Devil's Waltz Part 66

Ca.s.sie toddled to the table. Vicki put her on a chair, then pulled a tablespoon out of a drawer and began to scoop ice cream.

"Sure you don't want some?" she asked me.

"I'm sure, thanks."

Cindy came in, drying her hands on a paper towel.

"Snack time, Mom," said Vicki. "Probably ruin her dinner, but she did pretty good on lunch. Okay with you?"

"Sure," said Cindy. She smiled at Ca.s.sie, kissed the top of her head.

"I cleaned out the coffeepot," said Vicki. "Down to the dregs. Want some more?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Probably go out later to Von's. Need anything?"

"No, I'm fine, Vicki. Thanks."

Vicki set a bowl of ice cream in front of Ca.s.sie and pressed the round part of the spoon into the green, speckled ma.s.s.

"Let me soften this up-then you can go at it."

Ca.s.sie licked her lips again and bounced in her chair. "Eye-ee!"

Cindy said, "Enjoy, sweetie-pie. I'll be outside if you need me."

Ca.s.sie waved bye-bye and turned to Vicki.

Vicki said, "Eat up. Enjoy yourself."

I went back outside. Cindy was standing against the fence. Dirt was clumped up around the redwood slats and she imbedded her toes in it.

"G.o.d, it's hot," she said, brus.h.i.+ng hair out of her eyes.

"Sure is. Any questions today?"

"No . . . not really. She seems to be fine. . . . I guess it'll be . . . I guess when he's on trial is when it's going to be hard, right? All the attention."

"Harder for you than her," I said. "We'll be able to keep her out of the limelight."

"Yeah . . . I guess so."

"Not that the press won't try to get pictures of both of you. It may mean moving around a bit-more rented houses-but she can be s.h.i.+elded."

"That's okay-that's all I care about. How's Dr. Eves?"

"I spoke to her last night. She said she'd be coming by this evening."

"When's she leaving for Was.h.i.+ngton?"

"Couple of weeks."

"Was moving something she planned or just . . ."

"You'd have to ask her that," I said. "But I know it didn't have anything directly to do with you."

"Directly," she said. "What does that mean?"

"Her moving was personal, Cindy. Nothing to do with you or Ca.s.sie."

"She's a nice lady-kind of . . . intense. But I liked her. I guess she'll be coming back for the trial."

"Yes, she will."

A citrus smell drifted over from the orange tree. White blossoms dusted the gra.s.s at the tree's base, fruit that would never be. She opened her mouth to speak, but s.h.i.+elded her lips with her hand instead.

I said, "You suspected him, didn't you?"

"Me? I- Why do you say that?"

"The last couple of times we talked, before the arrest, I felt you wanted to tell me something but were holding back. You just had that same look now."

"I- It really wasn't suspicion. You just wonder-I started to wonder, that's all."

She stared at the dirt. Kicked it again.

"When did you start wondering?" I said.

"I don't know-it's hard to remember. You think you know someone and then things happen. . . . I don't know."

"You're going to have to talk about all of it, eventually," I said. "For lawyers and policemen."

"I know, I know, and it scares me, believe me."

I patted her shoulder. She moved away and hit the fence with her back. The boards vibrated.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just don't want to think about that now. It's just too . . ."

She looked down at the dirt again. It wasn't until I saw the tears drip from her face and dot the soil that I realized she was crying.

I reached out and held her. She resisted, then relented, leaning her full weight against me.

"You think you know someone," she said, between sobs. "You think you- You think someone loves you and they're . . . and then . . . your whole world falls apart. Everything you thought was real is just . . . fake. Nothing- Everything's wiped out. I . . . I . . ."

I could feel her shaking.

Pausing for breath, she said "I" again.

"What is it, Cindy?"

"I- It's . . ." Shaking her head. Her hair brus.h.i.+ng against my face.

"It's okay, Cindy. Tell me."

"I should have- It didn't make sense!"

"What didn't?"

"The time- He was . . . he was the one who found Chad. I was always the one who got up when Chad cried or was sick. I was the mother-that was my job. He never got up. But that night he did. I didn't hear a thing. I couldn't understand that. Why didn't I hear a thing? Why? I always heard when my babies cried. I was always getting up all the time and letting him sleep, but this time I didn't. I should have known!"

She punched my chest, growled, rubbed her head against my s.h.i.+rt as if trying to grind her pain away.

"I should've known it was wrong when he came to get me and told me Chad didn't look good. Didn't look good! He was blue! He was . . . I went in and found him lying there-just lying there, not moving. His color . . . it was . . . all . . . It was wrong! He never was the one to get up when they cried! It was wrong. It was wrong- I should have . . . I should have known from the beginning! I could have . . . I . . ."

"You couldn't have," I said. "No one could have known."

"I'm the mother! I should have!"

Tearing away from me, she kicked the fence, hard.

Kicked it again, even harder. Began slapping the boards with the flats of her hands.

She said, "Ohhh! Oh, G.o.d, oh!" and kept striking out.

Redwood dust rained down on her.

She gave out a wail that pierced the heat. Pushed herself up against the fence, as if trying to force herself through it.

I stood there, smelling oranges. Planning my words and my pauses and my silences.

When I got back to the car, Robin had filled the board with designs and was studying them. I got behind the wheel and she put them back in her folio.

"You're drenched," she said, wiping sweat from my face. "Are you okay?"

"Hanging in. The heat." I started the car.

"No progress?"

"Some. It's going to be a marathon."

"You'll make it to the finish."

"Thanks," I said. Hanging a three-point turn, I drove away.

Halfway down the block I pulled over to the curb, jammed the transmission into PARK, leaned across the seat, and kissed her hard. She flung both arms around me and we held each other for a long time.

A loud "ahem" broke us apart.

We looked up and saw an old man watering his lawn with a dribbling hose. Watering and scowling and mumbling. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with a ragged crown, shorts, rubber sandals. Bare-chested-his teats sagged like those of a woman wasted by famine. His upper arms were stringy and sunburnt. The hat shadowed a pouchy, sour face but couldn't conceal his disgust.

Robin smiled at him.

He shook his head and the water from his hose arced and sprayed the sidewalk.

One of his hands gave a dismissive wave.

Robin stuck her head out the window and said, "Whatsamatter, don't you approve of true love?"

"G.o.ddam kids," he said, turning his back on us.

We drove away without thanking him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

JONATHAN KELLERMAN, America's foremost author of psychological thrillers, turned from a distinguished career in child psychology to writing full-time. His works include fourteen Alex Delaware books-When the Bough Breaks, Blood Test, Over the Edge, Silent Partner, Time Bomb, Private Eyes, Devil's Waltz, Bad Love, Self-Defense, The Web, The Clinic, Devil's Waltz, Monster, and Dr. Death-as well as the thrillers The Butcher's Theater and Billy Straight, three volumes of psychology, and two children's books. He and his wife, the novelist Faye Kellerman, have four children.

BOOKS BY JONATHAN KELLERMAN.

FICTION:.

Billy Straight (1998) Devil's Waltz (1997) The Clinic (1997) The Web (1996) Self-Defense (1995) Bad Love (1994) Devil's Waltz (1993) Private Eyes (1992) Time Bomb (1990) Silent Partner (1989) The Butcher's Theater (1988) Over the Edge (1987) Blood Test (1986) When the Bough Breaks (1985) NONFICTION:.

Helping the Fearful Child (1981) Psychological Aspects of Childhood Cancer (1980) FOR CHILDREN, WRITTEN AND ILl.u.s.tRATED:.

Jonathan Kellerman's ABC of Weird Creatures (1995) Daddy, Daddy, Can You Touch the Sky? (1994) Turn the page for an excerpt from

Jonathan Kellerman's

new Alex Delaware novel