1
The next morning Nicole awakened early, and before even letting Jesse into the backyard, she went out by herself for an inspection. The gate was still padlocked shut. She walked the perimeter of the yard. There were no scuff marks on the tan painted fence, and they hadn’t had rain in weeks so the ground was bone-dry, leaving no hope of finding a footprint.
The intruder had left behind one trace of his night visit, however. For some reason, Jesse had chosen two spots for hiding places. One was beneath a live oak at the back of the yard. The other was against the foundation of the house directly beneath Shelley’s window. Here, where the intruder had looked in Shelley’s window, Nicole found the back half of a running-shoe print. It was much larger than hers.
Looking at it, she wondered if she should call the police. But what could they do? Tell her she’d had a prowler? She already knew that. No, the police could do nothing with the little bit of evidence the prowler had left behind. He hadn’t even done any damage except to scare a little girl. If she called, they’d simply tell her it was probably a teenage prankster. Worse, they could label her a woman unused to living alone and given to hysterics. In that case, if anything more serious happened, they might even believe she was literally crying “wolf” and not give the matter the attention it deserved.
When she came back inside, Shelley was up. “Did the werewolf leave clues to show the police?”
“No clues, I’m afraid, and it’s awfully hard to convince the police of a werewolf sighting. Besides, I think it was just someone wearing a mask.”
“Well, of course,” Shelley replied, all calm sophistication in the light of day. “But you can’t be too careful.”
“Yes, Mom,” Nicole droned in a beleaguered, teenage voice. Shelley giggled. “You get cleaned up, kiddo. We have church this morning.”
Nicole and Shelley were just returning from mass when Roger’s Ford Explorer pulled in behind them. Nicole glanced at her watch. Ten forty-five. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until noon.
Annoyed but trying not to show it, she forced a smile as she emerged from her car. “A little early, aren’t you?”
Roger, wearing beige khakis, a denim shirt with long sleeves rolled up to the elbows, new Gucci loafers and designer sunglasses she’d never seen before, grinned cheerfully. “Couldn’t wait to see my sweetheart.”
“Roger, you’ll make me blush.”
His smile vanished. “I meant my daughter.”
“I know that, Roger. What’s happened to your sense of humor?”
“I thought you were being sarcastic.”
“No, just teasing. I’m not in the mood for a fight.” Roger seemed to relax. “Well, as you can see, Shelley is dressed up. She needs to change clothes. And she hasn’t eaten.”
“She can change clothes in a flash, and I’ll take her out for a nice lunch.”
Nicole looked at the child hovering near the car. “Shel?”
“I’ll change real fast,” she said obligingly. “And Daddy, can we have lunch at Planet Hollywood?”
Roger detested the raucous atmosphere of Planet Hollywood on the River Walk, which Shelley knew quite well. Nicole pretended to cough to keep from laughing when Roger forced a broad, artificial smile and said heartily, “Of course, honey! Sounds terrific!”
They walked to the front door together and Nicole withdrew her keys from her purse. “My key doesn’t work anymore,” Roger said.
“There’s a reason for that.”
He raised an eyebrow, understanding that she’d changed the locks. “Was that really necessary or just an act of anger?”
She opened the door and Shelley ran ahead of her toward her bedroom. “You don’t live here anymore. There’s no reason for you to have unlimited access to the house.”
“What if I need to get in?”
“For what reason?” Roger stared at her momentarily stumped. “Tell you what,” Nicole said. “I’ll give you a new key to this house if you’ll give me a key to your apartment.”
That should successfully end the subject, Nicole thought. She was right. Roger ignored her, walked to the awful brown chair, sat down, and let out a groan of comfort. She thought of Miguel floundering in the monstrosity. “Don’t you want your couch and chair?” she asked. “I know how you love them.”
“Not now. My apartment is furnished. I’ll probably want them later, though.”
“How much later?”
He looked irritated. “What difference does it make?”
“They look awful in here.”
“They look fine,” Roger said firmly, as if that settled the matter. “May I have something to drink, or is the refrigerator under lock and key, too?”
“Not on Sundays. What do you want? Iced tea? Coke? Milk?”
“Water. Lots of ice.”
He gulped down the glass and asked for another. Nicole knew this meant he’d drunk heavily the night before and was dehydrated. That’s why he wouldn’t remove the sunglasses—he didn’t want her to see his bloodshot eyes. He used to drink in moderation, but his alcohol consumption had increased dramatically since he started spending so much time away from home, even before he left for Lisa Mervin.
Nicole sat down on the couch. “What do you have planned for Shelley today?”
“I thought I’d take her to Sea World.”
“She’ll love that!” Nicole exclaimed. “She hasn’t been there since we first moved here.”
“I know. Then I’ll take her out to dinner.”
“That sounds fine. I do hope you’ll have her home by seven, though. She needs a bath and time to settle down before bed. She has school in the morning.”
“Seven it is.”
Nicole hesitated. “It will be just the two of you today, won’t it?”
Roger feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Lisa isn’t going along, is she?”
Roger’s lips tightened in annoyance. “Why is that an issue? Just because you don’t like her—”
“Hold it!” Nicole said sharply. “I’ve never even met the girl. Maybe under different circumstances I’d like her very much. But this doesn’t have anything to do with my feelings. Shelley resents her—”
“I wonder why?” Roger interrupted acidly.
“Don’t blame me for her feelings. I don’t talk against her to Shelley. You, however, have tried to cram Lisa down her throat ever since you left, and she hates it. It’s not fair to Shelley. To Lisa, either, if you plan to marry her.”
“How considerate of you to worry about Lisa.”
“Promise me, Roger. Just you and Shelley.”
Roger set his glass on the end table. “All right. Any further orders, General?”
“I think that will do for now,” Nicole said coolly. “And I assume by calling me ‘General’ you’re referring to my grandfather.”
“You do seem to be developing a few traits in common with the famous General Ernest Hazelton.”
“Whom you never knew.”
“No, but your mother has told me all about him.” He gazed up at the ceiling. “A virtual paragon among men was the general. Bigger than life.” He looked back at Nicole. “Phyllis is a case of the classic Electra complex if I’ve ever seen one.”
Her jaw tightening, Nicole stood up and called, “Shelley, are you about ready? Daddy can’t wait to get to Planet Hollywood.”
“Very funny,” Roger muttered.
Jesse appeared, made a beeline for Roger, and promptly emitted a loud sloppy sneeze all over his Gucci loafers. “Goddammit!” Roger exploded, jumping up. Jesse artfully dodged a kick, tearing back to the bedroom. “Nicole, get me some paper towels. I don’t know why you keep that mangy, flea-ridden little—”
Trying to stifle her laughter, Nicole went to the kitchen for paper towels. When she gave them to Roger, he began working on the shoes, still muttering furiously. “I’m sorry, Roger,” Nicole managed. “Those do look like very expensive shoes. They’re new, aren’t they?”
“They weren’t expensive,” Roger lied, “but they are new. Now look at them. He did that on purpose.”
“Oh, I’m sure he didn’t,” Nicole said blandly.
Roger glared at her before Shelley dashed out of her bedroom wearing jeans, a blue T-shirt, and new Keds, her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and secured with a blue scrunchie. “I’m ready!”
“Have a really good time today,” Nicole said, holding Shelley tightly and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“You, too, Mom. What’re you gonna do?”
“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of exciting things planned.”
Like going to visit Kay Holland and perhaps finding out why my father killed himself, she thought with a chill, forcing herself to wave merrily as Roger and Shelley drove away.
2
After they left, Nicole dressed, thinking about her father’s store. The place where she’d spent so many happy hours as a child “helping” her father and Kay with the business was now a site of horror where her father had retreated to violently take his life.
Now Kay had something to tell her about her father’s death. She wondered if it were really significant. Maybe the woman was only imagining she had important information. Imagination and a sense of drama didn’t seem to be Kay’s strong points, though.
Sunday traffic was light and she drove down into the older section of town near the Plaza de Las Islas. As always she admired the beautiful San Fernando Cathedral built by settlers from the Canary Islands in the 1730’s. Near it was the Bexar County Courthouse. “What year was the courthouse built?” Nicole could hear her father ask. “In 1895,” the young child Nicole would answer dutifully. “And what’s it made of?” “Red Texas granite and sandstone.” “Brilliant!” her father would crow. “This little girl deserves an ice-cream cone.” So long ago.
Parking was not a problem today. She pulled into a spot directly in front of the large store that had stood here for eighty years. It had always been a music store, owned by one family until Clifton Sloan bought it in 1959. He’d told her once that although it became fairly successful in the late sixties, only a generous inheritance from a maiden great-aunt who shared his love of music allowed him to keep the store going in the early years. Later he used part of the inheritance to make lucky investments in the stock market, enabling the family to live on a much higher scale than the income from the store ever would have allowed.
The front door was locked. She pecked on the glass, and in a few seconds Kay hurried to unlock it. “Hi, Nikki,” Kay said nervously, locking the door behind Nicole. She looked alarmingly thin in a dark green skirt and print blouse hanging out of her waistband on the right side. Her short brown hair lay in its usual perfect helmet of curls, but she wore only a streak of heather-colored lipstick over dry lips. Without her usual subtle application of eye shadow and mascara, her eyes had a wide, surprised look.
“How’s the work going?”
“The work?” Kay repeated blankly. “Oh, you mean emptying your father’s desk. Well, there wasn’t much of a personal nature. Mostly just business papers.”
As they walked through the store, Nicole glanced around, realizing she hadn’t been here for months. Drums, horns, organs, pianos—uprights and baby grands—guitars, violins, a thousand pieces of sheet music. “Here I was surrounded by a world of musical opportunity, and I didn’t have a lick of talent,” Nicole lamented.
“I always thought you had a very sweet little singing voice,” Kay said diplomatically.
Nicole grinned to herself. She, the closet rock star, had never wanted to be described as having “a sweet little singing voice,” but poor Kay was giving the most honest compliment she could.
“I put some tea on earlier,” Kay said as they headed for the office. “Would you like some? Chamomile. Very calming.”
Nicole, who hated tea, especially herbal, smiled politely. “I drank about three cups of coffee before I left home. I think I’m waterlogged.”
“Too much caffeine isn’t good for you, dear, especially at a time like this. You don’t need anything else rattling your nerves.”
As they neared the office, Nicole’s steps slowed. “Actually, my nerves are a little rattled by whatever you have to tell me.”
“I probably said it all wrong yesterday, scared you when I shouldn’t have.” Kay walked into the office, then turned around and stared at Nicole, who’d stopped dead on shaky legs. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“The office.” Nicole’s mouth was dry, her voice unsteady. “I don’t think I can…”
“Oh, my goodness!” Kay exclaimed. “How thoughtless of me. It’s been completely cleaned and I’ve worked for hours in there, so I just didn’t think about the effect it would have on you, not having been in there since…Oh, Nikki, I’m sorry!”
“It’s all right, really. But I’d prefer to stay out here if you don’t mind. You go ahead and get your tea.”
“I don’t need tea. I’ve drunk gallons the last few days. Just habit.” Kay looked stricken. “You sit down on that piano bench and catch your breath. Want a glass of water?”
“A pint of Scotch would be better.”
Kay’s eyes fluttered around the room. “I don’t believe we have any.”
“I was just teasing. I don’t even like Scotch.”
“Oh.” Kay looked confused.
“I’ll be fine. Sit down here on the bench beside me and tell me about Daddy.”
Kay sat down and began smoothing her skirt with pale, faintly bluish hands. “Your father wasn’t himself the last few months.”
Nicole was puzzled. “Mom didn’t say anything about it.”
“I’m sure he tried to hide any unhappiness from her. He always did, you know. But there were things she had to notice. First he started looking tired. He got circles under his eyes and became sallow. I asked him about it and he said he wasn’t sleeping well. Claimed he’d tried some of those over-the-counter remedies, but they weren’t working.”
“Did he seem concerned enough to see a doctor?”
“If he saw one, he never told me. Then one day I went in his office and found him asleep in his chair. I was so glad he was getting a little rest. I was being quiet as a mouse, looking for an invoice, when suddenly he started mumbling. I couldn’t make out any words except ‘shouldn’t’ and ‘Nikki’ in a frightened voice. Then he jerked awake. He came to himself quickly and acted embarrassed. Brushed it off as a little catnap. I didn’t say a word about him talking in his sleep.”
“About a month later, it happened again,” Kay continued. “It could have been happening every day, but once again I just happened to be there. Well, this time he wasn’t muttering. He shouted, ‘Nikki! Could’ve been killed, the bastards!’ ”
“It was the rape,” Nicole said softly. “He was dreaming about my rape.”
Phyllis had always insisted that if Nicole’s experience must be mentioned at all, it was to be referred to as “the attack.” She noticed Kay’s face pinkening at the word “rape,” but Nicole had rarely been one to use euphemisms.
“Yes, I do believe that’s what he was dreaming about.”
“Do you have any idea what could have triggered all this?” Nicole asked.
“I’ve wondered if he were ill. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with him and he wasn’t thinking so clearly anymore. He did seem to dwell on the past more than he ever had. Even before he became so depressed lately he left the church. He said your mother was very unhappy about it.”
“Yes.”
“After that he gradually lost interest in the business. Not completely, you understand, but he just wasn’t on top of things anymore. That’s another thing that made me think he was seriously ill.”
Nicole stood and began walking around the store. “Now that you mention all this, I realize I was vaguely aware of it. But only vaguely. I was so wrapped up in myself—the move back to San Antonio, my new job, Roger leaving.” She hit her fist on the top of a piano. “Why didn’t I pay more attention?”
“Don’t blame yourself, Nikki. The changes were subtle, and I’m sure he always put on a good show for you. Your mother, too.”
“But not you?”
Kay flushed. “I was around him all day, every day. It would have been hard to hide something from me. Besides, he wasn’t as worried about my feelings as yours and your mother’s.”
But you were worried about his, Nicole thought. You’ve been in love with him for years. I always sensed it. I wonder if Mother did? I wonder if he did?
Knowing that Kay had loved her father made her both happy and sad—happy because Phyllis was so difficult, so critical; sad because Kay had devoted herself to a man who, even if he returned her love, would never have left his wife and daughter, would never even have had an affair. At least she didn’t think he would have had an affair. She wasn’t sure she had known her father at all.
“Kay, was there anything else?” she asked, trying to steer her mind away from what might have been between Kay and Clifton.
Kay clasped her hands. “Yes. And this is what’s most disturbing. I sorted the mail and I should have noticed long before I did, but there’s so much mail. Anyway, now that I think back on it, about the time your father started having the nightmares, letters came for him marked ‘Personal.’ ”
“Just regular-looking letters?”
“No. They were large clasp envelopes, always heavily taped as if it were very important they stay sealed.”
“Was there a return address?”
“No. And the postmark was local. Then, on Tuesday…” Her voice thickened and tears welled in her eyes. “Last Tuesday another envelope came. It was padded—the kind you send photographs in—but it was marked ‘Personal.’ I took the mail in to your father as usual and he spotted it right away.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “The color drained from his face. He said, ‘Thank you, Kay,’ in a strained voice. I hovered around a moment. He said sharply, ‘Did you need anything else?’ I said ‘No’ and left. Then he did something he’d never done before—locked his office door in midday.”
She took a deep shuddery breath. “About ten minutes later, I thought I heard a noise back in the office. Something like a groan. I had a bad feeling, but I didn’t do anything. Nikki, I didn’t do anything!”
“Calm down, Kay,” Nicole said, although her own heart was pounding. “What could you have done besides beat on the door and demand to know what was going on? Dad would have hated that. He was a very private man.”
“Yes, but I feel so guilty. Anyway, minutes later I smelled smoke coming from the office. This time I did knock on the door. Your father didn’t answer. I tried the door and it was still locked. I pounded on it, ready to phone the fire department, when he finally opened the door. He looked ten years older, Nikki. Ten years older and devastated, but he tried to act normal. He said the fire was in the wastebasket. He said he’d tossed an ashtray in and a cigarette stub was still burning and it set some papers on fire.” She turned pain-filled eyes on Nicole. “But your father never emptied an ashtray into a wastebasket during the day. Ashtrays were only emptied in the mornings, when he came in, so a fire couldn’t start during the night.”
“It was the same at home.” Nicole bit her lip. “Could he have been distracted and done it by accident?”
“I’d say that was a possibility except that the fire was still burning. He ignored it. When I tried to push past him to reach the pitcher of water on his desk, he blocked me. And Nikki, his eyes! If someone had just called and said you were dead, they couldn’t have looked more awful. He set that fire himself!
“And what did I do?” Kay cried. “Nothing. I should have stood right up to him and said, ‘Clifton Sloan, I’ve been your friend for thirty years. You tell me what’s wrong or I’m calling a doctor!’ But did I? No. I just stood there, blithering like my mother always said, not enough nerve or presence of mind to be any help at all.”
Nicole empathized with Kay’s frustration with herself. There had been a thousand times when she wished she’d handled situations differently. But now she was more interested in what her father had said and done, not what Kay hadn’t. Trying to hide her impatience with the woman’s detours into self-flagellation, she prodded determinedly.
“Kay, what did Dad say after giving you that excuse about the wastebasket?”
“Nothing! He shut the door in my face. He’d never been so rude. I was astonished. No, that’s not the right word. Appalled, that’s it. Over the whole scene, you understand, not just his shutting the door on me. Afterward, all was quiet in the office for about half an hour, then your father came out, told me he wasn’t feeling well, and left. He said he was going home.” Her mouth trembled. “I never saw him alive again. That very night he came back to the office and…” Kay choked back a sob.
Nicole put her hand on Kay’s bony shoulder. “Don’t think about that part now.”
Kay wiped her nose, wadded her tissue, and stuffed it in her pocket. “Your father left the office about half an hour later and locked his office, but I was worried that maybe the fire in the wastebasket wasn’t out completely.” She looked down at the floor. “That’s not completely true. I was curious,” she said meekly.
“Anyone would have been.”
“I used my own key and opened the office. The fire was out and almost everything in the wastebasket was ashes. Almost everything.”
Nicole’s interest quickened. “What was left?”
“It’s in the office file cabinet. I understand that you don’t want to go in there, so I’ll get it—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I can’t stay out of there forever, especially if Mother keeps the store. I was just feeling a little queasy earlier.”
Nicole followed Kay into the spacious office carpeted in pale gray. Her father’s large mahogany desk was unnaturally neat, an expensive gold pen-and-pencil set sitting close to an oversized turquoise ashtray on one side, photos of her, Shelley, and Phyllis forming an arc in gold frames on the other. The blotter was missing. Of course, Nicole thought, her stomach clenching. The blotter had been covered with blood.
Nicole quickly switched her attention to Kay, who was unlocking one of the file drawers. She withdrew a white legal-sized envelope. Gingerly she lifted a small piece of paper and held it toward Nicole. “I found this still smoldering under the padded envelope.” Her face colored and she looked miserably self-conscious. “I didn’t show it to the police. I didn’t want to stir things up again.”
“Stir up what things again?” Nicole asked, accepting a piece of charred paper.
“Well…just things best left in the past.”
Baffled, Nicole stepped closer to the window behind the desk, tripping over an oriental rug. It flipped back, exposing a rusty stain. Nicole gasped. Kay clutched her throat. “Oh, Nikki, I’m sorry. The walls cleaned up beautifully, but the carpet is so pale they just couldn’t get out all the—”
“Blood,” Nicole said briskly. “It’s all right.” She flipped back the rug with her foot, her stomach tightening as she fought nausea. Focus on what’s in your hand, she thought sternly.
Light streamed in the window. She held up the piece of paper. It was a photograph, but at first she couldn’t make out what she was seeing. It was upside down. She turned the fragment around until it took recognizable form.
She felt as if everything inside her wrenched into a painful knot. Shining black hair, a hazel eye, an arched eyebrow, a high cheekbone, a fragment of a straight, chiseled nose, the corner of a full, sensual mouth.
She was looking at the burned remains of a photo of Paul Dominic.