Griffen personally, he felt greater satisfaction at the thought of Abbie pacing back and forth in the same concrete cell where he had spent interminable hours that crept by so slowly that sometimes he felt he could actually see the progress of each second.
Maybe Charlie would write to Abbie. He would send her postcards from faraway places to let her know that he was thinking of her always. He imagined Abbie's beauty fading, her dark skin turning pale from lack of sunlight, her body withering. But even more satisfying would be the destruction of the bitch's spirit. She, who was so proud, would weep interminably or stare with dead eyes at the never-changing scene outside her cell. The thought brought a smile to Charlie's lips.
He glanced at his watch and stood up. It was almost 7 P. M., time forJeopardy t, his favorite game show. He ground out his butt on the porch railing and flicked it into the grass. Free pizza, peace and quiet and all the games shows he could watch. Life was good.
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Tracy parked her car in front of the Griffen cabin shortly after ten on Sunday morning. She got out while Barry reached into the back seat to retrieve his camera. It was cool for early September and Tracy was glad she'd brought a sweatshirt.
"I'm going to have a look around," Barry said. "I've gone over the crime-scene photos the Seneca County deputies shot and I've read the police reports. I thought I'd retrace Mrs. Griffen's steps.
I doubt I'll find anything this long after the incident, but you never know."
"Go ahead. I'm going down to the beach."
Tracy saw the shed as soon as she rounded the corner of the cabin. It was tall and square and constructed from graying timber. The door was partly open. From where Tracy was standing, she could see a rake and a volleyball resting on a volleyball net, but no dynamite. She walked over and opened the door the whole way. There was an empty space that would have been big enough for a box of dynamite, but there was no box.
She saw some rusted gardening tools and a barbecue grill. Tracy repositioned the door as it had been. She put her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders against the bracing sea air and walked down the path.
A flight of wooden steps led from the top of the bluff to the beach.
Tracy sat down on the top step and let the wind play havoc with her long blond hair. High waves curled onto the beach, crashing against the sand with a sound that shut out the world.
Tracy scanned the beach slowly, focusing on the low dunes and the gulls cruising the blue-green water, and thought about Barry Frame.
It had been a while since she'd had anything that could be classified as a relationship, but it wasn't anything she regretted.
Tracy had decided long ago that being alone was preferable to being with someone she did not really care about. She missed sex sometimes, but having sex just to have sex never appealed to her.
Tracy wanted love, or at least affection, from a partner. What she really missed was intimacy. Of course, sex with the right guy could be pretty good, too.
Tracy liked Barry's openness, his casual independence and his easy humor. And she thought he enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. She also thought he was damn good-looking.
Tracy had imagined what he would look like naked on more than one occasion. She also wondered what he would be like in bed and had a feeling she would enjoy finding out. "Look what I've got."
Tracy turned around. Barry was smiling and flipping the volleyball Tracy had seen in the shed from hand to hand.
"Are you finished?" she asked.
"All done."
"Find anything?"
"Except for a vial of exotic poison, a Chinese dagger and a series of hieroglyphics written in blood, I struck out. Let's go down to the beach."
Tracy stood up and they walked down the steps. When they reached the bottom, she ran ahead and Barry heaved the ball as if it was a football.
Tracy caught it easily and returned it with a fancy overhand spin serve.
"Whoa!" Barrysaid. "Very impressive. All you need are those weird shades and you're ready for ESPN."
"You can't grow up in California and not play beach volleyball."
"I love it here," Barry said, tossing the ball back to Tracy underhand.
"When I retire, I'm gonna get a house at the beach."
"If I had a beach house," Tracy said as she served the ball back to Barry, "I'd want it to be just like this place, so I could see the ocean. I'd have a huge picture window."
Barry tried an overhand serve but the ball sailed over Tracy's head and bounced toward the water. They both raced toward it.
"You know the best thing?" Barry asked as they met over the ball at the water's edge. Tracy shook her head.
"Storms." Barry bent down and picked up the volleyball.
"Have you ever watched a storm when the waves are monstrous and the rain comes down in sheets? It's incredible. When it's dark, you build yourself a fire and drink some wine and watch the whitecaps through the rain."
"I had no idea you were such a romantic," Tracy kidded.
Barry stopped smiling. "I can be under the right circumstances," he said softly.
Tracy looked at him, shielding her eyes because the sun was perched on his shoulder. Barry dropped the ball. Tracy was surprised, but pleased, when Barry took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips tasted salty and it felt good being held. She rested her head on his shoulder and he stroked her hair.
"Not a bad kiss for a lawyer," he murmured. "Of course, it could be beginner's luck."
"What makes you think I'm a beginner?" Tracy asked with a smile. Then she grabbed a handful of his hair, pulled Barry's head back, planted a wet kiss on his forehead and dumped him in the sand.
"That was just like a lawyer." Barry laughed as he pulled himself to his feet.
"Don't forget the volleyball."
Barry held it in one hand and draped his arm around Tracy's shoulder.
"You ready to visit one of the most beautiful spots on the planet?" he asked.
"Yup."
"Then let's go have our picnic. We'll hit the Overlook on the way back to Portland."
They climbed the stairs. Tracy liked the feel of his hip bumping against hers and the pressure of his arm across her shoulder.
Barry tossed the volleyball into the shed. Tracy saw it roll to a stop in the empty space as they headed for the car.
Barry's special place was everything he had promised and they had lazed around enjoying Barry's Merlot and each other's company until the setting sun reminded them that they still had work to do. Tracy drove fast along the winding mountain roads that traversed the Coast Range and they hit I-5 a little before six o'clock and started looking for the Overlook Motel.
"There it is," Barry said finally, pointing past the freeway exit.
Tracy took the off-ramp and drove down an access road for two hundred feet, then turned into the parking lot of the Overlook Motel. Sunset would save the Overlook's dignity by cloaking its shabby exterior in shadow, but by daylight it was a tired, fading, horseshoe-shaped failure with an empty pool and a courtyard of chipped concrete and peeling paint.
Tracy pulled up in front of the office. She took a close look at three bikers who were parking their Harleys in front of one of the rooms and locked her car. A heavyset woman in a flower-print muumuu was sitting behind the registration desk eating potato chips and watching a soap opera. She put down the chips and struggled to her feet when the office door opened.
"Hi," Tracy said as she took her business card out of her wallet and handed it across the counter. "I'm Tracy Cavanaugh.