With an Extreme Burning

money.

She peered out over the flat surface of the lake. No sign of Ted yet. He'd gotten up at the crack of dawn and carted his fishing gear down to the skiff and rowed off happily to murder some poor catfish or lake bass or whatever. Fishing … now, there was a nasty sport for you. Not as nasty as slaughtering deer or elk for fun, but nasty just the same. Hauling those poor creatures out of the water at the end of a hook, watching them wiggle desperately to get free while they strangled on air, cutting or ripping the barb out of their mouths while they were still flopping … ugh! She'd gone with Ted once and that had been one time too many. Not only hadn't she been able to clean the fish he'd brought home since, she couldn't even bring herself to eat one. If he'd caught anything this morning, he and the boys would devour the remains at supper and welcome to it. She'd have a hamburger smothered in sauteed mushrooms.

The thought of a hamburger made her mouth water. Pig, she thought, and got up and went to see what the refrigerator had to offer. They'd stopped in Ukiah on the way yesterday and loaded up on groceries. Another bagel with cream cheese? No, something sweet … peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. Yum. Eat your heart out, Jenny Craig. Chuckling, she took out the jar of Jif, the jar of Smucker's, and went for the loaf of white bread.

The telephone rang.

If that's the hospital, she thought, I'm not going back, not for any emergency. This is my vacation, dammit. Even resident nurses are entitled to vacations.

But it wasn't the hospital. It was Cecca.

Eileen was surprised and pleased. “Make my day,” she said, “and tell me you can get away after all. Did you close the deal on the Morrison house?”

“No, not yet. That isn't why I called.”

“Well, it can't be just to chat.”

“No. I saw Dix last night.”

“Took my advice and invited him to dinner? Good!”

“He called and said he wanted to see me.”

“Even better. How'd it go?”

“Eileen, it wasn't social.”

The way Cecca said that put Eileen on alert. When you'd been a person's close friend for more than half your lives, you developed antennae. “There's something wrong,” she said. “Tell mama.”

“Those crank calls I've been getting? Well, Dix has been getting them, too—from the same man.”

“Dix? Heavy breathing calls from a man?”

“They're not sexual. Not the way you mean.”

“What are they, then?”

“Something a lot sicker.”

Eileen listened breathlessly as Cecca explained about the calls she and Dix had received on Saturday. Hers was bad enough, but the one to Dix … good God!

“He claimed he was the one Katy was having an affair with?” she said. “But why in heaven's name would he tell Dix about it? What does he want?”

“To gloat, maybe. I don't know.”

“Well, he's got to be a head case, no matter what. You and Dix believe it's true?”

“It could be,” Cecca said. “All the details … it could be.”

“Lord. I've thought all along Katy had a lover, you know that, but a man with a bunch of his wires loose … brrr. That's not her fault, though. You can't always tell a book by its cover.” She shivered despite the day's gathering heat. “You think he's dangerous?”

“We don't know. He could be.”

“Well, have you gone to the police?”

“Last night. We went together and made a report.”

“Who did you see? Chief Rennick?”

“No, a lieutenant named St. John. He's been on the force here only about a year and a half. He was sympathetic enough, but he said what we expected to hear: There's nothing the police can do without some idea of who the man is and what he's after.”

Eileen began slathering a piece of bread with peanut butter. When she was upset she craved food. Some people wrapped themselves in their security blankets; she ate hers.

“What're you going to do?” she asked.

“Try to find out who he is.”

“How? A stranger, a disguised voice on the phone—”

“He may not be a stranger,” Cecca said.

“Someone you know? But then … if you know him, so do I. Oh, brother!”

“I hate the idea, too. But it could be.”

“I guess it could. Damn, I wish Katy hadn't been so secretive! If she'd dropped just a hint of who she was seeing …”

“But she didn't.”

“No. Not that night I told you about, in June, and not afterward. Every time I tried to bring it up, she changed the subject.”

“What exactly did she say that made you suspect she was having an affair?”

“It wasn't so much what she said, it was how she said it and how she acted.”

“Tell me again. In detail.”

“All right,” Eileen said. Strawberry jam on top of the peanut butter, big gooey globs of it that reminded her of clotted blood. She took a bite of it anyway. Another bite before she spoke again, with her mouth half full and peanut butter sticking to the roof. “It was a Friday night. The first Friday in the month, I think. Ted's bowling night, and the boys were off somewhere.” She finally managed to swallow. “You were having dinner with Jerry at River House. That Friday.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I was feeling lonesome, so I called Katy and she came over. We got into the wine. A chardonnay that Owen recommended to Ted. At first we just talked, I don't remember what about. Talked and drank. Then we started reminiscing, you know how you do on about four glasses of wine. The trip the three of us took up the Oregon coast after you and Chet split up, what a good time we had. Well, except for Pelican Bay.”

Eileen stuffed the rest of the bread and Jif and Smucker's into her mouth. Cecca said her name twice before she could get the mass—mess—chewed and swallowed. “I'm here,” she said, and wiped a smear of jam off her chin before she went on. “I said we should do something like that again. Take a trip together, just the three of us, let our hair down the way we did in Oregon. Put some excitement back in our lives. Katy agreed it was a good idea, but not right away—next year sometime. Why wait? I said. All three of us had been bitching about how bored we were, hadn't we? She said, well, she didn't feel bored anymore, she was really getting into her painting. I said painting isn't exactly exciting and she said she had enough excitement in her life right now, more than she had any right to have. There was something about the way she said it … I don't know, but I said, Oh really? Don't tell me you've gone and taken a lover behind my back?”

“And she reacted to that?”

“Reacted is right. Jerked as if I'd slapped her, spilled her wine.”

“Then what?” Cecca asked.

“She covered up fast. You know how good Katy was at covering even when she was flustered.”

“What did she say? What did you say?”

Eileen's memory had flowered; she'd always had the capacity for near-total recall. The conversation with Katy was already replaying in her mind, as clearly as if she were listening to a tape of it.

“Katy, my God, you are having an affair!”

“I am not! What makes you think that?”

“Well, the look on your face …”

“Oh, crap. You surprised me, that's all.”

“Oh come on, honey. You are, aren't you.”

“I just told you I'm not.”