Rapture

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"It's been a great week," Georgianne said happily. "The best week I've had in quite a while. Thanks to you."

"So stay," Jan said with a bright smile. "Take my word for it, you won't find a better place to live."

"I'm not arguing. I like what I see."

And, Georgianne thought, You saved my life. Well, that might be an exaggeration, but there was no denying the fact that she had turned a corner since coming to visit Janice Tillotson. The two of them had been roommates at college in Boston, and had stayed in touch over the years with Christmas cards and the occasional letter or phone call, but they hadn't seen each other in a long time.

"You've been here-"

"Eleven years," Jan finished proudly. "And I'm never leaving. I've worked in Boston, Philadelphia, Houston, and ... let's see ... oh, Denver. Denver wasn't bad, but you can have 'em all. This is the place."

an was a nurse, had a broken marriage behind her and was "decidedly and permanently" single. She lived in her own cozy little ranch house and drove a perky old MG, lovingly cared for, that she was determined would last a million miles or the rest of her life, whichever came first.

When Georgianne stepped off the shuttle flight at the municipal airport, Jan had been there to hug her, hold her, and brush a few tears away. And from that moment everything started to get better. Jan was positive and full of life, and fifteen years of hospital work hadn't put a dent in her cheerful, optimistic nature. The darkness was squeezed out; it was as if she literally had pulled Georgianne around a corner and into the daylight.

Sean and Bonnie were mentioned hardly at all, to Georgianne's unexpected relief. It just wasn't necessary. Jan's sympathy and sorrow were communicated without words, and that was enough. For the first time, Georgianne didn't feel she was being treated like some special creature nobody knew what to do with-the bereaved. The years apart meant nothing. She and Jan were two friends together again, happy and comfortable in each other's presence.

Thanksgiving passed painlessly. Jan had taken the week off, and they'd been busy every waking hour. They even went to a couple of night clubs-something Georgianne wouldn't have dreamed of doing only a week before-not to pick up anyone, but for the simple pleasure of dancing until they were exhausted.

It was Sunday evening now, and Jan would be back at the hospital in the morning, but she wanted Georgianne to stay on in Santa Barbara.

"I think I'll rent a car and go for a drive tomorrow," Georgianne said, unfolding a road map and spreading it out on the coffee table.

"Use mine," Jan said. "You can drop me off at work and then pick me up in the afternoon. Where are you thinking of going?"

"Let's see . . ."

"L.A. is about ninety miles from here."

"And here's Santa Susana." Georgianne put her finger on the spot and gauged the distance from Santa Barbara. "That's only about sixty miles."

"What's in Santa Susana?"

"Oh, just a guy I've known on and off since high school. Mostly off. But as long as I'm this close, I'd like to surprise him. He did it to me once...."

Callie Shaw knocked once and entered Jeffs office, closing the door behind her. He glanced up from a desk covered with charts, print-outs, and other papers.

"Someone to see you."

"Who?"

"I don't know." Callie shrugged, but she had a sly smile on her face. "She just said, 'Mr. Lisker will see me,' and she wouldn't give her name. She's very attractive. You ought to take a look."

"Oh?"

"I don't think she's selling anything," Callie added. "I got the impression she does know you."

"Well ... okay."

Jeffs mind raced as he got up from his chair and crossed the room. He'd had a recurring paranoid fantasy that Diane and Knobs would track him down one day and present some outrageous blackmail demand, but he knew that really didn't make much sense. Who else could it be? A stray body from Triffids? But he hadn't been there in months.

Georgianne, a broad grin on her face, began to laugh merrily because Jeff looked so shocked. His cheeks turned pale, then red, and he stood frozen, as if he didn't know what to do.

Finally, he recovered his composure, and in the next few minutes he and Georgianne hugged each other, laughing and talking. Jeff introduced her to Callie, and then to Ted, whom he called in from the adjacent suite. He ordered some coffee and took Georgianne into his office.

He had been startled, he told himself, but not really surprised. Hadn't he always believed that Georgianne would come to him sooner or later? A year and a half of hard work and desperate risks had finally paid off. The only reason he'd been startled was that he hadn't expected it to happen this particular morning. But now that it had, he felt completely vindicated. It was as if twenty-one years had been erased, just like that, and he had achieved a new beginning in his life.

As soon as they were alone, Jeff put his arms around Georgianne and said, "I've been so worried about you. I called your house, your mother. You see, my aunt and uncle were here not too long ago, and they told me about Bonnie."

Georgianne's face tightened somewhat but she maintained her smile. 'I should have called you," she said. "c'hat's twice, isn't it?"

"Georgianne, I'm so sorry ..."

"Thanks, Jeff. It was ... terrible. But I'm better now, I really am." She spoke like someone who had taught herself how to acknowledge an unbearable fact without actually thinking about it. "Anyway, here I am, as you can see."

That's it? Bonnie disposed of in ten seconds? Jeff could hardly believe his luck.

"Yes, you are," he said happily. 'And about time, too. I can't tell you how delighted I am....'

And on, and on. Only one thing bothered him. Georgianne looked different. Still attractive, of course, as Callie had noticed. But her face did seem-older.

It was very impressive," Georgianne said. "It's not really huge, not like a big factory, but it's very impressive. Everything about it is ultramodern and elegant. Jeff's office is beautiful. It's not flashy, but, like the rest of the place, it gives you a feeling of money and power. I've never actually been in that kind of environment before. He has a lovely walnut desk with brushed brass trim, and there's a sitting area with furniture you just sink into, and a great view of the mountains-the canyon, I guess. Anyhow, it was all like walking through the pages of a rich magazine."

"And this guy-Jeff-he owns the company?"

"Half of it. I met his partner."

'Sounds like your friend is a California millionaire," Jan said. 'One of those high-tech success stories."

"Yeah, and it's kind of funny." Georgianne thought for a moment before continuing. "I saw him a couple of times last year, when he was back in Connecticut. But I guess I didn't really see him, or think much about him then. Now it's like seeing him in a whole new light."

"And you like what you see?"

"Well, it was different. That's all I meant. Maybe because I'm not so wrapped up in myself and my own ... problems."

"So you had a good time."

"Oh, yes. Jeff wanted to take the rest of the week off so he could show me around Los Angeles. I said no, because I didn't want to take him away from his work. But then he more or less talked me into spending the weekend there. At his place."

"More or less?" Jan echoed wryly.

"Well, I said I would. He has a guest bedroom. I mean, I'd like to go, and I'd probably have fun if I did, and it's not that I don't trust Jeff, but ... I feel kind of funny about it."

"You're not sure it's the right thing to do.'Staying with him at his place."

"Yeah, I guess that's it."

"Go on, and have a good time," Jan said. She figured it might be very helpful for Georgianne to spend some time in the company of a single man, and an old friend had to be safer than a newly met stranger. "You're a big girl, you can take care of yourself."

"Oh, I'm not really worried about that."

"Well then, good," Jan said. "Go and have a good time. See L.A. while it's still there."

Georgianne smiled. Jan had a way of seeing and ex pressing things simply and clearly. You couldn't help feeling a little better for it. How different this same conversation would have been if Georgianne were talking with Bobbie Maddox instead. She felt healthier than she had at any time since Bonnie's death, and she attributed that to Jan. Until she had come to Santa Barbara, she had been drifting from one shuttered room to another. Her friends and relatives had always been on hand to comfort her. Jan was the first to show her the sunlight again.

Later, much later, Georgianne awoke in darkness. For a moment, she didn't know where she was, but she didn't move. She and Jan had been drinking that evening, and alcohol sometimes put you to sleep only to wake you up two or three hours later, well before dawn. It was a lonely, miserable state to be in, betrayed by drink that fails to get you through the night. The best thing to do was to lie still and wait for sleep to come around again. It would.

Something about Jeff stuck in the back of her mind. She still enjoyed the fact that she had been able to surprise him. He had looked more stunned than she had expected. And they'd had a pleasant time together, relaxed and free of tension. The tour of LiskerBenedictus. The long lunch at the restaurant on the ocean, near Malibu.

So what was it? The way he looked at her? There had been moments when she thought there was something odd about it, almost as if he were studying her or thinking about something other than what they happened to be discussing. But thinking about it again, she felt it didn't seem that unusual. Jeff did give the impression at times that part of his mind was elsewhere; he'd been a bit like that the night they'd gone to the Maddoxes for drinks.

No-now she knew what it was. Bonnie. Aside from the first minute or two in his office, Jeff hadn't mentioned Bonnie at all. Perhaps he simply believed he was doing the right thing by not bringing up a very painful subject, but it was strange, all the same. You'd think there would have been some curiosity on his part, at least one delicately phrased question, regardless of how much his aunt and uncle had already told him.

Instead Jeff had talked about the glamour of his work, about the good living in Southern California, things to do, places to go-all the glittery, glossy surface of his life. In a way, that was the kind of mindless distraction Georgianne needed. But it was ephemeral. An hour later you couldn't remember half of it.

Oh, well, he probably just thought he was being considerate, she decided. That's all. It didn't matter anyway. No doubt they'd get around to more personal talk over the coming weekend.

"We get them every year at this time," Jan said, turning down the volume on the car radio. "They vary from bad to really terrible."

"Seems like the wrong time for it." Georgianne shook her head, smiling with disbelief. "This is autumn in New England. Almost winter. Remember?"

Friday. Wildfires had started at several scattered lo cations in Los Angeles and Ventura counties. Jan and Georgianne were driving south on the Pacific Coast Highway, which, according to the last report, was not in any immediate danger of being closed.

"Yeah, but not here," Jan said. "October and November, that's the fire season in this part of the world."

'Do you get them in Santa Barbara?'

"Santa Barbara zoning laws won't allow it," Jan cracked. But then she added, "Sometimes they come close, but generally the area around L.A. gets the worst of it. The Santa Ana winds come in off the desert that way, and if nature doesn't take its course, there's usually some nut standing by with a pack of matches to lend a hand."

"God."

Jan laughed. "Relax. You're on your way to be wined and dined by a millionaire. The only fire you're likely to see is the candle burning on your table in a romantic little restaurant in Beverly Hills."

"Oh dear." Then Georgianne laughed too.

Jeff was in the parking lot when the dusty old MG pulled in, circled around, and stopped nearby. Georgianne and her friend got out and walked toward him. He grinned proudly when he saw them blink. Their eyes widened.

"How do you like it?"

Is that yours?" Georgianne asked.

"What is it?" Jan said.

"It's a Ferrari 328GTS," Jeff replied. "And, yes, it is mine. Picked it up a couple of hours ago."

"What happened to-"

"The Camaro? I just decided it was time for a change," he explained. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful, of course," Georgianne exclaimed.

"Very," Jan said.

"Oh, Jeff, this is Janice Tillotson, the friend from college I told you about. Jan, this is Jeff Lisker."

"Hi, how are you?" Jeff said.

"Nice to meet you." Jan stepped forward and shook Jeff's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

When they looked at each other, both Jan and Jeff experienced a sudden slight but distinct chill.

"Thanks for bringing Georgianne," he said politely. "I've been trying for a long time to get her to come out to California."

"Can I sit in your car?" Jan asked. "I've never seen a car this beautiful before. I've never even been close to anything like this."

"Be my guest."

"Nice shade of black," Jan said as she got into the driver's seat.

"Graphite," Jeff corrected.

"I'm glad you didn't get red," Georgianne said. "That would have been too much."

Jeff nodded, with a smile.

"It's ... dazzling," Jan said. "Would you mind if I asked you what-"

"Sixty thousand." Jeff beamed. "The stereo system runs about three thousand by itself."

The numbers registered, but meant nothing. Jan was looking at the interior of the car, but her mind was elsewhere. She tried to make sense of the strange feeling of unease that had come over her. It stayed with her all the way back to Santa Barbara, where she still didn't know what to make of him.

He's a different person, Georgianne thought. But maybe he isn't-more likely it's just that I'm seeing him for the first time as he is on his home ground. She was interested, and curious.

At the moment, she was also scared. They were out for a drive, and Jeff was pushing the Ferrari too fast, she thought. It was like being strapped in the nose of a rocket. But he was obviously enjoying himself, so she said nothing. Oddly, it occurred to her that to feel even a tiny shiver of fear had to be a healthy sign. It was easy, in a way, to sit in Jan's kitchen and talk about how much of you had died, and it wasn't untrue, but it took only a little adrenaline in the bloodstream to remind you that you were still alive and wanted to stay that way.

Jeff sped down Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Just south of Woodland Hills, he turned onto a side road. The paving soon gave way to dirt and packed gravel. He was forced to drive a little slower, but the Ferrari spewed pebbles and a trail of dust in its wake.

"Did you ever hear of Mulholland Drive?"

"No," Georgianne replied.

"Well, this is it," Jeff said. "It's kind of famous in L.A."

"Why?" Georgianne looked around as they climbed up into the hills. There were few houses to be seen, and the landscape was unremarkable. "It just looks like a back road."

"Oh, movie stars have made love up here, or so they say. And a few murders have been committed. That kind of thing. It is just a back road, but it's also a bit of L.A. history."

When they reached high ground, Jeff pulled over and stopped the car. Georgianne was surprised to find that she was trembling. Her legs were shaky beneath her when they got out to look at the view, which was partially obscured by a thin haze. Jeff stretched his arm and pointed.

"Over there is Santa Susana, where we just came from," he said. "And then you have the San Fernando Valley, which is referred to simply as the Valley." His arm continued to swing. "That way is Beverly Hills, Hollywood, downtown L.A. And, behind us, Santa Monica, the Pacific, and on up to Malibu, although you can't see them from here."

There was, in fact, very little to be seen by way of distinguishing features. Georgianne spotted a bird on the road.

"Jeff, is that a roadrunner?"

"What? Oh, so it is. Now you know you're here."

The bird darted out of sight.

"Look," he said a moment later. He was pointing to the north and west again.

"What?"

"See those two grayish patches in the sky? They almost get lost in the haze, but you can just make them out."

"Oh. Yeah." Georgianne wasn't at all sure that the smudges she had picked out in the distance were the ones Jeff was talking about.

"That's smoke," he told her, "from the wildfires."

At once the gray-black blots seemed larger and more disturbing. But people out here accept the fires as a fact of life, Georgianne reminded herself. Like blizzards in New England.

"It's hard to believe that people go out and start some of those fires."

"They do, though," Jeff said.

Two things happened that weekend, so minor they could hardly be called incidents, that stayed with Georgianne and grew in her mind during the days and nights that followed.

The rough ride on Friday afternoon had covered a lot of ground. In addition to Mulholland Drive, Jeff pushed the Ferrari over Saddle Peak Road from Topanga Canyon to Malibu Canyon. Then he drove north on the coast road past Point Dume, really accelerating for a few miles, until he swung onto a secondary road that took them back to Santa Susana by way of Thousand Oaks and Simi Valley. l'wice they spotted fires in the distance, and the spreading pall of smoke was always visible.

It was early evening when they arrived at Jeffs condo. Georgianne was still shaky, from bouncing over the back roads, and when she stepped out of the car, the heat seemed to settle on her like a lead cloak. It was dry heat, with virtually no humidity, but that was only a minor blessing.

Jeff had five rooms-a kitchen and dining area, a living room, two large bedrooms, and a room that he had turned into an office-study, with shelves of books neatly aligned, a personal computer, a sophisticated calculator, a three-drawer filing cabinet, a desk, a work table, and a leather sofa. It was so impeccably tidy and clean-every room was-that Georgianne found it hard to believe a single man lived there.

"I hope this is okay," he said as he showed her the guest room. He stood Georgianne's suitcase on the floor next to the bureau.

"It's lovely," she told him. "I mean, the whole place is. It's like something out of a magazine. And you've got more room than a lot of houses have."

"Yeah, it's very comfortable, and it's less than a mile from the office, so it's very handy too. Cost a small fortune, but I think it's worth it. Oh, I hope the bed's okay. It should be; it's brand new."

"What?"

"Yeah. I bought the furniture in this room only the other day," he explained, his smile a mix of sheepishness and pride. "You know, for the longest time I wanted to make this a proper guest room, but I never had any company-overnight, that is-and so, I never got around to it. But your visit took care of that. I went to a furniture store, picked this set out, and had it delivered the same day. What do you think? Okay?"

"Yes, it's fine. Very nice," Georgianne replied. Especially if you like black lacquer, she thought. She suppressed a smile. Anything would do; she wasn't that fussy. Then she deliberately added, "I'll tell you tomorrow how the bed is."

"Okay. Well. How about a drink?"

"In a few minutes? I hope you don't mind, but I'd really like to take a quick shower. The heat really got to me."

"Oh, sure.' He flicked a dial mounted on the bedroom wall, and a humming noise started somewhere. "Sorry. I forgot to put on the air conditioner. I usually keep the balcony door open when I'm home, so I don't think of it.... Let's see. The bathroom's through there,' he said, pointing to a door next to the closet.

"Great. I'll be through in a few minutes."

"I put out some towels, and you'll find a small hair drier too, if you need one."

"I brought my own, thanks."

It would be a little weird if it weren't so amusing, Georgianne thought as she sat on the floor of the shower stall and let cold water pour down over her. Jeff was so considerate it was difficult not to laugh. There was something odd about coming into a person's home and finding that he had furnished a room for you with everything from a new bedroom set right down to a hair drier. He was trying hard, too hard really, not just to be the perfect host, but to impress her overwhelmingly. There was no other way to explain it all-the car, the deluxe treatment, and, most of all, the assertive new man-of-the-world style he was trying to project. She knew she would have to proceed cautiously, so that he wouldn't suffer a sharp letdown.

"Ah, you look much cooler now," Jeff said when Georgianne entered the living room. "Feel refreshed?"

"Yes, much better, thanks."

"Good. How about that drink now? We can sit out on the balcony. What would you like?"

"White wine?'

"Coming right up."

He reluctantly turned away from Georgianne, who looked stunning in shorts, bare feet, and a classy T-shirt printed with geometric patterns like an abstract painting. The shower had restored the healthy glow to her skin, and now he noticed that she had let her hair grow. It was much longer than a year ago, a dazzling, fluffy honey-gold mane. Just the sight of her made him feel weak-but very happy.

While he was busy in the kitchen, Georgianne wandered around the spacious, gray-carpeted living room. It was so sparsely furnished that it seemed Japanese in style. Maybe the black lacquer wasn't a mistake after all. A television set and a stereo rack in one corner, a sofa, easy chair, and coffee table opposite, and not much else. There were no lamps, only track lighting, and in another corner a huge salt-water aquarium housing a variety of anemones, shrimp, urchins, and other spiny creatures, along with some Fauvist fish. She noticed the pen-and-ink drawing she had given Jeff. It was hung by itself, all but lost in the middle of one long wall. It was the only thing on any of the walls, she realized.

The far end of the living room was all glass, with sliding doors to the balcony. She stepped out and looked around. Ravenswood Estate: the buildings set at angles to ensure maximum privacy, lawns well barbered, with no bare spots, white gravel paths, flowering shrubs, clusters of birch trees, wooded hills rising on all sides. Yes, it was very attractive.

Jeff's rooms were perhaps too austere and imper sonal, but they were bachelor quarters and wouldn't necessarily acquire the cluttered, lived-in look of a family residence. Georgianne sat down on a deck chair. The heat seemed to have let up a bit, and there was even a hint of a breeze in the air.

Jeff appeared a minute or two later, carrying a large silver ice bucket. He set it down on a table, darted inside again, and was back almost immediately with a crystal goblet for Georgianne and his own drink. She didn't try to hide her smile now; she laughed aloud.

"You're trying to get me paralytic."

'Not really." He smiled. "You can add a little water if you want, and I've got a fat steak in the fridge whenever you feel you need some ballast."

Georgianne leaned forward to see exactly what was packed in the ice. There were two green Mosel bottles, a Wehlener Sonnenuhr 1976 and a Graach Him- melreich 1975. The third bottle was a liter of Contrexbville water. Jeff poured some of the Graach into her goblet.

"Cheers. It's great to see you again."

And you."

They touched glasses, sat back, and sipped. The wine was too good to water down, Georgianne thought. She would enjoy it, but slowly. Had Jeff taught himself wines? No, more likely he'd gone into a good store and bought by the price tag. For her benefit, of course.

"What's that?"

"What?"

Your drink."

"Laphroaig. It's a single malt Scotch."

"Oh." Then she seemed to be speaking mechanically, without thinking about it. "I was going to bring you a bottle, but I couldn't remember what you like. Is that your favorite?"

"I drink various things," Jeff told her. "But, yeah, I guess you could say I like this best. Ted introduced me to malt Scotches about a year ago."

Ted. Sure. Lots of people probably drink malt Scotch, Georgianne thought. It stood to reason. Single malt scotch, they call it. They'd even found some in Bonnie's stomach.

That was the first thing.

Jeff took her for a selective tour on Saturday. Wisely, he didn't try to cram too much into a single day. They cruised at a leisurely pace through Hollywood and Beverly Hills, taking in Laurel Canyon, Coldwater Canyon, the Strip, and Rodeo Drive. They ate a light lunch at the Polo Lounge, then drove on to Santa Monica and Venice, where they spent a while watching the crowd. The Ferrari never seemed out of place, and it drew many appreciative looks.

Georgianne felt out of place, though. L.A. was almost a foreign country. In a way that was healthy, she thought. Like fear, it was a form of negative definition. If she didn't belong here, she must belong somewhere else-but at least somewhere. She would just relax and enjoy the experience of being in a new and different environment.

Jeffs manner intrigued her. It was as though he was showing off his city, its exotic sights and people. There were moments when Georgianne was sure she saw pride in his expression. Steering his sixtythousand-dollar car through the precincts of wealth and privilege, he looked proprietorial, and there was something amusing about that, because it seemed fairly obvious that he didn't really move in these circles on a regular basis. Georgianne would have bet that the glamorous side of L.A. life was as new to him as his Ferrari.

She didn't know what to make of the car. A tenyear-old Camaro was Jeff's style. The Ferrari was something else altogether. It seemed too extravagant, all the more so since Jeff made the point that he'd paid the entire bill in cash, on the spot. But then, Georgianne had to admit that after more than twenty years she probably didn't know what Jeffs style was, or even what kind of person he had grown into. Now she was seeing him on his home ground, and getting to know him all over again.

They returned to Jeffs condo, relaxed for a while, then showered and changed before driving back into the city for dinner at Spago's. Later, Georgianne couldn't remember the exact context, but at some point she mentioned Janice. And Jeff made a toocasual remark that upset her.

"Isn't she-oh, it's probably just my imagination."

"What?"

"Ah, nothing, really. Well, is she a little ... uh ... butch?"

"No," Georgianne replied after a momentary silence. "No, I don't think so at all."

Jeff shrugged in a way that suggested he wasn't willing to concede the point, but he sipped his wine and changed the subject. The rest of the evening seemed a bit cooler.

It was nothing more than a minor annoyance at the time. But when Georgianne thought about it later, again and again, it began to seem like a piece of calculated nastiness. Jeff had never been the kind of person to say something like that, either casually or inadvertently. Why would he even think it? Whether Jan was gay or not (and she emphatically wasn't), how could Jeff have formed an opinion and suggested it the way he had on the basis of one brief meeting.

That was the second thing.

The weekend went extremely well, Jeff thought, and he was quite pleased with himself when he looked back on it while driving home Sunday evening after returning Georgianne to her friend's house in Santa Barbara. Yes, yes, yes, he told himself. It's all here, it's all happening, it's all go now. He had been damn near perfect, he reckoned. Friendly, warm, attentive, lighthearted, generous, masterful, considerate-ah, let's see, did I say attentive? But never pushy, never too aggressive or forward or macho. Yes, it had all gone very well. So much so that Georgianne had agreed to come down again the next weekend. That said it all. Jeff had no doubt she'd be ready then for the one thing he'd been careful to avoid. Contact. Love.

"So, tell me, how was your weekend with Magnum, RI.?" Jan asked sarcastically when she and Georgianne sat down with a nightcap. "Boozy? Automotive? Lavish? Sensual?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and no, respectively," Georgianne replied when she stopped laughing.

"Can you believe that car?"

No, not yet."

"All he needs is a mustache. Not that it would turn him into another Tom Selleck, but ..."

"I know what you mean," Georgianne said. "Jeffs not quite the same person here that I knew back in Connecticut."

"Well, I never saw him before the other day, but one thing was pretty damn obvious."

"What?"

"He wants you."

"Oh dear, that's what I was afraid of. Are you sure?"

"Are you blind? You really can't tell?"

"I guess I can," Georgianne said quietly. "I just haven't wanted to think about it."

"He didn't make a play for you? All that time the two of you were alone at his place?"

"No. No, he didn't."

"I don't care." Jan shook her head. "He will."

"I'm going to spend next weekend there too."

"Oh, you are, are you." Jan sat back, eyebrows raised. "So you're interested."

"No, I don't think so. Not really. Let's just say I want to get to know him better-better than I thought I did."

"Watch yourself."

"Why? What did you think of him?" Georgianne asked. If Jeff could make a snap judgment about Jan, then she was entitled to one in return.

"The truth?"

"Of course."

"Okay. I'm sorry if he is a good old friend of yours, but I didn't like him. I don't know exactly why, but I've been thinking about it all weekend, and it keeps coming back to the same thing. The minute I met him I felt a real chill-and he knew it. Something in his eyes maybe, or something not in his eyes; something missing. You know, we were standing just a couple of feet apart, but he gave me the feeling that he was far away, looking at me, watching from a distance. Do you know what I mean?"

"Well..."

"He gave me the creeps."

Why wouldn't it go away? It was the last thing, the very last thing Georgianne wanted to think.

She had found that she could live with almost anything. Her husband's senseless murder by strangers who mistook him for someone else? She had never been sure that's what had happened, but it was the best story, and she had come to accept it. Bonnie's suicide, arising from some terrible combination of loneliness, depression, and pain resulting from the loss of her father? Georgianne had never brought herself to believe that; it was impossible. But for six months, wherever she was, alone every night, she had cried for Bonnie, until she had reached the point where she had no strength left to rage against the possibility of her suicide, the fact of her death. And so, in a way, she had come to accept that too, or at least not to argue with herself about it. There were two gaping holes in her life, and all she had managed to do was surround them with scar tissue to contain them.

Then she had come to Santa Barbara, and Jan had been able to make her smile for the first time in ages. All Georgianne had wanted to do was to lose herself in the company of her friends, and she was beginning to succeed. Then everything was suddenly changed.

It was crazy even to think that Jeff-quiet, cautious, solid Jeff Lisker-could in any way be responsible for what had happened to Sean and Bonnie. But once the idea had entered Georgianne's mind, it wouldn't go away. Because the more she thought about it, the more she saw a certain perverse logic in it. The way Jeff had reappeared in her life after twenty years, shortly before Sean's murder. The way he had come back again after the funeral. The way he apparently-obviously, if Jan was right, and she probably was-felt about her. The fact that he drank malt Scotch, and his clumsy insinuation about Jan seemed more ominous when viewed in this light.

But there was nothing to it, she tried to reason. Nothing of any real substance. Suppose Jeff did have some kind of obsessive fixation about her. Wasn't it much more likely that he would have made some grand romantic play for her months before, even when Sean was alive? Married people fall in love, get divorced, and remarry all the time. He wouldn't have had to go to the deranged extreme of wiping out her whole family. And even if he had been happy to see Sean removed from the picture, there was no reason, no need whatsoever, for Bonnie to die too. It was crazy, that line of thought. Impossible.

The rest was the flimsiest of stuff. Coincidence and circumstance. During the week, Georgianne stopped at a pharmacy in Santa Barbara to buy something, and while browsing at the magazine rack she came across a full-page ad for a malt Scotch, She almost laughed and cried at the same time. You couldn't indict someone for drinking one thing or another, any more than you could for making an illconsidered remark.

The notion was so unspeakably awful that it had to be wrong. But it also had a horrible fascination, and it wouldn't go away. It was bad enough dealing with her thoughts; Georgianne couldn't bring herself to articulate them to Jan.

Jeff had a brilliant idea.

He decided to throw a party. It would be small but lavish. A caterer and a bartender. A stock of good wines, champagne, and the best liquors. He thought his condominium was just large enough for such an event.

He hadn't held a party since the minor fiasco he and Audrey had staged about ten years ago, when they were living in a boxy tract house in the Valley. All the top people at Lisker-Benedictus would come, of course. It would be a fine occasion for him to show off Georgianne. His woman.

What if?

That's what it came down to every time Georgianne thought about it. What if Jeff was the person respon sible? It didn't matter if there was only one chance in two hundred million, she had to face the possibility.

And what if, somehow, she became convinced of it? She still wouldn't have any evidence to take to the police, and she knew she herself would be incapable of personally exacting revenge.

What if she might be at risk? If things somehow reached that appalling, impossible point, would she be able to defend herself or would she give in, perhaps even gratefully, and follow Sean and Bonnie?

I must be losing my mind, just to think like this, she decided. If I told anyone what's going on in my head, they'd recommend me for treatment.

But there she was, Friday morning, sitting at the foot of her bed in Ian's house, holding a gun in her hand. It was an ugly little weapon, so small and light it was hard to believe it could hurt anyone. The bullets were like tiny pieces from a child's board game.

The day she had arrived at Jan's, Georgianne was unpacking her suitcase and hanging up clothes in the spare bedroom when she found the gun and bullets in a shoe box on the closet shelf. Jan explained that she had bought it a few years ago, after there had been a number of attacks on nurses and women visitors in the area of the hospital. A suspect was caught, better lighting was installed, the attacks dropped off, and Jan eventually got tired of carrying the gun, so she put it away in the closet and forgot about it.

A cheap, trashy little pistol, so dusty it probably wouldn't even work. Idly, Georgianne began to clean it with a piece of tissue paper.

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