The Lake

THIRTY

When Leigh left for the restaurant, Deana leafed through the telephone directory for Warren’s home number.

She came up with zilch. Ditto the Eureka Bookstore.

Should have asked him for his card.

Would’ve made things a whole lot easier.

Well, I didn’t, did I?

Good thing, too.

I can see it now…

Phone up this guy you hardly know, tell him the detective from Mill Valley PD stayed with Mom last night. Remember, the one I told you about? Yeah, that one.

And he’d say, “Okay? So what business is this of mine? Moms have a right to private lives, too, y’know.”

Deana replaced the phone book in its alcove.

Wandering aimlessly into the living room, she stared through the glass wall at the panorama below.

The day spread out before her like an empty, rainwashed sky.

What shall I do?

Read a book?

What book?

How about I ring Eureka and order, say, Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard.

The mad adventures of small-time Miami loan shark Chili Palmer, Miss… er, sorry, I didn’t catch your name?

Yes. That’s the one. Please express it over to me.

Oh, and thanks for your trouble, Mr. Hastings.

Or maybe she should watch daytime TV?

Yawn.

A video?

There’s always Reservoir Dogs.

She’d seen it before. Twice.

Good film, but boring old diamond heists and Harvey Keitel weren’t exactly what she was looking for right now.

What about…

She rushed to the hallway. Grabbed the phone book and looked up “Hastings.”

Dummy!

Warren was new to Del Mar a couple of days ago, so his name wouldn’t be listed yet.

Three blocks away. That would probably make it in the three hundred and sixties…

And under the name of the last occupant.

She’d never work it out that way.

Shit.

Maybe she had enough to occupy her mind, thinking about Mace calling Mom, telling her I was out last night…

Leigh, darling. Did you know your daughter was out there on Del Mar, seeing some guy?

He’d just love that…

As she went to her bedroom, Deana pictured Warren’s kitchen. Cozy. Friendly. Smelling of pot roast…

And Sabre, harboring dark thoughts beneath the kitchen sink.

Some dog, that.

Dangerous.

At least he rescued my cap for me.

Cap.

She’d tossed it, and her black sweats, into the hamper. They sure could do with a wash, after all that excitement.

Probably stink like hell.

“That’s what I’ll do while Mom’s out,” she decided. “Wash my black things. Get them dried and put away before she sees them.”

Deana opened the hamper. Dragged out her sweats.

Her knitted cap fell to the floor.

So did Warren’s card.

Showing his business address and a scribbled phone number on the reverse.

His home number!

“Eureka!”

Must have put it inside her cap before he handed it to her. When he scrabbled about in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

Smart guy.

Now what?

Call the number, dummy. Even if he’s not home, his sister will be…

A squirm of excitement stirred between her legs.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a boring day after all.

Do it, Deana. Go for it.

She sat on the bed, dialing out the number on her extension line.

Brrinngg… Brrinngg.

“Yeah. The Hastings residence…”

The woman’s voice was deep, brisk. Businesslike.

For someone who didn’t get home till five-thirty a.m., this sure was some together lady…

“Er… May I speak with Warren, please?”

“Who’s asking.” A statement. Not a question.

“A friend. Just say, the midnight runner. He’ll know who it is.”

At the other end, Sheena gasped. A shiver played up and down her spine.

It was back.

Her premonition.

Deana heard the phone slap down onto a hard surface.

Silence. Then, in the background:

“Hey, bro. Gal here says she’s the midnight runner.”

Deana blushed.

My God.

Sounds like I’m some kind of weirdo.

Giving out code names over the phone.

Silence.

More conversation in the background. Garbled now. Farther away.

Then Warren’s voice, slightly breathless.

“Hi. You just caught me… To what do I owe the pleasure? So soon.”

Deana heard the smile behind his words.

She felt foolish, not quite knowing why she’d called.

Of course she knew.

She’d called for the hell of it, hadn’t she?

No, not that.

What she’d really called Warren for was to talk about Mace.

Come to think of it, what could she say about Mace without being a traitor to Mom?

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Sure… Hi, Warren,” she said weakly. “Sorry to bother you. Tell me I’m a nuisance.”

“No, I won’t. What is it, my midnight lady? Hey. What’s your name, anyway? Can’t keep coming over all Shakespearean. It’s enough to take the edge off any budding friendship.”

“Deana. Deana West.”

“Deana. Mmm. Nice name. So… Deana. How can I help?”

He sounded calm, sensible. Understanding.

She snuffled, feeling hot tears well up.

“Why don’t I come over there? Cheer you up a little?”

“That’d be great, Warren, if you could. What about Eureka? Shouldn’t you be there by now?”

“There’s nothing spoiling back at the store. A quick call and my trusty assistant will open up. She has a key.”

She?

Deana suddenly felt too tired, too exhausted to talk or even think anymore. The events of the last few days, never mind Mace being in the house last night, were just about all she could handle at the moment.

“I’d like that, Warren,” she said quietly.

“See you in five minutes.”

“Oh, Warren?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t bring Sabre, will you?”

She pictured him smiling at her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”