The Next to Die

people who had killed Tony Katz. “Do you think I’m nuts?” Dayle asked.

“Not at all,” Sean replied. “You said earlier you thought some people were following you.”

“Yes?”

Sean got to her feet and wandered over to the window. “While I was waiting for you in the lobby, I noticed this man sitting alone in a Chevy, parked across the street. He sat there for a half hour. Then a silver car came up behind him. The guy in the first car nodded, pulled out, and the second guy took his spot. It was like a changing of the guard. Fifteen minutes later, your limousine turned into the drive. The man in the silver car took out a cellular phone and called someone.”

Dayle stood up and moved to the window. Cradling the cat in her arms, she stared down at the front driveway to her building. A silver car was parked across the street.

“He’s still there,” Sean said. “You’re not nuts, Dayle. Someone’s watching you.”

“Hi, it’s me again, and I’m fine,” Sean reported to Dayle on her cellular. “Traffic’s running smoothly here along the coastal highway. No accidents, no tailgaters, no claw hooks dangling from my car door handle. I’ll have another traffic update for you in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, I’m making a mental note to play you as a grade-A smart-ass,” Dayle replied. “How are you, really?”

“I’m making great time,” Sean said.

Dayle Sutton hadn’t liked the idea of her driving alone at night this long distance. She’d made Sean promise to call on her cellular every fifteen minutes until she reached her in-laws’ house.

“At this clip,” Sean said. “I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

“Well, call me for touchdown so I’ll know you’re okay,” Dayle said.

“Will do, Dayle. Thanks again.” Sean clicked off the line. She glanced out her window at the dark, choppy waters of the Pacific. This time of night, all she could see were the curled whitecaps. Behind her, a series of distant headlights pierced the darkness. Something about the long, lonely drive in the dark—and that cool, ocean breeze whipping through the car window—made her feel so lost and melancholy. She’d even allowed herself a good cry a few miles back. In this vulnerable state, she realized that Dayle Sutton was the first friend she’d made on her own in California. But Dayle was also a movie star, and in Hollywood, friendships were transitory. Maybe that was why she didn’t tell Dayle about Dan.

Sean glanced in the rearview mirror—at the Jeep that had been following her since she’d merged onto the coastal highway thirty-five minutes ago. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d left Dayle Sutton’s apartment building. Instead, she’d focused on the lone dark figure in the silver car. He’d called someone from his cellular as soon as she’d emerged from the building. Had he phoned the person in this Jeep?

Sean told herself to stay calm. The highway wasn’t exactly deserted; plus the Jeep kept a safe distance behind her. Testing things, Sean eased up on the accelerator. The speedometer dropped to sixty-five…sixty…fifty- five. Other cars began to gain on her, the Jeep among them. One by one, they pulled into the fast lane and passed her, but the Jeep stayed behind.

Dayle answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Dayle? It’s me, Sean. We have touchdown. I’m walking up the driveway as I speak.”

“And you don’t think anybody was following you?” Dayle asked.

“Well, for a few minutes after the last call, this Jeep behind me gave me a case of heebie-jeebies. I couldn’t shake him. But he pulled off an exit before me, so I guess it was nothing.” She paused. “Oh, Phoebe’s waving at me from the front window. Anyway, I’m fine, Dayle. Thanks for worrying about me.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Dayle said. “I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good. G’night, and thanks again.” Sean clicked off, and waved back to her daughter. The petite, redhaired seven-year-old wore her pink ballerina outfit from Halloween. She jumped up and down excitedly, then made fish faces against the window for her mother. Sean laughed and blew her a kiss. She started up the walk to the front door.

Dan’s brother Doug and his wife, Anne, owned a large, cedar shaker on beachfront property—with a wraparound terrace and beautiful gardens. At one time, Sean had dreamt of having a home like this one. But now all bets were off.

Approaching Anne and Doug Olson’s front door, she thanked God for having such great in-laws. Dan and Doug were close, but even the most devoted of siblings might have cracked under the pressure of putting up a brother, nephew, and niece, a rotating series of baby-sitter nurses, and a sister-in-law, who checked in on her family from time to time between business in the city. Yet Doug and Anne never complained.

Phoebe opened the door as Sean reached the front stoop. “Well, my goodness!” Sean declared. “Look at my pretty ballerina!” She gave Phoebe a kiss. “Did you wait up for me?”

Phoebe nodded, and began telling her about what had happened in school today. She chattered nonstop as they stepped inside. The TV was blaring in the family room toward the back of the house. It was a beautiful, spacious room with a stone fireplace and an ocean view. Since coming to stay at Doug and Anne’s, she’d tried to keep her kids from trashing the place—and for the most part, she’d succeeded. Sean noticed a few things scattered about: papers and school books, a pair of gym shoes, and one of Phoebe’s sweaters. She also found her eleven- year-old, Danny, lying on his stomach directly in front of the television. Despite a trace of adolescent acne and an unruly mop of brown hair, he was a cute boy, with long-lashed blue eyes and an endearing smile. Barely looking up from the TV, he muttered, “Hi, Mom.”

“You’ll go blind,” Sean announced. “No, don’t get up. You haven’t seen your mother since yesterday morning, but God knows, that shouldn’t tear you away from the boob tube and Babe-Watch.”

On TV, a bikini-clad, blond silicone case ran through a dark corridor from a man with a butcher knife. “This happens to be PBS,” Danny said. “And I’m watching it for homework.”

Sean laughed. “You’re a twisted young man. God knows why I love you. Please tune it down a bit—for Uncle Doug and Aunt Anne’s sake.”

Danny sighed and lowered the volume with the remote.

Without the TV noise, Sean heard a mechanical whosh-whosh from another part of the house—as constant as those waves crashing against the rocky shore outside. It was a sound she’d grown to love and hate; a reassurance of life continuing, and a reminder that living was hard as hell.

Sean stooped down and kissed Danny. “I’ve missed you. Is Dad asleep?”

“Nope. He’s right here!” Doug Olson announced over the steady whosh-whosh of Dan’s respirator. Coming from the guest room down the hall, he pushed Dan in his wheelchair.

Their favorite nurse, Julie, trailed behind him. Julie Adams-Smart had saved Dan’s life twice already—when his respirator had malfunctioned. The petite, pretty, strawberry blonde had a lot of guts. Dan loved her, the kids loved her, Doug and Anne loved her.

Sean’s feelings for this young woman were more complicated. She was grateful, resentful, beholden, and in awe of Julie. Dan now depended more on Julie than he did on her. Only last week, she couldn’t understand something Dan was trying to say, but Julie had picked it up. She’d become better than Sean at reading his lips and anticipating his needs. Julie was smiling at her now. “Dan insisted on getting dressed for you,” she said.

Dan grinned. He wore his gray sweats, which had been cut to accommodate the feed tube in his back. Another tube—for his respirator—was connected at the base of his throat and hooked up to a portable machine. Julie had obviously shaved him today, and overcombed his hair until it was flat. Sean preferred Dan a bit more scruffy, because he used to look sexy with a five o’clock shadow and his thick light-brown hair mussed. Too much grooming now made him appear waxy and lifeless—ready for the coffin.

The disease had rendered him totally immobile. His head was propped back against a small pillow. His hands—now puffy and mannequinlike—had been placed palms-down on his thighs. He appeared older than forty. Sometimes, Sean looked at that helpless, old man in the wheelchair, and she didn’t recognize her husband. But then Dan would smile, or show a gleam in his eye, and she’d see the man with whom she had fallen in love. He was still there.

He gave her one of those looks now, and she read his lips. “Hi, honey,” he said. “How did round two go with Dayle Sutton?”

Sean kissed him. “I’ll tell you after the kids are in bed,” she whispered. She kissed him again and held her