Sooner or Later (22 page)

“See you then.” He went to the kitchen to tell Florita there was a delay, then walked out onto the front porch and stood, looking at his property. The road curving round the hill glimmered silver in the twilight, and his newly immaculate rows of vines marched into infinity. He could smell damp earth and applewood smoke and
chiles rellenos.
He smiled happily. Life was looking pretty good.

Back indoors, he hoped uneasily that Ellie wouldn’t think the sofa and the log fire and the champagne looked like a setup. Even though he admitted he was anticipating her visit far more than any man who was not involved should be.

At seven-thirty, Ellie grabbed her bag and went into the kitchen to check on the chef. “Everything okay?” she asked, nervously.

“Sure.” Chan glanced up from the piece of veal he was trimming. “What could be wrong? Except this kitchen is too small.” He whacked at the meat then let
out a yell as blood spurted from his thumb. “Jesus,” he said, “now look what you made me do.”

“Oh, Chan.” Ellie stared horrified at the gash at the base of his thumb, then hurriedly wrapped a clean napkin round it. The red stain spread quickly through the linen. “You’d better get to the emergency room,” she said. “The kid can drive you. I’ll take over in here.”

Maya poked her head round the kitchen door. “What’s going on?” She stared, aghast, at Chan’s bloody hand. “Uh-uh, trouble.” She glanced sorrowfully at Ellie, who already had her apron on and was heading toward the stove. “So much for the romantic evening at the ranch.”

Dan laid his head back against the cushions, listening to the music, counterpointed by Pancho’s snores. Every now and again, he glanced at his watch, anticipating her arrival. The phone rang again at eight.

He picked it up. “Ellie?” he said happily.

“It’s Maya. Look, something’s happened and it’s a bit chaotic here. I’m sorry, but Ellie’s still in the kitchen. I’ll do my best to get her out of here as soon as I can. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know, Maya.”

He slumped down on the sofa again, sighing.

At nine, Ellie called. “I’m sorry, Dan,” she said quickly. “But things are impossible. I’ll call you again, later.”

“Fine, that’s okay,” he said.

When the phone rang again at eleven, he was mad enough at her to ignore it. He sat on the porch steps in the cool night, with the ringing vibrating in his ears. He could see Florita, through the window, clearing the dishes from the table, along with the uneaten salad and freshly baked tortillas.

He went inside and poured himself a glass of champagne. It was too cold, and anyhow, the pleasure had gone from it. Hurling the glass to the ground, he stalked off to his office in the stables.

Shifting his mind determinedly from the elusive Ellie, he sat through the long night hours under the naked lightbulb, with only Pancho for company, studying his plans of the vineyard and reading about the new oak barrels. Anything to get his mind off Ellie and her too busy city life, and back on his single-minded track.

T
HE FOLLOWING EVENING AT THE CAFE
, E
LLIE WAS
thinking guiltily about Dan. She couldn’t blame him for not answering the phone last night, but she’d had no choice but to stay and cope. That was what she did.

Slamming dishes around tiredly, she thought maybe Chan had a point, and the kitchen was too small. Chan had taken the day off, and between them, she and Terry would cope, but her heart wasn’t in it.

The new kid acting as dishwasher this week suddenly dropped a few plates with a crash and she gritted her teeth, telling herself it didn’t matter.

“What you need, sweetheart, is a night off.” Maya put a stack of plates on the wooden rack. “Look, it’s still early, why don’t you just close up tonight. Go apologize to your fella. Or see your grandmother, or a movie.
Anything.”

Ellie shook her head. “How can I?”

“Easy.” Maya walked through the cafe, locked the door, then turned the
Open
sign to
Closed.
“It’s done.”

“But I can’t just close without warning. What will my regular customers think?”

“We’ll tell them the chef got hurt and to try again tomorrow night. They’re just going to miss you more, that’s all.”

Ellie looked doubtful, but Maya could tell she was thinking about it. “Well, that’s settled,” she said, shrugging on her jacket. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Wait,-where are you going?” Ellie grabbed her arm. “What do you mean,
tomorrow?”

“Didn’t you hear? We’re closed tonight.”

Maya’s laughter drifted back into the kitchen as she strode out the door. “Get real, Ellie,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Get a life, woman.”

Oh, what the hell, Ellie said to herself; Maya was right. Chan’s not being here wasn’t a good excuse, but it was an excuse of sorts. She told herself she could drive up and surprise Miss Lottie. But she knew what she really wanted was to see Dan.

She made good time, until she got to Camarillo and then the mist began rolling over the valley, slowing her down. Fretting in the dawdling traffic, she dialed her grandmother’s number on the car phone. There was no answer and a few minutes later, she tried again. Still no answer. Frowning, she pressed the off button. Could Miss Lottie be ill? But surely Maria would have called to let her know? Unless she’d had an accident and she’d been taken to the hospital?

Ellie’s heart lurched and she put her foot on the gas, beeping her horn impatiently as a blue Jaguar zipped in front of her. “And where did that snippy little maneuver get you, smartyboots?” she muttered through gritted teeth. “A big six feet in front of me.”

She thought about Dan, uncertain what to do, knowing how mad he must be at her. Dialing his number, she
sat, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel, listening to the phone ring, unanswered. “Where the hell is everybody this evening?” She groaned. “Has the whole of Santa Barbara County disappeared into the ocean, or what?”

Dan walked the still-steaming mare back through the stableyard. He heard the phone ringing in the office and thought, morosely, let it ring, the mare was more important right now. Throwing a blanket over her, he slapped her on the hindquarters and sent her trotting off into the stall. The phone was still ringing.

He shrugged out of his shirt, wiped the sweat off with it, then picked up the receiver. “Yeah. Running Horse Winery.”

Ellie grinned, relieved. He sounded winded and she hoped she’d made him run.

“This is no way to run a business. What if I were an important customer, waiting to place an order for a hundred cases?”

“Then you’d be unlucky. We don’t have ten cases, let alone a hundred. And what we do have, I plan on drinking all by myself. Alone in a darkened room.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” He finished with the shirt and tossed it over the side of the stall. “So? Where were you last night?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m asking.”

He sounded grim and she sighed. “Let’s just say I was unavoidably detained at the cafe.”

“More staff problems.”

It was a statement not a question, and this time she heaved an audible sigh. “Listen, you can’t say I didn’t warn you at the beginning.”

Dan leaned against the barn door. The wood was still
warm from the sun and the flaking paint stuck to his bare back. He closed his eyes, imagining cool waves closing over him as he dived into the ocean, plunging smoothly through them … with Ellie at his side. Why was she so elusive, so difficult?

She said, “I’ve taken the evening off. I’m on my way to see my grandmother, I thought perhaps we could meet later? Maybe I could make up for last night?” There was a long silence and she added softly, “I’m truly sorry, Dan. I wanted to see you but the chef slipped and cut his thumb. He had to go off and be stitched.”

“So Martha Stewart stepped into the breach.” He pictured her trundling round the tiny kitchen, tripping over her feet, grumbling.

Ellie could hear the smile in his voice and she beamed with relief. “I’ll drop by and see Miss Lottie first. Then I could meet you.”

“I’ve never seen Journey’s End,” Dan said, hinting.

“Then this is my opportunity to give you the grand tour. You’ve already met Miss Lottie, but I’ll introduce you to lovely Maria, and to Bruno, the dog. Then you’ll have met my entire family.”

“That’s it? No fifth cousins twice removed? No uncles and aunts in distant countries?”

“None that I know of.” She beeped her horn angrily again as the blue Jag darted out of the lane in front of her, then quickly back. “You know how to get there?”

“Just drive up Hot Springs Road and look for the gates with the griffins.”

She laughed. “See you there, Danny Boy. In about forty minutes.”

A few minutes later, she dialed her grandmother’s number again. The line was dead. Peering through the fog, she wished worriedly she could get there faster.

T
HE NIGHT
B
UCK HAD CHOSEN TO KILL
L
OTTIE
P
ARRISH
was a fortunate one, weatherwise. It had been a hot day and now the sea mist was roiling in, smothering the lower part of the town, swirling through the treetops, all the way up into the hills.

He swung the BMW into the horse trail that circled the back of the property, bumping over the ruts until it was far enough from the road not to be seen. He wore a black tracksuit with the drug pusher’s Glock 27 autopistol tucked into the waistband, a padded black ski jacket that puffed him out like the Michelin man, a black ski mask, sneakers, and fine latex surgical gloves. The flashlight was in his pocket, and his friend, the switchblade, was sheathed to his calf.

A moon flickered intermittently through the mist, lighting his path as he pushed open the creaking gate near the old laundry. He jogged, stealthy as a hunter, through the copse of silver birch planted seven decades ago by Waldo Stamford, past the black empty rectangle of the swimming pool, alongside the overgrown tennis
court and the once-velvet croquet lawn. On to the stone-pillared terrace where distinguished visitors, politicians, movie stars, and titans of industry had once gathered to drink cocktails.

He stood for a moment, looking round at the playground of the rich that soon would be his. Then he walked silently along the terrace, round the corner of the big house.

He had two problems. The easier one was Maria. The second was the dog. It was slow and stiff but had a bark as loud as a young Doberman’s. He’d considered a piece of poisoned meat, but decided it would look premeditated, he wanted this to look like a random robbery gone wrong.

Unlocking the kitchen door, he slipped inside, then closed it softly behind him. A clock ticked into the silence and the refrigerator loudly regurgitated lumps of ice.

In the hall a lamp glowed softly on a small table. He switched it off, easing the gun from his waistband. His sneakered feet made no noise on the thickly carpeted stairs.

The door to Maria’s room stood slightly ajar. It was empty. The sound of running water came from the bathroom, and he guessed she was taking a shower. He walked in and stood by the door, waiting.

It was hot in his down-padded ski jacket. Sweat trickled down his back and his palms in the latex gloves were damp. He heard her singing in the shower, and tilted his head, listening. Suddenly he wanted to laugh.

Warbling “Dixie” loudly, Maria wrapped herself in the big bath towel that had seen service for more than ten years. But as Miss Lottie always said, if you bought good, it lasted, and this certainly had. Pure Egyptian cotton that had you dry in a flash. She put on her nightdress
and her plaid flannel bathrobe, thinking about the chocolate cake she’d made that afternoon. She would go downstairs and fix some tea, then they would enjoy it together in front of the television set in Miss Lottie’s cozy little sitting room. They might catch one of those gossip shows Miss Lottie liked so much, and maybe the sitcom they enjoyed. Then it would be early bed for both of them, as it always was diese days.

Humming her little song cheerfully, she pushed her feet into her fluffy blue slippers, hung up the towel to dry, brushed her hair and rolled it into a gray-speckled knot. Then she opened the bathroom door.

The light behind her gave Buck a perfect silhouette. He wasn’t as expert with the Glock as with his strong hands, but at this range he couldn’t miss. The little flame spat from the barrel, once, twice, three times.

Maria jolted backward. She clutched at the door and stood upright for a long second while Buck debated on one more shot. Then she said, “
Ohhh,”
softly, and crumpled to the floor.

He nodded, satisfied. Target number one was accounted for, exactly as planned.

Along the hallway, a sliver of light shone from Miss Lottie’s door. Flexing his fingers, he glided toward it. Now he could hear the TV announcer saying “All this, on
Entertainment Tonight.”

Miss Lottie was fresh from her bath. She was wearing the new cream velvet robe and brushing her hair, counting softly to a hundred, as she always did.

She had been answering her E-mail and the computer was still switched on. The Opus ‘n’ Bill
Screensaver
cartoons
cavorted
, forgotten, across the display, and the TV set blared the latest Hollywood exploits and scandals. She always had it turned up loud because Maria was getting deafer, though she would never admit to it. Besides,
Miss Lottie had a fascination with the lives and doings of the glamorous celebrities on the show, though she had no idea who Pamela Anderson Lee or Drew Barrymore was.

She glanced at her old watch. It was foolish, she knew, to look forward so much to a piece of Maria’s double chocolate cake and a cup of hot tea, but when one was older, lire’s small pleasures counted for so much more. Like Bruno’s morning toast and butter. She ruffled his fur fondly.

“Ah, my boy, I remember when you were just a pup,” she said, smiling. “Roly-poly, all big paws and floppy ears, and with a foolish grin on your lace. Ellie fell in love with you right away, though I would have chosen the bigger dog. Perhaps, I shouldn’t be telling you this now—after all, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. And anyway, Ellie was absolutely right, I wouldn’t change you for anything.”