Where Dreams Begin (4 page)

Beverly Snodgrass wore a cloying perfume that made Catherine sneeze, and as they entered the sanctuary, she moved to avoid the annoying scent. Purposely lagging behind, she paused to study a remarkably beautiful stained glass window.

The pews had been removed from the large rectangular room, and Luke walked to the center before turning to face the new volunteers. “I hate to disappoint you, Mrs. Brooks, but the windows aren’t on today’s agenda. Before you leave, ask Pam for a pamphlet detailing their history and subject matter. You’re sure to find it fascinating.”

Embarrassed by his continual scolding, Catherine hurriedly caught up with the others. Then she had to stifle another sneeze. “I’m sorry. Did I miss something important?”

“Not yet. As I explained earlier, Lost Angel has no religious affiliation, but we’ve found the kids are far more comfortable using the hall where we serve meals for filling out job applications, playing cards and board games. So we’ve reserved this space for counseling. Perhaps it’s merely the high ceiling and stained glass windows, but I’ve found even the most defensive kids are remarkably candid when we meet in here.”

Beverly glanced toward the high exposed beams. “Yeah, it is kinda creepy.”

Ron nudged Catherine with his elbow, but she couldn’t believe Beverly had misunderstood Luke’s meaning. “I imagine the stillness and subdued light naturally inspire trust,” she offered for Beverly’s benefit.

“Precisely,” Luke agreed. “Now let’s go out front, and we’ll return to the office that way.”

As they moved through the heavy double doors and stepped out into the sun, the kids lounging on the steps turned to look up at them. Catherine instantly recognized the girl with the cat and decided the poor animal looked no better fed than when she’d last seen him. There were several boys in the baggy shorts, over-sized hockey shirts and baseball caps worn backward that were popular everywhere. One such kid was out on the walk practicing stunts on a skateboard. That someone so young would even try to live on his own broke her heart.

“I like your boots,” a girl called out. Her long blonde hair was covered by a denim hat with a rolled brim. She was wearing purple high-topped basketball shoes with her faded print dress and hugged a backpack stuffed with her belongings.

“I like your shoes too,” Catherine replied.

“Want to trade?” the girl asked.

Catherine laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, this is my favorite pair.”

Catherine threaded her way between the kids seated on the steps with the same graceful ease she strolled through her garden, while Beverly Snodgrass and Ron Flanders moved to the far right to walk where the way was clear.

“Hey, Luke.” The boy with the skateboard came walking toward them. “You think we’d get a reward if we found out who killed Felix Mendoza?”

“I doubt anyone has offered one, Nick. It’s only when someone the community admires is killed that the family, or his friends, put up a reward.”

“Damn,” Nick swore, and he dropped his skateboard, hopped on and spun around in an agile turn.

“Do you know something?” Luke pressed. “If you do, come inside with me now, and we’ll call the police.”

The teenagers gathered on the steps responded with a chorus of howls. “He won’t have to give his name,” Luke admonished the noisy crowd, “but it’s important to provide clues.”

“Why?” Tina Stassy asked. “We all know what Felix was after, and it’s about time he got what was coming to him.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Luke admitted, “but if any of you saw or heard anything significant, please let me know. I’ll pass it along to the police.”

Luke gestured for his volunteers to follow him, and they made their way around the hall and past what had once been a wide, green lawn. Dave Curtis was out working on the sprinklers, and he waved to them before turning them on to produce a varied mixture of sputtering sprays and one immense geyser.

“Do you think we could call this mess dancing waters and sell tickets?” Dave called to them.

“No way. Shut it off,” Luke ordered.

“He just needs a couple of new sprinkler heads,” Ron offered. “Do you mind if I give him a hand?”

“Not at all. The yard’s too small for a real soccer game, but it would be great if the kids had a lawn were they could kick a ball around.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ron replied, and he broke into a slow, loping jog to join Dave.

Now accompanied by only Beverly and Catherine, Luke returned to the office. “Whether you can volunteer a couple of hours a month or a couple of days a week, you need to set up a schedule and let us know whenever you’re unable to come in on your regular day. Pam will help you with that. Thanks for coming in today, and I hope to see you both often.”

Luke’s handshake was firm but brief. When he quickly broke eye contact, Catherine felt certain he’d made the same parting comment to all the volunteers, but Beverly positively beamed as though his words had been meant for her alone.

When Luke entered his office and closed the door, Beverly hurriedly checked her watch. “I’ve got a nail appointment, so I can’t stay today, but what about Friday afternoon? Would that be a good time to come in?” she asked.

Pam checked the master schedule posted on the wall by the door. “Friday is actually pretty light, so the afternoon would be fine.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. Catherine, was it? Maybe I’ll see you then too.”

“Possibly,” Catherine replied.

Pam waited until Beverly had closed the door on her way out, and then whispered, “What happened to the others? Luke always manages to discourage a couple, but this is the first time he’s begun a training session with seven volunteers and ended with only two.”

Catherine quickly reassured Pam that only the Tubergens had dropped out, and that the others were still at work on the premises. “I’d like to stay a while longer today if I may. There’s a mountain of clothes to sort. Could I ask some of the kids to help me?”

Pam shook her head. “We’ve tried that, but they tend to work just long enough to find whatever it is they need and then leave, so not much progress is made.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then broke into a delighted smile. “I’m way behind on the mail.” She reached behind her desk to pick up a cardboard banker’s box and carried it over to the second desk.

“When the mail arrives, I sort it into bills we have to pay and stuff addressed to kids, because we want them to be able to follow up quickly on job applications, but the other letters just land in here until someone has time to sort them and post the flyers in the hall. Use this desk and see what you find. Some parents send out dozens of flyers, and we try and post the new ones every week.

“Stop whenever you get tired, or take a break for lunch and come back if you like. We’re real flexible here.” Pam lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “At least I am, but don’t you dare tell Luke I said that.”

Catherine doubted she and Luke would ever exchange any such teasing confidences. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” she promised.

She slid into the chair at the desk, reached for the first letter and used a pair of scissors from the desk drawer to slit it open. Just as Pam had predicted, it contained a flyer of a teenage boy described as a runaway, and she set it aside to post. She’d noticed the bank of colorful flyers in the hall where the meals were served but hadn’t been close enough to recognize what they were.

“Do many kids find themselves on a flyer and call home?” she asked.

“I haven’t kept track, but every once in a while someone does. It’s not nearly often enough, though.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Not quite two years. I was Luke’s secretary at UCLA, and when he left the Psychology Department to come here, I came with him.”

Catherine slit open another flyer and found a smiling girl with braces on her teeth. “He left UCLA for Lost Angel? Wasn’t that an unlikely career move?”

“I’ll say.” Pam checked Luke’s door and again lowered her voice. “It was more of a mission. Luke’s sixteen-year-old daughter committed suicide. The day after Marcy was buried, he walked off the UCLA campus and never went back.”

That awful news hit Catherine with the force of a tightly clenched fist, and the envelope she’d been about to open fluttered to the floor. She’d found Luke short-tempered and rude, but now she understood why his anger ran so deep. Ashamed for having misjudged him, she brushed away a tear and bent to retrieve the letter.

“I can’t think of anything worse than losing a child,” she murmured.

“It was a terrible shame. Marcy was such a terrific kid, but her boyfriend broke up with her just before the prom, and she took a handful of her mother’s sleeping pills. Maybe she just meant to scare her boyfriend, but she didn’t wake up. That was the end of Luke’s marriage too.”

Pam turned back to the figures she’d been entering into her computer. “How did we ever get on such a distressing subject?”

Catherine felt sick. She’d had no idea that Luke had suffered such a tragic loss, and she now felt a kinship she hadn’t even dreamed they might share. Her curiosity numbed, she kept opening letters and stacking up flyers until Pam left for lunch. Then she went to Luke’s door and knocked lightly. Once he’d invited her inside, she rushed through a clumsy apology.

“The other day, I made some stupid remark about your playing martyr, and I’m sincerely sorry.”

Luke gestured toward the chair opposite his desk and waited for her to sit. “That wasn’t one of my best days, either, so let’s just say we’ve exchanged apologies and forget it. Now, tell me the truth. Was I too rough on the Tubergens?”

His charming grin caught Catherine completely off guard, and she could scarcely believe she was talking with the same man. The silver tint to his hair made him appear older, but now that he wore a relaxed smile, she doubted he was forty. Thoroughly distracted, she tried to recall what he’d asked, then wasn’t certain how to reply.

“Perhaps rough is too strong a word.”

“Pick another, then. You’ve taught English, so your vocabulary has to be extensive. How would you describe me?”

Arrogant
,
opinionated
and
dictatorial
swiftly came to mind, but Catherine had come to apologize rather than insult him anew. “I’m not sure where to begin,” she hedged.

Luke left his chair and came around to lean against the front of his desk. “Look, I know I was less than cordial when you came in to interview, but I’ve spoken with too many other lovely, well‑educated women who hope to volunteer between tennis games and luncheon dates. They usually bail on us before the month is out. I was thinking of them, and that was totally unfair to you.”

His obvious sincerity only served to increase Catherine’s discomfort, and unable to remain seated, she left her chair and circled it to create a safe barrier between them. “I’ll agree your tone was a bit sarcastic, but I misjudged you too. My only excuse is that I was unaware of your situation.”

Luke’s dark brows dipped slightly. “And just what situation is that, Mrs. Brooks?”

Now that Catherine had had the opportunity to see him with more than a thoughtful or threatening frown, she could appreciate how remarkably expressive his face truly was. At present, he looked puzzled, but she feared she was treading upon dangerous ground and licked her lips nervously.

“I was referring to the loss of your daughter.”

Luke crossed his arms over his chest and again allowed a caustic edge to sear his words. “You must have found Pam in a talkative mood this morning.”

“Oh, please, you mustn’t be angry with her. Clearly she’s devoted to you, or she wouldn’t have followed you here from UCLA.”

“Oh, Christ.” Luke jabbed his fingers through his hair and, for a moment, looked as though he might yank out a handful. “She gave you the whole pathetic story, didn’t she? I’ll bet she even threw in the bitter divorce.”

Catherine hadn’t meant to upset him again, but she felt as though the floor had opened beneath her, and she scrambled to break her fall. “You’re a psychologist, so you must know it’s never wise to harbor such sad secrets.”

Luke straightened up. “Don’t lecture me on the finer points of psychology, Mrs. Brooks. There’s a tremendous difference between a man willingly confiding the details of his private life and someone else blabbing them all over town without his consent.”

“I can’t dispute that,” Catherine agreed calmly. After all, she’d had ample opportunity that morning to describe herself as a widow and not taken it. She wouldn’t have been pleased if Luke had waved her application and announced it to the group, either. In boots, she was his equal in height, but she still felt at a terrible disadvantage and inched toward the door.

“I’m sorry, but I meant only to offer an apology and say that I know how lost and alone you must feel.”

“The hell you do!” Luke followed her across the room, and as she reached for the doorknob, he slammed his palm against the door to keep her trapped in his office until he was good and ready to let her go.

“You will never understand how wretched I feel, Mrs. Brooks, so drop the pretty pretense that you do. I want my private life kept private, and I expect you to respect that wish even if Pam Strobble doesn’t. Is that understood?”

What Catherine understood was that he had no intention of opening his door until she agreed and being trapped there frightened her as badly as his fiery temper. He was standing so close she could see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes burn with a dangerous gleam, and it was all she could do to nod.

“Good.” Luke swung open the door and stepped out of the way. “Now go on home, and if you pass Pam on the way out, tell her she’s fired.”

Chapter Three

Luke slammed the door in Catherine’s face and then threw the bolt, or she would have marched right back into his office and argued that when he was furious with her, he had absolutely no right to take it out on Pam Strobble. She raised her fist to pound out her disapproval; then, refusing to sink to his level, she let her hand fall. She couldn’t leave and allow Pam to face his wrath alone, but she was far too upset to continue opening the mail and simply paced the office until the personable secretary returned.