To Catch the Moon (45 page)

Milo shook his head. “There’s no need for the
police. You have nothing to fear from me, Joan, though apparently I
have a great deal to fear from you.”

Her hand froze above the dressing table. Oh,
Milo could claim benign intent all he wanted, but at this moment
she feared him. And while there was every indication that Lovegrove
had done what she wanted and fired Milo, the satisfaction she
expected to feel was tinged with dread, as if her behavior might
have repercussions she hadn’t predicted.

Now Elvia was wringing her hands. “What
should I do, missus?”

“You may go downstairs, Elvia. In fact, we
all will.”

She didn’t like Milo in her bedroom. Not this
time. He was all coiled muscles, like a big cat stalking his prey.
No longer did the power he seemed barely able to contain excite
her. What might he do if it suddenly got away from him? She
followed Elvia downstairs, Milo so close behind she swore she could
feel his hot breath on her neck.

Elvia hurried into the kitchen, looking
behind her furtively just before she disappeared behind the
swinging door. But Joan felt buoyed in the living room, splashed
with sunshine streaming in through the huge windows overlooking the
Pacific. She turned to face Milo. She would take the offensive, the
best way to protect herself. “I’m assuming you’ve come to
apologize?”

His eyes widened with obvious amazement.
“
Me
apologize? Haven’t you got that wrong, Joan? Aren’t
you
the one who should be begging for forgiveness?”

“Whatever for?”

His voice shook the room from hardwood to
ceiling. “For calling Richard Lovegrove and getting me fired!”

She laughed, proud that she could produce the
sound. “You’re giving me an awful lot of credit. If you got fired,
just look in the mirror to see who caused it.”

“I know exactly what you did, Joan.” His
voice had transformed into a low growl. He advanced toward her.
“Don’t play me for a fool.”

“Weeks ago you were worried you would lose
your job. Remember that?” She retreated a step, his belligerence
poking at the bubble of her confidence. Her voice was coming out
shrieky now, but she couldn’t seem to control it. “You had problems
at WBS long before you and I got back together.”

“We never got back together. We had one
night, the biggest mistake of my life.” He was up close to her
then, his eyes pinpoints of anger. His finger, raised in
accusation, trembled menacingly close to her face. “Just tell me
the truth and I’ll go. For once in your goddamn life, tell the
truth, Joan.”

The doorbell rang.

“I had nothing to do with it,” she said,
though her denial sounded pathetically unconvincing even to her own
ears. Much more compelling was the pounding of her heart, which
beat at such a swift betraying pace she was sure Milo too could
hear it.

And who was at the door? Someone who could
help her? Where was Elvia? Joan tried to step backward again, to
get away from him, but found herself backed up against an armchair,
unable to do anything but topple onto its cushions as he leaned
over her.

“Admit it,” he said. She cringed from the
threat in his voice. “Tell me the truth, Joan.” Now he had his
hands on the naked flesh of her upper arms and was shaking her. The
doorbell rang again. Who could it be? Maybe whoever it was would
save her. Through her fear she was getting confused, wondering what
truth he was talking about. Was he talking about himself? Was he
talking about Daniel? “What really happened, Joan?” he was saying,
over and over. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to block him out,
but he wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t step back, he wouldn’t let
go.

Then the doorbell rang again. This time she
heard Elvia scamper past. Milo released her and reared backward.
She had a chance to hoist herself out of the armchair and squeeze
past him, but he reacted fast, so fast, and spun around to grab her
again, his grip unyielding.

Then Elvia pulled open the door. Into Joan’s
home walked Alicia Maldonado, her black eyes flaring with a
terrible light. Though they looked past her, straight at Milo.

*

“What in the world are you doing here?”
Alicia said the first thing that came into her head, foolish though
it was. It was obvious what Milo was doing, standing with a flushed
face and guilty eyes clutching Joan in his arms.

Immediately Milo released Joan and stepped
toward Alicia. “Joan got me fired,” he said. “She did the same
thing to me she did to you.”

Is that why you’ve got your arms around
her?
she wanted to scream.
Is that why you haven’t called
since we slept together?
“Stop.” She raised her hand against
him, steeling herself against whatever clever explanation he might
concoct for the scene she’d just witnessed. “Stop right there. I
don’t want to hear it.”

He stepped closer, incredulity stamped on his
face. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

“No. I’ve done too much of that already.” She
didn’t know what to believe anymore. First Milo was a reporter,
then he was Joan’s lover, then he was her lover, now Joan’s again
... who could believe a word that came out of that man’s mouth?
Pain shot through her, pain brewed of heartache and disappointment
and dreams dashed. And right at the edge of it, tantalizingly close
but out of reach, was crazy, crazy hope that this time—maybe this
time—he was telling the whole truth and nothing but.

Joan stepped forward. "There’s no reason for
any of you to be in my house.” She glared at Alicia. “You’re not
even employed by the district attorney anymore. I want all of you
to leave. Right now.”

Louella flashed her ID badge from the D.A.’s
investigations department. “We’re not leaving, Mrs. Gaines. We’d
like you to consent to a search of this property.”

“What? I will not! Why should I? It was
searched before!” Joan put her hands on her hips and shook her
blond head vigorously. “I will not be put through that again.”
Again she glowered at Alicia. “And that woman has no right to be
here.”

“Actually, I have a judge’s permission,”
Alicia said.

“So do we.” Louella handed Joan the search
warrant.

Alicia watched Joan carefully. She gave a
good imitation of control, though as she read the warrant her skin
paled a shade and the hands holding the document betrayed a tremor.
It was better, easier, to focus on Joan than on Milo, who hovered
between Joan and herself, probably trying to decide where to align
his forces.

He edged closer to Alicia then, apparently
making his choice. “Listen to me.” His eyes bored into hers. “I’m
telling you the truth.”

Maybe, maybe not
. She stared back at
him, refusing to flinch, refusing even to blink. “I don’t know what
to believe anymore.”

“Believe this. I never lied to you. I’m not
lying now. Joan got me fired and I came here to confront her.”
Briefly he shut his eyes and Alicia watched frustration contort his
features. She wanted to believe him. She wanted so much to believe
him. But while she wondered whether she could or not, Louella
stepped forward.

“Mr. Pappas, we will have to detain you while
this property is being searched.”

“What? Detain me?” He shook his head, then
pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “No. I’m calling my
lawyer.”

Shikegawa walked in past the housekeeper, who
stood at the front door wringing her hands. “What’s going on here?”
he said.

“Everything is fine,” Alicia said, then she
turned to Milo. “Would you just cooperate? Please?” She hadn’t
meant for it to sound like a naked plea but somehow it had. He
looked at her and for a second she felt thrust back in time, to
that unforgettable interlude when it was just him and her and their
bed in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.

He seemed to remember that too, because he
said, “All right, Alicia,” and then without another word turned to
follow Bucky Sheridan through the swinging door into the
kitchen.

She didn’t know whether she felt better or
worse when he’d done what she asked. The Gaines’ living room was
full of people yet still felt oddly bereft. But he was gone and
there was nothing for it but to go on with the search.
That’s
why I’m here
, she reminded herself.
Not for Milo but for the
case.

Louella turned to Joan. “Mrs. Gaines, we’d
like you to wait in the library.”

Alicia watched horror spread over the new
widow’s face. “In the library?” she repeated, her hand flying to
her throat.

Alicia knew the choice of location was no
accident. Mentally she applauded Louella, her excitement at what
she was about to do beginning to gain the upper hand over her
confusion.

A female sheriff’s deputy led Joan away, the
widow’s blond head bent and her hands clutched over her face.

Louella then turned to Alicia, in her eyes a
question.

“I’m fine,” Alicia said. And she was. She was
the prosecutor again, fighting for her job, fighting for her
reputation, fighting for her life. “Let’s do it.”

I’ll go crazy if I have to stay here much
longer
. Joan could find no position in the library where she
was comfortable. She couldn’t sit for longer than seconds in the
leather armchair. She couldn’t even think of trying to pass the
time by pulling a book off the shelves. She resorted to pacing the
Kashan rug, even crouching on it and rocking back and forth. It had
to be seventy degrees inside but still she wanted to wrap her arms
around herself and warm her body, which was so very, very cold.

What are they doing here? Why are they making
me a prisoner in this horrible room? Treebeard is the one going to
trial! And how did that Maldonado creature, who doesn’t even have a
job anymore, convince a judge to give her a warrant?

That woman was the source of all her
problems. That was the only thing that was clear in the midst of
this insanity.

Joan walked to the library’s sole window,
which offered a north-facing view along the bluff, and became even
more agitated. Two police cars were in front of her property. And
people were gathering around them with curious looks on their
faces, as if there would be something entertaining to see, a
spectacle about to begin.

She had a paralyzing thought. Maybe
she
would be the spectacle, the clown in the biggest of the
circus’s three rings.

But how could that be? It was Treebeard going
to trial! And did she see a TV camera out there? Oh, God, she saw
two.

Why? Why were they hounding her?
She
shuddered, remembering the last time the press had mobbed outside
her home.

Behind her she could swear she heard
laughter, more of a cackle really, and spun on her heels. “Who’s
there?”

No one responded. There was no one to
respond. She was alone in the library. But then she thought she
heard it again, by the window this time, as though the laugher were
darting and weaving about the room. She twirled around to face in
the other direction. No one was there, either.

“Who is it?” That cry was her own voice, she
realized, calling out shrilly into the empty space.

The door to the library opened. Joan let out
a yelp before she saw it was the female sheriff’s deputy.

Who was frowning. “Are you all right, Mrs.
Gaines?”

Joan ran up to her. “No, I’m not all right! I
don’t want to be here. I want to go upstairs to my bedroom.”

The deputy shook her head no. “I’ve been
asked to keep you here, ma’am.”

“That’s crazy!” Then she heard the phone
ring. “I want to answer the phone,” Joan declared, though she never
answered it unless she was alone in the house. Elvia always did.
Then, as if by psychic command, Elvia appeared in the hallway
behind the deputy. For once Joan was delighted to see her face,
which at least was familiar and didn’t hold any surprises.

“Mr. Whipple called before, missus, and now
it’s Mr. Barlowe from Headwaters.” Elvia held out the cordless
phone. Joan snatched it and turned away. The library door clicked
shut behind her.

Now
this
was the right idea! She
should’ve called somebody herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
Ever since Milo had burst in, her mind hadn’t been working right.
But now she’d call Gossett to get these people out of her home.
Maybe he could bring over that defense lawyer he’d put on retainer
and scare them out. Make them see that two could play at this
game.

She put the receiver to her mouth. “Craig?”
At this point she was happy even to talk to Barlowe.

He didn’t say hello. “What do you know about
Hank Cassidy?”

“The lumberman?”

“You
do
know him. Fuck!”

She heard a crashing sound, like glass
breaking, and pulled the receiver away from her ear.
Damn!
She should have thought first and spoken second.

Because now Barlowe was back on the line,
raving like a madman. “I’m getting calls from everybody, you name
it. The California Forestry Association, the EPA, Department of
Forestry, Frederick Whipple, even the governor’s office. And the
media, Joan, the media! We are in serious shit thanks to you. I
knew you’d do something asinine but I never could’ve predicted
this.”

She was having trouble keeping the receiver
at her ear, her hand was trembling so badly. “What are you talking
about?”

“Lumbermen are singing like canaries! About
you paying them cash to cut down old-growth trees and planning to
ship the timber overseas! Are you denying it, Joan? Are you?”

“Of course I’m—” she began, but Barlowe cut
her off.

“Don’t lie to me! Because if you tell me the
truth, me at least, maybe we can control this thing. But not if you
lie!”

Joan heard Barlowe gulp for breath on the
other end of the line, but all she could do was clutch the
receiver, hardly able to breathe herself. What should she say? What
should she do? She needed advice, from Gossett or Whipple, even her
mother, someone older who knew how to manage things.