She took a deep, deep sniff.
And couldn’t believe it.
Allan’s smell was gone.
How could a person’s
Bit by bit, piece by piece, Allan was going away.
Leaving her behind.
This is how it’s gonna be. I’ll forget what he looks like next. Except I have that photograph of him I took at Stinson Beach a couple of weeks back.
The one where he looked like a young Robert Redford. Tousled blond hair, broad smile, gorgeous teeth, eyes crinkled up against the sun.
He was wearing those tight, shiny swim trunks…
Knowing that Allan was gone forever hit her hard.
Again.
Tears stood in her eyes, then coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the shorts.
She sighed, fighting back a sob. Gently, she folded the shorts and replaced them in the nightstand drawer.
Allan’s smell may have disappeared, but she would always have his shorts to remind her of the good times they’d had.
Could
Loud, hurting sobs broke through, bursting from her throat.
She threw herself on the bed and lay weeping into her pillow, drawing up her knees till they touched her chin. She rocked and sobbed, her tears drenching the pillow, hopelessness sweeping over her like a tidal wave.
Allan was gone.
Forever.
The tears gradually subsided. She felt calmer now and turned over on her back.
Staring at the ceiling.
Watching the shadows from her tree spread across it like giant fingers.
I could slit his goddamn throat. Stab him to death. Then hide the body.
Roll it away into someone’s garden.
Or into the stand of redwoods, back of the house.
She leaned over Nelson’s body, blood streaming from the wound in his gut, pouring from his mouth. Sobbing and choking at the same time, he pleaded with her to stop, get help.
He hadn’t meant to do it.
He was
She laughed at him scornfully, kicked the knife into the bushes, and strolled back into the house.
She sat back on the bed, planning her next move.
Her mind flew to the kitchen.
It was lethal. Short, strong, with a pointed blade. You could lose a finger and not even notice.
Deana pictured Mom holding the knife.
Chopping carrots.
Quickly, expertly, like a machine, the root falling away from the knife like small orange counters.
No problem.
Deana swung herself off the bed, shivering with excitement. The idea of killing Nelson was scary, but it was turning her on.
It would be
Nobody’d suspect her.
If they did, well, she was a girl, wasn’t she—still distraught at the death of her lover.
They’d say she didn’t know what she was doing.
Maybe they’d think a young girl like her wouldn’t have the courage, the strength to kill a grown man…
Nelson won’t be hanging around, though, waiting to be killed.
Not if he has any sense.
Maybe he
She crept to the door.
Listening out for Mom.
Seems like she’s already in bed. Having cleared away the supper things, got into her nightgown, cleaned her teeth…
Probably went to sleep thinking of Mace.
The silence was everywhere, except for the rustling tree outside her window.
Reminding her of Nelson, the way he’d scared the daylights out of her…
She dressed quickly, her resolve to find Nelson growing by the second. She pulled on a black, long-sleeved sweatshirt and matching tights.
Bundled her thick hair into a knot.
Dragged a black knit cap over her head, safely anchoring the hair in place.
“Yes!”
Brilliant!
A brain wave…
She picked out black knee-length wool socks from her drawer and pulled them over her white Nike running shoes.
Cary Grant in
Slipping quietly into the kitchen for the knife, she
Holding her breath, she stood still, listening.
Tiptoeing over to the cutlery drawer, she pulled it out carefully.
It rattled slightly. Drawing in a quick breath, she held still for a moment. Then she took out the vegetable knife and ran her fingers lightly over the steel blade.
