He scowled at her.
“Real nice,” she said. “Anyway, I have to go. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine without me.”
He growled.
“Hey!” she snapped.
Eric flinched at the sharpness of her voice. Glaring at her, he threw his towel to the floor. Then he whirled around and stomped out of the bathroom.
“Wait,” Sandy said. “Eric!”
He hurried down the hallway, feet thumping, claws clicking against the hardwood floor.
“I bought us some chocolate doughnuts yesterday!” she called.
Seconds later, she heard the front door slam.
“Shit”
She suddenly felt like crying.
She almost didn’t leave. But she wanted worse than ever to see Terry And what was the point in staying? Eric was nowhere to be seen. Though he might be hanging around to spy on her, he had probably run off sulking into the woods.
Ready to go, she went out to the pickup truck.
Yesterday, she’d found Eric waiting in the passenger seat as if eager for a ride.
Seeing the seat empty today made her throat feel tight.
“Eric?” she called toward the woods. “I’m sorry! Okay? Look, I’ll stay home if you really want me to. We’ll have the chocolate doughnuts. What do you say?”
She waited, listening, turning slowly and looking for him in the bushes and trees. He remained silent and hidden.
“If you don’t want me to go, you’d better come out.”
He didn’t come out.
Stepping up to the side of the pickup, Sandy tossed her beach blanket into the bed. Then she reached over the panel and set down the canvas bag in which she had packed her swimsuit, sun block, a couple of towels and a paperback novel.
“Last call, Eric!” she yelled. “I’ll stay if you want me to, but you’ve got to come out! I’m not staying home for you if you’re not going to be here!”
She waited, listened.
“No? Okay. See you later.”
She climbed into the truck, swung her purse onto the passenger seat, and started the engine. As she drove down the rough, unpaved road through the woods, she kept looking for him.
But he didn’t show.
She glanced at the place where Slade, Harry Matthews and Lib were buried.
I’m on my way to visit a cop?
Real smart.
If had a lick of sense, I wouldn’t get involved with anyone, much less a cop. I must be out of my mind.
I oughta turn around right now and go back to the cabin.
Instead of turning around, she drove to the gate.
I’ll go back to the house, all right, After I’ve seen Terry. Maybe not till after dark, if I get lucky.
As she unlocked the gate and swung it open, she thought about calling out one more time for Eric.
Why bother? He had his chances.
But she couldn’t help it. “Eric?” she shouted.
No answer.
Good!
In the pickup again, she drove through the open gate. Then she hopped out, shut the gate and locked it.
He made his choice, she told herself.
Back inside the truck, she drove slowly forward, bouncing and shaking her way down the shadowy tracks until she came to the edge of Pacific Coast Highway.
It was a little after nine o’clock when she turned onto Beach Drive. Nobody was stirring. Copies of the morning newspaper still lay on several lawns and driveways. She supposed that some of the residents had already gone to work for the day, while others weren’t yet up and around.
What if Terry isn’t up?
No big deal, she told herself. If he isn’t, he should be.
Just so he’s home.
His car was in his driveway. His newspaper lay on the grass in front of his porch.
Sandy stopped and shut off her engine.
What if he just got to bed? she wondered. What’s the graveyard shift, midnight to eight?
Ah, but this is Friday. He has Wednesdays and Thursdays off, so he wouldn’t have worked last night.
She put the keys in her purse and climbed out. Then she eased the door shut so that it hardly made any noise. She walked slowly around the front of her truck—and realized she was sneaking.
If I’m this afraid of waking him up, she thought, maybe I’d better just leave.
She could drive to the cafe, have a nice breakfast and come back in an hour or so.
Bending over, she picked up Terry’s newspaper. She carried it up his porch stairs and stopped in front of his door and stood there. She stared at the doorbell button, but didn’t reach for it.
What if I wake him up?
What if he’s not alone?
What if he’s actually married? She might’ve been at work yesterday when I was here.
Don’t be ridiculous, Sandy told herself. He’s not married.
For one thing, no wife is going to let a guy keep a painting like The Sleeper in his living room. And he wouldn’t want a steady girlfriend to see something like that, either.
He’s single and unattached, just like he said.
Trembling, heart thudding, Sandy raised her hand toward the doorbell button.
And stopped with her finger an inch away from it.
I can’t do this. He’s not expecting me. He’ll think I’m a nutcake. I’ll just go away and come back a little later.
She took a step backward, crouched, and gently placed his newspaper on the welcome mat. Then she turned around and started down the stairs.
This is the guy who ambushed me, she suddenly thought. Blew five thousand bucks on a painting of me. Tracked me to Blaze. Set me up. Climbed around on those rocks to meet me “by accident.”
And he’s gonna mind a surprise visit?
She turned around and climbed the porch stairs. Not pausing for an instant, she jabbed the doorbell button. Then she swooped down and snatched up his newspaper.
Though her confidence had returned, her calm hadn’t.
As she waited, she felt weak and trembly. Her heart pounded fast and hard. Underneath her loose shirt, drops of sweat dribbled down her sides. They ran all the way down from her armpits to her waist, cool and tickling.
From behind the door came a quiet sound of footsteps.
Oh, my God. He’s coming.
She took a deep, deep breath.
Calm down, calm down,
He opened the door.
“Your paper, sir,” Sandy said.
He looked stunned. He gaped at her.
“Ashley?” he whispered.
“At your service, sir.”
Grinning and shaking his head, he stepped backward. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” She entered, and he shut the door.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.
“I just happened to be dropping by.”
He laughed.
“I know it’s early,” she said. “I was afraid I might wake you up. Guess I did, huh?”
Grinning, he said, “I must look a fright.”
Sandy laughed. “You look perfect.”
His hair was mussed and he wore an old, faded blue bathrobe. He looked as if he’d outgrown it. The sleeves were too short and the front wouldn’t shut all the way across his chest. The edges didn’t meet until just above his waist, where the robe was held shut by his cloth belt.
“I did wake you up, didn’t I?” Sandy asked.