Sooner or Later (32 page)

“Better than ours, I’ll bet,” she murmured, dropping a kiss on his soft black curls.

“He has hair like his father,” Florita said proudly.

Ellie thought he looked exactly like his father, and she’d bet he had all of his charm too.

“Well, at least that’s over.” Maya leaned across to tickle the baby’s cheek. “Now you can get some rest. Maybe you and I should take a little vacation? Hawaii? Or Cabo? Somewhere tropical, with soft white sand and hot sunshine?”

The baby held out his arms for his mother and as Ellie handed him over, Dan thought, enviously, it made a pretty picture: Ellie, a baby, the family dinner table, home and hearth…. Every cliché he could think of just fit right in.

“I have to get back to work.” Ellie sounded brisk, businesslike, as though now that the funeral was over she had snapped out of grief. But Maya knew her better.
Ellie always took it on the chin, whether it was a doomed love affair or a death in the family.

“Then I’ll come and stay with you, keep you company.” Maya didn’t want her to be alone with all her bad thoughts of Miss Lottie and Maria.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to get on with things, on my own, or …” She didn’t finish it, but they knew she was going to say she might not be able to.

“Sort of like getting back on the horse after you’ve been thrown,” Dan said helpfully.

She looked at him and grinned, almost like the old Ellie. “Always there with an apt analogy, Cassidy.” Their eyes linked.

“Please stay.” Dan’s eyes were still on hers. He spread his hands, palms up.
“Mi casa es su casa.”

“Gracias, Señor.”
But Ellie knew she had to go back to her own life, her own world.

Johannsen and Mullins arrived after supper with the tape. They sat on the edges of their chairs, watching as Miss Lottie’s funeral unrolled, bringing the pain back all over again.

The detective slowed the tape as the camera panned the crowd at the graveside. “I’m sorry to do this, Ellie, but if you could just take a look at their faces, see if there’s anything that strikes a chord, someone your grandmother might have known years ago, or a stranger?”

Ellie searched the solemn faces carefully; some were tearful, others stony, all sad. Some she knew, and some she didn’t.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”

Piatowsky almost felt sorry for Johannsen. The case was a tough one, and random killings were the hardest to solve.

He walked out to the car with him. “Anything I can
do”—he shook his hand firmly—“let me know.” Lighting up a Lucky, Piatowsky leaned on the porch rail, watching the red taillights disappear down the hill. He had a feeling Ellie hadn’t heard the last from Johannsen.

The others wandered out to join him. “Care to take a walk?” Dan was looking at Ellie. It was almost dusk and a waning moon glimmered, in the cobalt blue sky. Taking his outstretched hand, she walked with him down the steps and along the path leading behind the house, to the pond.

“They look good together.” Piatowsky offered Maya a cigarette and she shook her head.

Her eyes were on Ellie and Dan. Their two tall figures blended into one as Dan slid his arm round Ellie’s waist, then they turned the corner and were gone. “They’re good together,” she agreed. “Except she’s a city girl with a work ethic that won’t quit and ambition as high as that moon.”

“And he’s a guy seeking the simple lite, Farmer Dan, lost in the countryside, up to his eyes in vines and horse-shit.”

She looked at him. “Doesn’t bode well, does it?”

He gave her that little boy grin. “Not all marriages are made in heaven. How about we take a walk, Miss Maya. You can tell me all about yourself, and I can tell you about the darlin’ of my heart, who’s probably being so spoiled by her grandmother, she’s not missing her poor father one little bit.”

“I’m going to miss this place.” Sliding her arm around Dan’s waist, Ellie matched her stride to his long one. She thought they fit together as snugly as if they had been made for each other.

“And I’m going to miss you.” The darkening twilit sky intensified the flame of her hair, paled her eyes,
drained her face of what little color it had. “Sure you can’t stay? Take it easy for a bit?”

It was so tempting just to be an old-fashioned woman, collapse into his arms, let him take care of her. A part of her yearned toward that, but she reminded herself quickly that her goals were still in front of her. She needed work, and she needed success, now more than ever. “There’s no point in taking it easy, it leaves too much time to think. Besides, I have to get away from Johannsen.”

He wanted to tell her it would be difficult to get away from Johannsen, that when he wanted her, he would be down in Santa Monica in a heartbeat, ready to question her all over again. Unless he came up with another suspect, one who wore size twelve sneakers.

She was looking at him as though he might have an answer, something to take the burden from her shoulders, but he had none. She said, “I thought I learned everything there was to know about violence, that year my parents died. Now I know I didn’t. This is even worse.”

“It’s over now, Ellie. Let it go. Keep the good memories and put Journey’s End on the market.”

She shook her head, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can’t. Not yet. It’s as though Miss Lottie and Maria are still there, waiting for me to help them. We have to find their killer first.”

They were standing by the pond, listening to the frogs revving up, getting ready to serenade the night. “Will you come and see me, Dan? Please?”

He turned to her. Her bones were sharp under his hands, she must have lost pounds this past week. “Of course I will.”

Her face was uptilted to his, he could smell the clean
scent of her hair, her subtle perfume. Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her gently, sweetly.

Like a friend, Ellie thought, wrapping her arms round him. A dear, good friend.

Lifting his mouth from hers, Dan murmured, “I promise.”

E
LLIE
’
S BRAND-NEW
C
HEROKEE WAS FOREST GREEN, ALMOST
the same color as the paint at the cafe, with black interior and plenty of room for hauling stuff. It felt smooth, peppy, luxurious, as she drove back to Santa Monica. Her old Wrangler had been a write-off, and Dan had been stunned when she had told him she had never owned a new car.

“Never?” he’d repeated, shocked that a girl from a wealthy background could claim such a thing.

“In case I’d inherited my mother’s happy-go-lucky spendthrift ways and taste for luxury,” she’d explained. “Miss Lottie believed in the old saying ‘Riches to rags in three generations.’ She also said, ‘Prevention is the mother of necessity,’ mixing her metaphors as usual and making me laugh, except this time there was an odd kind of sense to it.”

Dan had said she was a crazy driver at the best of times, and that she needed a safer car, but Ellie wondered nervously about Johannsen suspecting her of already
spending what they knew he considered to be her ill-gotten gains. But Dan had laughed it off.

Dan was very much on her mind. He’d tried so hard to help her come to terms with what had happened, and he’d protected her from Johannsen’s endless questioning. She felt closer to him than ever, especially remembering that kiss last night. As she turned up the hill leading to her house, she warned herself if she ever allowed herself to fall in love with him, it would mean trouble. There was a direct conflict in their aims in life: She was for city and success; he was for the country and serenity. They inhabited different worlds, and she wasn’t ready to give up her ambitions yet. At least, not until she had made a success of her life; then, she might consider it. But by then she suspected, it would be too late. She smiled wryly; her timing had never been great.

Her little house looked just the same, as though nothing momentous and horrifying had happened since she’d left it, just over a week ago. But as she turned the key in the lock and went in, it
felt
different.

It was dusty and the lilies in the big urn had died, scattering petals and pollen all over the surface of the antique console, but other than that, everytiiing seemed to be in its place. In the kitchen, the green mug with the cherries on it from which she had drunk a cup of wild-berry tea, was still in the sink. She opened the refrigerator. The carton of milk had gone off. Wrinkling her nose, she threw it down the Disposall, along with a half loaf of stale bread.

She heard a tapping noise and swung around, spooked. Relieved, she saw it was only a bird outside the window. Still, she was uneasy. The house looked the same, but it felt different. Telling herself it was because she knew the police had been in there, searching through
her things, she trailed despondently up the creaking stairs.

Sunlight streamed into her bedroom and the air felt stale and hot. Flinging open the window, she peeled off her clothes, letting them fall where they dropped. She took a long shower, washed her hair, anointed herself with lotion and powder. All the usual things.
Then why did the place seem so different?
She sighed, as she pulled on her work uniform of jeans and T-shirt. Everything
was
different. She was alone in the world now. Work was the only antidote for grief, and she had plenty of that in front of her.

She ran a comb through her wet hair, slung her big black bag over her shoulder, grabbed the car keys and was on her way.

Main Street had that early-summer feel: school not yet out, but freedom on the horizon; hot sunshine; a glimpse of the glittering blue and silver ocean down the side streets; the scent of fresh-roasted coffee and hot bread; girls in pale summer dresses and cute sandals; store windows jazzy with the latest for the season; the art galleries displaying colorful acrylics by local artists. This was her world, her life. And it was a long way from Running Horse Ranch.

The cafe looked sad and abandoned, with the chairs piled upside down on the tables, no flowers, no aromas of cooking, no tinkling doorbell and the clamor of conversation and music. It was definitely time to get to work.

She phoned Chan, told him they would be opening again tomorrow and discussed the menu with him. It was time for a change, she said. A summer menu. Things like stuffed zucchini blossoms and
brandade de morue Provéngale
, a smooth, creamy mixture of salt cod, olive oil and seasonings. Fresh red mullet and Santa Barbara
sea bass, the best there was. Lobster ravioli and fresh Sonoma lamb. And how about if she made a
crème brülée
for dessert? Inspired by the summery scene, ideas were whizzing round in her head.

“Let’s make it a feast, Chan,” she said, pushing her hair back excitedly. “A celebration.”

“Sure,” Chan said on the other end of the line, though he wasn’t sure what they were celebrating.

Ellie knew, though. She was alive again, buzzing with energy, raring to go. She couldn’t wait to get her hands in the flour and turn out a batch of good bread; couldn’t wait for six in the morning and the produce market with its green and spicy smells; couldn’t wait to greet her customers again. She smiled as she sat down to make a list. This was what her life was about.

The phone rang. “Ellie’s Place.”

“Hey, you’re sounding good?”

It was Maya. “I’m glad to be back. Glad to be out of that atmosphere …”

“I told you it would be better, after the funeral.” Maya could remember when her mother had died, ten years ago; it hadn’t been easy to accept, but life went on. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? Just until you feel okay?”

“I am okay. I’m glad to get back to my house, glad to be back at work. By the way, we’re opening tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Maya sounded astonished.

“What else am I going to do?”

“True. Okay, I’ll be there. Talk to you later.”

Ellie wrote out her suggestions for the new menus, then put on her apron, opened the big container of flour, put some fresh yeast in warm water and stood it on the stove to prove. Soon she was up to her elbows in dough, pounding and kneading, getting ready for tomorrow.

When she left the cafe, at around six, the tables were
already set for morning, and the dough, covered with a clean damp cloth, was left in a warm place to rise. The menu had been worked out; lists made for the produce market; orders placed for supplies. She had organized Chan and Terry and the kid, taken care of several outstanding bills, watered the plants, and made a dozen phone calls to suppliers. She was back in business.

There was a pleased smile on her face as she walked across the road to buy a sandwich for her supper. She wasn’t used to having an evening to herself, alone. She would do something mindless, watch TV in bed, go to sleep early. It sounded lonely and she found herself wishing, wistfully, that she had taken Maya up on her offer to stay.

She ordered a grilled chicken sandwich on focaccia with fresh tomatoes, roasted red peppers, arugula and a touch of light vinaigrette.

Sitting alone at the table in the window, Buck watched her as she stood, arms folded across her chest, waiting. He couldn’t believe his luck. Like the spider and the fly, she had just walked right into his trap.

He’d parked on the hill near her house, as usual, watching and waiting. He hadn’t recognized the new green Cherokee when it turned into her street, but when he saw her get out and carry her bags indoors, his heart had pitter-pattered like a teenager’s.

Of course, he’d followed her along Main Street, seen that she was returning to the cafe. He’d cruised around waiting for a vacant parking spot opposite, then sat there, waiting, watching. He’d seen the lights go on in the cafe, caught a glimpse of Ellie bustling around, setting up tables. She wouldn’t need to do that much longer, he’d thought. Not when she was with him. Half an hour ago, he’d gone into the sandwich shop and ordered coffee and muffin, biding his time.

Now he got up and walked toward her. “Ellie, I didn’t expect to see you here.” His face was suitably serious, no smile, just a hint of concern in his voice.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Jensen.” She was surprised, she hadn’t expected to meet him there either. The guy certainly got around, he popped up everywhere.