“Not in the least. Are you on your way home?”
“Not at the moment.”
He smiled gently and released her hand.
"I have to make a stop at the grocery store,” Sandy said. "Do you want to come along?”
"You bet I do!”
"All right. See you there.”
Back in her pickup truck, Sandy drove to the grocery store.
Terry followed her. In the parking lot, he swung his little car into the nearest space. He climbed out and came toward her, pulling a T-shirt down over his head.
"Ah, you’re making yourself decent,” Sandy said.
"Not entirely.”
On the T-shirt, a cartoony wizard was pointing at Sandy as he intoned, "Turn to shit.”
She burst out laughing. "That’s nice.”
“I know. I really shouldn’t wear it in public.”
“But you do.”
They walked side by side toward the store entrance.
“Afraid so. Want me to leave?”
“Just walk a few paces behind me.”
He started to drop back, so Sandy caught his hand and dragged him forward.
Inside the store, she grabbed a shopping cart. It had a wobbly front wheel that made the cart shimmy as she pushed it along.
"I’ll push it for you,” Terry said.
"No, that’s okay. I can push my own cart.”
"You sure?”
"Are you trying to annoy me?”
"I just want to be friends.”
"Oh ho ho.”
She made her way slowly up an aisle, sometimes pausing to snatch an item off its shelf and set it into her cart. Terry walked beside her—or behind her when the aisle became crowded.
At the end of the aisle, she turned and started down the next.
"Do you live alone?” Terry asked.
"No, do you?”
"Me? All alone. I have a little beach cottage south of town. Which you’re welcome to visit any time of the day or night.”
"You’re a very hospitable guy.”
"You’re not married, are you?” he asked.
"No, are you?”
"No.”
"Have you been married?” Sandy asked.
"You ask a lot of questions.”
"You started it.”
"I’ve never been married,” he said. "What about you?”
"Nope. How old are you?”
"Twenty-eight.”
"And you’ve never been married? Why not?”
He grinned. "Who knows? How old are you?”
"Not as old as you. You’re really old. Amazing you’ve never been married. Something wrong with you?”
He laughed. "Maybe I’m just picky. Who do you live with?”
Looking into his eyes, she said, "My son.”
If Terry was put off by the news, he didn’t let it show. "Really? What’s his name?”
"Eric.”
"That must be neat, having a kid. How old is he?”
"Twelve.”
At that news, he looked stunned. “You’re kidding. Twelve?”
"Sure.”
"So you were, what ... seven when you had him?”
She grinned. “A little older than that.”
"Amazing. So where’s Eric while you’re off modelling for Blazed?”
"He’s usually in school.”
"Not during summer vacation, I hope.”
"No, no. He’s home. My mother comes over to watch him when I have to go out.”
“That’s got to be a major convenience. Great for both of you. It frees you up and she gets to spend time with her grandchild.”
"It’s a pretty good deal,” Sandy said. She tried to hold on to her smile, but it fell. She turned to the shelves of groceries. She was facing a variety of mustards. She didn’t need any mustard but she stared at the jars, anyway, as if trying to decide which to buy.
Shouldn’t have said that stuff about Mom. That’s what did it. Keep her out of it. How to ruin a fine day in one easy lesson.
“Are you okay?” Terry asked.
"Yeah. It’s just ... Eric wasn’t feeling very well when I left this morning. I’m a little worried about him, that’s all. I need to finish the shopping and get home.” She grabbed a sweet-hot mustard off the shelf, bent over her cart and put it in.
“How far away do you live?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then gave him a sharp look.
"Where I live is my business.”
“I just mean, if it’s going to take you a while to get there, why don’t you phone up your mother and make sure Eric’s all right? Put your mind at ease.”
"That’s a good idea,” she said. "You want to watch the cart? I’ll go find a phone. Be right back.” She hurried toward the front of the store. With a glance back, she saw that Terry was staying put.
Dumb. This is what comes of lying.
The public telephones were just outside the store’s main exit. She glanced back to make sure Terry still wasn’t coming, then stepped outside and pretended to call home. After talking into the mouthpiece for a couple of minutes, she hung up and went back into the store. Terry was exactly where she’d left him.
He minds well, she thought.
“Eric’s fine,” she said.
“Glad to hear it. Feel better now?”
She nodded.
“The phone’s a great invention,” Terry said.
“It can be.”
“So now you can relax and enjoy the shopping.”
“I guess so.”
“And since everything’s fine on the home front, why don’t you stop by at my place after we’re done here?”
“And why would I want to do that?”
He grinned. “It’s a nice cottage. It has a nice view of the ocean. I’m nice. You’re nice. We’ll have a nice time.”
“Unless you get me inside the nice cottage and attack me.”
He suddenly looked at Sandy as if she’d turned into an odd specimen—an amusing, somewhat appalling, compelling creature unlike anything he’d ever seen before. In a solemn voice, he said, “I wouldn’t do that.”
“How do I know?”
He kept gazing at her. “I guess you don’t.”
“For all I know, you might be a very handsome, pleasant serial killer just looking for a chance to get me alone.”
“I’m not.”
“So you say. As if you’d admit it.”
He laughed and shook his head. “If I wanted to jump you, I could’ve done it on the beach. I don’t think Blaze would’ve been much of an obstacle.”
“Somebody might’ve come along,” Sandy pointed out. “You did. At your charming little beach cottage, though, you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on us. There’d be complete privacy. You’d have me at your mercy.”
“That sounds like a pretty good deal.”
“Md it might not even be your cottage. Maybe it’s just an abandoned place you happen to know about.”
“Gotcha!” Grinning, he reached into a seat pocket of his shorts and pulled out his wallet. He flapped it open in front of her. On one side was an i.d. card. On the other side was a shiny silver badge.
Chapter Thirty-two
Lunch Trouble
Just as Warren slid Dana’s tray through the window, a crowd of Japanese tourists swarmed into the eating area. All of them seemed to be talking at once. Some went straight to tables. A few scattered and started snapping photos of each other. Several wandered about taping everything in sight with their camcorders. The line behind Dana tripled in length. The line at the other window doubled. Probably half the group headed directly for the gift shop.
Looking in at Warren, Dana said, “Holy smoke.”
“We’re very big with the Japanae,” Warren explained. “We get busloads of them two or three times a week.”