Vengeance to the Max (40 page)

She could gauge nothing by his tone or the words. “Sure.”

Bare air waves followed, no good-bye. She dumped the phone on the seat beside her and started the engine. The cop circled, followed her three blocks, then punched his siren and took off. She started to breathe again.

She needed to change, then get Sutter’s car back to her. No matter that it was two o’clock in the morning. Max wasn’t tired. She couldn’t sleep until she’d finished the things she had to do.

She couldn’t sleep until her body became convinced what her eyes had seen was true. Bud Traynor was dead. In her heart, she couldn’t believe it was over. Would he come back to haunt her as Cameron had done? God forbid.

Pulling onto her street, she smelled the blue Camero like a tiger scents prey. Riley Morgan, cup reporter and major pain in the ass, waited in his car. Turning around would draw attention to herself. Max chose a sedate speed for the early morning hour. With his car parked across the street from her apartment, he was facing away from her. With a glance, she noted his head against the neck rest and his closed eyes.

Some stakeout. He’d fallen asleep.

But asleep or not, she couldn’t risk a trip to her apartment.

Max headed for Sutter’s. She had a spare key to the Miata, and she could leave the Toyota’s set in the mailbox.

Lights blazed in Sutter’s front room. Her friend opened the door with none of the surprise that should have been on her face.

“You knew Cameron didn’t leave when he died.” Max hadn’t meant the words as an accusation, yet they sounded that way.

Sutter pulled her inside. “Water for our tea is almost boiled. He said you’d be here soon.”

“That’s why you kept calling even when I didn’t call back.”

“I kept calling you because you’re my best friend, and you were in misery.” Sutter put Max on the couch. Bright colors, the fragrance of herbal tea, and clutter filled Sutter’s living room.
Sutter clutter
, Cameron had called it.

Cameron had said if she wasn’t careful she’d start judging every relationship by what she got out of it. Just like Bud. What she got from Sutter was something Bud Traynor would never understand.

Sutter loved her. Witt loved her. Cameron loved her. Two hours ago, so much love might have suffocated her. Now...

“I always knew you’d call me one day. When you were ready.”

“I love you, Sutter.” The words burst from her lips.

“I know you do, sweetie.” Sutter patted her cheek as if she had no idea of the magnitude of the moment, but the mistiness in her eyes betrayed her. “Sit and tell me all. It’s been a long time.”

Sutter plopped down on the sofa, brushed aside a burnished lock that had fallen across her eyes. Hot pink flamingo slippers, long necks listing to the right, covered the feet of her fuzzy pink and white polka dot pajamas. Only Sutter.

Max didn’t have the same confidence in herself that Sutter had. Without Cameron’s prodding, she’d never have seen Sutter again.

Sutter’s gift was seeing ghosts, not mind reading, but emotion obviously showed on Max’s face, enough for Sutter to say, “Don’t be angry with him.”

“He was here, wasn’t he?” Max thought she could still smell his peppermints.

Sutter nodded.

Max should have been considering the lies Cameron had told her, the things he’d kept from her. She’d only scratched the surface. But no, she wasn’t angry. Anger was something you directed at the living, not the dead. Whatever he’d kept from her had been part of the larger plan. Not Bud Traynor’s plan, but God’s plan. Maybe she could start believing in Him again.

The fluffy cushions of the flowered sofa enveloped her as easily as Sutter’s warmth did. A whistle shrilled in the kitchen. Sutter popped up, returned minutes later with two steaming mugs. “Sleepy Time. It’ll help you relax.”

Sutter handed her one, waiting for Max to sip before she flopped back down.

Max couldn’t move either, the sofa, the comfort, friendship, and warm tea in her stomach nibbling at the edges of exhaustion. “I wanted to bring back the 4Runner.”

Sutter sat with her back in the corner, pulled a pillow onto her lap, and set the mug on top of it. “Is it over?”

“Yes. How much did Cameron tell you?”

“Enough so I’d know to be here when you needed me. He cares about you. Are you going to tell me the rest?”

Max rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Stop that.” Sutter pounced on the nervous action. “It always means you’re trying to find a way out of whatever it is.”

Max smiled, barely more than a flexing of a muscle. “Not this time. It means I’m thinking about
when
I’m going to tell you.”

“How about telling me everything right now?”

Max wrapped her hands around her mug and closed her eyes to savor the fragrant steam. “I think it’s a story for a rainy afternoon. Not for a night when I don’t want to think anymore.”

Sutter pursed her lips, then softened the line with a smile. “All right, you win.”

Max closed her eyes, letting steam and the scent of herbs go to her head. Then she kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. Her knees poked from the tears in her tights. She pulled a blanket off the back of the couch to cover herself. She really should go, get back to Witt’s house.

“Your friend stopped by earlier looking for you.”

Witt?

“The cute reporter,” Sutter answered the look on Max’s face.

Riley Morgan. Again. Well, at least he’d followed Sutter and not her. “What did he want?”

Sutter spread a hand and shrugged, mouth in a smile. “My slippers scared him off.” She put a finger to her lips and looked to the ceiling. “Or maybe it was when I invited him in for hot sex.”

Max’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t.”

But yes, Sutter would. “He was too damn adorable to resist.”

“Sort of reminds you of some statue of a Greek God.” Max had to agree about the good-looking part, but hard to resist? Sutter hadn’t met Witt yet. “He’s just a kid.”

Sutter’s lashes drooped. “Oh, I don’t think so.” She wriggled in her seat, no question about her meaning.

“He didn’t have much of a sense of humor, though,” Sutter acknowledged. “Thought I ought to shake him up.”

“Well, he ran away to my apartment. He was waiting outside when I drove by.”

Sutter turned serious, a frown creasing her forehead. “He was asking about a bunch of murders.”

“He managed a few questions before you propositioned him.”

“He had all these pictures, at least six I’d say, and he wanted to know what I knew about the people in them. I’m worried about what he’s trying to do to you.”

“He wants a story.”

“I told him you were psychic.”

Max raised a brow. “Did he laugh?”

“No. So I told him that I could see ghosts and his dead sister was standing right behind him.”

“Did he laugh then?”

“No. So I told him what she was wearing. All black, a long lace skirt with this weird fringed blouse. And she had a ring through her left nostril.”

“You’re bad.” Max put a hand to her mouth. “Was she there?”

“That’s when he ran away.” Answer enough.

Max took a sip of tea, imagining the Greek God scuttling to his car. “He’ll be back.” As evidenced by his nap in front of her place. “I’ll have to figure out what to do about him.”

Sutter leaned forward to pat Max’s knee. “In the meantime, you need some sleep.”

“No. I have go.” She wanted to be waiting for Witt when he returned home. But sandbags weighted her eyes, and her legs didn’t obey her command to stand.

Sutter sighed. “I know about him, too. Your new man. Don’t worry, he’ll be waiting for you. Right now, you need sleep. You look like crap.”

Max smiled ruefully. Sutter hadn’t missed the torn stockings and the skinned knees.

“Plus, you stink.”

Max snorted. “Thanks.”

Sutter lowered her voice, all trace of laughter gone from her face. “You smell like
him
.”

Max’s stomach seized around the herbal tea. Him. Bud.

“Wash him off, Max. Wash him down the drain.”

Max did.

Max had let Sutter hustle her off to a soft bed in the guest room.

In the morning, Sutter provided a change of clothes, jeans cinched at the waist with a wide black belt, fuchsia sweatshirt covering the baggy pants, and a teal turtleneck next to her skin. She couldn’t even think of Sutter’s full-figured bra. Sutter was voluptuous, with flesh where men liked flesh. Next to her, Max looked like a waif. The only things that fit were the tennis shoes on her feet.

Filled with hot tea and enveloped by Sutter’s bright floral scent, Max took possession of her Miata. She sat for five minutes before starting the engine. An ache prodded the backs of her eyes. Her fingers clenched around the wheel turned white. Then Max knew. She had a pilgrimage to make before she could return to Witt.

Gray clouds covered a blue sky filled with the threat of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. Heedless of the early morning hour, the wrought iron gates of Woodland Funeral Park gaped. Beyond them lay a vast expanse of green rolling hills dotted with uniform gray specks and surrounded by woods thick with trees still carrying leaves despite a waning November.

Funeral park. The term sounded better than graveyard. Or cemetery. A gentle euphemism to ease grieving families. It hadn’t eased Max’s suffering two years ago. It didn’t now. She couldn’t remember why she’d chosen this place for Cameron, perhaps because of the fifteen-minute drive from their condo. Not that distance mattered. Maybe she’d chosen it for the view of green trees and blue sky. She’d only come twice, once for his memorial, another for the setting of his headstone. She’d buried an empty casket, having scattered his ashes along a hiking trail in Portola Park. Where his body or his ashes were didn’t make a damn bit of difference. The gravesite had been for her. A place to come and mourn. Until she’d realized he’d never left her at all.

Despite her lack of visitation, she found the spot readily. The mound of earth she remembered was now covered with grass, flattened by time and the elements. The square stone of gray speckled marble bore simple words. His name, his birthday, and the day he died. No tender sentiments. She couldn’t find the words to convey what his loss had done to her.

She knew the words now and said them aloud. “I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you,” he answered.

“And we did make love. It wasn’t perfect afterwards, and I didn’t always feel the way I wanted to, but when I held you, Cameron, it
was
making love.” Her eyes throbbed. She clenched her teeth to keep tears from spilling.

“I know, Max.”

She sat on the dewed grass. An earthy wind blew through her hair, molding the sweatshirt to her breasts. “I grew up knowing sex was shameful. And later, when I was older and started to like it...” Picking at the tufts of green, she left the obvious unsaid. “I never wanted to tell you how I felt. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“You didn’t trust me to understand.”

“No, I didn’t.” She exhaled a long breath. “I should have. Things could have been different between us.”

They sat in a companionable silence. When he asked the question, it neither shocked nor hurt. “Are you going to tell Witt about the baby? About your uncle?”

She gazed up at the clouds, shades of gray stacked one upon the other.

“You don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore. None of it was your fault.”

She could have said she so close to believing that. Instead she told him a story. “I was listening to the radio a while ago, a news station. They reported some guy who broke into this twelve-year-old girl’s bedroom and raped her.” She closed her eyes. “I almost starting crying, Cameron. I mean, how could anyone do that to a kid? A child. A little girl.”