The Way You Look Tonight (18 page)

Smiling at her own witty observation, she fished in her purse for the car keys. There they were on her pink pom-pom key chain. Other women laughed at that key chain, but she laughed right back when she immediately found her keys while they rooted interminably through their purses for some silly little key ring that might be tasteful, but certainly not practical.

Aside from an empty delivery truck pulled up beside the bar, Toni Lee's blue Ford Escort was the only vehicle in the alley. Her high heels echoed hollowly on the concrete. Her feet were killing her, but she'd stood all evening because she was wearing her short black skirt and the high black heels that made her dynamite legs look even better. Of course, once she got in the car she'd remove the skirt and heels in favor of jeans and her white leather Keds, because if Daryl happened to be awake when she got in, he'd never believe she'd been babysitting in a miniskirt and heels. So maybe it was better the alley was so deserted, even if it was a little creepy. At least she'd have some privacy to change clothes.

She had just inserted her key in the car doorlock when a man stepped out of the shadows around the delivery truck. Toni Lee froze. He walked toward her, casually, non-threateningly. ‘Hi,' he said in a friendly voice. ‘Kind of a dangerous place to park, isn't it?'

‘Not if you carry a gun like I do,' Toni Lee responded, hating the quiver in her voice.

‘Are you a policewoman or PI?'

‘Huh?' Toni mumbled, fumbling in her purse as if she were going for a gun.

‘You need a license to carry a gun.'

‘Oh, yeah. I'm a policewoman. A detective.'

The man smiled. It was an open, guileless smile. ‘I don't think so. I think you're just scared. But you don't have to be. I saw you in the bar.' Toni squinted in the bad light, then recognized him. ‘I was trying to work up the courage to talk to you when I was accosted by that blonde.' He shook his head, laughing. ‘Who was she supposed to be? Dolly Parton or Madonna?'

Toni Lee relaxed slightly. ‘The lights in her house must be real soft if she thinks she looks like either one of them.'

‘Maybe she dresses by candlelight.'

‘Yeah, that'd be best. Say, how come you're hiding here in the alley?'

‘I'm not
hiding
. It's such a nice, clear night I just thought I'd have a cigarette. And to be perfectly honest, I kept a watch on the bar door. I thought if Miss Bleached Blonde left before you, I'd come back in and strike up a conversation. I never dreamed I'd be so lucky as to have you come to me.'

Toni Lee's blush of pleasure was hidden in the dusky light. ‘I see. So why'd you wanna talk to me?'

‘Have you ever looked in a mirror? Besides, you didn't look like you belonged in a place like that. Oh, it's an okay bar for most people, but not you. You looked like a rose among thorns.'

Toni Lee was entranced. ‘A rose among thorns?'

‘Yes. You're too good for that place. I can see you somewhere like the TriBeCa Grill.'

‘What's that?'

‘A Manhattan restaurant owned by Robert De Niro.'

‘I
love
Robert De Niro,' Toni said, although at the moment she couldn't think of one movie he'd starred in. But she knew he was classy. ‘Have you been to his place?'

‘A couple of times.'

‘Do you
know
him?'

‘We've said hello, but he's pretty distant. Just shy, I guess.'

‘It must be great to meet a movie star.' Gee, this guy's okay-looking, Toni Lee mused. He was quite a few years older than she – maybe ten – and it was hard to tell much about his body because he had on a lined raincoat, but he had nice brown hair and his smile was good. Kinda boyish, yet sexy. He reminded her of someone. If she could see his eyes, she'd know who, but they were hidden by horn-rimmed glasses with tinted lenses that remained slightly dark even in the shadows of the alley. ‘Are you from New York?'

‘No, but I travel a lot.'

‘Are you a salesman?'

He laughed. ‘No, thank God. I'm not aggressive enough to be a salesman. I'm an MD – a pediatrician, really – but my parents died last year and left me some money, so I decided to take a little time off and just enjoy life. It's nice not to see sick kids every day.'

A
doctor
, Toni Lee's mind screamed. A doctor who was independently wealthy and good-looking. Actually, now that she knew he had his own money, she decided he was
great
-looking, unstylish glasses or not. Was he married? She stole a look at his ring finger, but he was wearing gloves. He saw her glance, though, and said, ‘I'm divorced. Two years now. How about you?'

She thought about saying she was divorced also, but instead opted for, ‘Soon to be divorced. We're separated.'

‘I see. I'm sorry.'

‘I'm not. It was a big mistake from the beginning.' She wanted to go someplace and talk to him for hours, but there was Daryl to think of. Daryl, the husband from whom she was
not
separated. She dropped back into reality with a thud.

‘Well, I really have to get home now.'

‘You must be freezing.'

‘Yeah, it's pretty chilly out tonight, but I'd love it if we could get together again.'

He smiled. ‘That would be great. Do you have a favorite place around here?'

‘Ummm, well, there's a restaurant I like. It's called The Fifth Quarter,' she said hesitantly. Meeting him at a restaurant was risky, but none of Daryl's friends frequented The Fifth Quarter. ‘It's across the street from the Town Center Mall—'

‘I know where it is,' he said. ‘Excellent choice. What night?'

‘How about tomorrow?'

‘Tomorrow it is. Around eight o'clock?'

Toni Lee usually ate off a television tray at 5.30 while she watched
Geraldo
. She'd be starving by eight, but she promptly said, ‘That's perfect.' She could always have a snack while she bathed and got dressed up. But not a big snack. She didn't want her stomach to bulge in the tight green dress she'd already decided to wear.

‘Wonderful,' he said enthusiastically. ‘I'll see you tomorrow.'

‘Yes, tomorrow.' She wished she could think of something clever to say, but she wasn't a clever person. She'd have to let a dazzling smile do.

As Toni Lee reinserted her key in the lock, she realized she didn't know the guy's name. ‘By the way,' she said, turning, ‘I'm Toni Lee. And you're—'

A cord slipped around her neck and jerked her so hard she was pulled off her high-heeled feet. One pitiful squeak escaped her before the cord cut into her throat. She kicked and made futile grabs at the horrible thing choking her. It dug so deeply into her throat, though, that even her long nails couldn't slip under it. She reached farther back, trying to rake the man's face, but he dodged her groping fingers. Her hands fell, dragging down the length of his coat sleeves. Then something slammed against her temple. White light flashed behind her eyes. Her hand flew to her face, but not before another blow hit her cheekbone. She heard the bone snap.

While she reeled from the blows, he captured her clawing hands and tied them behind her back, binding them unbearably tight. Then he dragged her away from the car. She emitted grating, strangling sounds as she struggled to breathe. But she couldn't get any air.

The alley grew fuzzier. For a moment she thought she was in the trailer court where she lived. She mouthed the name ‘Daryl, but Daryl wasn't there. Big, uncouth, territorial Daryl who'd never even slapped her wasn't there to beat the crap out of someone trying to hurt his woman. He'll be so mad at me, Toni Lee thought. He'll know what I was doing. In spite of the intense physical pain, she felt wrenchingly sad, tears spilling from her eyes as she suddenly longed for the man she'd thought she couldn't stand. What a time to realize she cared for the jerk. Daryl, help me, she cried silently. Oh, Daryl, please,
please
help me.

The man pulled her, still kicking feebly, behind the delivery truck and administered one final, shattering blow to her jaw. Inwardly she screamed in agony as he pried open her broken jaw and stuffed something in her mouth, something that felt like twigs and leaves. Then he hiked up her skirt and began tearing at her pantyhose. I'm sorry, Daryl, she thought dully before her mind began to close against the unbearable pain and the atrocity that would follow. Daryl, I'm so very, very sorry.

Five

Deborah lowered her paperback copy of Michael Caine's autobiography and looked at the clock: 1.20. She sighed and laid the book aside. She was so tired the words were running together, but she wasn't sleepy even though she'd been awake since early morning when Scarlett found Mrs Dillman. She kept seeing the woman's delicate body lying on the frosty grass. She also kept thinking about the savings account Steve had nearly emptied the day before he disappeared. Her tranquil life had been turned upside down Sunday night, and her brain felt overloaded with the deluge of strange and frightening events of the past few days. She wasn't sure how much more she could take.

Restlessly she tossed aside the blankets and pulled on her robe. Maybe hot milk would help. Hot milk with a generous shot of bourbon. This experience is going to turn me into an alcoholic, she thought. Just one more thing Dad can attribute to my ill-advised marriage. If I'd married Billy Ray Soames, like he wanted, probably alcohol would never have crossed my lips.

The door of the guest room stood open. Deborah hoped Barbara was enjoying her night with Evan. He'd seemed so tense. As much as he wanted to help, Deborah was afraid he resented all the time Barbara was spending here. And it had to be taking its toll on Barbara, too. After all, she was working her usual ten-hour days, and this house hardly provided a relaxing evening atmosphere.

She glanced into the children's room. Both were sleeping soundly. Scarlett opened sleepy eyes but didn't seem inclined to follow her.

Tiptoeing downstairs, Deborah pulled her robe tighter around her. A week ago she wouldn't have dreamed she'd be walking around Joe Pierce in her night clothes. Now such modesty seemed silly.

Joe had refused to sleep in the guest room in Barbara's absence. ‘I need to be downstairs,' he'd said. ‘If anyone is prowling around here, I'll hear them.' But as Deborah passed the living room, she saw that the couch was vacant. In fact, it didn't look as if it had been slept upon at all. She went into the kitchen, expecting to find him at the table drinking coffee. The room was empty. Alarm shot through her. Had Joe heard something and gone out to check on it?

Her hands began to tremble. She took a deep breath and went to the back door. It was securely locked, as was the door into the garage. She looked out the kitchen window but saw nothing. Then she rushed to the front door. It was locked and dead-bolted. Pulling the draperies aside, she peered into the front yard. Empty, as was the street, although she knew a surveillance car lurked somewhere near. That knowledge didn't make her feel any safer, though.

Where was Joe? Well, she couldn't go outside to investigate, but she couldn't calmly return to bed, either. She went back in the kitchen and poured milk into a mug, then set it into the microwave oven. Milk wouldn't help, but preparing it gave her something to do.

The microwave bell sounded at the same time as the phone rang. She picked up the kitchen extension, expecting to hear Joe's familiar, husky voice. Instead a rough, dramatically distorted male voice said, ‘Deborah?'

She hesitated. ‘Yes?'

‘I love the way you look tonight.'

She held the phone for a startled instant, then slammed down the receiver. A burning jolt of panic raced through her. Her eyes darted to the window over the sink. The blind was drawn. No one could see through it. Still, she felt eyes full of malignant amusement roving over her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling small and vulnerable. What should she do? Run outside to the surveillance car? The thought of dashing out into the night terrified her. Someone out there was watching her.

‘Or maybe not,' she said aloud, just to break the silence of the kitchen. ‘He didn't say anything specific about how I look. Maybe he couldn't see me at all.' So calling the police would be useless. They would probably chalk it up as a harmless crank call. And although she knew the phone was tapped, the connection had lasted less than thirty seconds. That wasn't long enough for a trace. She'd been a fool not to hang on longer.

Deborah took the mug of milk from the microwave. It was lukewarm now, but she didn't bother reheating it. Instead she found a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet and poured some into the milk. Then she sat down at the table, still shaking, her eyes drifting irresistibly to the phone. As if on cue, it rang again.

Deborah sat, frozen with uncertainty. Should she let it ring? Should she answer and try to get him to hang on for a few minutes? She closed her eyes. It rang again. And again.

She stood and rushed to it, nearly yelling, ‘Hello?'

‘You seem tense,' the voice said. ‘Worried about being alone in the house with your children?'

‘Who is this?' Deborah said inanely. How often had she complained about characters in movies asking such a stupid question? But it was instinctive.

‘Just call me an admirer.'

The line went dead.

Her hands trembling, Deborah cowered at the table, waiting for another call. Ten minutes passed. She'd finished the milk without even tasting it. Now she was thinking about fixing a second drink, only she found she was too frightened even to stand up. This is what they call paralyzing fear, she thought.

The back doorknob jiggled. Deborah sucked in her breath, then went motionless, rooted to her chair. Her gaze fastened on the knob. A grating sound. Then the door swung open.