The Midnight Tour (49 page)

A smile spread across Warren’s face. “As in
Friar Tuck?
Robin Hood and his merry men?”

“As in a lot of stuff. It’s short for Tucker. I’ve always called her Tuck, but she didn’t want me to say it around any of you guys.”

“Why not? I think it’s cute.”

“She used to have trouble with people making fun of it. A lot of trouble. It rhymes with a certain something.”

“That might cause problems.”

“Maybe you could pretend I never said it.”

“I suppose that’s possible. What’ll you give me to keep my mouth shut?”

“What do you want?” Dana asked.

He glanced at her lips.

Here we go again, she thought as her heart quickened its pounding.

“Could I try on your lipstick?” he asked.

NO!!!

She supposed her shock must’ve showed.

Smiling, Warren said, “Plant it on me with your mouth.”

Chapter Thirty-six

SANDY’S STORY—July, 1992

She
couldn ’t
wait two weeks.

She couldn’t wait two days.

She could barely last overnight, tossing and turning in her bed, her mind in a turmoil, her body feverish as she wondered and hoped and worried.

In the morning, she woke up naked under her twisted sheet.

She was surprised to realize that she must’ve been asleep. Raising her head and looking down at herself, she had to smile.

Just like
The Sleeper.
But sweaty and messy, skin flushed, creased here and there from wrinkles in the sheets.

Not a pretty sight, she thought. Good thing Terry can’t see me now.

But she suddenly wished that he
could
. Wished he were here in the room with her right this minute.

I could be at his place in a couple of hours.

The notion shocked her with its urgency.

Why not!

She squirmed and stretched on the bed, then climbed off.

Her nightgown was on the floor. She vaguely remembered sitting up in the middle of the night, breathless and soaked with sweat, pulling the nightgown up over her head and throwing it aside.

She picked it up. It still felt damp.

At the sound of a grunt, she turned her head and saw Eric standing in the bedroom doorway. He smiled and raised a hand.

“Morning there, hotshot,” she said. “I picked up something special for breakfast yesterday. You want to hang around for it? I’ll just be a few minutes. I have to take a shower.”

He nodded. But he stayed in the doorway, staring at her.

“What?” she asked.

With a shrug, he turned around and wandered away.

She tossed her nightgown into the hamper, then headed for the bathroom.

Why did he look at me that way? she wondered.

She glanced down at herself.

Sure, she was naked. But that was nothing new. She often went around without anything on, and Eric himself
never
wore clothes. It had always been that way. It seemed perfectly natural.

So why did be stare at me like that?

Maybe I
do
look different, she thought. She entered the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror. Her smoothly tanned skin had a more rosy look than usual. She must’ve picked up a little too much sun yesterday in spite of her sun block. That happened fairly often, but...

Was Eric suspicious?

Maybe he noticed the extra color and didn’t understand how she managed to get it while buying groceries.

Or was it something else?

Could he tell, by looking, that she’d met Terry yesterday and...?

She swept the shower curtain aside and found blood stains in the tub.

“Eric!” she yelled. “Get in here!”

He showed up quickly and offered a nervous smile.

“What’s this?” Sandy pointed into the tub.

Eric groaned.

“How many times have I asked you to clean out the tub after you’re done?
Especially
after you’ve slaughtered some damn thing?”

Looking miserable, he shrugged.

“I mean,
man!
Don’t you think it’s high time for you to start cleaning up your
own
messes? You’re
thirteen!
I’ve got better things to do than waste my whole life cleaning
up
after you!”

Eric whimpered and lowered his head.

Something seemed to crumble inside Sandy. “Oh,” she said. “Hey.” She hurried over to him, wrapped her arms around him and drew him against her. “I’m sorry,” she said. She gently stroked his back. “I’m sorry, honey. Mommy shouldn’t have yelled at you. Okay?”

He pressed his face against the side of her neck.

“Better?” she asked.

He sighed.

“I don’t like it when I have to yell at you, honey. But you need to learn to start cleaning up after yourself. You’re getting to be a big boy, you know? I don’t want people saying my big fellow’s a slob.”

The way he started to jiggle, Sandy knew he must be laughing. He
did
seem to understand so much. If only he could talk...

“You all better now?” she asked.

He sniffed and nodded.

“I’ll take care of the mess this time,” she told him. “But from now on, I want you to make a little more effort to clean up after yourself. Is it a deal?”

He grunted and nodded some more.

“Okay, then,” Sandy said.

She let go of him, but he still clung to her. “Okay if I take my shower now?”

He shook his head.

“What do you want?”

His hands began moving in big circles over her back, the way he did when he soaped her.

“Okay,” Sandy said. “You can come in with me. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

In the shower, they stood together under the hot spray.

Eric soaped her first, rubbing the slippery bar all over her body. Then she did the same for him.

After they’d rinsed all the soap off their bodies, Sandy shut off the water and Eric slid open the shower curtain. They climbed out. Eric handed a towel to her.

As she dried herself, Sandy said, “I need to go back into town this morning.”

Eric furrowed his brow.

“I know. I hate to leave you again so soon. I really should’ve taken care of this yesterday, but I sort of ran out of time.”

Not exactly a lie, she told herself.

Eric didn’t look pleased.

“Oh, don’t give me the sourpuss routine. Why does it even
matter
if I leave? You’re never around, anyway. And it’s not as if you’ll let me come with you. What am I supposed to do, just hang around the house all day and
be here
in case you happen to drop in?”

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.

“Ask me if I mind.”