ''You know there's no going back, don't you?''
''I do,'' Susan whispered miserably.
''Good,'' Josie said, satisfied a tragedy had been averted. ''Good. So, you're going to be okay?''
Josie was on her feet the minute Susan nodded. She was too anxious to be away from this dreary place and a problem that had already been solved. Those with the higher stakes got the attention and Grace McCreary was top of the list. Yet, turning to say her good byes, seeing a tear slipped from Susan O'Connel's paralyzed eye, Josie was ashamed that she had been so quick to dismiss her.
''Let me get you a cup of tea before I go,'' Josie offered, knowing to linger was slight penance for putting Grace above Susan.
Susan shook her head and wiped the tear away. When she looked up, Josie saw that the fear and uncertainty were still there but there was still a good deal of determination.
''No. That's okay. Why don't you go to work. I could use that money if I'm going to Wisconsin.''
''I didn't know you had family there,'' Josie said as she gathered her things.
''I don't,'' she laughed sadly. ''I just like the sound of it. Wisconsin. I'll buy a little house and when I die I'll leave all this money for women who need help. People will say ‘who knew that crazy old woman had all that money?'.''
''Sounds like a plan.'' Josie put a hand on Susan's shoulder. ''But it's going to be a long time before you kick off. Hold on just a little while longer.'' Satisfied Susan's frail courage was getting stronger, Josie took off.
When the door closed, Susan stood in the middle of her shabby little apartment trying to imagine what it would be like to live in Wisconsin. When she couldn't, she went to the window and shaded her eyes from the early morning blaze of the sun. On the street below she saw Josie's Jeep pull out fast and she knew she was lucky to have an attorney like her. Josie would make everything alright. Susan O'Connel let that thought run through her head like a mantra. Unfortunately, the words stopped as she noticed something on the street.
A big, expensive car was driving down after Josie and that was odd. The cars on this street were usually old, second-hand jobs that either stayed put during the day or came and went on the nine-to-five schedule of working people. This car hadn't really been parked at all. This car had been stopped near the fire hydrant, not so much parked as waiting. Maybe the driver was waiting for Josie to come out of the building. Maybe the driver was waiting to see where she had gone inside the building.
Susan's heart beat fast and heavy in her chest; her palms were wet with perspiration. Suddenly it was hard to breathe because the scar on her throat throbbed. Then Susan had a thought that almost paralyzed her. Maybe the person in the car was Kevin. Maybe Kevin had been waiting until Josie left. He would park somewhere else and come back. He was coming back now. Up the stairs. To the third floor.
Susan backed away from the window trying to remember everything about the car but only sure of one thing: a man was driving. That man could be anyone. That man in the dark car could have been checking directions or taking a rest or he could be coming for her.
Susan O'Connel sank to the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest and watched the door of the little apartment, her sanctuary, her cell. Maybe this was where she would die; maybe she would never see Wisconsin.
The place where Grace McCreary lived was expensive and understated.
A white stucco wall encircled the property broken by a hand carved wooden gate. Beyond lay a well kept fringe of grass and a serene garden. Impatiens spilled from their beds onto the flagstone walk. Lilies' held their heads up in the patches of sun; ferns thrived in the shade. This was a private, luxurious space, one that lent itself to anonymity.
Eight units of stucco and glass shared four footprints. Front doors did not face one another; windows were set at discreet angles. No one need know who you brought home or even if you came home. Grace lived in number 6 and Josie had the key.
The door swung open and Josie entered a place cocooned in poignant solitude. Josie's own home had felt that way before Hannah but she doubted it had ever been quite like this. While Josie's house was a work-in-progress; Grace's was finished to perfection. The furniture was exquisite, the art on the walls were important pieces. Everything was clean – almost untouched. Yet there was also a devotion evident that surprised Josie.
Everywhere Josie looked there were personal pictures. The largest – a five-by-seven of Matthew - sat on an exquisite coffee table carved out of a single piece of rosewood. Others were positioned on the wall of bookshelves. Bes
ide the deep, soft chenille sofa was a low antique table piled with books on art and politics. A pictorial of sisters was on top.
Josie ran her hand over it then opened it to the fly leaf. I couldn't love you more. The inscription was signed with a flourished M that touched Josie. Michelle McCreary, it seemed, was sentimental where Grace was concerned. Josie couldn't remember a single personal photo in the penthouse but at least she had taken the time to welcome Grace as a sister. Josie put the book down and perused Grace's pictures. The frames were expensive and freestanding. It was as if Grace wanted to be able to move them on a moment's notice, rearrange her life depending on her mood, banishing those who weren't in favor, paying homage to those who were. Grace was queen and the pictures were courtiers.
Josie touched one, then another, unable to help comparing herself to the women in Matthew's life. Maybe she was more like Michelle than Grace. The few photographs Josie had were hidden away. She had a small album that belonged to her father that she couldn't recall ever opening. There was no reason to remember people who no longer existed – or at least no reason to remember them everyday. Thinking of them only opened old wounds and raised questions that had no answers.
Josie bent down and looked at a picture of the younger, happier Matthew and Grace. Grace seemed more beautiful with her wide smile and her long hair; Matthew was full of youthful promise. Grace's jeans were tight. She wore a man's dress shirt over a tank top and held Matthew by the waist. His arm was around her shoulders. They were smiling at each other as if there was no one else in the world.
Another one.
Grace beaming at the camera, the look in her eye playfully, asking for the photographer's approval. She was so young. Thirteen? Fourteen?
And another.
Matthew sunning himself in the mountains. Grace behind him, hungry for his attention. Matthew growing into a handsome man; Grace a needy young woman. Josie picked up that picture and wondered if this was why she and Matthew didn't make it. While Josie was truly alone in the world, Matthew's missing link wasn't missing at all. Grace had always been out there somewhere.
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