“I'm glad you did.” Nicole shifted her feet as Malcolm continued to study the message.
“This is the worst one yet,” he concluded. “Where did you find it?”
Nicole claimed a chair. Thinking about the message made her knees a little shaky. “Someone had slipped it under my door sometime after ten
P.M
.”
Malcolm's eyebrows stretched upward. “Someone got through your security door?”
Nicole smiled. “I hate to disillusion you, Mal, but that security door isn't all that secure. I've seen my friendly neighbors, as they come and go from the building, holding that door open for strangers.”
Nicole's smile widened as Malcolm cursed.
“Some security,” he said. “How can you be so sure about the time?”
“It wasn't there before I took a shower at ten o'clock.”
“You were in the shower? Dammit.” He studied the note again, then read aloud, “âTime is not a luxury for you. It is not on your side. I'm watching you and waiting.'”
Nicole shivered. “I've read it, Mal.”
“The notes are getting more threatening.” Malcolm paced the length of the combined dining/living area, still studying the note.
“I noticed.”
Malcolm's gaze sharpened on her face. “You always get sarcastic when you're nervous. I don't mean to frighten you, but we've got to figure out who is sending these messages to you, why, and what they mean. I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“You're right. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I am scared, and, as you noticed, sarcasm is an unconscious defense.”
Nicole's legs felt steadier now. She stood and walked into the kitchen. “Listen, I left a message for that police officer. In the meantime, let's eat breakfast so we can get you off to work before noon.”
“I've got a better idea. Let's get you packed and moved into my house.” Malcolm followed her into the kitchen. He almost walked right into her back as she stopped midstride.
“Why?” She turned to face him.
“Why?” He seemed stunned. “Weren't we just agreeing these messages are getting worse? I don't want you here by yourself. It could be dangerous, especially with your building's antisecurity security system.”
“Let's not get carried away over a couple of creepy letters.”
“Nicky, this psycho knows where you live. He slipped his latest threat directly under your door. I'd categorize that as more than creepy.” Malcolm opened the fridge and pulled out the orange juice.
Nicole was doing her best to forget the panic the message had induced in her. Now, in addition to the panicky feeling, her stomach fluttered at the image of living with Malcolm again. Saying “Good night” to him at the end of the day; saying “Good morning” to him at the start of a new one. Eating breakfast with him again, just like a married couple. She shook off the mental pictures that superimposed the past onto the present. In her current emotional state, she thought she could handle a threatening stranger a lot more easily than she could handle her ex-husband.
Nicole took down plates for the French toast. She passed the toast to Malcolm, then poured coffee.
“I have several sturdy locks on my door.” Nicole sat down, thanking Malcolm for the glass of juice he placed before her.
“What about when you're not in your apartment? He could wait for you to leave your apartment and follow you.”
Nicole paused, with a forkful of French toast halfway to her mouth. Her appetite was quickly deserting her. “Even if I moved in with you, he could still to do that. You can't be with me twenty-four/seven, Mal. You're working.”
“You can come with me to work. We can set you up in Ty's office.” Malcolm took a gulp of coffee. His gaze was compelling above the rim of his cup.
Nicole's gaze wavered beneath his force. “I'll be fine.”
“How can I be sure?”
“I can't give you guarantees. But if it makes you feel better, I'll consider your offer.”
Malcolm sighed. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Malcolm considered her for a long moment. “All right. That's something at least.”
Â
Every drop of color drained from Rita's face. Her large, mink-brown eyes filled with tears.
“Who would do this?” she asked. “Why? Ty never hurt anyone.”
Malcolm's grip tightened on her hands. He'd asked Rita to join him in his office as soon as he'd arrived. He'd invited her to take one of the chairs in front of his desk, and he'd taken the other. It hadn't been easy repeating the information. Each time he shared the news, he imagined the attack.
“I have no idea,” he said. “But the police have already started investigating. Hopefully we'll find out soon.”
“Is it possible the driver wasn't deliberately trying to hurt him? Maybe it really was an accident.”
“No.” Malcolm was reluctant to dim the hopeful light in Rita's eyes. It was difficult enough to accept a loved one dying unexpectedly without learning someone had deliberately taken him away from you. “Ty's family asked the police the same question. The police said, based on the pattern of the skid marks and the damage to Ty's car, the attack was deliberate.”
Rita slumped in the chair. “How is Joyce?”
“Devastated.” Malcolm stood and walked to the window. “It took me more than two hours to help her settle down last night.”
“Perhaps I should call her.”
“That might be a good idea,” Malcolm agreed, more to escape the conversation. He'd talked to Joyce this morning on his drive into work. She seemed tired, but much calmer.
“Thank you for telling me, Mal.” Rita stood. “Please let me know if there's anything I can do.”
“Of course, Rita. Thank you.”
He was tempted to ask her to call Leo DeCaprio, but that was his responsibility. Leo had been a good friend to him and Tyrone. He owed it to that friendship to call Leo himself. Afterward, he'd try to get some work done. With so much on his mind,
try
would be the operative term.
Â
Tyrone and Joyce's house reflected their personalities. It was neat and trim with touches of whimsy in the bird feeder and tiny clay chipmunks and squirrels that posed in and around the front garden. It was shown to advantage in the late-morning sunlight.
Nicole climbed out of her car, reaching back to pick up the basket of fruit she'd bought at a produce store. The purchase was an impulse, just like her decision to visit Joyce. Now she wished she had called first to ask whether Joyce wanted company. She hesitated at the curb. The few occasions she'd stopped by in the weeks following Tyrone's funeral, she'd called first and had been welcomed. But that was before Joyce had learned Tyrone's death wasn't an accident. Under the circumstances, she may not want to see anyone.
Taking a deep breath of air scented by the nearby spring flowers, Nicole mounted the stairs and rang the doorbell. If Joyce wasn't up for company, Nicole would give her the basket and leave.
The door opened. Nicole offered Joyce a tentative smile, despite her concern over the other woman's puffy, red eyes.
Joyce stepped onto the porch and wrapped her arms around Nicole's shoulders, the basket of fruit squeezed between them. “I'm so glad you're here,” she whispered. “The police just left.”
Nicole followed Joyce into her house. She wandered into the living room while Joyce took the fruit basket to the kitchen and prepared tea. The room was as disheveled as it had been the last time Nicole had visited. Now it was stuffy, too, as though the thermostat had been set for a much cooler day. Nicole found this curious, considering Joyce was wearing a sapphire sweater, which obviously had belonged to Tyrone. She settled onto an overstuffed armchair and resisted the urge to open the curtains.
“Here you go,” Joyce announced as she rejoined Nicole. She put the tray of tea, sugar, fruit, cheese, and crackers on the table between the straight-backed chair and the sofa.
“Thank you.” Nicole stood, stepping forward to accept the cup Joyce had poured for her.
“You must have read my mind.” Joyce crowded into a corner of the sofa. Her movements were very slow, as though she was still half-asleep.
“What do you mean?” Nicole sipped her tea.
“I wanted to talk to someone, but most of my friends and family are at work, and I didn't want to disturb them.”
“The meeting with the police unsettled you.”
“To say the least,” Joyce murmured.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes. I'm just not certain where to begin.”
“I'm not in any rush. I'm here to see you. Start at the beginning, if you'd like, and take your time.”
Joyce took another sip of tea, then sighed brokenly. “I really didn't want to believe it. When Ty's family called me last night, I thought I was having a nightmare. It was like hearing he'd died all over again. I was sure I'd wake up and find out it was just a bad dream. Then the police showed up at my door this morning. This is like a nightmare.”
“I'm so sorry, Joyce.” Nicole fought back her own tears.
“I can't believe that someone hated the man I love so much that they would kill him.” Joyce's voice grew thick with tears. She drank more tea, then paused.
“I can't believe it, either,” Nicole broke the silence. “Ty was such a nice man.”
“The best.” Joyce smiled sadly. “Even my father liked him. And you know how fathers can be. But Ty impressed him.” Joyce paused again, lost in thought.
Nicole glanced around the room, picking out touches of Joyce mingling with traces of Tyrone. Warner Brothers's Marvin the Martian waved from the cockpit of his spaceship positioned between two delicately curving candlesticks on the mantle. In a corner of the room,
Star Wars
storm troopers scaled a pewter wine rack. She smiled and Joyce followed her gaze.
“He loved his toys,” Joyce said.
“And you loved that about him,” Nicole added. “I can tell by this room. Only a woman in love would allow a man to compromise her home decor.”
“I don't think the police share your insight.” Joyce chuckled bitterly. “I guess everyone is a suspect, so I really shouldn't feel so violated. But they made me feel as though I were at the top of their list. They asked whether Ty and I were having any problems. They wanted to know if I would get a part of his company. They asked if I had any alibis to verify that I was home alone when Ty was out running. Of course I didn't. Ty usually went running while I was still asleep.”
“The usual suspects are family and friends,” Nicole said, trying to console Joyce. “So they would ask you questions like that.”
Joyce scowled. “But running him off the road. Someone must have really hated him to terrorize him like that.”
“Who could do that?”
“I don't know anyone who disliked Ty.” Joyce's voice was strained. “He had a lot of business contacts, but he didn't have a lot of friends. Just me, Mal, Rita.”
Nicole stared blindly at the snack tray. “Maybe we need to try another angle. What were his hobbies?”
“Besides cartoons and science fiction? And when you combined a cartoon with science fiction, he was in heaven.” Joyce smiled. “He didn't have time for hobbies, though. He exercised to keep in shape. It also helped him think. But the company takesâtookâup a lot of his time. He and Mal were still building it. The company isn't financially stable.”
“How can that be?” Nicole asked, surprised by this revelation. “All of their movies have been successful, according to what I've read.”
“They do have a great track record, but that's on smaller independent films. One financially unsuccessful movie would ruin them. They were hoping
InterDimensions
would show the film community that they could make a profit even on bigger films.”
Why hadn't Malcolm told her? She had told him about her mother and about Simone. Dammit, the confidences shared can't only be hers.
Joyce got up and poured herself more tea from the pot, but she still didn't eat any of the snacks she'd brought to the living room. Nicole wondered when Joyce had last eaten.
“Can I refresh your cup?” Joyce gestured with the pot.
“No, thank you.”
Joyce settled back into her chair and sipped her tea. They shared a moment of pensive silence. “The police will probably consider Mal a suspect, too,” Joyce commented in a flat tone. “Which is completely absurd. They were like brothers.”