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The East End traffic was light, not the slow-moving snake that crept along each weekend from late May through mid-September. After spending the first hour of her trip convincing herself that everything would turn out just fine, Erica let herself be swept up in the euphoria brought about by her sudden good fortune.
“I’m rich!” she shouted out the window as she drove through Bridgehampton. “I’m a multi-millionaire!”
The words sent her into a paroxysm of giggles. Her image of a woman of enormous wealth had always been a tall, elegant, middle-aged woman who wore silk dresses, antique jewels, and spoke in a clipped British accent. Certainly no one remotely resembling her. She couldn’t wait to tell Terry the good news. Now they could do whatever they liked. Travel to Europe or China or anywhere in the world.
In view of her new status, getting hold of twenty thousand dollars was a mere inconvenience. A piddling concern. Surely, Jason would lend it to her. It would only be for a few weeks, and she’d be more than happy to pay him the interest he’d be losing, plus a few hundred dollars for his trouble. She chuckled with glee. Tossing large sums of money around, even in her mind, was a novelty after stinting and saving most of her life.
How had her aunts managed to keep her inheritance a secret from her all these years? They were always strapped for money, counting every penny they’d spent on her college education and the house. Their tendency to complain about every unexpected expense made their restraint at not dropping so much as a hint even more astounding. But there must have been slip-ups, innuendoes.
Even engrossed as she was trying to recall past conversations and retorts made in anger, she couldn’t help but notice the blue car filling her rearview window. It wove drunkenly from one side of the two-lane road to the other.
Suddenly, it came bearing down on her, inches from her tail. Dummy, she thought. He has plenty of room to pass me. No one’s coming from the opposite direction.
She sighed with relief when the driver finally moved into the next lane. Still, he made no move to pass her. Obligingly, Erica hugged the shoulder of the road to give the moron more room. This was farm country. Large fields flanked both sides of the road, interspersed by an occasional house or restaurant. There wasn’t another car in sight except for the one still hanging on her tail.
Instead of zooming ahead as she expected, the idiot remained on the wrong side of the road, close behind. And now he was veering toward her!
Erica swung the Honda onto the narrow shoulder. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw the clump of evergreens coming up. If he pushed her any farther, she would crash into the trees!
The blue car drew abreast. The sun glittered on shiny, new paint. Desperately, Erica’s hand hit the horn, blaring her fear and outrage.
Someone! her mind screamed. Someone come and help me!
She glanced at the driver. Was he deaf? Drunk? For a moment, she doubted her own sanity. His window was down and a hysterical giggle rose in her throat when she saw the Darth Vader mask covering the man’s face. At least she assumed it was a man. What woman would—?
Erica cast another terrified glance to her left, and her gaze fixed on the small gun that appeared in the driver’s gloved hand.
“No!” she screamed. “What are you doing?”
Painfully, her hands gripped the wheel. The car began to buck as her right wheels ran off the shoulder. She braked and fell behind her assailant. She was so terrified, she couldn’t be sure if she heard a shot ring through the countryside or in her worst imaginings.
“Thank God,” she whispered as the blue car continued to move ahead.
But she wasn’t to escape so easily. Now it was slowing down. She knew if she stopped, as she desperately longed to do, and if there had been a shot, there was no chance he’d miss a second time.
Panting with fear, she stepped on the accelerator and forged past the blue car.
She was just beyond the clump of trees when she saw it—a narrow road, little more than a path, running through the overgrown fields.
The blue car was pressing on her tail again.
She braked, spun the steering wheel to the right, then corrected her overzealous gesture. The car shuddered. The tires squealed, but they held the dirt road. She heard the scream of the other car’s brakes, but it couldn’t slow down in time, and drove past the turnoff.
Clinging to the wheel, praying that she wouldn’t hear the roar of the other engine behind her, Erica continued down the road. It did not go very far, but swung sharply to the left before ending abruptly in front of a weather-beaten house only slightly bigger than a shack. A thin young woman in a shapeless dress was hanging up laundry on a rope stretched between two trees. At her feet, a curly-haired toddler dug with a twig in the earth. The woman observed Erica, then continued hanging up her clothes.
“Sorry,” Erica gasped.
He couldn’t hurt her now, not with a witness there.
She shut off the ignition. The full impact of the shock hit her, and she began to tremble. Someone had tried to kill her! Her head fell against the steering wheel. She stayed there with her eyes closed.
After a minute or two passed, she looked up. The young woman had stopped her work to stare at her. Erica took a deep breath to calm herself.
“Do you mind if I rest here a minute? Someone just tried to run me off the road.”
“Suit yourself,” the woman told her, returning to her wash.
Was running people off the road a usual occurrence around here?
The woman finished her basket of clothes, then gathered up the child and disappeared inside the house. She returned with a glass of water.
“Thanks.” Erica gulped down the cold spring water.
The simple acts of sipping and swallowing did much to soothe her. As did the realization that too much time had passed for the man to have followed her. There was always the danger that he was waiting for her at the start of the road, but she couldn’t stay here forever.
She handed back the glass, thanked the woman again, and started the car.
At the sharp bend in the road, Erica stopped and peered out, ready to reverse back to the house and scream for help, but the blue car was nowhere in sight. Minutes later, she ventured onto the main road and situated the Honda between a station wagon and a dusty pickup truck, a position she maintained all the way to East Hampton.
It was nearly three o’clock when she stopped in East Hampton to get a bite to eat. The two main streets were far from crowded, but there were enough people walking about, children riding bicycles or licking ice cream cones, to give her a feeling of safety. Her knees almost buckled under her as she stepped out of the car.
“It’s only because I’m light-headed from not eating since breakfast,” she told herself.
She was hungry and in desperate need of a break. Her neck ached from stretching it in all directions as she’d tried to steer clear of all blue vehicles. Blue, she was beginning to notice, was a very popular color for cars.
She found a cozy, near-empty restaurant and settled into a corner table. As she was finishing her shrimp salad sandwich, suddenly everything became clear. It must be that Sean or one of his cronies who had half-frightened her to death on the road. How dare they, she thought angrily. And why?
When the answer dawned on her, Erica burst out laughing, drawing a glare of disapproval from an elderly woman at a nearby table. They were using scare tactics! A Darth Vader mask. A gun shooting blanks. It had to be. No one in his right mind would put on that get-up and risk the chance of really shooting someone on a main road in broad daylight. And all in the service of forcing Terry to pay up.
Erica’s fear evaporated in light of the obvious. She decided to celebrate.
“I’ll have a piece of seven-layer cake,” she told the waitress, and ate every crumb of it.
Her own woman again, Erica stopped at the gourmet food shop up the street. Her wire basket was quickly filled with coffee, black bread, cheddar cheese, and milk. She spotted other favorites: English tea biscuits, apricot preserves, enormous strawberries—Terry loved strawberries—and something for dinner. She decided on two stuffed squabs, a cold pasta salad, and a freshly baked pecan pie. She noticed a few more items and bought them all. No need to watch my budget any longer, she reminded herself.
She hummed as she drove on her way. Aside from the unpleasant task of having to ask Jason to lend her the money, she felt as though she were on her way to a party.
Not that Jason was the party-going type. He was pretty much a loner, as was she. How she’d clung to him after her parents died and Missy was sent away! Jason had been the only person left she could talk to. His sharp insights had helped her make the best of an intolerable situation.
Too bad he couldn’t do the same for himself. His mother’s death had changed him, left him bitter and full of self-pity. Regina Hartley had adored her son. She had appreciated his quick intelligence and sensitive nature. For eighteen years, she’d been his gentle but secure buttress against a rougher, coarser world and a critical, sardonic father.
But, Erica thought as she approached Montauk, it was Sherman’s callous neglect and sudden marriage to Monica that had sent Jason over the edge. Made him lose interest in school and start popping pills. She’d never forget the night he’d almost overdosed. He’d come to the house and thrown pebbles at her window to get her attention.
“Are you crazy?” she’d called down, annoyed to have been awakened from a deep sleep. “It’s three o’clock.”
“Come down, Ricky. Come down and play.”
She hadn't liked the way his words slurred together, or his eerie, high-pitched giggle. She’d thrown on a bathrobe and raced downstairs.
Erica had been grateful both her aunts slept like the dead, or Jason might have joined the dead that night. Walking him around the kitchen was almost impossible. Jason was six foot, three, a foot taller than her. Somehow, she managed to get four cups of coffee down his throat, and hadn't minded cleaning up the vomit.
She’d practically had to drag him out to his car and drive him home—the two hundred year old house which Sherman and Monica had purchased soon after their wedding—and drive herself back in his car. She remembered sleeping until noon that day, waking to learn Jason had come earlier for his car. He’d avoided her for weeks after that. When he finally had come to visit her, just before going back to college, he didn’t mention that evening. He never had, in fact.
Nor did they ever speak about that other night when...
Erica shook her head vehemently. She didn’t want to think about that.
***
THOUGH MONTAUK HAD been spruced up since her last visit, to Erica, it was still a fisherman’s town with none of the Hamptons’ chic elegance. She liked it that way. She drove past the strip of motels fronting the ocean, the array of stores and shops. A few more miles, and she’d arrived.
The cottage stood on high ground, two blocks from the ocean. She never cared that she couldn’t see the water from her bedroom window because she could hear the waves breaking against the shore, a continuous, comforting sound that lulled her to sleep at night. The cottage was old and weather-beaten. Although the living/dining area was spacious and airy, the bedrooms were just large enough to hold a bed and a bureau with a tiny night table.
She had spent her childhood summers out here, digging in the sand, jumping in the surf, eating large, meaty lobsters that her father bought live, then boiled in a huge cauldron. The witch’s cauldron, she used to call it. How she loved the cottage when she was young. Sunny days were perfect and even rainy days were fine, as long as she had a good supply of comic books and Jason for company.
She parked on the gravel driveway, overgrown with crab grass. Scraggly bushes grew around the cottage. Wooden shutters, now gray and peeling, covered every window. Erica reached behind the old lilac bush, and scratched at the hard soil until she felt the metal box. With quivering fingers, she opened it and removed the key to the front door.
But the door was ajar!
She peered around the cottage. Parked behind the bedrooms and completely hidden from the road was a blue car.
She froze. Jason! I must get Jason. He'll help me! But the little path that led to the Hartley place was in full view of the front door. Maybe the person inside didn’t hear me drive up, she thought. Maybe I can manage to....
She turned the corner as the front door flew open.
“’Lo, Erica. Thought I heard you pull up.”
It was Joe Kolowsky, the fisherman-carpenter who had looked after the cottage for as long as she could remember.
“Joe.” She breathed rather than spoke his name. “How did you—I mean—who told you to come?”
“Sorry if I frightened you,” Joe drawled, pushing back the fisherman’s cap he wore summer and winter. He was a pale man with washed-out blue eyes. His khaki shirt and chinos did nothing to brighten him up. “Jason Hartley called me. Told me you’d be comin’ out, so I’m here to turn on the water and take down the shutters.”
Jason knew she was coming. There went her advantage of surprise.
Joe went to the back of the house and started removing the shutters. Erica tagged after him.
“Who told him I was coming out?” she asked.
“Beats me. He just said you’d be staying over a day or so.”
She felt a flush of annoyance. It must have been Sherman. But why? Had he told Jason her reason for coming, as well?
She carried the groceries inside. Damp, salty air filled her nostrils, stirring up old memories. She had dreamed so often about the cottage these past three years, her actual presence here seemed surreal. She wandered from room to room, looking, touching, reclaiming as she went.
Everything was clean and in order, if a bit shabby. The fabric on the living room couch was wearing thin in spots. The yellowing cotton bedspreads with their little pompoms were from another era. She put away the food and gave a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn’t found dead mice in the cupboard.
The house grew lighter as Joe removed the shutters and allowed sunlight to stream inside. Now it looked exactly as she remembered it—homey, bright, and cozy.
“I’m finished,” Joe announced when he was done. “Let the water run some. It’s been sitting in the pipes all these months.”
“Thanks, Joe. I appreciate your doing this.”
He turned to leave.
She was suddenly uncomfortable. She didn’t know if she should be paying him or not.
“Er—Joe? What do I owe you?”
He dismissed her offer with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry your head about it. Your Aunt Betty will be sending me money, beginning’ of May.”
She felt a rush of gratitude toward her aunts. Neither of them liked the cottage or visited it very often. They probably considered Joe’s caretaking an unnecessary and unwanted expense. As though reading her thoughts, he turned back again.
“Listen, Erica,” he poked his thumb above, “she’ll be needin’ a new roof. I told your Aunt Betty so more than once, but she looks at me like I’m an old worrywart. Too many shingles are beginnin’ to go. Once it starts leakin’, you’re in bad shape. See what you can do to convince her.”
“I will,” Erica said fervently. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thought you would,” he said calmly, and was gone.
Erica raced around, flinging open every window and door to rid the cottage of its stagnant air. No sign of the blue car, so it must have been Joe’s. Her heart thumped as she remembered the other blue car chasing her, threatening her. She took deep breaths and told herself she couldn’t think of it now. She needed to keep her wits about her to plan her next move.
She made herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room. She gazed out the window while she considered the best way to approach Jason. Should she ask him for the money straight out, assuming he already knew why she was here, or try to win his sympathy? She really had no idea what his financial situation was. If Sherman was giving him money as he claimed—
“Guess who.” Thin, bony fingers covered her glasses.
She jumped to her feet, fists flying.
"Hey!" Jason complained.
“Sorry. I just . . .” Annoyance and pleasure mingled as she hugged his long, reedy body.
“Thought I’d give you time to settle in, then come over, neighborly-like, bearing Scotch and ice.”
“That was kind of you.”
They went into the kitchen. Erica rinsed out some glasses, then watched him pour. Jason’s hair had darkened to a burnished auburn and was thinning at the crown. Perhaps to make up for the missing hair, he had grown a beard. The beard and his prominent nose gave him a Lincolnesque appearance. He had on well-worn jeans and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“What a wonderful surprise it is to see you!” Jason sounded cheerful. “I was sitting at my computer, facing a blank screen, when your Aunt Constance called and asked me to call Joe.”
“Aunt Constance?” She was surprised. “I thought it was your father who called.”
“My father?” His tone went sour. “Why the hell would he be calling? I’m not due for his charity check and lecture for another two weeks.” He followed her back to the living room.
As soon as they sat down, Erica jumped up. “I almost forgot. I have biscuits and cheese. I’ll put them out and we’ll have a party.”
She returned a few minutes later with a plateful of snacks. Her face was probably glowing. “It’s wonderful being out here. I’m just beginning to realize how much I’ve missed this place.”
“Have you missed me, too?” He looked at her, vulnerable, the way he used to look at his mother.
“Of course, I missed you,” she reassured him. “You’re very dear to me.”
But instead of gaining solace from her remark, he huddled over his drink and seemed to shrink in size. “I was just about to give up on this writing bit, tell myself, ‘well, kiddo, you’ve failed again,’ when your aunt called.”
She ignored his self-pity. “What are you working on?”
“A play. A damn good play, I thought. I had it all worked out in my head, so I decided to bring my new laptop out to Montauk and get it all down.”
“And?” she prompted.
He ran his fingers through his beard. “The first ten pages came easily. Then, a major problem cropped up. Every time I sit down and try to figure out how to handle it, I get distracted. I feel restless and nervous, and before I know it, I’m in the car heading for one of the Hamptons.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve seen the inside of almost every bar from here to Hampton Bays.”
“Do you see friends?” she asked. “Anyone would go bananas, living out here alone.”
“I drive into the city on weekends, but I guess you’re right. I’m thinking of packing up and leaving in a day or so. Staying out here wasn’t such a bright idea, after all. Mistake number 583.”
The new beard didn’t hide the grimace that accompanied his litany of self-disparagement. She knew Jason was begging her to contradict everything he’d just said. He wanted her to reassure him, to insist that he was bright and talented and capable of writing his play. Though she felt sympathy for her old friend, she had neither the time nor the patience just then to resume her role of supportive counselor. She took the plunge.
“I’m married, Jason.”
“Really?” Her news was startling enough to command his full attention. “What else have you been doing these past three years? I’ve often wondered where you were, abandoning me so cruelly and abruptly.” He gulped most of his drink.
For a moment, exasperation diverted her from the urgency that had brought her to Montauk. “I abandoned you? When I left Manordale, you were living in California with Gigi. Or was it Fifi? Besides, your father knew where I was. I had to tell him the name of my bank so he could send me my monthly allowance.”
“I asked him once, but he refused to tell me. Claimed it was privileged information. Privileged, my ass. The old prig! He’s only interested in his cow Monica, who’s getting fatter by the day. And his latest craze, collecting art. Can you imagine? That old philistine, who doesn’t have a cultured bone in his body, is suddenly spending thousands on art work. Says it’s a good investment. Hah!”
He stood suddenly and let out an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, Erica. Didn’t mean to give it to you with both barrels. Let me make it up to you. Come for dinner. Around six. Steaks and salad, and Portuguese vinho verde. I went to the market as soon as I heard you were coming.” He smiled, his face aglow with the innocent charm of his boyhood. “You’ll tell me all about your new life and your husband. I promise not to rant and rage about my father.”
She thought a moment. There wasn’t much chance that Terry, even if he was speeding as usual, would arrive before nine. And she could leave a note for him on the kitchen table telling him where she was.
“Fine, Jason. I’ll bring a pecan pie for dessert.” She swallowed her disappointment as she stood on her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. She would have to wait until after dinner to ask for the loan.
The Hartley cottage wasn’t really a cottage, but a suburban ranch with wall-to-wall carpeting and every conceivable appliance.
Jason was in good spirits as he swept Erica inside later. From his high coloring, she knew he’d already started on the wine. Still, he kept up a steady chatter as he turned the steaks, tossed the salad, poured the wine. Her old friend had the potential to be happy—and would be happy—if only he’d had a different father.
"Delicious," she said after tasting her steak.
"Thanks. Steak and salad are two things I manage to get right."
They ate in comfortable silence.
Jason cleared the dishes, then downed two slices of her pecan pie. Over coffee, Erica told him about her life upstate and how she’d met Terry.
“What’s he like?” Jason wanted to know. They were sitting across from each other on nubby white love seats.
“Tall, dark, and handsome. He rides a motorcycle. And he’s a gambler, it turns out.”
There was a mocking tone to his laughter. “Not exactly the kind of fellow I would have thought you’d marry.”
Hurt, she asked, “What kind of husband did you have in mind for me?”
“Oh.” He scratched his beard as he thought. “Maybe an accountant. Or an engineer.”
“Someone safe and steady. That’s what I would have imagined.” She took a deep breath, thinking it was now or never. “Jason, I need money. A lot of money, and I need it right away.”
“Well, don’t look at me, Erica,” Jason said, aggrieved. “I’m virtually living off of good ole Sherman.”
“What about the money your mother left you?” she persisted. “You can’t tell me it’s all gone.”
A cunning expression crossed his face. “No, for once I did something smart. After my business went bust in California, I worked something out with my father. He takes care of me as long as I behave. No scenes, no turning up at the office. And a few other arrangements I refrain from mentioning.”
“How much is left of your inheritance? Ten thousand? Twenty?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Maybe. But I can’t lend you ten or twenty thousand dollars, Erica. You know that. Besides, what do you need all that money for?”
“It’s for Terry. A gambling debt.”
He sprung to his feet. “No! Absolutely not! I know those debts. They grow bigger and bigger. They never end.”
She stood, glaring at him as the emotional assaults she'd suffered in the past few days took their toll.
“I need that money, Jason. Saturday, two goons came to tell me Terry had better get the money together or else. I don’t know what they plan to do if they don’t get paid, and I don’t want to find out. Today, they tried to scare me by driving me off the road. They even shot at me.”
It sounded ominous to her own ears. And melodramatic.
He laughed in disbelief. “Come off it, Erica. They wouldn’t come after you.”
“Oh, wouldn’t they? Terry gave them the impression I have money. I tell you, they’re trying to scare me!” She reached up and gripped him by the shoulders. “And you’re my last hope, Jason. My only hope. Your father was no help.”
“What’s so surprising about that?”
“Plenty, considering he knows I come into a large inheritance on my birthday. We’re talking about over twenty million dollars.”
His eyes practically bugged out of his head. “Come on. You don’t have to make up stories to me.”
“Go call your father if you think I’m making it up. I can pay you back in less than three weeks with a few hundred dollars interest. Please, Jason, you’re the only person who can help me.”
“Is that so?” He spit out the words as he threw himself down on the sofa. “After not hearing from you in three years, suddenly you’ve tracked me down to ask me to lend you twenty thou. It’s too much to expect of anyone.”
She was frantic. She’d never considered the possibility that Jason wouldn’t want to help her.
“But you sure as hell expected plenty from me,” she said wildly. “And I’m not even talking about the time I saved your life. I mean, when you came running to me after you hit that woman on the turnpike. Or did you forget?”
His face turned white. “I sent her money,” he mumbled.
“Sure, you did,” she jeered. “After I threatened to tell your father if you didn’t.”
“But she’s all right,” he said petulantly. “You know I called the hospital every day, said I was her nephew. She was out in days. Good as new.”
“Lucky for her. And lucky for you, there were no witnesses.” She paused, hating herself for what she was about to say. “I wonder what your father would do if he found out you nearly killed someone while you were stoned.”
“Erica! You wouldn’t!” His voice quivered with self-pity.
“I don’t know what I’ll do or how far I’ll go if I have to. I only know I need that money. I’ll pay you back. I swear, I will, and give you five hundred dollars besides.”
“All right, all right. It’s yours. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” He kept his eyes averted. “Only, for God’s sake, don’t say anything to my father. He’ll cut me off without a cent.”
She rummaged through her pocketbook for her cell phone and Sean’s card. Her heart was thumping.
“I need to call someone.” She went into the kitchen for privacy. A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello. I’d like to speak to Sean, please.”
The woman laughed, sounding amused. “You would, would you? Who is this?”
“Erica Parker,” she said, feeling foolish. “Is he there?”
“Nope.”
“I need to leave a message.”
“Be my guest, hon.”
“Tell him I have the money.”
“You have the money,” the woman repeated, making it sound like a joke.
Erica bridled at the woman’s flippancy. “The money my husband Terry owes. Tell him I’ll have it tomorrow.”
“Sure, hon.” She hung up before Erica could say anything else.
Erica returned to the living room. “I better go. Terry may come out to the cottage tonight. He’ll worry if he sees the car and I’m not there.”
“Want me to come over and keep you company for a while?” Jason’s tone had swung full circle, to that of a puppy who’d just soiled the carpet and would do anything to get back into his mistress’s good graces.
“No thanks, Jason. I’m really tired after the trip and the news, and that incident on the road. See you in the morning.”
She left the outside light on, and hoped Terry would be able to find the cottage in the dark. She felt a sudden stab of longing for her husband. She yearned to hold him close. Breathe in his familiar scent. Make love with him.
She climbed into bed, intending to read and wait up for him, but her eyes refused to stay open. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, imagining Terry’s expression of delight when she told him she’d raised the money as she’d promised.
For once, everything was working out fine.