“So the money might’ve been hidden there in a place that Susan told Jude about.”
“Right.”
“Then why didn’t Jude claim it long ago? And why wait till she was dying to tell her daughter?”
“Well, at first she and Leo were scared — terrified, actually. They ran the night of the murders and probably kept running for a long time. If they ever did try to go back for the money, they’d’ve found the place guarded. But I’ll bet they never went near the canyon again. That kind of latter-day hippie doesn’t really care about money, not if putting their hands on it involves a serious risk.”
Guy frowned. “Then why did Jude start caring after all these years?”
“She wanted it for Chrystal? Or maybe she wanted out of the home.”
“Anyone would. But still, how did she know the situation with the guards had changed?”
Rho couldn’t help allowing herself the luxury of a triumphant smile. “There was a reporter in town some months back. From one of those sleazy true-crime magazines. The angle of his story was that it would soon be thirteen years — bad luck, you know — since the killings. He was very interested that the property was unguarded but still nobody ever went there. That magazine we saw in the drawer of Jude’s nightstand was the publication he was writing for, and I’ll bet it’s the issue with his article.”
One look at Guy’s face told her she’d finally succeeded in impressing him. She tilted her seat back, stretched out her legs, and basked in the glow.
Chrystaclass="underline" Before
Friday, October 6
12:29 P.M.
Jesus, that creeps me! This place was stuck in the back of my mind even though I didn’t remember it. Didn’t remember, and all the time I’m drawing it in charcoal.
Of course the canyon’s kind of had hold of my life since the night of the murders. Up till then there was still a chance me and Jude and Leo could be a family. She was nice to me, and even though he didn’t like kids, he gave me his name and didn’t abuse me none like a lot of stepfathers do. But afterwards she was so into herself that she didn’t hardly notice me except to criticize. And him, well, forget it.
Yeah, the ones who got killed weren’t the only victims that night.
Enough with this standing around feeling sorry for yourself. Get that money, and all your problems’ll be over.
So why do I have this feeling that nothing’s gonna turn out right? Why’s my skin all crawly, like somebody’s watching me, knows what I’m up to? Why—
Stop it, Chryssie!
But Jude said Susan knew something bad was gonna happen to her and her family. That’s why she told where she hid the money, so it wouldn’t go to waste when the bad thing came down. And it did come down.
No, I don’t believe in that premonition shit. No way.
Or do I?
Wednesday, October 11
Rho felt a hand gently shaking her. “You’re home,” Guy’s voice said.
She struggled upright from where she was slumped against the car’s door, looked around. They were stopped in front of her house and light glowed from behind its closed curtains. Inside, Cody was barking. How—?
Of course. Valerie knew where half the spare keys in the county were hidden. She must’ve delivered him and left the lights on for her.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Twelve thirty.”
A lifetime since they’d left Las Vegas. “How’d you find my house?”
“You may think you’re a hotshot detective, lady, but you’ve got nothing on me.” While she collected her bag and undid the seat belt, he came around and opened the door. “Actually,” he added, “I stopped in at the substation and the fellow on duty drew me a map. I took a wrong turn only twice.”
“And I slept through it all.”
“Yeah, you did. Once I checked to see if you were still breathing.”
She fumbled for her keys as she went up onto the porch. Cody stopped barking, recognizing her step.
“Nice-looking house,” Guy said. “Kind of isolated, though.”
“You get used to it.” She slipped her key into the lock, turned to face him. In the glow from the windows and the shadows thrown by the eaves, his profile was lean and chiseled. “I appreciate your coming with me today. You’ve been a big help.” She felt strangely edgy now, wishing he would go.
“I’d say we make a good team.” He put his hand to her cheek. Surprisingly, his fingers were rough, their tips calloused. As he leaned toward her she breathed in his scent, that combination of natural odors that is as individuated as a person’s fingerprint. His reminded her of autumn.
“Guy...”
His lips touched hers, silencing her protest. They were soft, undemanding. They lingered briefly and then, before she realized what was happening, he pulled away, turned, and hurried to the car, raising a hand in farewell.
She watched the taillights disappear down her drive, then simply stood there. On the other side of the door Cody whined. She put her fingertips to her lips. They felt strange, as if the kiss — and admittedly not much of one at that — had changed her physically.
Now what had made him do that? The only interest he’d previously displayed in her was as a conduit for information. And he’d certainly backed off and fled in a hurry. Afraid, maybe, that she’d whack him with her bag?
No, afraid because he’d closed the physical and emotional distance between them, and Guy, she sensed, was not comfortable with closeness.
Well, neither was she. Since Zach left she’d been with a few men, but the affairs were short-lived and she’d been relieved when each lover grew tired of trying to breach the wall she sooner or later put up between them.
With Guy Newberry it wasn’t even going to get to that stage. An involvement with him was something she couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Now why the bloody hell did I do that? To prove I could?”
Maybe you just like the woman, darlin’.
“There’s no future in it.”
Since when do you have to entertain expectations of a lifelong commitment to suck face?
“I do not suck face!”
In his agitated state, Guy managed to make four wrong turns before he found his way back to the highway, thus adding a profound sense of foolishness to his present emotional baggage. The road was deserted, and he tromped on the accelerator, arriving in Signal Port in record time. A drink, he thought, something civilized that would remind him of home and the life he’d led until that damned dinner party when he’d allowed Dun Harrison to seduce him into this lunacy. He remembered seeing a dust-covered bottle of Speyburn on the hotel’s backbar. Probably it had never been opened; nobody in this benighted burg would know single-malt scotch from malt liquor. Which was fine by him because he intended to partake generously of that bottle.
He was settled on a barstool, drink in hand, before he noticed Lily Gilardi at a window table, weeping into her wine. We’ve got to stop meeting like this, he thought, jerking his chin at her and raising a questioning eyebrow at the bartender, who shrugged.
“Put the whole bottle on my tab,” Guy said, holding out his hand.
The barkeep shrugged again and passed it over to him.
Guy left his stool and went to Lily’s table. “More Alex trouble?” he asked as he pulled out the other chair and sat.