Stalker (9780307823557) (13 page)

His chin tucked her forehead against his chest, where she nuzzled his neck, the salty taste of his skin on her lips.

“Who were those guys?” he asked.

“Some detectives Lucas knows. Let’s not talk about them.”

“What were you doing in their car?”

“He asked them to give me a ride home.”

“It’s late, Jen. It’s a little after eight.”

Jennifer stepped back. “Darn you, Mark. I said I don’t want to talk about those men or Bobbie or anything else. I just need you to hold me.”

She could see the struggle as he wanted to pursue the questions, and was thankful when he began to relax. “Okay,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the porch steps. “Sit down with me awhile. I wanted to—well, try to make things right with us again.”

The breeze from the sea was cool, and Jennifer shivered. Mark put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m sorry,” he said.

For a moment she couldn’t remember. “For what?”

“For this afternoon. For when I got mad and drove off.”

“Oh,” Jennifer said. “I—Oh, that’s all right, Mark.”

“You didn’t remember, did you?”

“Well, not at first. I mean, I hadn’t been thinking about it, and—”

“Maybe you just didn’t care.”

“Of course I care!” Jennifer wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Oh, Mark, I’ve had so much to think about.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You don’t know how glad I was to see you when I came home a few minutes ago! I missed you! I needed to be with you!”

She lifted her face and kissed him hard before he could answer.

Finally he took her chin in one hand, tilting her head. The night darkened his hazel eyes, and they looked as deep and liquid as the midnight sea waters that lapped the piers of the T-heads. “Jennifer,” he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me. This thing with Bobbie has got between us, but I can see how you feel about trying to do your best for her. So that part’s okay. It’s the other part, the part about maybe my pushing you to do something you don’t want to do. I don’t understand if it’s that you just don’t love me enough, or don’t care enough, or what your reason is. And I think that hurt us, and I didn’t mean to hurt us.”

Jennifer leaned back and sighed. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“I said I didn’t.”

“Okay, then, I’ll tell you. I like to feel that I’m in charge of myself, that I’m important—at least to myself.”

“You’re important to me.”

“Don’t interrupt.” She lightly pressed a finger against his lips. “I’m trying to tell you that part of feeling good about myself is to not go to bed with you or anybody else until I’m ready. And I’ve decided that’s going to be after I’m married.”

“Kind of old-fashioned, aren’t you?”

“Nope. It’s just part of wanting to like myself. It’s not an old idea. It’s not a new idea. It’s just an idea I feel comfortable with.”

Mark was silent for a few minutes. Then he said, “I’ll wait. If that’s what you want, Jen, I can wait.”

Jennifer couldn’t help giggling. “You sound as pompous as an old preacher!”

Mark had to laugh, too. “You think I sound pompous? How about you? Anyhow, I only meant—”

“I know what you meant, and I’m glad we talked about it.”

She felt light and giddy and giggled again. Snuggled against Mark, she lifted her face for another kiss, but the door behind them suddenly opened and light from the living room spilled over them. “So there you are!” Grannie’s voice was shrill. “That leftover chicken’s cold enough to be laid out and buried! Where have you been, Jennifer Lee Wilcox?”

Jennifer and Mark scrambled to their feet in a tangle of legs, bumping knees, and elbows.

“I’m sorry, Grannie,” Jennifer said. “I’ve been here talking with Mark.”

“Least you could of done was come inside long enough to tell me you was home. Your father may not know which side is up with that woman here and her mouth runnin’ on and on, but I’ve been sittin’ in the kitchen, watchin’ the clock and frettin’.”

“I’ll come in now,” Jennifer said. She tugged at Mark’s hand. “I’m hungry,” she told him. “I’ll race you to the cold chicken.”

“Speak your piece to your father and that woman first.” Grannie snorted. “Remember you got manners.”

Jennifer led the way into the living room. Her father and Gloria, who looked as though they’d been jammed together at one end of the sofa, glowed like kids at a birthday party at the moment the presents are opened. Her father’s browned cheeks were touched with pink, and his eyes sparkled. She loved seeing him so happy. For so many years his life had seemed quiet and dull, and she
had felt sorry for him without knowing what to do to help him.

“Well, hon,” he said, “Gloria and I have been wondering when you’d get here.”

Jennifer bent to kiss him and smiled. “You don’t look as though you’ve missed me.”

Gloria giggled, and her fingers fluttered around her chin, playing with the large plaid velvet bow on the ribbon tied around the neck of her blouse.

“Sit down,” Roy said. He gestured toward the chairs. “You too, Mama.”

“I’d better go. This looks like family stuff,” Mark said as Grannie grumblingly lowered herself into the straight chair near the door.

“Don’t go. Have a seat, Mark. You’re practically family.” Roy’s beaming smile swept their faces, then shone on Gloria. “Gloria’s going to be family, too.”

“I seen it comin’,” Grannie mumbled as Mark offered congratulations and Jennifer hurried to hug Gloria.

“You don’t mind?” Gloria was suddenly shy as she clung to Jennifer’s hand. “I know how kids sometimes feel about stepmothers, and I wouldn’t want you to feel like that about me.”

“I’m not a kid, Gloria,” Jennifer said. “I’m glad that you can make Dad so happy.”

“That’s a nice thing to say, hon.” Roy reached over to squeeze her other hand. “You’re a good girl.”

Grannie gave a long sigh. “I suppose I better start lookin’ for another place to live.”

“Mama,” Roy said, “you’ve got no call to think like that. You and Gloria will get along fine.”

Gloria’s smile began to freeze at the edges, and Roy looked like someone whose shoes pinched his feet.

“Grannie,” Jennifer said quickly, “right now all we
want to think about is celebrating with Dad and Gloria. We ought to have some champagne and caviar!”

“Champagne?” Grannie snorted. “All we got around here is root beer and crackers!”

Jennifer’s laughter shot through the room like a fireball, igniting even her grandmother. “Then let’s bring out the root beer and crackers! Tonight we’re going to party!”

Saturday morning Jennifer awoke early, the sun prodding her eyelids like an animated alarm clock. For a few moments she stretched, poking at the puzzling guilt feeling in the back of her mind, until it bobbed to the surface and became something to face.

“I didn’t forget about you, Bobbie,” she murmured aloud. “Well, I did forget for a little while, but it was something special. It was Dad’s night, and—”

She sat up, kicking off the blanket and sheet, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and jamming her feet into her sandals. “Darn! I’m talking to myself!”

The problem with life, she thought as she ate a quick breakfast of cereal and toast washed down with orange juice, was that it came in so many parts, and sometimes those parts overlapped. Last night it was Dad’s turn, but now she had to get back to work to help Bobbie. And somehow she had to do something about Grannie. Dad wouldn’t know how to handle things. And there was school. She’d have to get back to classes, or she’d have problems at exam time.

And Mark.

Last night she had loved being with Mark. Today she didn’t even want to think about him. Each day she was one day closer to graduation and the day Mark expected her to marry him. But—

She swept her dishes under the hot-water faucet to rinse them, then stacked them on the counter near the sink. No time to think about other things. She had to keep her mind on the next step in helping Bobbie. If she could only talk to her.

Why not? Surely people in jail could have visitors. Lucas had gone to see Bobbie. If he had, then why couldn’t she visit Bobbie, too! As her excitement grew, she doubled her efforts to be quiet. Her father was already at work at the nursery, but Grannie was asleep. If she could get out of the house before Grannie woke up, it would make what she wanted to do a lot easier.

The new courthouse building rose over Waco Street and Mestina. Gleaming white, in a modular design, it seemed too elegant to stand face-to-face with Luckie’s Bail Bonds and the cramped old buildings that crowded around it. The interior, built around an atrium lobby with trees, a statue of a soaring seagull, and gleaming escalators, confused Jennifer. There were discreet signs on the grass-cloth walls directing visitors to courtrooms and offices of justices of the peace down brown-and-white-carpeted hallways, but she could find nothing that informed visitors that a jail existed in this shining place.

She became aware that a uniformed guard stood near one hallway, so she asked him for help.

“Sure,” he said. “You don’t just go to the jail. That’s over in the old section of the building facing Waco Street. So’s the sheriff’s office. You go down this hall to get there, and they’ll give you all the information you need to visit somebody and what days and times you can go.”

“I didn’t think about special visiting hours.”

“You’re too early, you know.”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“Well, go ask them the procedure.” He pointed in the
direction of the office, and it didn’t take her long to find it.

There were a few people with briefcases in the office. A woman and man were talking to each other. Another man, a very young man with black curly hair, was talking to a woman at a desk.

“I should be with Miss Trax less than half an hour,” he was saying as he clipped a large plastic badge to his right lapel.

“Miss Trax? Bobbie?” Jennifer cried.

Everyone stopped and stared at her. Her face grew hot, and she stammered, “I’m sorry.” She hurried to the side of the man at the desk, glad that the couple had resumed their conversation. “I’m Jennifer Wilcox,” she said. “I’m Bobbie Trax’s best friend. I want to see her, too.”

He studied her a minute, then stuck out his right hand. “I’m Richard Purtry, Miss Trax’s attorney. I’m afraid you’ve come at the wrong time. Visiting hours are from twelve to two thirty today and tomorrow.”

“I’ll come back,” Jennifer said quickly. She realized she had grabbed his arm, and she pulled her hands back, holding them together. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I need to talk to her. I need to see her. Is she all right? How does she feel?”

“She’s all right,” he said. He looked at his watch. “If you’ve got a few minutes, we’ll see if we can find a couple of chairs in an empty room. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Jennifer nodded eagerly. “Sure. Anything.” She followed him down the hallway, through an open door, and sat where he indicated. He sat next to her, took out a note pad and shiny silver pen, adjusted the pad on his lap, fiddled with the tip of the pen, then turned to face her. She was amazed that he didn’t look much older than
some of the guys in school. He had round cheeks in a round face and skin as light and smooth as a cosmetics ad.

“Are you really old enough to be a lawyer?” Jennifer blurted out.

He scowled and sighed. “I take after my mother’s side of the family. Nobody looks older than kindergarten. It’s not my fault.”

“Maybe you should grow a mustache.”

“I did. It looked silly.”

“Maybe you should look silly instead of young. Are you right out of law school?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He ruffled the pad of paper and cleared his throat. “Now—a couple of questions.”

“It matters to me,” Jennifer interrupted. “Do you know Lucas Maldonaldo?”

“No.”

“Well, Lucas and I are trying to find out who really killed Mrs. Trax. If we can’t make it, then it’s up to you to save Bobbie.”

“My job is not to save people. My job is to defend their constitutional rights.”

“You’re supposed to get her out. You want to be a good lawyer, don’t you, and win all your cases?”

“Even the best lawyers don’t win all their cases.”

“You wouldn’t have taken this case if you didn’t believe in Bobbie’s innocence, so—”

It was Purtry’s turn to interrupt. “I didn’t take this case because I believed in your friend. I took it because it was assigned to me. I don’t defend criminals. I defend their constitutional rights.”

Jennifer leaned back and stared at him. “You think she’s guilty!”

“I’m trying to find out as much as I can. And your
friend Bobbie isn’t being very helpful. She just keeps telling me the same story over and over, about how she quarreled with her mother and ran away to Padre Island.”

“She tells you the same story because it’s the truth!”

He brought the tip of his pen to the paper. “You can verify this?”

“I—uh—it’s just that she told me. I know. I’m the one who found her and told her about her mother, and she hadn’t known! I’m sure of it!”

He wrote a few words on the paper. “We may ask for your testimony,” he said, “but it’s not enough to convince a jury.”

“Or you?”

“Let me ask you a few questions.” He looked at his watch again. “We’ll make it quick. First of all, give me your full name, address, and telephone number.”

A few minutes later he ushered Jennifer out of the room, shook her hand perfunctorily, and hurried down the hallway. Jennifer fought back tears that pushed and hurt behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She had other things to do, and at twelve she’d be back here to see Bobbie.

The sun warmed her shoulders as she waited for the bus on Leopard Street. It wouldn’t take long to get to Bobbie’s neighborhood and Mrs. Aciddo.

But as she left the second bus and walked down the street toward Bobbie’s house, she saw the boy who had talked to her at school. He was standing in his front yard with the woman who had been at the funeral with her husband. She had on a pair of gardening gloves and kept trying with the back of one arm to push away a damp strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. His blue T-shirt was dark with sweat, and he held a bamboo rake
against one shoulder. Mrs. Aciddo’s green sedan was parked in front of her house, which meant she was still home. Jennifer had wanted to talk to Mrs. Potter. Now seemed like a good time.