Chapter 6

Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Delayne



The days passed, uselessly, Derek thought. He’d had a murder and an attempted murder on his beach during his first summer in charge. It did not settle well with him, especially since Amy had moved out of her father’s house and back in with Chloe.

He looked at her, sitting across from his desk from him. She’d come in after her shift and asked to be updated—as he’d updated Mitch. As he’d updated her father.

She wore the official red shorts over her official swimsuit, and a light jacket—also official. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which could also be deemed as her unofficial uniform. He rarely saw her with her hair down outside of church and the few times he’d run across her at Kuzkos.

She was wearing makeup—not unusual, but still in place after a long shift. Few ventured into the water without wetsuits, even at this time of year. The water cycled in from the north. Her job was easier.

It suited him fine. Neither he nor her doctor was willing to offer her a clean bill of health until they were sure that there were no long-lasting effects from the drugs. She would go through intense physical evaluations before the summer season hit again.

But to ask her not to lifeguard would be asking her not to breath.

He opened the manila folder and flipped through his own notes, separating them into two uneven stacks. He picked up a piece of paper, glanced at it, and on a deep breath, handed it to her.

"What do you know of this woman?"

Amy glanced at the paper and handed it back to him with little consideration.

"Lorraine Thompson."

"You know her?"

"My mom used to say she knew my dad was famous when he got himself his very own stalker."

"She was a friend of the family's before she became his ... stalker."

Amy shrugged. "Maybe, I don't know how close she was. I was young. She was a friend before they won the World Series. Something snapped. That Christmas she had a painting commissioned from a photograph that was taken of the team with my dad at the focal point. Mom said she didn't have the money for that type of gift. She had dad autograph it and they auctioned it off, part for charity and part to pay for both the cost of the painting and Lorraine's medical bills."

"Have you ever felt afraid of her?"

"I don't think I exist in her eyes. She's normally not a problem. Hasn't been, in a long time."

"Your father reported her for breaking her restraining order a few months ago."

Though he could see the surprise in her eyes, she didn't flinch. "I didn't, wouldn't know. You know how my dad is ... before she would find reasons to come around, give gifts, that sort of thing. Nothing big."

"A restraining order isn't filed because gifts are given."

Amy sighed. "I was a kid." And obviously uncomfortable with the subject, as she shifted again in her chair. "I know she left a few notes in the mailbox insinuating that my dad was having an affair with her. I got the mail one day and ... I guess you could say it was upsetting. When mom found out she called dad home from wherever he was. We had a family day at Disney Land. Then, I guess, they went to court."

"That doesn't exactly sound harmless."

"She has a husband and a family that makes sure she stays on her medication and that she stays away from my dad. They would have an alibi for her, because she really is a good woman."

"When she's medicated."

"Yes-and even when she's not, she's still the same person. She just gets priorities messed up."

"You seem to understand her."

"You get old enough, you ask questions," Amy answered. "My mom never said a bad thing about her ... at least, not that I heard. She felt ... compassion. She pointed out that Lorraine was sick. That she needed help."

"Still..."

"Derek, even if she was the one who did it, where would she get the pills she needed to do that? And why? I'm not a threat to her."

"You know I have to follow all the leads."

"But-"

"She's a lead," He wasn't sure it would do any good to tell Amy that Lorraine's last lapse and contact with her father had happened within the period of Maureen Child's murder. The restraining order had been re-evaluated and enforced.

But connecting a mentally imbalanced woman to a murder and an attempted murder wasn't the same thing as solving the crime. "Anna thought the same thing when she handed the information over-which is probably why no one has brought it up before, but there's got to be something."

"Obviously."

"I don’t think we have anything that you don’t know.”

“I’d like for you to give me the rest of your observations, then I’ll give you back some of my own,” she crossed her legs and waited.

“We’re still working through two possibilities. You could be right and this was another prank. It’s possible that whoever instigated this had no prior knowledge of the medications that were placed in your water, that they only intended you discomfort and possible failure of your drug test—which would have been jail time for you. They could have assumed that the drugs would have acted as a performance enhancer.”

“However unlikely.”

“So you agree.”

“No—not necessarily, but I know what you're thinking,” Amy said. “You are balancing that against the other possibility. That someone wanted me dead.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t argue with that... There was a time when I wanted ... it myself. It just seems so unlikely that someone would hold on to such rage for nearly seven years and then do such a bad job at it. If they were waiting—why take a chance that the drugs would not work?”

Derek underlined the note on his page that asked the same question. “If it was calculated—then it could have been much worse. If you were meant to die from drowning and not from the drugs.”

“There’s too many ifs,” Amy said and stood to pace to the window. Her brow was furrowed. “And what if ... what if it wasn’t about me at all?”

“About your father.”

“No. About Chloe.”

Derek frowned and went to stand beside her. She had not been sleeping well, either from the after effects of the drugs, from the fear, or from living with her father again. He had a feeling it was all of the above.

And still, he reminded himself, none of his business.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he said at last.

“It needs to be considered. Chloe dropped her stuff off on top of mine before she went looking for me. If we consider that the drugs were added before I took my bag out to the beach, then it could have happened at the station, in the crowd, or anywhere ... if it happened after, then whoever it was might have meant it for Chloe.”

“You believe there’s a possibility that someone would want to hurt her.”

“She was raped, Derek, and the person that did it spent an uncomfortable year in jail. It was too little time. That and the fact that it was kept quiet was bargained in exchange for a confession. She was healing and moving on, so she let the DA’s office make a deal. He’s out now. And he hates Chloe.”

“Has he threatened her?”

“Not like you’re thinking. He used to do it by just being. Chloe’s changed. Knowing he’s out hasn’t threatened her, maybe more because she pushes it back and out of the present tense. She saw him on campus one day in the middle of the summer. I saw him one day when I went in to meet with my probation officer.”

“You share the same probation officer.”

“Unfortunately. And possibly because of his connection with me, and my connection with Chloe, Carl’s not as strict with Benny as he should be."

"Benny was at the beach that day,” she turned and faced Derek. “Chloe found out about it from Andrea and she thought of it—I saw it in her eyes that day at the hospital. She was scared because of it. Then things blew up between her and Mitch and she never said anything about it.”

Derek muttered something under his breath and went back to his folder. He placed a hand on either side of it and looked down at the notes, his lips in a firm line.

“I don’t know that Benny would be capable of it. The reasons he did what he did, in his mind, weren’t to harm Chloe—though he did and he can’t understand that. He believes he loves her,” Amy shuddered. “His father has some money and owns a few stores downtown—one of which is a hometown drug store. Watson’s on 5th.”

Derek pondered her words then jotted down a few notes on a legal pad. He underlined it, obviously frustrated, with the investigation, with Carl, with the system. Then he tore it off and set it above the two other stacks, as if to start another.

Finally, he looked at her, “It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that if this Benny couldn’t have Chloe, he didn’t want anyone else to.”

“It’s a weak link.”

“But it’s another one.”

Amy solemnly met his eyes. Derek would follow up on the information she’d given him, if only to make sure Chloe stayed safe. “And another if.”



Amy left the beach station, and checking her watch, swung by the radio station to see her dad. When she walked in, she lifted a hand to the receptionist.

She found him in his office, three computer screens turned on, a cell phone to his ear and his eyes reading the captions on the muted television. She stopped in the doorway and watched him. He had been shaving his hair since he was in the pros, as he was loosing his hair more from wearing a cap then to genetics. It made him a formidable, distinguished man. He wore tailored pants, shirt and tie, a little more dressed up then usual.

He concentrated on the morning's financial news as he had baseball. He saw little else until he hung up the phone and the station switched to commercial.

He glanced at her before striking down a few notes on a legal pad, "I got a few minutes. What do you need?"

You would have thought she came into his office every day, she thought and sat down in the chair across from his desk. Maybe she had started dropping by more in the last year, but it hadn't been more than a hand full of times.

She held her set of keys in both hands. It wasn't easy to talk to her father. "I heard this morning that Lorraine came back around this summer."

"Not recently," he murmured without glancing up from his paperwork. "It's not something you should be worried about."

"It's not? Dad, you don't tell me things."

"You don't need to know everything."

"You expect me to be open and honest with you, but you never extend that courtesy with me. She sought to hurt this family before."

He looked up, his gaze hard. There was grief suddenly in his eyes and for a moment he only looked at her. It stabbed into her heart. They weren't a family, she thought. They hadn't been a family since her mother and brother's deaths.

And the look in his eyes only confirmed that he wanted it that way.

"I've got a lineup of things to deal with right now. It's not the time for one of your family problem sessions. We'll talk about it at home."

Amy nodded and stood, wishing she knew how to care less. "I'll—see you later, then."

"Amy—" she stopped, looked at him, and watched him as he planned his words out. "When Lorraine dropped by, it wasn't a big deal. I just ... made the call. If nothing else, it keeps her on her medication. Keeps things steady at her own house. Her husband thanked me ... he really loves her. He always has."

Amy nodded and wished for her mom.



As the fall semester at the college was in full swing, Kuzkos was packed and loud. Amy, Andrea and Chloe had claimed an oval table in the back, celebrating their freedom.

Chloe held up her glass of kiwi-lemonade in a mock toast. “I love you Andrea, but if I had to take another day in your neat apartment I might have thrown something. I’m glad when I go home tonight, it’s to my own, sweet pad, decorated with a surfboard and lawn chairs.”

Andrea grimaced. “I say we toast to the fact that we didn’t kill each other over time. To the survivors.”

Amy raised her coke. “Amen to that. May I never have to spend another night in my father’s house.”

It had been test and trial, one she’d nearly walked away from a half dozen times. Her father had paraded a slew of women around him since her mother’s death. They were in the house, constantly. They stayed the night, for weekends and for months. Half the time they giggled.

This time it had not been the many women that dropped by over time, but the one. She never spent the night. Her conversations were not spent under candlelight or late at night. They were calm, remembrances of the past.

And hardly ever about the investigation.

Detective Anna Miller did not wear the stark suits when she visited Lance Carpenter at his home, but dressed casually and in style. Her voice was not harsh or commanding.

Amy could not decide what bothered her more; Anna moving in on her father, or her father talking about the past with Anna when he never would with Amy.

And of course, her father had started playing overtime father. He would check up on Amy now, call Vince for progress reports on her health. He knew her class schedule and expected her to join him for dinner during the week.

Dinners they would eat in silence, unless Anna was there. For he told her nothing and she said nothing.

She wished he had demanded such things when she was in high school, when she’d wanted it—instead of waiting until she was a twenty-three year old adult.

“Ask me later to tell you about the boy that’s been calling Andrea,” Chloe said, drawing Amy back into the present, into Kuzcos, in time to see the color drain out of Andrea’s face.

“Chloe—” Andrea snapped. “You said you wouldn’t say anything.”

“Like I wouldn’t tell Amy when we were alone. It seemed more fair to say something with you here,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I never committed to not telling—just not to tell that night.”

“So who’s the guy?” Amy interrupted

“Some lawyer her parents hired on. He’s cute,” Chloe said and winked.

“And when did you see him?” Andrea asked.

“He came by this afternoon. He was in jeans and he looked really good. You weren’t home yet.”

“Wait a minute. He took a job with Lyons and Lyons so he’s a lawyer?” Amy interrupted. Seeing the look on Andrea’s face, panicked and annoyed, Amy guessed. “Eric? They hired Eric?”

“Yes they hired Eric. Knowing how I feel about him, when he applied mom must have jumped on it.”

“Why wouldn’t they hire Eric knowing how you feel about him? And what do you feel about him? If you would only admit what you feel to yourself—”

“Whatever we had was over,” Andrea pushed away from the table and grabbed her water that was still half full. “Excuse me.”

Amy waited until Andrea had walked away, then turned to Chloe, “Why haven’t you told me about this before?”

“Because she asked me not to say anything when I saw you that night and I couldn’t, but it’s not that night anymore.”

“Chloe.”

“Yeah, well. This must be the guy you nag her about often-the one she won't tell you about. She's almost ice to him-and that's not Andrea. I figured if anyone could help her see reason it would be you.”

“Has he come by, has she seen him?”

“I think she ran into him at her parent’s office. He’s sent about three dozen flowers—not roses, but purple lily-like things and daisies and a plant ... a plant! Right before we came tonight she shattered the vase of daisies against the wall. I thought it was time I said something.”

“Has she said anything?”

Chloe shrugged, “She mutters a lot and she refuses to answer the phone. He has a nice voice to him. Deep, kind of odd, northern sounding.”

“They met while she was at Harvard. What did he say?”

“He just asked to speak to her and I told him the truth—that she did not want to speak to him, under any circumstances—you know the bit. And he just laughed and thanked me. Told me to tell her he would be by again.” Chloe sat back in her seat and took a long swallow of her kiwi lemonade. “If you want my opinion, it sounds like he’s been plotting.”

“Good. Andrea needs someone to plan around her,” Amy said. Andrea was a planner. She liked the details and she liked everything in a neat and tidy row. She was calm and patient but she didn’t deal with things well when plans changed around her. It was one of the reasons that being hypoglycemic turned her life upside down.

Maybe Eric understood that.

Or maybe Andrea was right. Maybe what they had truly needed to be over.

It seemed she would need to stop by Lyons and Lyons in the morning.

“Look, here comes Andrea,” Chloe said and pushed away from the table. “I think I need to give her some space, so ... I’m going to go home and hit the books. See you back at our place.”

“You’re going home to hit the books.”

Chloe shrugged. “Why does everyone have so little faith that I study? I’ve got to get out of college sometime. You're the one that's planning to make a career of it.”

Amy smiled and waited for Andrea to sit down. “So he followed you here.”

“I guess so.”

“Why now? Why not when you graduated last year?”

“He was in law school,” Andrea set her glass down and rubbed her eyes. “And I haven't asked. Look, can we talk about something else?”

“After you tell me why you didn’t tell me in the first place. You had to know that I would find out from Chloe, so I don’t think it’s fair for you to be mad at her for long.”

“How can anyone be mad at Chloe for long?” Andrea asked, then lowered her hands. “I was going to tell you—when I understood what I was feeling myself. I never expected—”

As she spoke, her eyes pooled with tears. Amy reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Then when you’re ready to talk, when you need to talk, or when it’s troubling you so bad that you can’t take it anymore, I’ll be here.”

It was an echo of words that took them back to high school, when Amy couldn’t explain what she was feeling about Jenny, to Jenny’s sister.

“I talked to Derek about Chloe today.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s a possibility. And if Carl isn’t going to rough him up about going near Chloe, he’s going to do it.”

“It’s a possibility,” Andrea agreed, “but Chloe had dyed her hair that day. She was looking more like you than herself.”

“But Benny recognized her. Enough that his gaze followed her.”

Andrea nodded and took a sip from her water. “It’s going to be interesting to see what Derek does when he’s had enough of Carl.”

“What could he do? Ham couldn’t do anything.”

“Ham didn’t, probably because he couldn’t,” Andrea pointed out. “Derek’s not from here. He’s from a rougher section of California. And he has some connections. Ham grew up here, was trained and raised here. To be honest, I don’t think he had the kind of pull that changed things.”

“I don’t guess he wanted it,” Amy agreed.



Mitch was packed and ready to go, the last of his belongings in the back of the second hand jeep he'd bought for the move. He had been driving back and forth into the mountains over the last month, laying the foundations for his new job. He met with John, his replacement at the beach station, one last time, going over a few more details that had arisen during the shift that day.

Now his life in Basin Springs, the beach side community where he had spent most of his life, was over. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad, especially while he held the keys to Buster in his hand—a car that would never be practical on the mountains roads.

He had come here, to Kuzcos, to say one last goodbye, have one last plate of cheese fries, and give Amy the keys to watch over his beloved car until he could work out his heart enough to sell it. He would have to sell it. Eventually.

He opened the heavy oriental doors as the glass doors on the inside opened. Suddenly he was enclosed in a little room with Chloe.

The air swirled around them as her eyes, startled and hurt, momentarily met his; then the emotion was gone and he was shut out. The bass-beat from the band on the inside throbbed against the walls, as Mitch’s own heart quietly shattered.

She looked so beautiful and so distant. The eyes that had once looked at him in such trust, now stared at him blank and empty.

He wished he would have appreciated the trust she’d once given him.

He took a deep breath, surprised when it felt shallow and swallowed over the block in his throat.

“Chloe, I—”

She lifted her chin as if preparing to take a fist. Her jaw trembled and the emotion returned.

“I’m sorry.”

A tear slipped out and she pushed passed him and out the heavy doors.

Mitch stood alone in between the two doors, frozen. The words he’d thrown at her that night in the hospital echoed. He could still see the shock and the grief in Chloe’s eyes. It was still there, he realized and nearly turned to go after her.

The glass doors opened, bringing through the hard rock sounds of the band, and a group of people came through, laughing and talking. They flowed around him until the last stumbled into him.

"Sorry," the girl said as she was righted by the guy who had pushed against her.

Mitch went on in, ordered the cheese fries and found Amy and Andrea sitting in the back.

“Mitch!” Amy said with surprise. “I thought you were gone.”

Unlike Chloe, she jumped up to greet him. He reached around her to hug her in return, a natural action, but his arms felt empty. He saw the look in Chloe's eyes. He heard the break in her voice.

He stepped back, shook himself to clear his vision. Why had he come?, he wondered. “I ... had a few things to take care of.”

Andrea cast a sidelong glance at Amy, “I don't know Mitch. I get the feeling you don’t really want to go. What do you think, Amy?"

"I've been questioning his sanity. He can't cruise the waves on a random morning when he's nearly four hours from the ocean."

"There's more to life then surfing. It's just been a struggle to get everything lined up. One thing after another-you know how it goes."

He sat down, carefully, the music an annoyance, the keys heavy in his hand. He looked at them. He was going to give them to Amy because he trusted her, because he knew she would take care of Buster for him.

And he wished Chloe could believe he felt that way about her.

“Mitch—” Across the table Amy glanced at Andrea. "What's wrong?"

He closed his hand around the keys. He could still see Chloe’s eyes, not bright and shimmering with life, but dull and weary of him, pooled with tears he’d caused.

He stood, took his billfold out and dropped some money on the table. “Enjoy my last cheese fries. I forgot … I have something I have to do.”

“Chloe said she was going home,” Amy said without question, “but if she’s not and it’s still light outside, she’ll be at the park by the station. She likes to think there.”

In her eyes Mitch saw friendship and understanding and promise. It gave him hope, somehow, that there were words he could give to Chloe. He could only pray that he could give her the right ones.

HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!







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