Where Dreams Begin Read online

  The telephone was ringing when she unlocked the door, but unwilling to listen to Joyce’s ecstatic praise for Shane, or Luke’s excuses, she let her machine answer. She fed Smoky his afternoon snack and took her time before she finally checked her messages.

  The first call was from a firm offering to reduce her mortgage payments. The next message was from Joyce, who claimed her dinner date with Shane had gone amazingly well and that she would see him again over the weekend. The last was from Luke, who said only he was sorry to have missed her.

  Catherine played that one twice, but she found it impossible to believe Luke actually cared. She took her mail outside to sort on the patio, and when the telephone rang again, she ignored it. She got up to make herself a cup of tea, then later went inside to watch the network news, but she still had no interest in food.

  When the doorbell rang, she feared it would be Luke and took her time answering. “My, what a nice surprise,” she exclaimed without any hint of joy. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “I was afraid there might be a problem.” He stepped over the threshold and jammed his hands in his pockets as he turned to face her.

  “How perceptive of you. Frankly, I’d say you created it when you walked out on me at noon, and don’t you dare blame me for not dealing well with abandonment issues.”

  While startled by that accusation, Luke quickly recovered. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Why don’t we make some tea and see if we can’t straighten this out?”

  “Do you actually drink tea?”

  “Sure, on occasion, and this seems like a good one.”

  She simply stared at him a long moment. His smile wavered with what she hoped was acute embarrassment. He’d come straight from the center rather than clean up first. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his cheeks, and his clothes were slightly rumpled. She supposed that was some measure of his sincerity.

  “Fine, we’ll have some tea,” she agreed, “but I’m on to you, Dr. Starns, and if you careen off the subject the way you usually do, you’re out of here.”

  He appeared aghast. “I might stray, but surely I don’t careen.”

  She refused to quibble and led the way into the kitchen. She turned on the burner beneath the teakettle and opened the cupboard containing several boxes of tea. “Do any of these appeal to you?”

  “Tension Tamer might be nice.” Luke surveyed the spotless kitchen. “Did you have dinner?”

  Catherine leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Well, Mabel’s spaghetti is filling.”

  “I didn’t feel like eating at noon either.” She glanced toward the wall clock and wished she’d set a time limit on his visit. Now it was too late.

  “You have to eat,” Luke argued. “Let me fix you something.”

  “You like to cook?”

  “I like to eat, and I don’t think it’s fair to make women do all the cooking. After all, anyone who can read can follow a recipe.”

  “There, you just careened right off the subject.”

  “Did not.” He glanced toward the cupboards. “You must have something, soup, a can of chili. Don’t you have earthquake supplies?”

  “Sure, a package of beef jerky I keep in the car.”

  Luke winced. “I’d rather not chew off a hunk of jerky, and I haven’t eaten today either.”

  “Why is that? I thought you loved Mabel’s spaghetti, or was it merely the company you couldn’t stand?”

  He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s talk about it after dinner.” He began opening cupboards. “Hey, you’ve got Tuna Helper. I love this stuff.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “Why are you making fun of me? It’s on your shelf, isn’t it?” Luke grabbed the box and a can of tuna and set them on the counter. “Do you have some onion, bell pepper, maybe celery we could add?”

  While she was still thoroughly annoyed with him, she went out to the closet on the back porch for the apron Sam had worn to barbecue. There was a chef roasting wieners over a campfire silkscreened on it. That had been the extent of Sam’s interest in cooking, but she didn’t think he’d mind if Luke wore his apron.

  “Here, you’ll need this.” She handed it to him and stepped out of his way.

  “Thanks. I hate wearing those little frilly things.”

  “You’ve borrowed a lot of aprons, have you?”

  He winked at her. “I’ll admit to a few.”

  Catherine tried not to laugh. “You realize this is surreal, don’t you?”

  “Not at all. We’re just cooking dinner.” He walked by her and began to search the vegetable drawers in the refrigerator. “You’ve got all we need right here and strawberries. Could we eat the strawberries for dessert?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to gauge her response. He looked completely at home in her kitchen, as though they’d cooked dozens of meals together.

  “Sure. The water’s hot, so I’ll make the tea and then sit down and get out of your way.” She took a couple of mugs from the cupboard and filled them with hot water. She flipped the Tension Tamer tea bag into Luke’s mug, but took orange spice for herself.

  Luke emptied the entire contents of the crisper drawer out on the counter by the sink. “Why don’t you make us a salad?”

  “You’re the one who volunteered to make dinner,” she reminded him pointedly, and she moved into the breakfast room and sat.

  Luke put a skillet on the stove and sprayed it with Pam. He soon had the onion, bell pepper, and celery browning, and the kitchen filled with their delicious aroma. He took a sip of his tea and watched Catherine stare out into the patio. Her tea sat untouched on the table, and he walked around the cooking island to join her.

  “Catherine?”

  “Hmm?” She finally recalled her tea and took a small sip.

  “When I left the hall at noon, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. Obviously it was. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll feel better after supper.”

  The man had buckets of charm when he wished, but she needed more than slick apologies. “You’re being excruciatingly nice. Do you really feel that guilty?”

  “Give me a minute.” He got up, checked the Tuna Helper box and then had to search for a measuring cup for the water and milk. Once he had that in hand, he tossed and poured the rest of the dinner ingredients into the skillet, plunked on a lid, set the timer and started on the salad.

  “All right, it’s plain you won’t wait until after dinner, so here’s my best shot.” He paused to gather his thoughts while he tore the lettuce into bite-size pieces, and the effort furrowed his brow. “I just had to get out of there. Please don’t press me for more. I’m sure there’ll be times when you’ll lose it and prefer not to leave me to pick up the pieces.”

  Catherine regarded him with a suspicious stare. “That’s it, you just lost it?”

  “Big time,” Luke claimed, and he sliced a tomato into chunks.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” she prodded.

  Obviously reluctant to say more, Luke added avocado to the salad. “Look, I’m not proud of the way our first few conversations went, and I chose to leave rather than blow up again.”

  “So whenever you disappear, I should assume you’re too furiously angry with me to stay in the same room?” It made her mad all over again.

  “No. I wasn’t running from you but from myself.”

  She gaped at him. “Even if you weren’t a psychologist, you ought to know you can’t escape yourself.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

  Growing wary, she sat back in her chair. “Does that mean I’m merely an escape?” she asked softly.

  He responded with a rueful laugh. “Hardly. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”

  “What sort of chance? Are you referring to time, or until we’ve had X amount of arguments?”

  “I’ll be damned if I know. Will you set the table, plea
se?”

  Catherine still had no real appetite but returned to the kitchen to take out plates and silverware. “Fine, we’ll eat, but as soon as you swallow the last strawberry, I want you to leave. I won’t sleep with you again until I can trust you to be there when I turn around.”

  “Is that why you think I came here tonight?”

  “Don’t push your luck, buddy, or I’ll boot you out now.” She placed the plates by the stove and carried the silverware to the table and took out napkins. He’d used a wooden salad bowl, and she found the matching wooden serving forks.

  “While I think of it, you put me in charge of the mural project, which you didn’t explain to the kids. So if I want to stand on Dave’s shoulders half the day while I direct the work, why should you care?”

  “Because I do!”

  She responded with a wicked grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Are you jealous of Dave? He’s cute, but I’ve always preferred you.”

  “I didn’t say it was a rational response.” He stirred the tuna mixture another time and adjusted the heat on the burner. “Now will you just let it drop? If I have to leave the room, just let me go.”

  “If you can’t be charming, then you’ll hide?”

  “I prefer to regard it as a strategic retreat.”

  She leaned against the cooking island. “Do you actually expect me to accept temper tantrums as normal behavior?”

  He shot her a darkly threatening glance. “Don’t push me, Catherine. It won’t be worth it.”

  “You think I don’t know we’re both damaged goods? I’m more than willing to be careful of your feelings, but you’ll also have to take better care of mine. Now if you can’t agree to that, you don’t have to wait for an excuse to walk out on me for good. Get the hell out now.”

  “After I’ve gone to all this trouble to cook such a nice dinner? No way.”

  “You may be stubborn, Luke Starns, but I’ll warn you now that after being married to an attorney for ten years, I know how to argue for days without repeating myself once.”

  Luke spooned the bubbling tuna mixture onto their plates and carried them over to the table. “I’m actually looking forward to it,” he replied.

  His rakish smile added to the challenge, but Catherine still sent him home with nothing more than strawberries for dessert.

  Chapter Ten

  With pitifully few prospects in Tennessee, Bobby Clyde Flowers had hitched a ride to California with the Tuttle twins, Nadine and Wayleen. While neither was a beauty, each possessed a remarkable talent for attracting men and a limitless appetite for sex.

  Whenever their travel funds had run low, Bobby Clyde had arranged a party in a roadside motel and made certain the twins were well paid for their favors. It was the easiest money any of them had ever made. While they often had to crawl out a bathroom window before dawn when word of their exotic brand of entertainment reached the ears of the local sheriff, it had made for an exciting trip.

  Upon their arrival in Hollywood, the twins had swiftly scored a contract in the burgeoning porn video industry. With their flaws masked by expertly applied makeup and curly wigs, they were free to indulge themselves with whomever a director invited onto the garish set. The proud owners of a brand new Chevy convertible, they had hired Bobby Clyde as their driver.

  An ambitious young man, he’d soon discovered he could boost all their incomes by hosting private parties to showcase the twins’ unique brand of charm. In less than a year, the ungrateful pair had run off with an oilman from Texas, but Bobby Clyde had had no trouble procuring fresh talent.

  Tonight he was hosting a party where the highest bidder would claim an eager young virgin for the night. At the first such event, the bidders had been skeptical that Bobby Clyde could even find a virgin in Hollywood, but the winner had provided such convincing testimony that Bobby Clyde had had to turn away men at his next such party.

  Bobby Clyde handed out bite-size candy bars and made friends easily with the starry-eyed teenagers pouring into Los Angeles. The girls were often quite pretty, and fortunately for him, pathetically easy to seduce with a tempting taste of chocolate and a whispered promise of fame.

  He munched a tiny Snickers bar as he closed the front door behind him and glanced up and down the street. He never gave a party in the same house twice. His clients frequently complained he was too damn hard to find, but he intended to keep right on moving to elude the vice cops and their tedious concept of what constituted legal entertainment.

  As he saw it, he was merely supplying what every man wanted: an opportunity to enjoy pretty young girls, while the teens were equally grateful to have the money. In his opinion, it was a satisfactory exchange, and the one time he’d been arrested for pandering, he’d hired an attorney from among his regular clientele and beaten the rap.

  With an adorably innocent virgin tucked away inside, he was just waiting for the last of his guests to arrive when a blonde in a tight red dress rounded the corner. She was wearing platform heels and walked with an appealing sway, but Bobby Clyde’s guest list was entirely male. When she started up the walkway, he moved to block the door.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he offered in the thick Southern drawl he strove to maintain, “this here’s a private party, but you’ll sure be welcome tomorrow night.”

  The blonde didn’t slow her pace, and arriving at the steps, she reached around Bobby Clyde to ring the doorbell.

  “Hey, baby, don’t force me to play rough.”

  The blonde shrugged, and turned as though she were giving up, but then with a quick flip of a switchblade, she leaned in and gutted Bobby Clyde with a single savage jab.

  He grabbed for his torn intestines as he fell down the steps and died with his own frantic scream still echoing in his ears.

  After a sleepless night, Catherine had avoided any further confrontations with Luke by remaining in the hall to dispense art supplies and offer advice on the mural designs. He never left her thoughts, however, and at noon, she spotted him the instant he came through the door. He was walking with Nick, who was holding his skateboard in his right hand and gesturing wildly with his left.

  To avoid being seated together, she’d planned to allow them to join the lunch line ahead of her, but Nick curved away from Luke and came straight toward her. When, after a brief hesitation, Luke followed Nick to her side, her smile wavered.

  “Did you hear there’s been another murder?” Nick asked breathlessly. “That blonde chick in the red dress has struck again.”

  Catherine glanced past him to Luke who shook his head in warning, but she already knew better than to encourage the teenager’s interest in such a distressing subject. “Why no, I hadn’t heard.”

  “Yeah, some pimp called the Candyman got his guts ripped out last night. How many do you think the blonde can off without getting caught?”

  “I’ve really no idea. Why don’t you try today’s lunch? Mabel’s made tuna melts.”

  “Great.” Nick strolled away and cruised the tables checking out the mural designs on his way.

  “Let’s go to my office,” Luke suggested softly.

  “With tuna melts?” she countered. “I thought you’d want to be at the head of the line.”

  He responded with a good-natured chuckle. “Mabel knows I like them, and she’ll save me a couple. All I need is a minute.”

  “A minute it is, then,” she accepted, and they left the hall, crossed the broad courtyard and entered the office. Pam was just going out the other door for her lunch break and waved good-bye.

  Luke led the way into his office and then gestured toward a chair. “I have a few thoughts I’d like to share. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Catherine slid into the closest chair and crossed her legs. “The mural project appears to be going well. The kids are excited, and some of the artwork is actually good.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but I didn’t invite you in here to make a progress report.”

  She glanced down at her sandals. She wore
a fine gold anklet, and it sparkled as she bounced her foot. “No, I didn’t really think so.”

  He leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “There are certain predictable patterns in relationships,” he began. “Couples get together, and while they might each be happy, one or the other might pull away to create distance. It’s almost a dance that expands and contracts. I want to take you out this weekend, but if you’d rather be by yourself for a while, I’ll understand.”

  Catherine hoped he was attempting to be considerate of her feelings, which was what she’d asked of him, but his observation on the dynamics of romantic relationships sounded as though it had come from one of his university lectures rather than his heart.

  “I’m not the one who staged the retreat,” she reminded him.

  “True, but I’m just saying it’s natural for people to be drawn together and then become wary, and I won’t fault you for it.”

  “Thank you, I’ll attempt to be equally generous.” She reached for the LATEXTRA section of the Los Angeles Times laying open on his desk. The murder was above the fold. She scanned the article briefly and looked up. “Have you read this?”

  “Just enough to know the Candyman won’t be missed any more than Felix Mendoza.”

  She slid her nail rapidly down the printed column. “It appears this Bobby Clyde Flowers, aka the Candyman, was hosting a party attended by approximately a dozen men and one underage female runaway. I sure hope she wasn’t one of ours.”

  “So do I,” Luke agreed.

  “One of the few men who didn’t flee before the police arrived said he answered the doorbell and found Bobby Clyde dying on the front steps. He reported seeing a woman with long blonde hair walking away, but was too horrified to pursue her. Who do you suppose rang the bell, Bobby Clyde, or the blonde?”