Mallory gaped at her. “What?”
Becky laughed. “That’s what I mean. You’re in orbit. What’s the deal?”
She sighed and put down her fork. “Well, it’s just that—”
She stopped herself and looked around, making sure they were alone. She leaned forward. “If I tell you something kind of strange, do you promise not to freak?”
“Look who you’re talking to,” Becky replied.
Mallory took another swallow of her drink, biding an extra second. “I’ve been having these really messed up dreams lately,” she confessed. “Nightmares. I can’t even explain how awful they’ve been. But last night… last night I dreamed about being with a girl.”
Becky talked around her straw as she sipped her own drink. “What, like hanging out or getting nasty?”
“Nasty,” Mallory whispered.
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “For real? It wasn’t about me, was it?”
Mallory didn’t laugh. “No. It was this older girl with purple hair, Penelope. Penelope Styles.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know. She in each of the dreams, though.”
“So what happened?”
Mallory looked at her food rather than meet Becky’s inquisitor-like stare. “Well, we were in this strange room. It was like someplace underground, with stone walls and fires burning around the room. There was this raised area in the middle with animal furs on it that I guess was supposed to be a bed. Anyway, we were kissing. Really kissing. I’m talking tongue knots. And we were…” She cleared her throat and continued at a lower volume. “We were naked, and after a while Penelope, you know, went down on me.”
Becky gawked at her.
Mallory shifted in her seat. “The sensation was so intense that when I woke up I think I had an orgasm.”
“You slut!”
Mallory glanced around, expecting to find the whole restaurant staring at her. “Would you keep your voice down. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no,” Becky apologized. “I’m sorry. Did anything else happen?”
Mallory nodded, staring at her friend across the table, shivering at the memory of what came next. “I killed her,” she said.
Becky’s smile slid away. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into the stone corner of the bedpost until there was nothing left to hold onto.”
Becky sat speechless.
“But it wasn’t really me,” Mallory rushed to explain. “It was like I was watching myself through someone else’s eyes, seeing me how they wanted me to be.”
Becky put down the sandwich half she’d been working on, rolled the remains of the food back into its wrapper. She pushed it aside. “You’re right. That is messed up.”
“I know it is,” Mallory replied. “That’s why I’m so out of it. I’ve been trying to imagine how I’d come up with something so twisted.”
“Hey, it was a dream. A wacko dream, but that’s it. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Mallory shook her head. “I can still recall every detail. It was more like reliving a memory than having a dream.”
“So we’ll get your mind off it. Will your dad let you come over tonight?”
Mallory shook her head again. “I can’t. I sort of have plans.”
Becky raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going out with someone.”
“Who?”
“A boy from the neighborhood.”
“You’ve got a date! This whole time and you haven’t said anything!”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Becky picked up her drink. “I swear I’ll douse you with this.”
Mallory laughed. She recounted BJ’s episode in the pool the other day and how Tim had come to his rescue. Becky listened wide-eyed.
“Holy shit, Mallory, why didn’t you tell me this earlier? And what about this Tim guy; is he hot?”
Mallory smiled. “I didn’t tell you because I knew this is how you’d react. I also didn’t want to make a big deal about it because I feel like I’m being a tease or something.”
“Why?”
“Because I think Tim likes me,” Mallory confessed. “He’s such a nice guy I couldn’t say no to him, especially not after what he did for BJ. But I’m still thinking about Derrick. I don’t know. I guess I feel like I’m leading him on. What should I do?”
Becky laughed. “You just met the dude. You don’t have to marry him.”
Mallory groaned. “I’m talking about not hurting his feelings.”
“The best advice I’ve got for you is to go with whichever one’s cuter.”
“Thanks a lot,” Mallory replied. She glanced to her watch. “It’s almost six,” she said. “We better get moving.”
CHAPTER 19
Melissa pulled into the Garden Park Condominium complex in Hopkins, the last known address of Frank Atkins.
She got out of the car. The sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon, but the humidity in the air held the heat index at well above ninety. Plenty of people crowded in and around the condo community’s nearby swimming pool, but when she scanned their happy faces, she didn’t spot Frank among them.
She turned toward the condos themselves, a series of two-story brick buildings outfitted with Cape Cod-style wood siding along their upper levels in an apparent effort to add curb appeal to the property. Frank lived in unit six of building 920. With no security door to impede her progress, Melissa marched directly inside and checked the mailbox cluster to her left. She counted eight units per building, four upstairs and four down. She located the box for number six and found “Atkins” on the ID label.
Good, he’s still here.
From the information she’d received, she knew he hadn’t married, lived alone, and had kept little contact with his coworkers after he retired. She hoped he’d be cooperative.
Only a second or two after she knocked on his door, the lock clicked and the door opened. It separated only a few inches from the jamb, still tethered by a chain lock.
Atkins peered out at her through the crack, and Melissa smiled in greeting, partly out of courtesy but also to hide her surprise. Although she recognized him right away, he looked far different from the photo she’d seen on his book: his hair had grayed; his face appeared unseasonably pale; he’d grown a salt and pepper mustache. All those things might have been expected, but the black patch over his left eye took her off guard.
“Frank Atkins?” she asked. Her gaze darted to the narrow shaft of pink scar tissue that traveled from behind the eye patch and down the side of his face.
“Are you a cop, or are you selling something?” the man asked.
Melissa smirked at the cynicism in his comment and produced her identification. “I’m Detective Melissa Humble with Hennepin Co—”
“I don’t do case consultations anymore,” he cut in.
“I’m afraid that’s not what I’m here for,” Melissa rushed on when he began to close the door. “I’m investigating a missing person’s case I think you might have some information about. Can we talk?”
He opened the door wider. “Who’s missing?”
“Do you know a Judge Jerald Anderson?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. What does his disappearance have to do with me?”
“We found your phone number on a piece of paper in his office,” she replied. “It was stuck on the inside cover of a copy of your book, A Killer’s Shadow.”
His expression sagged at the mention of the book’s title. “Really?” he answered. “I’m amazed there are any copies left out there. Most of them were pulled from the stores a few months after the release date. It wasn’t a popular subject.”