“I’ve been at this a long time. Ten years,” he told her. “You just missed the turnoff,” he commented.
“Maybe I go a different way,” she said defensively. But of course he was right. She had missed the turnoff.
Better to just admit it, and turn around. She did so. To his credit, he didn’t say a word.
At last they got to Nick’s. She parked in her spot and they got out of the car. “Well,” she said, sounding only a little bit stiff, “I do thank you for taking the time to come down to the hospital.”
He nodded. “I’ll talk to Sergeant Carnegie and emphasize that your friend really wasn’t the kind of kid to have gotten into that much trouble on his own. Maybe he’ll have some information.”
“Thanks. And, Detective…?”
“Yeah?”
“Stuart isn’t a kid. He’s twenty-five, and he’s always been a responsible guy.”
“Sure. Good night.”
He waved a hand her way and started toward his slip. Ashley watched him go.
She felt tired and drained, more restless than ever about Stuart. Letting herself in through the private kitchen, she hoped the house would be empty. She didn’t feel like talking right now, even with Nick.
The house was empty. She could hear the sounds of talking and music on her way to her own wing. Obviously Nick was still busy. He would understand if she just came in and went to bed. As would Sharon, if she were there. Which she probably was, as lately she spent most of her nights with Nick.
In her room, Ashley flicked on the television, brushed her hair, washed her face and got ready for bed while listening to the news. The anchor went from the national news to the local. That evening, there had been a big pile-up in Broward, on 595. A pop star had been arrested for drug possession on the beach. Two visiting movie moguls had been involved in a disturbance at a club.
There were still no leads on the murder victim discovered Friday in the southwest area of the county, though the police were working hard to discover her identity. The medical examiner and metro homicide departments had released the information that she had been killed in a manner reminiscent of a series of homicides that had taken place five years earlier.
Ashley set her toothbrush in its holder and left the bathroom, sitting on the foot of the bed to watch the rest of the newscast. The anchor went on to warn women to take extreme care, despite the fact that the previous killings had been associated with a defunct cult and there was no evidence of current danger.
The anchor went on to report speculation by some citizens at the time that the police and the judicial system had been lacking in the pursuit of the killer, taking the easy way out when a young itinerant had confessed to the slayings before taking his own life.
He continued speaking over a shot of Peter Bordon, known as Papa Pierre, now in federal prison in the center of the state. The victims of the previous killings had all been associated with his sect, but Bordon had denied any involvement in the deaths. He had been convicted instead of fraud and income tax evasion.
Then he turned it over to a perky blond weather girl, who spoke about the mild and beautiful evening and days to come.
Ashley turned off the television, then found herself walking to her private outside door. She stepped outside, gazing at the boats in their slips. Glancing down the length of the dock, she noted the Gwendolyn.
Detective Dilessio’s boat.
He was handling the new murder case. Perhaps that was why he was so testy. There had been a few occasions when he had seemed almost human, so it was possible he simply had a lot on his mind.
Well, the perky weather girl had been right. The night was beautiful, with a fresh breeze off the water, enough to make it balmy, not sticky hot, not too cool. She stood outside a while longer, then ducked back when she saw a figure emerge on the bow of the houseboat.
Dilessio.
Half in and half out of her doorway, she counted on the shadows to hide her presence. She wondered what he was doing. Maybe he had listened to the perky weather girl, too, and come out to see what the night was like. He’d stripped down to cutoffs. She could see the moonlight glinting on his chest.
She could just imagine having Karen and Jan with her. He would have been thoroughly assessed by now, legs, butt, face…maybe even feet. Of course, she couldn’t see him all that clearly from here, but…
Yes, the guy was good-looking. Strong face, deep voice, good eyes and yes, great buns.
“Hey, Ash, too much work and not enough play,” she murmured to herself. She forced herself to slip into her room, to close and lock the door. What the hell was she thinking?
For some reason, she didn’t seem able to help herself. She kept thinking about her conversation with Karen.
Don’t you ever just want to have sex?