Maxine (2 page)

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Nick Donatelli finished hanging the kitchen cabinets, then loaded his tool box in the back of his car. Time to quit work for the day. He liked construction work, liked watching someone’s new house go up, but he couldn’t depend on a steady income. A job might last a few days or a few months, and then he’d be on unemployment until the next one came along. Someday he wanted to own a construction company, but that dream seemed out of reach. He’d lost all his savings in the divorce.

“C’mon, Nick,” Tony called. “It’s singles night at the comedy club, and it’s time you met some people.”

“Meaning women?”

Tony shrugged. He was the best looking of Nick’s cousins, and he had a reputation with women. Not necessarily a good one. In spite of that, he never seemed to have any problem finding dates. Tony didn’t need to drag Nick along to find himself a woman, and he didn’t need anyone in the way if he got lucky. And he would. Tony could have any woman he wanted.

Although Nick was single again, the bitterness lingered over his ex-wife’s treachery. And now Tony wanted him to go out and meet women? Start over with another woman who’d rip out what was left of his heart?
No, thanks.

“Take Angelo, Tony.” Without further discussion, Nick started his car and drove home to the little house his cousins had helped him build after his divorce. His beach house had a big mortgage, but he didn’t have to share it with Lisa. Didn’t have to live there with a woman who thought only of herself and her career. She didn’t care that she’d ripped his heart out.

After a long, hot shower, Nick sat on the deck eating his dinner. It was barely April, and there was a bite to the air, but he didn’t mind. The green hills framing the water had been washed clean from yesterday’s rain, and the late afternoon sun sparkled off the gray waters of Puget Sound. He loved living on the water. He had a long flight of stairs from the house up to the road, and it was a nuisance lugging groceries in, but that was a small sacrifice for the privilege of living in his own private paradise.

He tossed a crust of bread on the beach for the shore birds and walked down the beach. There were only four other houses along this stretch of beach. The middle three were vacation homes owned by people from Seattle. Those places sat empty most of the year. The lights were on in old Mrs. Martin’s house at the end, but Mrs. Martin had passed away several months ago. As he walked closer, a woman with long black hair walked past the living room window. He couldn’t believe someone was living there again. Tony had talked about renting it, so he’d have a private place to take women, but after he saw it up close, he changed his mind. The land had a gentle slope down to the water and an outstanding view, but the house had termites and so much rot it wasn’t safe to live there. If Nick owned that house, he’d tear it down and start over.

Pretty colors streaked across the sky as the sun set over the water. Nick stood quietly, gazing at the sky until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

He was so lonesome he couldn’t stand it.

Maybe he should have gone with Tony.

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Cara dried her hair in front of the woodstove. In her rush to get away from the house, she’d forgotten to bring a hair dryer. She’d left a lot of things behind, and since she’d emptied their joint bank accounts before she left Seattle, Lance would probably pawn the rest of the jewelry she’d brought with her. She’d left most of the valuable things at the estate in California.

Her guardians thought Lance was wonderful. Marrying him had been the first thing she’d ever done that pleased them. Did they know what he was planning? Did they care? They’d always hated her. If it had been up to her, they would have been gone the week they came, but at thirteen, she was considered by the trustees to be too young to make that decision.

One day soon she’d take control of the estate and throw those people out of her home. If she wasn’t such an emotional mess, she’d go home and do it now. And then she’d find a good attorney and end her marriage. The trustees in charge of her grandfather’s estate had an attorney on staff, but she couldn’t call him and risk her guardians finding out. If they knew where she was, they’d undoubtedly tell Lance.

She peered in the bathroom mirror and sighed. Her eyes were still swollen from crying so much, and her hair looked awful. Changing the color had changed her appearance enough that people may not recognize her. The box said the color was temporary, that it would wash out in time. Maybe by then she’d have her life in order.

The dumpy little cabin she rented was fairly secluded, and Lance would never believe she’d live in a place like this, so she should be safe here until she figured out how to end her marriage on her terms. He didn’t deserve to profit from their brief union, but California was a community property state. Washington probably was, too. There must be a way around that law, a way to end her marriage without paying him off.

The setting sun sparkled on the water and a man walked by on the beach. He looked up and waved, and she waved back. He must live in the little house at the other end of the beach, the only other one along here that looked lived-in. She hoped he didn’t recognize her.

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Lance Berkshire had a dread in the pit of his stomach. Cara didn’t come home last night, but his wife wouldn’t have snuck out of the house and cleaned out their bank accounts unless she intended to stay gone. She must have heard him on the phone with Sally.

He worked and re-worked scenarios in his mind, trying to figure out what to do about her. If he couldn’t take her out of the picture, he couldn’t get his hands on her money. He could kill her, but he’d be the prime suspect, and he didn’t want anyone investigating him. If the cops took his fingerprints, they’d know his true identity. Killing her wasn’t an option unless he could make it look like an accident or suicide. Even then it was risky.

Discrediting Cara, claiming she was crazy like her mother, seemed the best way. Nobody trusted rich people anyway, so he’d have public sympathy on his side. Yes, that might work. If he didn’t find her in the next day or two, he’d ask the public to help him find his ‘sick’ wife. If she thought she could get away with leaving him high and dry, she didn’t know who she was dealing with.

The private detective he hired tracked Cara to a car rental place at the airport. The car she’d rented had been returned two hours later, and she didn’t use her credit cards to rent another one. She probably bought a car, but there were hundreds of car dealers in the Puget Sound area. It would take time to track her down.

A wave of anger tore through him.
Bitch!
If Cara wanted to play games, he’d handle her the same way he’d handled that stupid woman in San Diego. Nobody screwed him and got away with it. By the time he finished with Cara Andrews, she’d be as crazy as her mother.

Or dead
.

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Nick had just finished washing off the deck Sunday afternoon when a strong jolt nearly knocked him off his feet.
What the hell was that?
Seconds later, another one hit, this one even sharper than the first, and the ground shook like a giant vibrating bed gone out of control.

Earthquake.

Sounds of timbers snapping and glass breaking down the beach pulled his attention away from his own house. The Martin place was unstable without an earthquake, and a woman lived there. As soon as the shaking stopped, Nick jogged down the beach to see if she was all right.

He passed one cabin where the deck had broken loose from the foundation and rested on the ground. Another cabin had several cracked windows, but every window in Mrs. Martin’s little house was broken or shattered by the strong jolts. From the amount of debris under the living room, the floor must have given way.

The living room wall exploded out and the roof came down over that side of the house. The foundation beams, perched on pier blocks and eaten away by termites, had failed, pulling everything else out of kilter and weakening the entire structure.

A woman’s terrified scream came from inside the house, raising goose bumps on his arms. He ran closer and yelled, “Are you all right?”

“I’m scared, and the cabin is still moving.”

It sure as hell was. “Where are you?”

“In the bedroom,” she called back. “I can’t get to the door. The living room floor is gone.”

One of the supports under the deck snapped and the deck caved in. The place was falling in on itself. If that woman didn’t get her fanny out here in the next few seconds, she might never get out. Maybe she could jump out the window. “Can you get to the bedroom window?”

“I think so.”

He saw her moving near the window, but she disappeared in a scream as the roof came down and the floor dropped into the crawl space. Nick jumped back, his heart pounding in dread, and watched the front of the cabin fold up like a piece of damp cardboard. The woman’s scream ended abruptly. She was either badly injured or dead.

The beam under the outside bedroom wall was still holding. He prayed it held long enough to get her out of that death trap.
If
she was still alive.

He ran up the hill on the left side of the cabin, fighting his way through the salal and huckleberry bushes. The house was completely off the foundation, but the beam felt solid. Crawling under the beam, he picked his way through the rubble toward the place he thought the woman had fallen, knowing one wrong move could bring it all down on top of him. He should have his head examined for doing this, but there wasn’t time to call for help. He had to get her out
now.

A few feet in, the woman lay face down, buried in debris and bedroom furniture. The low moan that came from her still body told him she was injured, but alive.

The cabin creaked and settled above them, raining more plaster dust. Nick’s heart pounded. They had to get out of here, but he couldn’t move her until he knew how badly she was injured. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned and answered, “Yes.”

“Good. Can you move your hand?”

She moved her left hand, the one nearest him.

“What about the other one?”

She moaned again, and he asked, “What hurts?”

“Mostly my right shoulder. Am I going to die?”

“Not if I can help it. Can you feel your toes?”

“Yes, but it’s hard to breathe.”

“That’s not a surprise. You have half the house on top of you.” He carefully moved a dresser and pushed pieces of the bedroom ceiling off her. A big board across her right shoulder held her down. He couldn’t move it and pull her out at the same time, and if he moved it much, neither one of them would get out alive.

“My hair is caught.”

He pushed at another beam and the structure above them began to move, spilling more insulation and plaster dust. He fought the urge to flee and save himself, but he couldn’t live with himself if he left her here to die.

He went at it from a different direction, trying to pull her hair out, but it wouldn’t budge. “Damn. I can’t get your hair loose.”

“Do you have a pocket knife?”

“Yes.”

“Cut it off. Please,” she begged. “Get me out of here.” She sounded terrified and he couldn’t blame her.

“I’m doing my best,” he said gently.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m so scared.” Scared didn’t touch it. Cara was hurting and unable to see or move, and the cabin was folding in on her as if she were being closed in a coffin. A scream bubbled up inside her, but she held it in.

His knife tugged at her hair, freeing her head. “Can you move your feet?”

“Yes. My left leg feels wet.”

“It’s probably blood. You have a cut on your leg. I’m going to lift the beam off your shoulder, and I want you to crawl out. Okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

The beam lifted slightly. “That’s as far as I can move it. Get out of there. Now.”

Cara pushed with her toes, inching forward, the only direction she could go.

“Hurry. I can’t hold this much longer.”

The glass cut her hands and arm and sliced through her knee. Her shoulder hurt more with every breath, every move, but she kept going until she was free of the beam.

The house shifted above her again, bringing more dust. With a grunt, the man slowly lowered the beam. Squeaks and groans came from above them, and Cara’s heart raced with fear.

He grabbed her arm and guided her through a small opening under the side of the cabin. Her eyes burned with plaster dust, something sharp stung her knee, her head pounded, and the pain in her right shoulder snatched her breath away, but she was out of that make-shift coffin.

The man helped her down to the beach, to a big rock. Still shaking, she sat on the rock. Her eyes burned and watered, but she had dirt and glass on her fingers, so she couldn’t wipe them out. “I can’t see.”