Web of Smoke (17 page)

“Yes, thank you for sending them. I wasn’t looking forward to coming down and packing them myself.”

“I figured as much. I felt so bad about missing the services. I was out of town when I heard and I couldn’t get my flight changed for anything.”

“The flowers you sent were beautiful, Beth. She would have loved them.”

They’d entered a cramped lunchroom, equipped with a Mr. Coffee, an honor snack bar, and a small refrigerator. A steel-legged table sat in the middle, surrounded by plastic chairs. The room was uncomfortably cold in both temperature and atmosphere, but Beth didn’t seem to mind. She busied herself at the coffee machine.

Sam and Christie sat down.

“So what brings you to visit this old lady, Christie?”

Christie laughed. “You’re not old, Beth. You’ll never be old.”

“Bless your heart.”

Christie searched for the words to explain why they were there, but none came. Sam, for once, remained silent.

“We came,” Christie began, “because…. Do you remember DC Porter? He used to work here?”

Beth faced them as the coffee began to drip into the pot. “You mean the custodian?”

“That’s right.”

“Of course I remember him. Why?”

“He’s been bothering me—actually, he’s attacked me. Twice. I was hoping you might have some information that would help us find him?”

“Attacked?
Christie, I can’t believe this. Did you call the police? Of course you called them. What are they doing?”

“Not much. They’re pretty wrapped up in the kidnappings.”

“This is unbelievable. But why would he...I mean he and your mother….”

“Yeah, they had a thing going. And then he just up and left town. Do you know why?”

“I certainly do. I fired him.”

“Why?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“Because he was lazy and a thief. And I caught him smoking marijuana right here in my clinic.”

“Do you know where he went after that?”

“No. I don’t, Christie. I paid him his final wages and told him to hit the road. That’s the last I’ve seen of him.”

Beth poured three cups of coffee without asking if they wanted any and set them on the table. Packets of cream and sugar appeared from a white cupboard. At last, she sat down.

“Did you fire him before or after he helped my mother with the adoption?” Christie asked.

Beth froze, her coffee cup suspended halfway to her lips. “What adoption?”

“I was here one day, before he left. I came to take my mother to lunch, but she was on her way to a consultation. DC was going with her.”

“You must be mistaken, honey. DC was the custodian. He cleaned the toilets. He never assisted with adoptions.”

Christie sipped her coffee, now grateful for the warmth. “My mother said it was a special situation. That DC knew the mother—”

Beth shook her head, “Impossible. I am familiar with all the proceedings that take place in this clinic. I certainly would have remembered a case that involved DC.”

She paused, seeming to choose her words with care. “Christie, I hate to say this, but maybe your mother... She knew how much you disliked DC, and I must admit I shared your opinion of that man. Maybe she felt she had to lie to you.”

Without a word, Sam watched the exchange. Christie met his gaze for a moment, then looked away. Beth could be right. When Christie thought about it, her mother would have lied to avoid a scene over DC.

“I loved your mother, Christie. She was one of the dearest, kindest people I ever met. She was perfect for this job. Her caring just reached out and touched people. The girls who came here for help took to Mary Jane and she held their hands through every step. She’d even take the time to follow up. Let the girls know their babies were fine. Make sure the girls were doing okay.”

Christie felt tears well up in her eyes as a traitorous thought popped into her mind.
Why couldn’t my mother have been there for me, as she had been for those unknown girls?
Under the table, Sam covered her icy hand with his, kneading warmth back into her fingers.

“Your mother was a saint, Christie. But she didn’t know a damn thing about choosing a man. Every time she’d come in singing and giggling and talking about her latest love, I’d wish he’d get run over by a car or something quick and merciful, because I knew he’d end up breaking your mother’s heart. I couldn’t help myself. And I was never wrong. Not once.”

“I know,” Christie said in a low voice. “I used to think the same thing.”

“DC was the worst of them. I always felt responsible because I hired him. And to tell you the truth, I was just looking for a way to get rid of him when I caught him smoking in the bathroom. I don’t think your mother ever forgave me for firing him.”

“I’m sure she did, Beth. Mom couldn’t hold a grudge. Especially not against you.”

“It seemed that she changed, though, after that. I was prepared for her usual mourning period. A week or two and she’d be back on the hunt. You know how she was. But she never did snap out of it. She never had the chance.”

Christie sniffed. “I know. But if DC had stayed around, he might have hurt her worse. He might have even killed her.”

Beth looked up, suddenly very still. “Do you think he did?”

“Kill her?” Christie exclaimed. “No, I never considered that. He was gone—had been for weeks before…. And it was an accident. Wasn’t it?”

The women stared at one another across the table.

“Of course you’re right,” Beth said. “I’m letting my imagination get carried away. He was long gone when her accident happened.”

Sam gave Christie’s hand another squeeze and then asked, “Do you still have your records on him? His last address?”

Beth hesitated for a moment. “Let me see if I do.”

She pushed away from the table and left the room, high heels clicking against the stark tile before being silenced by the carpet in the hallway. After she left, Christie looked at Sam.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I guess. It’s just hard to talk about my mom in the past tense. I’ve barely said a word about her since she died, and now I’ve talked about her every day. It’s bringing all the hurt to the surface.”

“It’s good for you, Christie. You can’t keep bottling up your emotions.”

She smiled. “What is this, therapy?”

“No, that comes later.”

“Here we are,” Beth said, entering without warning, holding a slim file in her hands. “All I have is his application, and I’m afraid everything on it will be outdated. DC wasn’t the type to stay in one place very long.”

“Any chance we could have a copy of it?” Sam asked.

She hesitated for another brief moment. “I suppose it would be okay, as long as you keep it between us. I certainly don’t want it to get around that I gave it to you.”

Beth disappeared again, returning with a copy of the application. Sam took the sheet of paper from her.

“Thank you, Beth. We appreciate this. One other question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know how she got the house in La Jolla?”

The question clearly startled Beth. She blinked her eyes several times before answering. “House?”

“She had a house in La Jolla. Didn’t you know?” Christie asked, surprised.

“No. No, I didn’t know. She never mentioned that she’d bought a new house. Did she sell the one in La Mesa?”

“No,” Christie said. “That’s what’s so strange about it. She never could have afforded the second house, even if she had sold the first.”

Beth shrugged. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with that.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I wish I had more time to visit, but….”

“We should let you get back to work. You’ve been so nice to take the time to talk to us,” Christie said, standing.

“Oh, honey, I’m glad we had the chance. I think about you all the time. We’re going to have to quit thinking and start seeing. Maybe you two could come over for dinner one night?”

“That would be nice, Beth. I’ll call you when things settle down a bit.”

“Now you be careful, honey. That DC’s a scoundrel. You let me know if you need anything,” she said, walking them to the door.

Outside, the blazing heat seemed a welcome relief from the icy interior. As Christie’s eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, she caught herself eyeing the parking lot. How many times a day did she scan her world for DC? She couldn’t count them.

As Sam climbed in on the driver’s side he glanced at her face. “Christie? What happened?” His gaze followed hers. “Now what’s got you upset?”

She shook her head, feeling her bottom lip turn traitorous and trembly. Too many emotions had bubbled to the surface in the past forty-eight hours. She felt tiny and defeated underneath them. She shook her head, but he pressed.

Her words came haltingly at first and then tumbled out in a rush of emotion she couldn’t have suppressed if she’d tried. For once, she just let her feelings pour out without thought or censorship. It felt so good.

“I’m so scared, Sam. I keep trying to block it from my mind and pretend that I’m not. I haven’t thought or talked about it…about what happened…since…since it happened. I thought he was going to kill me. Even when I wasn’t sure who he was, a part of me just knew. A part of me always knew he’d come back. Come back. For me.” She looked away. “He’s not going to give up.”

Sam pulled her against his chest, sitting halfway between the bucket seats without complaint. She buried her face in his hard chest and cried.

“Come on, Chris. So hate him back. I’m not going to give him the chance to hurt you again. If the police are too busy, I’ll track his ass down myself and then I’m going to stomp all over it.”

“But Sam—”

“No, buts, Christie. You can’t wait this out and hope it gets better. Don’t you get it? Right now, he owns you. That’s no way to live. You’ve got to keep fighting him.”

She wiped her eyes with her hand. “I know.”

“I’m going to take you back to my place. I want you to take a cool shower and a nap.”

“But we need to get those papers—”

“We’ll get them later. In the meantime, I’m going to get in touch with a friend of mine and get him going on that title search.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “We’ll get him, babe. I’m too selfish to share, and how can you be mine if you’re his?”

“But this is what I was afraid of in the first place.”

“What?”

“That it’ll come down to you and him. And he’ll kill you.”

He rocked her in his arms. “The only one who’s killing me, sweetheart, is you.”

Chapter Sixteen

Once Sam got an idea in his head, Christie knew nothing short of surgery would remove it. As soon as they’d arrived back at his house, he’d raced through a quick inspection of the rooms before going straight to the telephone to call his friend about running the title search on the La Jolla house.

“He says he can start right away,” Sam told Christie after he hung up. “I’m going to meet him at his office right now. Are you sure you want to stay here?”

“I need some time alone anyway. Go. I’ll see you when you get back.”

After the familiar hum of the Jeep’s engine faded, Christie wandered upstairs into Sam’s room. The bed beckoned to her but she shied away from it. Trailing her fingers across the top of Sam’s dresser, she lifted his cologne bottle and sniffed the fragrance. For a long time, she stood there with the bottle in her hand, thinking of Sam and her brief marriage to him.

She still loved him. No amount of hiding behind her anger or pretending her emotions were safely guarded by a protective wall could change that fact.

She loved Sam. But she didn’t trust him.

How could she? The real question though, was did she love him enough to take him on faith? The answer eluded her. The hopelessness of not knowing brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back, but more took their place. Soon they raced down her cheeks unheeded. Good grief, she was a mess.

Setting his cologne back on the dresser, she peeled off her clothes and took the shower Sam had recommended, hoping to lather some judgment into her life, to wash away the pointlessness. Under the cool spray, she cried some more, thinking of her mother. Her marriage. DC.

Now that she’d started to cry, she feared she’d never be able to stop. It was all too much, happening too fast.

No wonder Sam had been so ready to escape to his friend’s office. He’d never been good at dealing with the feelings that drove her emotions.

Once, she’d heard that amnesia victims blanked their minds and retreated behind forgetfulness until they were equipped to deal with the traumas they’d chosen not to remember. Apparently, the same was not true for victims of denial. The problems and hurts that Christie had suppressed four months ago were all still as painful today as they had been then. She’d only managed to store them, and she was as unprepared now as ever to handle her mother’s death or Sam’s infidelity.

How could she contend with all the memories and DC Porter, too?

Wiping the moisture from the mirror, she stared at herself, dismayed by the image that stared back. Her eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle and her cheeks appeared sunken. Turning her back on her reflection, she dressed in shorts and a tank top and went downstairs to wait for Sam to return.

Bear and Snort followed her like sympathetic shadows, reminding her of their missing companion, Barney, and that brought a fresh wave of tears. Grabbing a box of tissues from the bathroom, she collapsed on the couch, stretching her legs and leaning her head back against the plump, soft cushions. The dogs curled themselves into tight donuts on the floor next to her. She cried herself to sleep to the soft lullaby of the whirling ceiling fan.

The knock on the door jerked her awake, her slumberous brain already in the grip of fear. DC? Had he come back? Even as adrenaline shot through her system, the voice of reason reminded her, knocking wasn’t DC’s style.

The dogs began to bark.

“A little late, guys,” she whispered in a shaky voice as she tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole.

A badge filled her vision as the man on the other side held it up. “Police,” he said in a deep voice, knocking again.