Silent Masquerade Page 16

  Nobody. And yet she was sure she heard footsteps behind her. There was an echo of them when she stopped, as if whoever was following her had stopped just a heartbeat after she did. She didn’t want to waste time looking over her shoulder, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know if there was someone back there, see the face of her stalker.

  Was that a shadow moving at the side of that building?

  Nothing. She hurried on.

  It had to be her imagination. She knew it was her most uncontrollable personality flaw. She could take the least little nothing and build a scenario way out of proportion to the truth. In fact, she’d even had teachers suggest she’d make a good writer.

  It was a dark and stormy night....

  “Cut the crap, Cara,” she muttered aloud. “You’re only scaring yourself.”

  She quickened her pace. Three more blocks to home. She had always heard that in California everybody had a car, nobody walked. Yeah, right. Well, whoever said that hadn’t been to Santa Cruz, where walking was practically a local sport.

  “So where are all the walkers tonight? Afraid of a little rain?” she said aloud. “Afraid their little California tans will fade if they get wet?” She laughed, and then deliberately laughed louder. Maybe whoever was behind her would think she was crazy. That’d scare him off.

  She spotted the market up ahead, its light spilling onto the street, pooling the wet street with puddles of neon red, green and purple. The light gave her a sense of security. She’d duck in there and shop a little, maybe schmooze with the owner, an elderly lady, if she was there tonight. Some nights her grandson worked the shop, and he wasn’t nearly as friendly.

  Once inside the shop, she could watch the window, see if anyone suspicious went by. Feeling safer, she hurried across the street and down the block.

  The grandson was reading an adventure novel and barely glanced up to greet Cara. Disappointed, she nevertheless smiled and called out a comment about the weather. It was comforting just to be in the brightly lit store, and when she thought about it, she decided a grown man was better protection than a frail elderly lady.

  “Bad for business,” the man grumbled. His bald pate glistened under the fluorescent light overhead and made him look as if he were sweating, despite the cool temperature in the store. He returned to his paperback.

  Cara took her time, browsing the canned fruit section at the front of the store, and then moved to the side wall, where she could see out into the night through the plate-glass window.

  She’d almost given up, sure the whole thing had been her imagination, when the man came abreast of the window and peered in. Cara jumped back and quickly hid behind a pyramid of soup cans.

  It was the man from Mount View. The man from San Francisco. And now she was sure it was the man she had spotted across the boardwalk the previous week.

  Could it be coincidence? She didn’t think so, but one thing she knew for certain—she wasn’t going to throw herself across his path.

  She took a chance and peeked out. He was gone.

  She began to move out from behind the display.

  I don’t believe in coincidence. Bill’s words came back, almost as if he was right there inside her head.

  She stopped and looked around, feeling helpless. Was the guy out there, waiting for her, waiting to waylay her on the walk home? If he’d been following her all along, he knew where she lived. He could be there ahead of her, waiting to ambush her on the porch. Maybe he’d gotten inside and would grab her when she entered the house.

  He had to be one of the people Bill was running from. He couldn’t be following her. She was pretty sure she hadn’t left a trace. Besides, if her mother had sent someone to find her, that person would have let her mother know the minute he discovered her whereabouts. By now, her mother would have arrived to beg her to come home. Or at the very least, Beth would have asked the detective to confront Cara and insist she call home.

  So, the tall, well-dressed, good-looking guy was one of Bill’s people.

  Automatically stalling for time, she began to gather things from the shelves. The bell over the door rang, and she jumped and dropped a can of tuna.

  She knelt to retrieve it and then got slowly to her feet, peering over the top of the shelving to her right. Two young women were at the counter buying cigarettes.

  The bell rang again as they left the store. She glanced over to her right and noticed the door marked Emergency Exit.

  She took a couple of deep breaths and forced herself to think calmly. She could go out that side door and double back to the boardwalk. Bill would be there, as well as the other park employees, not to mention lights and tourists.

  She shoved the items she carried onto a shelf and made for the side door. She heard the grandson call out, but she didn’t stop to reassure him.

  She began running in the direction of the pier, sure she’d be safe once she arrived there. Bill. She had to warn him. They’d have to get away.

  One block down, three to go. She ran on. Her shoulder bag thumped against her hip, and she held it in place with one arm, using the other for balance as she ran.

  One block left. The lights weren’t much brighter, and the rain seemed to be increasing.

  She was on the sidewalk leading up to the boardwalk now. And as she dashed through the rain, headed for the walkway leading up to the bumper cars, she noticed that many of the rides and concessions were closed.

  That accounted for the dimmed lights. The park was shutting down early because of the rain.

  In a last burst of panic, she rounded the corner and saw that the bumper-car concession was dark, the chain across the entrance, the Closed sign in place.

  She fell back against the wall of the dark corral and waited for her breathing to return to normal. Now what? The ride must have closed shortly after Mr. Gambrini relieved her.

  Mr. Gambrini!

  She ran out from under the ride roof and peered through the rain, up the boardwalk. Her shoulders slumped. None of the concessions in her area were open, and no other people were visible. She was about to turn back when she saw movement far ahead in the sky.

  The Ferris wheel had moved, its lights shimmering in the rain-misted night. If that ride was still open, that meant there were still people up there who could help her. She ran down the walkway and around to the path leading to the end of the boardwalk farthest from Neptune’s Kingdom.

  Bill might be up there. His shift didn’t end until the entire boardwalk closed. If any of the rides were still open, he might have been sent to work one of them.

  She was almost there when she heard footsteps coming up behind her, running almost at the same pace as hers. Panic filled her throat and at that same moment she saw that the Ferris wheel was shut down, that only the lights remained on. And her foolishness came home to her then—the bumper-car concession would have been the last to close, not the first, because it was one of the few sheltered from the rain.

  And now she was mounting the last boardwalk, and she was alone in the rain, in the night, and the footsteps were closing in on her.

  * * *

  BILL ENTERED the dark house and went through the rooms, turning on lights and calling out Cara’s name.

  No answer. In the kitchen, he found no sign of a meal being prepared. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Had he made a mistake? Were they supposed to meet at Antonio’s? But no, he remembered distinctly her offer to prepare dinner and then...

  He went back to her room and opened the door, thinking she might have lain down for a moment and fallen asleep. Or perhaps she was in her bathroom, showering.

  The bed was empty, neatly made. The bathroom door was ajar, and the interior beyond dark.

  “Cara, where the hell are you?” He tried to ignore the sudden arrhythmia in his chest. She’d probably stopped for groceries. Yeah. They’d eaten out so much that they hadn’t stocked a whole lot of ingredients for any kind of a dinner. Especially a celebration dinner.

  Which brought
him back to the events of the past twenty-four hours. Despite the nap he’d had earlier in the day, he was suddenly overcome by fatigue. Maybe he’d lie down for a couple of minutes. He went to the front of the house to make sure the porch light was on for Cara and, as an afterthought, went out to look up and down the street.

  The rain had increased. He couldn’t see to the corner. He dashed back to the porch, wiping water from his face with his sleeve. Maybe the rain had held her up. She was probably at the store, waiting for a break in the weather, or maybe she’d had the sense to call a cab. Cabs would be scarce in this kind of weather, and she’d have to wait quite awhile, in all likelihood. For the first time, he felt truly frustrated because he hadn’t bothered to put in a phone.

  He got a towel from the linen closet and rubbed his hair and neck before going to his bed to stretch out. Just half an hour. She’d surely be home by then.

  * * *

  CARA LOOKED over the rail to the walkway below and saw a line of Dumpsters. She leaped over the wooden rail and scrunched down behind one of them, listening for the sound of footsteps. She had to strain to hear against the sound of rain and the ocean roaring behind her. She was surprised to find that what she heard was the screams of exhilaration and fear that always came from the Giant Dipper. Could that ride be open, even in the rain? It must be. If she could backtrack and get over there, she’d be safe.

  She crept out from behind the Dumpster and began to inch her way down the walkway, listening carefully for any sign of her pursuer. The rain had increased yet again, and now the sound of it was like another presence in the night, tinny as it hit the roofs of concessions, thumping on the boardwalk, splashing when it hit puddles. Her wet hair, now completely free of the braid, clung to her cheeks, her neck and her back in heavy clumps. She shoved strands of it from her eyes and kept going.

  The framework of the roller coaster loomed before her, a dark monster of a shadow against the night sky, the lights from below making it appear haunted. She squinted. She didn’t see any cars on the loops, didn’t hear sounds from the ride. Had she only imagined—?

  A noise from behind her made her bolt up the next walkway. It sounded as if someone had crashed into one of the Dumpsters. She saw that she was near the river parking lot. Should she veer over there, look for people in their cars, maybe waiting out the rain?

  Another noise, the sound of footsteps pounding the boards, running in her direction. She whimpered and looked around. A distant light beckoned. She moved quickly up the walkway.

  A familiar smell assaulted her nostrils. Sweet, hot, enticing. A surge of relief flooded her being. The candy kitchen. It was just ahead, the lights blazing as if to welcome her in from the frightening night.

  She ran toward it, almost crying out in relief. The candy people must be doing their last clean up, maybe even making candy for tomorrow.

  It was a night-light.

  The place was locked up tighter than a drum skin. She pounded on the door, called out.

  She heard feet pounding the boards, and again she thought she heard screams.

  Sea gulls? Protesting the rain? Did they come out at night? She looked around.

  Other smells became noticeable. Frying-fat fumes, and the perfume of the cotton candy machine. She was near the hot-dog-on-a-stick concession, could almost smell them, too. The damp air seemed alive with aromas from the day’s trade.

  Her stomach lurched as a wave of nausea spread through her. She put her head against the wet, cold metal of the accordion window that folded down over the skee-ball concession. Her heart felt as if it were beating in her throat, and her limbs ached from the exertion of running.

  You can’t stay here.

  She lifted her head, looked both ways, and decided she had only one option. She had to head back toward the grove, toward Neptune’s Kingdom and the Fun Center, where at least the usual bunch of teenagers would be gathered around pinball and video machines, shouting out greetings and comments in their peculiar slang. If she could just get back there...

  * * *

  BILL LOOKED AT HIS WATCH for the fourth time in less than ten minutes. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t getting any rest, anyway. He might as well get up and do something constructive.

  But when he got back out to the kitchen, he could think of nothing to do but to go looking for Cara.

  He put his plastic rain jacket on, pulled the hood over his head and started out the door. He stopped on the porch. A note. He should leave a note for her, let her know that he was out looking for her, that if she came home while he was out, she was to stay put and not worry.

  He wrote the note, propped it against the napkin holder on the kitchen table and went out to the car to trace the route he was sure Cara would have taken from the park.

  * * *

  CARA’S SCREAM rent the night as an arm became a manacle around her waist and pulled her up against the solid weight of a masculine body. The sound of her scream was aborted instantly and quickly absorbed into the night by the hand that clamped over her mouth.

  She struggled against the superior strength and a voice in her ear grated out a warning. “Don’t try it, lady. You won’t get away.”

  Panic obliterated every sound, every feeling. Her mind was a kaleidoscope of fragmented terror as her assailant dragged her down the walkway.

  Where was he taking her? Why didn’t someone, anyone, show up? Who was this man? What was he going to do with her? Would he torture her to make her tell him where Bill was? But if he’d found her, surely he knew that she and Bill lived together.

  Questions flew into her mind and then right back out as she struggled against her assailant.

  Powerful arms pulled Cara over to the Dumpster. She fell against the metal wall and slid down to the ground. She scrambled to her hands and knees in an attempt to regain her feet and run. She caught her breath, prepared to scream for help.

  He was on her again before she could run or scream. It was pitch-dark behind the Dumpster, which added to her fright until she realized she had her eyes squeezed shut in terror. She forced them open and was relieved to see that there was a dim glow of light reflecting off the wet walkway from the overhead lamps, though she couldn’t see her attacker from behind her. She heard the snap of a blade being released from its hasp, and then a knife was thrust in front of her face.

  “Go ahead and scream, lady. No one can hear you back here.”

  “Please,” she whispered, “take my purse, I won’t report it.”

  His laugh was maniacal. “Your purse? What have you got that I’d want, lady? You’re worth more than a couple of bucks and a credit card.”

  “Wh-what do you m-mean!”

  He pulled her around, and she got her first glimpse of him. He was small. That surprised her, somehow. He’d felt bigger as he hauled her across the boardwalk.

  His face was mean—his eyes slitted, his mouth twisted downward, as if life were a permanent disappointment, his hair dark and plastered to his head as a result of the rain. She realized then that he meant to kill her. He’d done nothing to conceal his face, because she was never going to get a chance to identify him.

  She moaned, a low, frightened sound. “D-don’t. P-please.”

  His smile was more terrifying than his frown had been. “Go ahead and beg, lady. I like that. It makes an ordinary job more interesting.”

  He raised his hand. The knife blade glinted as it arced high above his head. She watched as it swooped downward, coming closer and closer to her throat.

  A sudden rage filled her. He was going to kill her! This mean little man she didn’t even know was going to take her life behind a Dumpster, leaving her body in a pool of blood surrounded by used paper cups and empty French fry bags.

  She lifted her knee toward his crotch at the same time she opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  The man’s scream joined with hers, and he fell away and then sank to his knees in slow motion, the knife clattering to the ground.

  C
ara didn’t register the sound of footsteps running up as she reached for the fallen knife. Her fingers had just begun to close around it when it was snatched away.

  She looked up and saw the tall man who had followed her earlier standing over her, the knife now in his hand.

  Beside her, the little man groaned, and she turned her head in surprise.

  Two of them!

  She opened her mouth to scream again, but this time she found she had no voice. A mere rasp escaped her burning throat.

  “Wh-who are you?”

  She was going to die. But not without knowing why and by whose hand.

  The tall man knelt and put a hand on her head. She flinched, but when she tried to draw away, she found she was kept in place by the smaller man, who was curled in a fetal position beside her, still groaning in pain.

  To her surprise, the kneeling man put the knife in his pocket and used both hands to grasp her arms and lift her to her feet.

  “You’re all right now,” he said. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “I...” She put a hand over her eyes, confused and disoriented. She pulled her hand from her eyes slowly and stared at the tall man. “Who are you?” she repeated.

  “Let’s get out of this rain,” the man said, urging her, with one arm around her waist, toward the overhanging roof of one of the concessions.

  She let him lead her that far and then pushed him away. His shirt felt soggy, and she could almost feel the coldness of his flesh beneath the wet cloth.

  “Don’t touch me!” He still had the knife, but she felt sure he didn’t intend to use it. At least not now.

  He lifted his hands, palms outward. “I don’t mean you any harm, Cara.”

  “Right! That’s why you’ve been following me, hanging out where I work...” Cara? “How do you know my name?”

  “I overheard someone call you by name.”

  She didn’t believe him, not for a minute. He’d been too present, too much there. He’d been hanging around her for a purpose.