The Lake

She gave a small yelp and clamped a hand to her jaw. “Ouch. This really hurts, Mom.”

“I know, honey. Just take it easy, now.”

Leigh knew it had been a shock for Deana to hear her shouting into the phone like that.

Poor kid. She doesn’t need it. Not after Allan…

All because of my upset with Nelson.

Guilt merged with a growing sense of urgency.

“We gotta call Mace. Tell him Nelson—”

“Been there. Done that.”

“You have?” Leigh felt relieved. And proud. Of course Deana would call Mace. She was a smart kid, her daughter.

Leigh relaxed—then jumped as the doorbell rang.

It sounded extra loud.

And strident.

This time of night.

“That’s Mace now.”

“You sure about this, Mom? Could be Nelson coming back to finish what he left off… Remember last time you answered the door?”

Leigh hurried into the hallway. “Mace?” she called through the door.

“Leigh. It’s me. Mace. Open up.”

Leigh almost fell into his arms as he stepped into the foyer.

Deana made a face.

Mom, she cringed, d’you have to do that? Get all swoony like some dopey kid in high school?

“It was Nelson…,” Leigh said.

“Gathered that from Deana’s call. Smart move there, kiddo.”

Deana glared grumpily at Mace. She was in no mood to be patronized. Digging her hands into her robe pockets, she snatched another look at him. He wore a white T-shirt, tight black jeans, and a black leather biker jacket.

Apart from his weapon bulging out of his hip holster, he wasn’t looking much like a policeman tonight. She stared a while longer.

Mmmm… Sexy, or what?

Oh yeah?

That’d be wonderful. Making a fool of myself with Mom’s boyfriend. Pardon me, Mom’s not-quite but soon-to-be boyfriend.

How can I be such a shit, anyway? Allan’s only just… Her eyes watered up.

But Mace sure looked attractive. Tanned complexion, sun-streaked hair. A regular California surfer look.

The Beach Boys.

Yuck.

Nowhere near as ancient as the Beach Boys.

Mace’s maybe thirty-six—going on thirty-eight?

Same age as Mom?

He is sexy, though… in a tough, die-hard kinda way. A body like that, he must work out pretty much every day.

Mace’s eyes held hers briefly.

A tight smile flicked across his face before he returned his attention to Leigh.

“Could be we’re getting closer,” he said. “Not often perps get to call their victims and apologize for their misdeeds.”

“No, I guess not,” Leigh said. “Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Mace grinned.

“Sugar?” Leigh asked as the coffee started to perk.

“No,” Mace said. “Gotta keep in shape, y’know.”

“Mmm, some shape,” Deana murmured.

So soon after Allan… What kind of schmuck am I?

Forgive me, Allan. Please.

Leigh sent her a warning look.

Deana threw a quick glance in Mace’s direction. Had he heard her last remark? Watching him settle back into the sofa, she decided there was no way of telling if he had.

She hoped he hadn’t heard.

If he had, it would be too embarrassing for words.

Anyway, where’s Mattie tonight?

Or is this a personal visit?

Mace accepted his coffee from Leigh. No cream. No sugar. Deana pictured his abs. Taut. Toned. A regular Rocky. A regular blond Rocky.

Suddenly, Mace was all cop. “Now, ladies,” he said. “Tell me again what happened when Nelson called.”

There’s your answer, Deana. He’s here on business…

Deana and Leigh pieced together the conversation as best they could. Finally, Leigh said, “And I just know he took my lucky necklace. Must have been a coupla weeks ago. I was real upset about it at first—thought I’d lost it for good. Then I remembered I’d left it at the restaurant. Nelson didn’t admit it, but I somehow know he’d taken it, just to spook me.”

“And now he’s disappeared.” Mace’s tone was brisk. He was more interested in Nelson’s future plans than in Leigh’s shell necklace.

“Yeah. He did sound pretty downbeat.” Leigh hesitated as another possibility struck her. “D’you think he’s going to kill himself?”

“Maybe. Sounds like he confessed—or apologized, whichever way you look at it. Had a fit of the guilts and aimed to pull the plug. You said he maybe left the phone hanging. Didn’t terminate the call?”

“No ‘maybe’ about it,” Leigh told him. “Nelson said he’d seen the light in Deana’s bedroom half an hour before his call. My guess is, he was lying; that he hadn’t been here at all.” She shook her head.

“He just wouldn’t have had the time. To be outside our house and then make the phone call from the Golden Gate Bridge at the time he did.”

“The Golden Gate?”

“Yes. I held on to the phone for a while and heard traffic zooming by. Nonstop and a lot of it, I’d say.

“And I could swear there was a foghorn in the distance.”

TWENTY-TWO

“Mace is quite a guy, don’t you think?”

“Deana!”

“No worries, Mom. I don’t want him. Believe me, after… you know… I need some space for a while. ’Sides, he’s too old for me!”

“Just remember, my darling daughter, that Mace is here to do a job of work. As in nailing Allan’s killer.”

Leigh had had a special meal brought in from the restaurant. We both deserve a break, she’d decided. These last few days have been a nightmare.

Beef Willington may have been off the menu, but Carl, her new, hastily appointed chef at the Bayview, had produced a wonderful dinner of marinated swordfish topped with spicy mango and tomato salsa.

Squishy chocolate dessert followed.

Deana’s favorite.

“Here’s to us! One door closes, another opens,” Leigh proclaimed with a wry smile. She took a sip of cool