A gray-blue Plymouth Voyager van was parked in the driveway.
A brown pickup truck with a bed full ofhoses, nets, and plastic bottles was idling in the driveway of the house next door. The sign on the door said VALLEYBRITE POOL SERVICE. Just as I pulled up to the curb the truck shot out. The driver saw me and stopped short. I waved him on. A young, shirtless, ponytailed man stuck his head out and stared.
Then he grinned suddenly and gave me the thumb-up, instant buddy sign.
Dropping a bronze arm over the driver's door, he finished backing up and was off I walked to the front door. Cindy opened it before I had a chance to knock, brushing hair out of her face and glancing at her Swatch.
'Hi,' she said. Her voice sounded choked, as if she'd just caught her breath.
'Hi.' I smiled. 'Traffic was better than I thought.'
'Oh... sure. C'mon in.' The hair was unbraided but still waved by constriction. She wore a black T-shirt and very short white shorts.
Her legs were smooth and pale, a little skinny but well-shaped above narrow bare feet. The sleeves of the T-shirt were cut high and on the
bias, revealing lots of slender arm and a bit of shoulder. The bottom hem of her shirt barely reached her waist. As she held the door open she hugged herself and looked uncomfortable. Showing more skin than she'd intended for me, I supposed.
I walked in and she closed the door after me, taking care not to slam it. A modest entry hall ended at ten feet of wall papered in a teal-blue miniprint and hung with at least a dozen framed photo graphs.
Cindy and Chip and Cassie, posed and candid, and a couple of a pretty, dark-haired baby in blue.
Smiling baby boy. I looked away from him and let my eyes settle on an enlarged snapshot ofCindy and an older woman. Cindy appeared around eighteen. She wore a white bare-midriff blouse and tight jeans tucked into white boots, and her hair was a wide, windblown fan. The older woman was leathery-looking, thin but wide-hipped, and had on a red-and-white striped sleeveless knit top over white stretch pants and white shoes. Her hair was dark-gray and cut very short, her lips so skinny they were nearly invisible. Both she and Cindy wore sunglasses; both were smiling. The older woman's smile said No Nonsense. Boat masts and gray-green water backgrounded the shot.
'That's my Aunt Harriet,' said Cindy.
Remembering she'd grown up in Ventura, I said, 'Where is this, Oxnard Harbor?'
'Uh-huh. Channel Islands. We used to go there for lunch, on her days off Another look at her watch. 'Cassie's still sleeping.
She takes her nap around now.'
'Back to routine pretty quickly.' I smiled. 'That's good.'
'She's a good girl.... I guess she'll be up soon.'
She sounded edgy again.
'Can I get you something to drink?' she said, moving away from the picture wall. 'There's iced tea in the fridge.'
'Sure, thanks.'
I followed her through a generously dimensioned living room lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and furnished with oxblood leather couches and club chairs that looked new. The shelves were full of hardcovers. A brown afghan was draped over one of the chairs. The fourth wall had two curtained windows and was papered in a black-and-green plaid that darkened the r00m further and gave it a clubby look, unmistakably masculine.
Chip's dominance? Or indifference to interior decorating on her part?
I trailed slightly behind her, watching her bare feet sink into brown plush carpet. A grass stain spotted one buttock of her shorts.
She had a stiff stride and held her arms pressed to her sides.
A dining room papered in a brown mini-print led to a white-tile and oak kitchen large enough to accommodate
