Tonight You're Mine (5 page)

“Miguel Perez? No, Carmen, it wasn't.”

“Well, I only met him once at your Christmas party. Maybe not. Who did you think it was?”

“Carmen, did you
really
look at the man? Didn't he remind you of someone?”

Carmen's lovely tanned face grew bewildered. “I told you—Miguel.”

“No, Carmen, it looked like Paul.”

“Paul who?” Carmen's eyes widened. “Paul
Dominic?
” Nicole nodded. “That's impossible! He died in a car wreck fourteen years ago.”

“Did he? After the explosion there wasn't enough of the body left to make a positive identification. They didn't do DNA testing back then.”

Carmen couldn't hide the astonishment in her eyes before her gaze dropped and she bit her full lower lip the way she did when she was troubled. Finally she said, “Nicole, the last few months have been so hard on you. First the move back to San Antonio with all its bad memories. I know you would never have come except to please Roger. Then he left you. And now your father…Well, you can't be thinking too clearly right now.”

“You think I'm hallucinating?” Nicole asked, stung.

“No. I saw the man, too. I don't remember Paul as vividly as you do, but the height, the slimness, the black hair…Under the circumstances, being so tired and overwhelmed, I might have thought the same thing for a moment if I were you.”

“But the way he was looking at me…”

“The way he was looking at you?” Carmen reached out and put her strong, long-fingered hand on Nicole's. “He was so far away. How can you be sure of exactly
how
this man was looking at you?”

“But I
am
sure. His gaze was so intense…”

“Nicole, you're a beautiful woman. Lots of men look at you intensely.”

“But I thought…I was almost sure…” Nicole trailed off, embarrassed, knowing how unbelievable her story sounded. And thinking back on the incident, she wasn't certain why she'd believed the man in the cemetery was Paul Dominic just because he resembled him. Was it because she'd never been able to accept the death of a man she'd once worshiped just as she couldn't accept her father's?

“Are you all right?”

“I guess. Nerves, grief, shock. This hasn't been one of my better weeks.” Anxious to change the subject, she asked, “Where are Bobby and Jill?”

“Bobby's minding the store and waiting for Jill to come home from a friend's birthday party.”

“I'm glad you didn't make her come. I agree with Roger that funerals are no place for children, but Shelley couldn't very well be absent from her grandfather's, although I would have saved her the ordeal if I could.” Nicole glanced at her watch. “We've been in here fifteen minutes. Mother will be annoyed.”

“Your mother is always annoyed about something, so what difference does it make?” Carmen giggled. Nicole joined her, knowing no one but Carmen could have made her laugh even briefly today.

When they entered the living room, Phyllis turned her head away from Kay Holland, Clifton's longtime assistant at the store, and shot a burning look at Nicole to let her know her prolonged absence had been noted. At the moment, Nicole didn't care. Her eyes scanned the room. It was only half as full as when she'd gone to the kitchen. People obviously had no desire to linger and visit at this particular house.

“Are you feeling better, Mrs. Chandler?”

Nicole turned to see the dark-haired man her mother had been talking to earlier when Carmen led her off to the kitchen for aspirin.

“I'm feeling much better. Just a headache.”

He smiled easily. “A day like this could certainly give you one, although I have to congratulate you on the stamina you've shown. Both you and your mother, today at the funeral and Wednesday morning.”

Wednesday morning when Clifton Sloan had been found dead in his office. Nicole looked at him inquiringly. “You'll have to forgive me. You look so familiar, but I can't place where we've met.”

“I'm Raymond DeSoto. I was one of the detectives called to the scene of your father's death.”

Nicole's mind flashed pictures. A black-haired man wearing clear plastic gloves bending over her father's body. His quick, nodding acknowledgment of her and her mother. His quiet instructions to uniformed officers and what she supposed were forensics people, and later the scalding look he'd thrown his older, black partner who questioned Phyllis and Nicole stridently.

“Detective—”

“Actually, it's Sergeant.”

“Sergeant DeSoto, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You were very kind to my mother and me that day. I appreciate it. Unfortunately, I was so shaken that the whole scene seems like a kaleidoscope in my memory.”

“That's understandable.”

Nicole noticed the strong lines of his square face, the large, warm dark eyes, the thickness of his black hair. She guessed him to be in his very early thirties and noticed he didn't wear a wedding ring. Despite her quick appraisal, she was not looking at him as a potential romantic interest. She had always been observant. At one time the police had congratulated her for being such a good witness. Her mind veered from the dangerous memory.

“I thought the service was very dignified,” DeSoto was saying. “I did notice, though, that it wasn't religious.”

“My father was reared a Catholic, but he stopped going to church many years ago. He claimed to be an agnostic.”

“Claimed?”

Nicole knew the question wasn't as nonchalant as it sounded. DeSoto was interested in learning more about Clifton Sloan, but she answered anyway. “Every once in a while Dad said something that made me think he firmly believed in a supreme being, but maybe he was only echoing phrases he'd heard all his life, not expressing his true feelings.”

“I see,” DeSoto said offhandedly. “Well, I suppose in adulthood we all reexamine childhood beliefs and feelings, but I don't know how often we really change, not deep down anyway. I've heard cold-blooded killers suddenly start begging for God or their mothers when they know there's no way out for them.”

A tremor passed through Nicole, and he must have seen it. “Sorry again, Mrs. Chandler. Sometimes I think I'm only fit to talk to other cops.”

“It's all right, really. I was just thinking about how easy it is for some people to kill.” She paused, then asked a trifle nervously, “Sergeant DeSoto, I don't mean to make you feel unwelcome, but is there a reason you're attending this funeral? I mean, you
are
convinced my father's death was a suicide, aren't you? Because I know…I mean I've read…that sometimes policemen come to the funerals of murder victims because they think the killer might be there. I believe the theory is that the killer likes to see all the grief he's caused.”

DeSoto smiled reassuringly, showing even white teeth. “Yes, sometimes that's true. But not in this case. I'm here because I used to have an interest in music. I visited your father's store quite a few times. He was always very kind and patient with me, although it was obvious I had no talent and no money to buy any of the expensive instruments he handled.”

Nicole relaxed and smiled. “Dad cared more about a person's passion for music than their actual talent,” she said, then abruptly pictured a dark-haired man with mesmerizing hazel eyes talking earnestly about her feeling for music, about how rapt her seven-year-old face had grown when she was trying to play “Down in the Valley” on a grand piano. “Would you like something to eat?” she said in a brisk, loud voice unlike her own. “More coffee? I see that you've finished yours.”

Sergeant DeSoto glanced at his empty cup, frowning slightly, obviously sensitive to her sudden change in mood. “I've had plenty of coffee, thank you. I think I should be on my way. I stayed longer than I meant to.”

From across the room Nicole caught Phyllis's hard stare. She swiftly made her way to them. “I hope you two aren't discussing details of dear Clifton's death.” Her tone was sad but with a trace of steel underneath. “It's all so morbid, you know, Sergeant DeSoto. I don't like for Nicole to get more upset than she already is.”

Nicole resisted rolling her eyes. The idea that her mother's prime concern at the moment was Nicole's emotional state was nonsense. Phyllis was only worried that they were discussing the suicide. She seemed to believe that if they didn't talk about the specifics of Clifton's death, the cause would turn into a dignified heart attack.

“Your daughter was just offering me some more coffee,” Sergeant DeSoto said smoothly, “but I'm afraid I must get back to work.”

Phyllis smiled graciously. “We certainly understand. We also appreciate your attending die service. That was really above and beyond the call of duty. But then you knew my husband slightly, didn't you?”

“Yes, ma'am, although I hadn't seen him for years—”

“Oh, everyone is
so
busy these days,” Phyllis rattled on, steering him unobtrusively though expertly toward the front door. “Life used to be so much slower, more relaxed…”

Nicole hung back, listening to her mother. No doubt Phyllis had been deeply distressed to see the man at the funeral. She was afraid other people would know DeSoto was a policeman and his presence might stir up even more curiosity and discussion.

After everyone else had left, Carmen and Kay Holland stayed to help clear away the food. Nicole had always liked her father's thin, birdlike assistant, Kay. She remembered her as a young, energetic woman with surprisingly dreamy violet eyes behind thick glasses. The woman had never married, seemingly content with her job, the piano lessons she gave part-time, and her cats. But when Nicole returned to San Antonio in August, she'd been amazed at how much Kay had aged since she'd seen her a year before. Kay couldn't be more than in her late forties but she looked closer to sixty, her slenderness turned to boniness, her skin pale and waxy.

Kay insisted that Phyllis and Nicole relax on the couch while she and Carmen did most of the work. Within an hour all the food had been put away and Kay placed a slender book from the funeral home on the sideboard listing the dish, contents, and giver so Phyllis could write thank-you notes.

“Kay, you're a gem,” Phyllis said with a genuine smile. “Clifton always depended on you so much. No wonder. You're the most efficient person I know.”

Kay looked pleased in spite of the deep lines of sadness etched on her face. “Anything I can do to help, Mrs. Sloan. All you have to do is let me know.”

Phyllis stood. “Kay, dear, you've worked so hard you look absolutely exhausted. I want you go home and rest.”

“All right, Mrs. Sloan,” Kay said, flashing an entreating look at Nicole.

“After all, we can't have you breaking down over this thing.”

Another meaningful look at Nicole from Kay. Suddenly Nicole realized Kay wanted a private word with her, although Phyllis was leading her relentlessly toward the door. Luckily, at that moment Shelley called for her grandmother from the kitchen.

“Mom, you go see what Shelley wants,” Nicole said quickly. “I'll walk Kay to the door.”

Phyllis hesitated, clearly as surprised by her granddaughter's calls as Nicole was, then she smiled ruefully. “I hope she hasn't spilled something. Kay, I'll speak with you soon, and thank you again.”

As soon as she'd left the room, Kay took Nicole's arm in her thin, cold hands. “I wanted a moment alone with you.”

“What is it, Kay?”

“I've never had a chance to talk with you since your father's…death.” She looked down, blinking back the tears welling in her eyes. “You know how
very
sorry I am.”

“Of course, Kay. It's not what you wanted to talk to me about, though.”

“No. I don't mean to be mysterious, but I don't feel…well…free to talk here. I wouldn't want your mother to overhear. The store will be closed tomorrow, but I'll be there cleaning out Mr. Sloan's desk. Do you think you could stop by?”

Startled, Nicole realized Kay knew something about Clifton Sloan's death. “Kay, why don't you call me tonight—” She broke off, hearing Phyllis talking to Shelley as they passed through the dining room, headed for the living room. “All right,” Nicole murmured. “Shelley is supposed to spend tomorrow with her father, so I'll come by as soon as he's picked her up.”

Kay nodded vigorously as Phyllis entered the room. “Shelley wanted me to show her one of her great-grandmother's crystal birds, now of all times. Nicole, you're not detaining Kay, are you? She looks tired enough to drop.”

“I was only giving my regrets to Nikki,” Kay said, using Clifton's nickname for his daughter. “I
am
tired. I'll be on my way now, but remember what I said. I'm on twenty-four-hour call if you need me.”

“I'll remember,” Phyllis said. “Good-bye, Kay.”

Nicole and Kay walked to the front door in silence. Before Kay stepped out the door, she patted Nicole's arm and muttered, “Tomorrow. Please.”

Nicole nodded and watched as the stick-thin figure meandered down the front walk. She used to stride, Nicole thought. She used to seem as if she had the energy of ten people contained in that small body.

As Kay climbed into her five-year-old Chevrolet, Nicole looked beyond her. At first she merely glanced at the dog sitting on the other side of the street. Then her eyes narrowed. The dog was a large, gleaming black Doberman with a red collar. This close she could even see a small gold medallion hanging from the collar. The dog sat perfectly still, its dark eyes meeting hers with that strange look of knowledge she'd seen before. But this time it was alone. At least it appeared to be alone. Nicole had the odd feeling that its master was not far away. Her gaze remained locked with the dog's while Kay pulled away from the curb. Nicole stepped out on the porch. “Come here, dog,” she said softly, then more loudly, “Come to me!”