Underneath all that, she sensed his taut, well-honed body. A squirm of excitement stirred between her legs.
Wondering how he’d look bare-ass naked.
“So you own a bookstore, Warren?” Mom said over dinner.
“That I do. For my sins.” Mom looked at him inquiringly. He laughed. “Sorry—a figure of speech! I love my work, Ms. West…”
“Leigh, please,” Mom said with a smile. “Makes life a lot simpler.”
“Leigh. Nice name, if I may say so.”
Deana glared at him.
Warren smiled back, sending her a sly wink at the same time.
I know he’s just being friendly, she thought. And Mom does have this effect on people. I should be used to it by now.
But she did feel a little on edge.
It’s that asshole Mace, she decided.
Suddenly appearing like that.
Scaring the pants offa me.
Well, not quite.
But he sure had me spooked there for a while.
What had really spooked her, though, was the way Mace had looked.
Zoned out.
Unsure.
As if he’d been really sorry about going into her room like that.
She stole a glance at Mom. She looked happy enough. Perhaps she hadn’t ever seen Mace as I saw him this afternoon.
Maybe I should let it stay that way…
Deana wanted to forget, but found she couldn’t. Mace coming at her like that was something that worried her a lot.
Warren and Mom were talking books. How Mom liked historical novels and biographies; she’d been searching for something on Bob Dylan. Warren said he’d look out for this really good one he’d heard about.
“Wonderful meal, Leigh,” Warren said, wiping his lips on his napkin.
“Thanks, Warren. Glad you enjoyed it. Duck à l’orange prepared this way is a Bayview special. Goes down well with the clientele.”
“Mom,” Deana put in. “Would you mind awfully if Warren and I went for a drive somewhere?”
Leigh’s face paled slightly.
Watching her, Deana almost changed her mind about going for a drive with Warren.
She’s remembering the night of the family party. When Allan and I left her to it with Gran and Pops.
“Mom. We’ll be back in an hour or so—won’t we, Warren?”
“Er, yes, of course. Would you mind, Leigh? I always hate to eat and run. But perhaps you’d both do me the honor of dining at my place sometime soon?”
Leigh smiled at Deana. “Sure,” she said. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, darling?”
“Yes, Mom. It would.”
After they left, Leigh cleared away the dishes, piling them up, intending to wash them later. She took out a bottle of Chablis from the fridge and poured herself a glassful.
Strolling back to the living room, her mind was full of Deana and Warren. Mmmm. She liked Warren. He seemed mature and sensible; probably a safe date is what Deana needs right now. After all our problems, she could do with some relaxation…
She switched on the TV.
Maybe I should call Mace…
Or maybe I should take some time out by myself. Relax. Chill out.
Like an irritating insect, the tub scenario still lurked in a corner of her mind.
Afterward, though, Mace had made up for it.
They really were good for each other.
She was sure of that.
Her eyes followed the flickering screen, not really seeing what was there. She came to, focusing on David Letterman interviewing some celeb from Friends…
Leigh made a face. Reflecting that she must be the only person on the planet who wasn’t into Friends.
There must be something else worth looking at…
She played around on the remote, finally settling on an old Steve McQueen movie. Smiling to herself, she remembered she’d had this humongous crush on Steve McQueen after watching The Great Escape.
Steve on his motorbike…
Ultra-sexy.
Taking another sip of Chablis, she watched the screen some more. Not really understanding, now, why she’d been so over the moon about dear old Steve.
Her eyes strayed to the framed photographs on the TV table.
Something odd there…
One was missing.
The picture of Deana wearing her first bikini.
Showing off. Posing on a rock, her dark hair blowing in the breeze, the sea rolling in behind her.
Leigh remembered that day down at Point Reyes Beach. The first time she’d realized Deana had suddenly become a woman…
The same day Deana had reminded her of Charlie.
There’d been something about her smile. That small cleft in her chin. The way she stood there. At one with the elements.
Nature girl, Leigh had called her.
Now the photograph was gone.
Perhaps Deana gave it to Warren as a keepsake.
I’ll ask her later.
Leigh felt a twinge of regret.
That photo had been a good one of Deana.
One of her favorites…
FORTY-FIVE
Friday, July 16
Lisa Bonetti was eighteen years of age. She had long dark hair, and a tall, athletic build. She played tennis, enjoyed swimming, and was a hotshot at archery.
Due to go to UCSC in the fall, Lisa was the apple, as they say, of her father’s eye.
At 3:01 she was on her way to Kathy’s Diner on Main Street, to meet her friend Margy for coffee and donuts. She’d missed out on lunch, so she was looking forward to a couple of Kathy’s fresh apple donuts. She had no idea she was being followed.
The black car cruised by a couple of times then drew up alongside as she hurried along the sidewalk.
“Miss!”
The black window slid down; an elbow, then a man’s face appeared. The man looked both serious and concerned. He glanced up, nodding briefly.
“Lisa Bonetti? I’m Detective Joe Napier, San Jose PD.” The man flashed police ID at her and returned it to the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
He leaned across the passenger seat and swung open the far-side door.
“Ms. Bonetti, your father’s in Cedar Heights. Had a near-fatal heart attack around two this afternoon. News came through as I was going off my shift. Chief asked me to drive you over to see him.”
The girl paled. She frowned slightly.
“But there must be some mistake… I mean, my father was okay this morning when I left him. He took his pills as usual and walked down the driveway to wave me off… I’ve spent some time in the library—didn’t think to call and check… Er, who phoned your office to say he was ill…?”
Her face was ashen now. Clearly, news of her father’s attack had come as a bad shock. The man in the car smiled, then said gently, “Lady name of Lydia Ashmont, your next-door neighbor I believe, phoned us to say pass on the message to daughter Lisa that Tony’s in the hospital. Right? You are Lisa Bonetti? And your father is Tony Bonetti?”
“Sure. Take me to him. And please hurry.”
Lisa stepped into the car, leaned forward, and placed her purse by her feet. She fastened her seat belt, settled back, and turned to look at the driver.
“How long will it take?”
Smiling, he said, “Not long, Ms. Bonetti. Not long.” He touched the remote button and the driver’s window slid up with a neat, whirring sound.