Sex in a Sidecar (29 page)

Thanksgiving was over. Christmas came and went…New Year's too, but the festivities hadn't lightened my fears, hadn't shielded me from panic if darkness came and Clay wasn't home. Time and celebrations hadn't stopped me from needing human company every hour of the day and night. And there were new nightmares among those of being lost, of wind and the rain pounding and blood dripping into water. Nightmares of being tied and helpless while huge, peeling hands reached for me.

The carpenters, electricians and a dozen other trades had moved in and out of the Sunset. It smelled of new paint and carpet but I missed that rich smell of perfume and old leather. That would never come back but the Sunset was pretty much its old self thanks to Clay, and outside a huge banner across the front announced the re-opening date coming in three days' time. And it was ours. Well, ours and the bank's. If debt was a measure of wealth, I was a very rich woman.

I stood in the dark of the restaurant looking out past the speeding cars to the beach and the gulf beyond to where the last vivid rays of the sun slowly faded. Reds and oranges: blood and pain.

Clay came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Well, what do you think?” “It looks the same,” I told him, “but it isn't.” He bent to put his cheek along mine. “ Give it time.” He rocked me gently. “When people come back and start telling you all their problems, when you start eavesdropping…” I turned to him. “What are you talking about?” “You can't lie to me, Travis, you've got beer jugs for ears. You listen in on every conversation and you know everything that's going on in this town.” He tapped the end of my nose with his finger. “You like knowing.” He wrapped me back in his arms. “All that will come back and when all your friends are going in and out, it'll feel like home again.”

Home. Home is where the love is. He was right about one thing: the Sunset had always felt like home to me.

But I was still anxious. “I worry about what I've got you into, all the money. What if I can't run this place?”

“You've been running this place for years no matter whose name was on the lease. You're just a naturally bossy woman.” I tried to turn on him but he held me tight.

“Don't worry.” He kissed my neck. “This place will be fine. You're going to be fine too.”

I snorted my disgust. “I can't sleep and I'm still afraid. That's fine?” “Give it time.”

“What if that fear never goes away? What if I always have these nightmares?”

“Then we'll learn to live with it.”

Someone pounded on the door. “Shit,” Clay said, “can't people read?” He released me and went out to the foyer.

I turned back to the dying sun. “But how do you learn to live with fear?” I whispered to my reflection in the darkening glass. Over the horizon the sun gave off one last flash of crimson, fighting against the night.

The sound of Styles' voice pulled me away from my dark thoughts. The old neat, buttoned-up Styles entered the dining room, all weakness and uncertainty gone. Crisp and well groomed, his even features showed nothing but quiet confidence.

We went to the bar and did the small talk thing, and then Styles said, “I really came to tell you that Cathers wrote you a letter.”

A punch in the gut. “I don't want it.” I didn't want Lester reaching out to me in any way, didn't want any connection. “Burn it.”

“Don't worry. I didn't bring it. The district attorney is keeping it for evidence. Cathers was his grandparents' name, the name he used in New York State. He used his mother's name in North Carolina. That's why we didn't have him on the list of suspects.”

“Why did he write to me?”

“Guess he wanted to explain to someone. Like it or not he feels some link to you.” “That's what scares me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet.

I fought back the terror. “You read the letter?” “Sure. That's how it is. We open outgoing mail.” His mouth turned up. “Remember that if you're ever arrested.”

Given our past history Styles probably expected me to need this piece of advice.

“The sick bastard wouldn't say boo to us but he spilled his guts to you. Seems there were other women he's killed. We'll find them. And we'll use this letter as evidence to convict him. It's a watertight confession.”

I shivered and wrapped my arms around my chest. “He'll think I betrayed him.” Clay slipped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me tight against his side.

“Don't worry,” Styles said. “He'll likely be executed. At the very least he'll get life but one thing's for certain, he's never going to get out, never going to get close to you again.”

“They do get out…murderers I mean. You read about it all the time.”

Clay's hand tightened on my shoulder.

Styles leaned forward. “It's not going to happen. And if it did, if by some fluke he got out, he's never going to get near you. He's a dead man. Promise.”

Styles meant it. Tears welled up in my eyes. I gave him a little nod, the best I could manage. I'd be as safe as anyone could hope to be. The fear thing was something I was just going to have to learn to handle. “Let's have a drink,” I said.

THE END