Bad Desire (36 page)

“No, it didn't come from here,” the jeweler on Bank Street told him the next day. “But this is a fine diamond. It's old, the color's very good, clarity's excellent. It measures almost two karats; there's a small chip in the back, but it's still worth close to eight thousand. What else would you like to know?”

“Who'd wear a diamond like this?” Reeves asked. “An older woman?”

The jeweler handed the stone back to him. “If I had to guess, I'd say it's a man's, probably from a man's ring. The square cut's not that common. Of course, it could've come from anything, but it would be ideal for a man's ring.”

In store after store, he was given much the same information. It wasn't until he went into Muller's Estate & Antique Jewelry to see Andy Muller that he got lucky.

“You know who used to have a diamond like this?” Muller asked him. “Mayor Slater.”

“Henry Slater?”

“Yeah. I remember his wife bringing in a ring to be cleaned and reset. I'm sure she did.”
That's right! Henry does wear a diamond ring
. “It's because of this chip on the back that I remember it,” Mullen continued. “If it wasn't for that chip, it—”

“Do you have a record of that?” Reeves asked.
Why didn't he just tell me it was his diamond?

“Maybe—but that was two or three years ago. Let me check my files.”

Muller went to his offices in back and, minutes later, returned with a yellowed piece of paper, which he handed over to Reeves. It was the carbon copy of a sales receipt showing an August date from nearly three years ago, an amount of sixty-seven dollars marked Paid In Full. Then Muller showed him the signed claim check with the same series of numbers. Scrawled across the bottom was the signature:
Faith Slater
.

“That's all we would have,” the jeweler said. “I'm afraid it doesn't tell you much.”

“Let me hang on to these,” Reeves said him.

“What's this all about, Chief?”

“It's probably nothing,” Reeves said, half believing it himself, as he went out.

26

On the outside, Faith was cool discipline; inside, she was churning rage. She drove Sheila to Monterey that Wednesday morning, her body aching with hate. Again, she was graciousness itself, but the distrust still lingered in the girl's blue eyes.

Through the afternoon they wandered in and out of the galleries, the gourmet cooking shops, the wine bars, the exclusive boutiques. Faith watched as the girl went among the racks of expensive clothing; she saw Sheila's thin, tapered fingers glide over the linens and cashmeres, the hesitations, the pouts, the frowns of indecision, the desire. Faith couldn't help but notice the stylish jacket Sheila was wearing, the gold bracelet and earrings, the designer sunglasses. You little tramp. I'll bet Henry sees to all of this. He's taking care of you now.

Oh, Rachel, didn't you know what was growing up under your roof? The girl was gorgeous; she drew mens' eyes everywhere she went. Faith was sick with envy. How can I ever compete with her? I'm forty-two years old. No matter what I do, I can't compete. I hate what you've done with all my soul, she thought.
I could kill you for this
. The realization was staggering. And frightful. My God, what's happening to me? Only days had passed and life with her husband was at a standstill. Faith found herself making plans that didn't include him. They ate their meals in silence—when he was home at all—and she took sleeping pills to avoid his touch at night.

This is ruining my life. This affair has got to end.

Dusk had settled in by the time they got back to Rachel's house.

“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Slater,” Sheila said.

Faith realized she had to be careful. She was sure that Henry was seeing the girl almost every day now. “I think maybe we should pretend this little outing never happened.” She raised a warning finger. “I'm not sure Henry would approve if he knew. He's against my showing any favoritism, and he might get angry with me.”

They looked at each other with perfect understanding.

“Sheila … I just wanted you to know that he'll never find out about this from me.”

Faith searched the girl's face for a clue to her feelings, but she saw only a mask of politeness. “Call me if there's anything you need,” she said with a smile. “Anything at all. I'll come by in a day or so to see how you're getting along.”

Day after day the thought of her husband making love to Sheila Bonner consumed her, and at night visions of them together tormented her dreams. Who are you? Faith constantly found herself thinking. You're like a neglected child; you belong to no one; you have no home. Why did you have to bring your chaos into my life?

Now the everyday pleasures of living eluded her. She seldom laughed anymore; she had lost her appetite, and there was something almost violent in the way she tore through her daily chores. Driven by bitterness and pain, she completely immersed herself in the rhythm of Sheila Bonner's world: how the girl dressed, her friends, where she shopped, how she spent her time away from Henry.
I'll know you in ways he never will and then …

Two days later, Faith followed the two girls in the white Karmann Ghia downtown to Concepción Avenue. Keeping a safe distance behind them, she made her way through the afternoon shoppers to Marcella's, her favorite boutique. How could the little bitch afford to shop here? But, of course. She knew.
Henry
.

Grabbing a dress in her size from the rack, Faith headed for the dressing room. She had seen Sheila and the McPhearson girl disappear behind the curtains just as she came in. But she wasn't prepared. She couldn't have been.

Sheila was standing there, the door to her cubicle wide open. She was wearing her pantyhose, nothing more, and the sight of her body was overpowering. Faith tried to keep up a false smile to hide her shock. “Why Sheila—what a surprise!”

Don't look at her! Keep your eyes on her eyes.

“Faith! What're you doing here?” The girl snatched up her T-shirt and covered herself.

“The same sinful thing as you are, I imagine,” Faith said, concealing a jealousy so monstrous that she couldn't bear to look at her any longer. “Is this your friend?”

“Oh, you know Mary McPhearson, don't you, Mrs. Slater? I stayed with her for a while after the funeral.”

“Yes, of course, I remember,” Faith said. “It's nice to see you again under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Hi,” said Mary. “Excuse me, though, Mrs. Slater, I was just going to try on some shoes.”

When Faith turned again to Sheila, the girl had slipped on a dress of rough amber silk and was struggling with the zipper. “Here,” Faith said, dropping her things on a chair, “let me.” Wrestling with the unbidden images of her husband's hands on this body, she set the hook and eye. Faith could still see them through the farmhouse window, his hands all over her, as she adjusted the material squarely on Sheila's shoulders.
Stop it! Oh, stop it!
With a light touch under the chin, she tipped the golden head toward the mirror. “There. Take a look at yourself.”

The girl's eyes sought her own reflection; Faith watched as a tiny knowing smile of approval played at the corners of Sheila's mouth.

Forgive me Rachel, but you see what I must do. I can't let this go on. Some things were never meant to happen.

“I only wish your grandmother was here to see how lovely you look.”

Pain, like a blow, flew into the girl's face.

“But I'm here now,” Faith said. “Let this dress be my gift to you. I know Rachel would want you to have it.”

Faith gauged her visits to the Buchanan house with care. Every two days or so she would appear to help Sheila pack, bring little gifts, offer encouraging advice or simple conversation, reassurance that this difficult time in the girl's life would pass. How she loathed the perfect body, the unblemished skin, the astonishing blond hair. Her resolve burned: she would turn Sheila Bonner to
her
.

It was Tuesday morning when the call came from Burris Reeves's office. Faith was again at the house, tagging boxes for Sheila in the dining room.

“Mr. Reeves wants to see me again,” Sheila told her. “Right away; this afternoon.”

The girl's face was white with dread.

“But whatever for?”

“I don't know. I don't know. They just said a few more questions.”

Faith could see the fear, the shrinking uncertainty in her eyes. She said, “Of course I'll drive you there, darling. You can't go alone!”

But it was alone that Sheila walked through the glass-paneled door next to the police chief's office. In the reception area Faith bought a cup of coffee at the coffee machine. She couldn't sit still. Pacing in the hall outside the glass door, wondering what more the police could want with Sheila, she lifted the paper cup and sipped the coffee, feeling it burn the inside of her mouth and her throat when she swallowed.

Through the glass, she could see Sheila sitting through the interrogation. There were three officers in the room with her; Faith caught a glimpse of Reeves, sitting on the edge of the table, his heavy body leaning toward Sheila, his face filled with sympathy. Henry had told her about Reeves. A snake, he had said, slithery as hell.

But not so slithery as you, my darling, she thought bitterly.

The sound of the door opening forced Faith to return to the moment at hand. Now Sheila was at her side, the girl's face filled with horror and grief. Instinctively, Faith put her arm around her and just as naturally Sheila allowed her body to sag against her.
At last
.

Faith led her gently up the stairs through the vestibule, into the sunlight. “Are you all right?”

Finally Sheila said, “They had to show me some pictures. They said maybe something was moved between the time I came … I came home that morning and when the photographers came.” She seemed stunned. “And it brought everything back.”

On the way to the house, they were quiet. Sheila sat staring out the window, biting her lips, fighting, Faith saw, to keep control of her emotions. They were on Canyon Valley Drive before Faith said, “Sheila, is there anything I can do? Was it so terrible? Can't I help you?”

“You've been so nice to me; you're always there. But you don't know me. You don't!” Sheila shook her head. “I've done a lot of things I'm ashamed of, Mrs. Slater. I keep thinking about my Gramma. I've been selfish. Believe me, if you only knew, you wouldn't stick around.”

“But you're wrong!” Faith protested. My God! Is she going to tell me?

Suddenly, Sheila reached out and grasped Faith's hand, and for a moment the strong young fingers clung to her gratefully. “No, I'm not,” she whispered.

She got out of the car abruptly. “I've just got to be alone for now,” she said, and fled up the walk into the house. Faith watched as the door closed behind her. All right, Faith thought, all right now; let it be.

She's about to fold in spite of herself, Faith thought while driving home. When she walked through her living room minutes later, her back was straighter than it had been in weeks. She hadn't expected Henry to be home, and he wasn't. She could never forget that he ran to meet the girl every chance he had. The truth was still scalding. For all I know they could be together right now. Well, Henry would find it rough going with her on this day.

Her charade with Sheila had worn her out. Faith took off her suit and blouse, stepped out of her navy crocodile pumps, whisked off her underclothes. Wrapped in a thick, white, terry cloth robe, she threw a few scented beads into the tub and started a hot bath. The room immediately filled with a cleansing fragrance.

At her vanity, while taking off her makeup, Faith began to formulate her plan. Tomorrow at eleven she had a brunch, and then at one-thirty, Nancy had reserved a court at the club. Back here by midafternoon. She slid the silver tray to the side and there it was: the two ripped pieces of Rachel's letter. She could feel Rachel's words fueling her rage, the fine mean taste of her wrath between her teeth. Faith stood and stalked up and down the room, striving to work off her tension. Stop by to see Sheila again the day after, maybe for morning coffee. Good, she thought.

When the tub was more than half full, Faith lay back in her bath, the steaming ripples lapping her body. The girl would never be able to bear this burden for long; today was proof of that. One day soon she would need someone—someone she could trust absolutely. Someone older. Who would she want to run to? Henry? No, there were some things even he couldn't fix. The girl needed a mother. Suddenly Faith felt elated, icily certain that when the moment was right, Sheila Bonner would finally come to her.

27

“When do you expect her?” Reeves asked the maid.

“Mrs. Slater tells me if anybody calls, she be home very soon.”

“Then, if you don't mind, I'll wait on the veranda.”

That had been twenty-five minutes ago. Why hadn't Henry said it was his diamond? Listening to the late-afternoon silence, Reeves wondered what Faith Slater knew. Well, it's time I found out. Before long, he heard a car coming and the red Mazda swooped down the driveway; it stopped beside his cruiser, and Faith's long legs swung out on the driver's side.

Reeves watched her close the car door and come up the walk, her eyes riveted on the police cruiser. With every step, she moved slower until, within a few yards of the entryway, she stopped, clasping her purse in her arms. She looked right and left, then, through a gap in the bougainvillaea, the police chief's eyes met hers.

A smile of recognition blazed over her face, although it only highlighted the anxiety that quickly overtook her. “What is it?” she asked. “Has something happened?” She stepped up on the veranda toward him.

“No, nothing like that, nothing disastrous,” Reeves said, keeping the file folder in his left hand. “Mrs. Slater, I don't believe we've ever actually gotten to know one another—I'm Burris Reeves.”