Summer's Freedom (18 page)

“Oh, my, you’ve even gotten a little more confident,” Sharon said with approval. “I like this guy better and better all the time.”

“Seriously, why don’t you come have dinner with us this week sometime?” The phone rang and Maggie put a hand on the receiver. “Think about it. We’d have a good time.” Lifting the phone, she said “The
Wanderer,
Maggie speaking.”

“Mrs. Henderson, it’s David.”

“Hi! What’s up?” He’d been keeping her posted on the situation with the Proud Fox fans and the upcoming concert.

“There’s gonna be trouble in Luther Park this morning. Thought you’d want to know.”

“I’ll be right there.” She broke the connection and dialed the police, nodding to Sharon, who gathered her photo gear. “Possible trouble at Luther Park,” Maggie said to the dispatch operator. She gave her name and details, then shoved a notebook into the voluminous pockets of her skirt. “Here we go again.”

“I can’t believe we can’t find out who’s behind these kids,” Sharon said with irritation.

“One kid. That’s all we need. I have a feeling that if we can find him, we can put all the rest together.”

“We’re running out of time.” She blew a braid away from her face. “That concert’s going to explode if somebody doesn’t do something.”

“Thank God Samantha is out of town,” Maggie said.

* * *

Sharon drove with the expertise of a native of the Springs, her shortcuts and back roads cutting a full fifteen minutes off the time. The park scene was much the same as the others, a standoff of righteous indignation. The police had arrived by the time Maggie and Sharon pulled up, and the crowd was receding. Still, at the edges of the park, Maggie saw kids nursing minor wounds: a black eye, a split lip. Fistfighting, she thought.

As she stepped out of the car, she saw a boy running. On his jacket, in bright red, was a pentagram. Maggie took off after him, dodging kids, keeping the red flash in sight between backs and shoulders.

A tree root proved her undoing. She stubbed her toe hard and nearly fell. When she righted herself and dashed through the milling teenagers again, the red-painted jacket had disappeared. She stomped her foot in frustration. “Damn!”

Sharon joined her. “Find out anything?”

“Of course not. But I’m beginning to think this doesn’t really have a lot to do with Proud Fox or the rockers against the straight kids or any of the other things we’ve been thinking it is.”

“We need that kid.”

Maggie licked her lips, a tremor of foreboding in her belly. “Yes, we do.”

* * *

She got home a little later than usual to find Joel’s truck parked in front of the house. He met her at the door to his apartment. “Go wash up,” he said with a grin. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

“You cooked?”

He lifted his chin proudly. “I’m not completely helpless.”

Maggie snickered. “You burn
water,
Joel Summer.”

“A man can learn a thing or two from a woman.”

“True.” She grinned. “I’ll be right there.”

After she’d changed into a pair of shorts and a softly woven cotton sweater, she returned to Joel’s apartment. As always, the bookish clutter on his coffee table and couch made her smile, and she automatically began to straighten things, shifting papers into neat piles and stacking the books into a semblance of order.

Joel joined her. “I found some great stuff today,” he said, looping his arms around her shoulders to nuzzle her neck.

At the delicious sensation, Maggie sagged against his strength, her hands going lax as she let her head loll back on his shoulder. “Really?” she asked lazily.

His broad palm slipped under her blouse and moved in circles over her belly. Against her ear, the smile obvious in his voice, he replied, “Really.”

The familiar spiral of desire coiled up her legs as his hand roved more freely, brushing her breasts. “Joel,” she said on a sigh, “how long do you think it will take us to get tired of this?”

“I can’t speak for you,” he said between nibbles on her neck, “but I doubt I ever will.” With a playful slap to her bottom, he pulled away. “But right now, you have to come have your supper. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove.”

“Not a microwave?” Maggie said, trailing him into the kitchen. The scent of grilled onions filled the air, mixed with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. On the table, set for two, were two bottles of beer next to tall, thin pilsner glasses. “Goodness,” Maggie commented. “A glass and everything.”

Joel flashed her a grin as he bent to open the oven, from which he withdrew two huge ceramic bowls. Inside, bubbling and lightly browned, she saw white cheese and a triangle of toast. He placed them on the table with a flourish, dimpling proudly.

“French onion soup?” Maggie said, delighted. “Did you make it from scratch?”

“Well, I had to buy some consommé, but I did the rest.” He grinned again, blue eyes dancing. “Eat.”

Touched and impressed, Maggie did as she was told. It was excellent—fragrant, well balanced and filling. The cold beer, poured alluringly into the elegant glasses, was the finishing touch. “My grandmother used to have some glasses like this,” she said, “but we never drank beer from them. Only iced tea.”

“A waste. I found these at an antique store this afternoon. Which reminds me…” He stood up, cocking an eyebrow before heading for the living room.

He returned with a cylindrical package tied with string. Maggie looked at him. “What is it?”

“Open it and see, silly.”

When she’d torn away the green tissue paper, she laughed. It was a Barbie doll, vintage 1968, complete with psychedelic dress. “Oh, Joel! I had a doll exactly like this once.”

“Great, isn’t it?”

“It’s wonderful.” Impulsively, she hugged him. “Thank you.”

He kissed her. “I love to bring you presents—you’re always so delighted. Didn’t people bring you things when you were a child?”

Shyly, Maggie shook her head. “Not really. My dad was a real stickler for the budget, and there wasn’t a lot for extras.” She clasped the doll to her chest. “Galen surprised me sometimes, but he left home when I was twelve.” She looked at Joel. “Did people bring you lots of unexpected treats?”

His eyes danced. “Everybody did. Grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts—even my sisters. I had so much junk the guys always wanted to come over to my house and play.”

“I’m glad,” Maggie said. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

The alarming soberness wiped his face clean of any other expression for an instant. “Come here,” he said.

Maggie rose and settled on his lap. He nestled his head upon her breasts, enfolding her completely, and there was a strange intensity to his voice when he spoke again. “No surprise was ever as good as you are.”

Maggie lifted a hand to his precious jaw, resting her cheek against his cool hair. A swell of love greater than anything she had ever known welled up inside of her. “I love you, Joel.”

His kiss was nearly brutal as he stood, sweeping her up into his arms. He carried her into the living room and deposited her on the couch. There, he stripped away their clothes and took her in a fierce joining. The act was devoid of artificial coyness or even play—it was pure, elemental and devastating.

* * *

He awoke in the heavy stillness of early-morning dark, gasping for breath. In panic, he rolled out of bed, confused at his surroundings and intent only on getting air into his lungs. Pure terror filled his chest as he struggled, stumbling toward an open window. When he bent into its opening, the cool night splashed his face with a dose of reality, and he found the release to the attack. Here, there was a sky—he could see it, smell it, feel it.

In the aftermath of the panic, despair washed through him, a black hopelessness he’d grown to recognize. Through his mind flashed a picture of Nina, white and bloody and horrified. Her ugly screams, shrewish and shrill, echoed in his memory.

As if no time had passed, his stomach called up the last bit of the picture—his own cold realization that life would not ever be the same again.

Behind him, a hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and Joel started violently, whirling as if to strike. Seeing Maggie, hair tousled, eyes wide with fear, he let out a hard sigh and pulled her roughly into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Maggie felt the trembling in his arms and soothed him with long strokes of her hands over his back. For a long, silent time, she stood with him by the open window, unmindful of the cold.

The foreboding she’d been feeling doubled, making a thick lump in her stomach. Beneath the teasing and the love, Joel harbored a closet full of demons. “The sky!” he’d called in his sleep, before bolting from the bed like a man pursued. In the simple words had been a longing of terrible vibrance. Maggie cradled him next to her, soothing, but her heart beat with fear.

She’d thought she could ignore whatever troubled him about his past. Now she saw that she could not. The pain needed the healing lance of confession.

That knowledge dogged her, manifesting itself in a tight lump that wouldn’t leave.

* * *

She spent the morning on the phone, calling the numbers of parents culled from various lists on file at high schools around the city, to warn of the dangers involved in the concert scheduled for the next evening. Even as she dialed digit after digit, her frustration and worry grew; the reaction of most of the parents she reached was lukewarm. As the afternoon progressed, she wondered if she’d overreacted.

“Am I losing it?” Maggie asked Sharon when she came back with coffee in foam cups.

“What do you mean?”

“No one I’ve talked to seems to think there’s anything to worry about. Is this a case of the media pumping up an issue?”

Sharon gave her a wry grimace and settled on the edge of Maggie’s desk to stir cream into her cup. “You think about this, sweetie.” With one long finger, she poked out the important words in her sentences. “We’ve covered six or seven demonstrations in three months. A total of about thirty-five children—and assorted others—have been injured, three seriously. We have no line on this Cory kid and no idea who’s behind the demonstrations. We’ve also got to look at the fact that there will be thousands of kids at the Proud Fox concert.” She widened her dark eyes. “Me? I’m worried.”

Maggie tossed down a pencil. “My grandmother can’t find any churches that will claim to be involved—and she knows a lot of people.”

“You know,” Sharon said, “maybe the original assumption that it was a church group was wrong.”

“What about all the Bible verses on the signs and all that?”

“I don’t know. Just a thought.”

“Not much we can do now.”

A voice from the doorway interrupted the conversation. “I’m looking for—“

Maggie jumped up in joy at the sight of the lean, tall blond man in the doorway. His longish hair was tousled as if from wind, his nose sunburned. “Galen!” she shrieked, and threw herself into his waiting arms. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You look great, kid,” he said, holding her at arm’s length.

She frowned. “You don’t. You look like you never eat.”

“I haven’t gained or lost a pound since I was twenty-three,” he said with a grin.

“Maggie’s been spending time with a redwood tree,” Sharon interjected, holding out a hand. “How are you, Galen?”

Flashing his charming grin, Galen grasped her hand in both of his. “Great. Are you still my sister’s protector?”

“No, that’s
photographer,”
Maggie said with a laugh. She squeezed her brother’s hand and looked at Sharon. “What do you say we shelve everything and head on over to my house? We’ll have some drinks and a good meal.”

“Terrific.”

Maggie sent the other two home first, then stopped at a fruit stand on her way, collecting the ingredients for a fresh fruit salad to round out the manicotti she’d made.

She pulled into the driveway to find Sharon and Galen companionably swinging on the porch. “You could have gone inside,” Maggie said. “That’s why I gave you the key.”

“Go inside on a day like this?” Galen shook his head. “You’ve forgotten how hot Albuquerque is. The Springs is always so cool.”

“Enjoy yourself, then.” Maggie shifted the bag on her hip. “I just have a few things to do for dinner, then I’ll join you.”

Sharon stood up. “I’ll help you.”

“No, you sit and keep my brother company. Anybody want a beer or a soda?”

“Pop for me,” Galen said.

“Same here,” Sharon added.

“I’ll come in and get them,” Galen said, standing. “Save you a trip.”

He followed her into the kitchen, where she dropped her bag on the table and headed for the fridge for the manicotti. “Help yourself. I just have to throw this in the oven and make the salad.”

Galen’s eyes widened. “My sister cooking manicotti?” he said incredulously. “This is serious.”

She laughed. “I’m finding I don’t mind cooking as much as I once did. It’s actually very creative.”

“I’ve never known you to do anything except use Hamburger Helper,” he said, taking two colas.

“I’m not that bad. I’ve always cooked Mexican food.”

“When forced,” he returned with a good-natured snort. He kissed her cheek. “I’m happy for you, sis. I can’t wait to meet this guy.”

“You’ll like him,” Maggie said with assurance.

He laughed. “I promise to be good.”

“Just don’t throw out intellectual puzzles to test him—he’ll love it and I’ll end up looking stupid.”

“Okay.” He headed out of the kitchen, and Maggie turned her attention to the food and table. After a few minutes, Galen and Sharon returned.

“Let me help,” Sharon insisted, picking up an orange. “I know you hate to peel these things.”

“Not all of us have daggers on the ends of our fingers.”

Sharon waved her bright red nails. “Be Prepared is my motto.”

“Galen,” Maggie said, slicing bananas, “you ought to call Samantha. She’d been dying to see you. I’ve had three phone calls this week to find out if you were here.”

“I’d planned to go see her tomorrow, maybe take her to lunch. You want to go?”

“I can’t. We have a big story to cover. You go ahead, though. She’ll love having you to herself.” She grinned. “I’d suggest you take Gram, but she’d be bristling with disapproval toward Paul the whole time.”