Richard Laymon - The Lake

• Название: The Lake
• Автор: Richard Laymon
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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Intruders do that all the time.

She’d read about how they did it.

Lesson One: Don’t leave your house key under the magnolia bush.

Wonderful.

Mace going around with a key to our house!

Deana’s mouth went dry. Her heart leapt to her throat.

Mace can enter our home whenever he feels like it!

Whenever he wants to scare the pants offa me.

Our home isn’t safe anymore.

Deana dressed carefully. She brushed her hair and put on her makeup. But her heart wasn’t in it.

All she could think about was Mace.

Creeping into her room again.

When Mom was out and she was all alone.

FORTY-FOUR

Deana was setting place mats on the dinner table when the doorbell rang. It echoed through the hallway.

She froze.

It has to be Warren—but how can I be sure?

Could be Mace!

Nah. Mace wouldn’t return so soon after spying on me. Would he?

That’s just the kinda awful thing he would do.

She heard Mom go to the door.

Open it.

She was talking, her tone bright and friendly.

A low voice, interspersed with Mom’s highs, indicated an animated conversation was taking place.

Whoever it was, was standing in the hallway.

She heard Warren’s voice and huffed a sigh of relief. She raced through the living room into the hallway.

“Hi, Warren. You two met, I see!”

Mom was shaking Warren’s hand. She looked flushed and bright-eyed—as she always did with guests. That was the nice thing about Mom. She knew how to make people feel at home.

“Hi there, Deana. Your sister was just making me welcome.”

He winked at Deana.

Mom laughed, flushed some more, and went off into the kitchen.

They were alone.

Warren eyed Deana approvingly. “My,” he said. “You look stunning tonight.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You should wear blue more often. Much more becoming than black.”

Deana grinned. She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t you dare…”

Warren smiled and crossed his heart.

“Mum’s the word,” he mouthed.

Deana led him to the living room. She motioned for him to sit on the sofa.

“Dinner isn’t quite ready yet,” she said. “Care for a drink?”

“Mmmm. Whatever you’re having would be great!”

Warren looked around, taking stock of the room.

As if he hadn’t seen it before.

“Fabulous view you have over there.” He nodded in the direction of the glass wall.

“Yeah. That’s what everyone says. White wine?”

“Sounds good to me,” Warren said, smiling at her.

She went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of Chablis on a serving tray.

He’s a handsome guy, she thought, watching him take his glass. In a clean-cut kind of way. Dark slicked hair, gray suit, white shirt. A club tie of some sort.

Underneath all that, she sensed his taut, well-honed body. A squirm of excitement stirred between her legs.

Wondering how he’d look bare-ass naked.

“So you own a bookstore, Warren?” Mom said over dinner.

“That I do. For my sins.” Mom looked at him inquiringly. He laughed. “Sorry—a figure of speech! I love my work, Ms. West…”

“Leigh, please,” Mom said with a smile. “Makes life a lot simpler.”

“Leigh. Nice name, if I may say so.”

Deana glared at him.

Warren smiled back, sending her a sly wink at the same time.

I know he’s just being friendly, she thought. And Mom does have this effect on people. I should be used to it by now.

But she did feel a little on edge.

It’s that asshole Mace, she decided.

Suddenly appearing like that.

Scaring the pants offa me.

Well, not quite.

But he sure had me spooked there for a while.

What had really spooked her, though, was the way Mace had looked.

Zoned out.

Unsure.

As if he’d been really sorry about going into her room like that.

She stole a glance at Mom. She looked happy enough. Perhaps she hadn’t ever seen Mace as I saw him this afternoon.

Maybe I should let it stay that way…

Deana wanted to forget, but found she couldn’t. Mace coming at her like that was something that worried her a lot.

Warren and Mom were talking books. How Mom liked historical novels and biographies; she’d been searching for something on Bob Dylan. Warren said he’d look out for this really good one he’d heard about.

“Wonderful meal, Leigh,” Warren said, wiping his lips on his napkin.

“Thanks, Warren. Glad you enjoyed it. Duck à l’orange prepared this way is a Bayview special. Goes down well with the clientele.”

“Mom,” Deana put in. “Would you mind awfully if Warren and I went for a drive somewhere?”

Leigh’s face paled slightly.

Watching her, Deana almost changed her mind about going for a drive with Warren.

She’s remembering the night of the family party. When Allan and I left her to it with Gran and Pops.

“Mom. We’ll be back in an hour or so—won’t we, Warren?”

“Er, yes, of course. Would you mind, Leigh? I always hate to eat and run. But perhaps you’d both do me the honor of dining at my place sometime soon?”

Leigh smiled at Deana. “Sure,” she said. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, darling?”

“Yes, Mom. It would.”

After they left, Leigh cleared away the dishes, piling them up, intending to wash them later. She took out a bottle of Chablis from the fridge and poured herself a glassful.

Strolling back to the living room, her mind was full of Deana and Warren. Mmmm. She liked Warren. He seemed mature and sensible; probably a safe date is what Deana needs right now. After all our problems, she could do with some relaxation…

She switched on the TV.

Maybe I should call Mace…

Or maybe I should take some time out by myself. Relax. Chill out.

Like an irritating insect, the tub scenario still lurked in a corner of her mind.

Afterward, though, Mace had made up for it.

They really were good for each other.

She was sure of that.

Her eyes followed the flickering screen, not really seeing what was there. She came to, focusing on David Letterman interviewing some celeb from Friends…

Leigh made a face. Reflecting that she must be the only person on the planet who wasn’t into Friends.

There must be something else worth looking at…

She played around on the remote, finally settling on an old Steve McQueen movie. Smiling to herself, she remembered she’d had this humongous crush on Steve McQueen after watching The Great Escape.

Steve on his motorbike…

Ultra-sexy.

Taking another sip of Chablis, she watched the screen some more. Not really understanding, now, why she’d been so over the moon about dear old Steve.

Her eyes strayed to the framed photographs on the TV table.

Something odd there…

One was missing.

The picture of Deana wearing her first bikini.

Showing off. Posing on a rock, her dark hair blowing in the breeze, the sea rolling in behind her.

Leigh remembered that day down at Point Reyes Beach. The first time she’d realized Deana had suddenly become a woman…

The same day Deana had reminded her of Charlie.

There’d been something about her smile. That small cleft in her chin. The way she stood there. At one with the elements.

Nature girl, Leigh had called her.

Now the photograph was gone.

Perhaps Deana gave it to Warren as a keepsake.

I’ll ask her later.

Leigh felt a twinge of regret.

That photo had been a good one of Deana.

One of her favorites…

FORTY-FIVE

Friday, July 16

Lisa Bonetti was eighteen years of age. She had long dark hair, and a tall, athletic build. She played tennis, enjoyed swimming, and was a hotshot at archery.

Due to go to UCSC in the fall, Lisa was the apple, as they say, of her father’s eye.

At 3:01 she was on her way to Kathy’s Diner on Main Street, to meet her friend Margy for coffee and donuts. She’d missed out on lunch, so she was looking forward to a couple of Kathy’s fresh apple donuts. She had no idea she was being followed.

The black car cruised by a couple of times then drew up alongside as she hurried along the sidewalk.

“Miss!”

The black window slid down; an elbow, then a man’s face appeared. The man looked both serious and concerned. He glanced up, nodding briefly.

“Lisa Bonetti? I’m Detective Joe Napier, San Jose PD.” The man flashed police ID at her and returned it to the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

He leaned across the passenger seat and swung open the far-side door.

“Ms. Bonetti, your father’s in Cedar Heights. Had a near-fatal heart attack around two this afternoon. News came through as I was going off my shift. Chief asked me to drive you over to see him.”

The girl paled. She frowned slightly.

“But there must be some mistake…I mean, my father was okay this morning when I left him. He took his pills as usual and walked down the driveway to wave me off…I’ve spent some time in the library—didn’t think to call and check…Er, who phoned your office to say he was ill…?”

Her face was ashen now. Clearly, news of her father’s attack had come as a bad shock. The man in the car smiled, then said gently, “Lady name of Lydia Ashmont, your next-door neighbor I believe, phoned us to say pass on the message to daughter Lisa that Tony’s in the hospital. Right? You are Lisa Bonetti? And your father is Tony Bonetti?”

“Sure. Take me to him. And please hurry.”

Lisa stepped into the car, leaned forward, and placed her purse by her feet. She fastened her seat belt, settled back, and turned to look at the driver.

“How long will it take?”

Smiling, he said, “Not long, Ms. Bonetti. Not long.” He touched the remote button and the driver’s window slid up with a neat, whirring sound.

He reached into the glove compartment, his side of the car, and produced a hypodermic syringe.

Turning to face the girl, he smiled into her eyes and emptied the syringe into her arm.

She gave a small gasp and slumped back in her seat.

Anyone seeing her would have said she was asleep.

Roughly, the driver lifted her head, making sure she was out for the count. He felt around in his jacket pocket, brought out a few sunflower seeds, and palmed them into his mouth.

Taking a brief look in the rearview mirror, he released the hand brake and eased away from the curb.

Chewing on the seeds, the man glanced at the clock on the dash.

3:05.

His lips curved in a smile.

Whole thing’d taken around three minutes.

Lisa Bonetti’s naked body was found four months later, in a remote, seldom-used spot on the Marin Headlands. Birds and other marauding wildlife had not made indentification easy. However, of one fact there was no doubt—the body was carved open from the throat to the pubic bone.

Soft tissue was mostly gone. But the vaginal cavity contained a wad of decaying organic material. The victim’s severed tongue, heart, and other internal organs were shoved inside it.

Tony Bonetti was heartbroken at the discovery of his daughter’s remains. Bright and early one morning, unable to come to terms with her terrible fate, Tony took his old service revolver, gripped the muzzle between his teeth, and blew his head clean off.

FORTY-SIX

“Where to? Anywhere special in mind?”

“You choose. I’m in your hands.”

“Okay. Hold tight. Just close your eyes and relax!”

Deana pushed back into the seat, snugging against the soft upholstery. Nice car, she thought dreamily. A two-seater Porsche coup.

A tangy whiff of leather hit her nostrils.

She felt a little shaky. Slightly out of her depth.

It was the first time she and Warren had been together like this. Up close and really together. Sure, she’d been to his house. Drunk his scrumptious cocoa. Become best buddies with his dog. A gal can’t get much closer, she told herself with a slow smile.

She stole a glance at Warren’s profile. Straight nose, firm chin. Lit up now by a passing car. He looks kinda sexy in that white shirt, she thought, the way it shows up against his tan.

The night was warm and sticky, and Warren had discarded his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were strong, matted with dark hair, and well-muscled. She watched his hands holding the wheel loosely. Imagining how they’d feel wandering over her naked body…

Stop that!

Still, she couldn’t help thinking about it. A picture leapt into her mind. Warren, running his hands over her shoulders, holding her breasts, squeezing her nipples. His mouth opening onto hers…

A thought struck her. She frowned. Who knows, Warren might decide he was too old for her, smile kindly, and say, “Good-bye eighteen-year-old ex-high-school kid Deana. Go find somebody your own age…”

Warren felt her gaze and smiled. His eyes flashed as he turned to look at her.

“Will I do?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at me for the last coupla miles…”

“Sorry. Just thinking that you look kinda sexy. In the dark. With that intense expression on your face, you seem so intelligent and…mature, somehow.”

“I hope by that you don’t mean I’m too decrepit for a young gal like you?”

“On the contrary, I feel safe around you. Felt it that very first time you invited me to your house. You have this, I don’t know—gravitas, I guess you’d call it.”

“Wow! Sounds heavy.”

They’d dropped down to a crawl, climbing along a rutted road. For the first time she looked out the window.

Her breath quickened. She shivered. Almost panicked.

Goose bumps scurried up her body.

“Warren…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d maybe go over to Stinson Beach. Take a stroll in the moonlight…”

Deana’s face turned ghostly pale.

“Why, Deana, what is it?”

They’d arrived at a clearing now.

The clearing. The parking area for the outdoor theater…

The Porsche purred to a halt.

“Warren!” she wailed. “How could you do this to me?”

“Do what, Deana? For godsakes, what d’you mean?”