Part 39 (1/2)
”See, Doc, what'd I tell you. Tara and me, we're on the same wavelength. She's a good woman.
You're a lucky man. Funny she'd pick a guy like you, though. I seen her out with that stallion of hers. This lady likes a good hard ride, if you know what I mean.” Tara swallowed hard and closed her eyes, tensing with each contemptuous comment. Finally she stepped forward and faced him, her hand on Ben's shoulder.
”Ben, I think this might not .. .”
Ben smiled, but it was at Bill. For Tara he had only a pat on the hand. He was enjoying himself.
”It's fine,” Ben said.
”Hey, little lady,” Bill said, slapping the right arm of Ben's chair.
”Come on now. You been around. You know how it is with man talk.”
”Yeah, Tara,” Ben rejoined.
”This is guy stuff.
Why don't you go find something else to do and leave us to it? I think Bill and I'll get along great.”
Tara bridled at this ridiculous game. Posturing for a dangerous man only undercut their mission.
”I don't think so. I know Bill. He'll talk your ear off if you give him half a chance. Among other things,” she added.
Bill threw back his head and laughed.
”Don't you worry none about that. I wouldn't want die doc to lose an ear when he's already lost those legs of his. What else you missin'. Doc?”
”Bill! Please.”
Ben squeezed her hand. She stopped talking.
Ben smiled plea sandy and pinched harder, a warning for her to back off. She was happy to oblige.
”I think I need a drink,” she said.
”Ben?”
”No, I'm fine.”
”Me too.” Bill laughed. She glared at him.
”I'll leave you two alone then.”
”Great.” Bill stood up and put his hand on the back of Ben's chair.
”Take your time. Me and the doc probably have a lot to talk about.” Bill pushed the chair and Tara almost went after him. She didn't want him to take Ben anywhere, not out of the house or out of sight. But she held back and was about to wander away when he called her once more.
Leaving Ben where he was. Bill came back. Tara tensed, ready to fight if he touched her again. He smiled genially, but his voice was hard.
”I saw the paper. Someone's nosin' around about die Circle K. They lookin' for me, Tara?”
He touched the tip of her hair.
”Did you tell, Tara? Did you tell so someone would come get me?”
Tara stared at him, her own eyes cold and equally harsh now.
”You know I didn't. I gave you my word.”
”You made trouble with me and Donna about it.”
”You made that trouble yourself, Bill. I haven't said anything to anyone that you didn't give me permission to say. You're the one holding things up. Talk to Ben if you're serious about help. No more c.r.a.p.”
Bill looked around him, considering the people, the house, the food, and the waiters who pa.s.sed drinks so generously.
”I don't know anymore. Maybe I was wrong to say anything. Maybe I don't need you. Maybe you're lyin' to me.”
He went back to Ben. They disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd of revelers. Donna's laugh tinkled high above the rest of the noise and it sounded forced to Tara. But what did she know?
Maybe that's the way real happiness sounded. Or perhaps, it was the sound of obsession, or a cry to be rescued. Who knew anymore? Certainly not Tara.
”Here you go.”
A drink landed on the bar at her elbow. She reached for it and offered a quick little grimace to the bartender, hoping it would pa.s.s for a smile of thanks. She wandered through the room past knots of people and heard them talking about clothes and hair. Another group espoused opera in Albuquerque.
Tara shook her head, dismissing a waiter offering phyllo food. Donna had come and gone twice since Ben and Bill disappeared. She was thrilled to see the two men with their heads together. Now Tara was alone, wis.h.i.+ng they could leave. But Ben wasn't done, so she stayed.
She found herself in the foyer between the living room and the huge room Donna affectionately referred to as the family room. An odd concept since family these days consisted only of Bill Hamilton.
To her right was the staircase. Big and wide, it was a sweeping half-moon shape that called to her as clearly as if it could speak.
Without another thought, Tara started climbing the stairs, setting her gla.s.s on the edge of one as she went. Single-mindedly she moved on, ever more quickly until she was on the upper landing.
This house was as familiar to her as her own, yet she felt disoriented, as if traps awaited everywhere.
Slowly, Tara began to wander. She poked her head into the bathroom, taking note of the imported tile Donna had been so thrilled with during the building of this mansion. She went into the pristine guest room. No one had slept there. Bill had not been relegated to the status of company.
She wandered out and into the hall again. The next room was Donna's office, in its normal state of disarray. The desk was littered with correspondence.
Tara's fingernail nudged a letter from Donna's editor. There was another beneath. Both asked for a book that had been promised weeks earlier. Tara felt nothing and that, in itself, was a victory. Here, in the same house with Bill Hamilton, she was learning how to control her reactions.
Her a.s.surances of objectivity seemed so arrogant now. But it was sneaking back again. Tara could indeed view the havoc Bill was wreaking on Donna's life and feel nothing but a renewed determination to remove him from it. She patted the papers. The master bedroom was next. Tara didn't hesitate. She walked into the mauve and stone colored room.
Bill's closet. Bill's clothes. Jeans, boots, s.h.i.+rts.
She ran her hands over the shelf above. Nothing personal. No baggage. Strange for a man who would call this his home. Quietly she closed the doors. Donna's closet was no mystery. Tara knew exactly what was in there so she ignored it in favor of the chest of drawers. One, two, three drawers were opened. She riffled the clothes carefully*or so she hoped*finding only clothes.
The bedside table was next. Town &f Country magazine, hand lotion, oil of peppermint, pens and pencils, a tape recorder. That was Donna's side of the bed. She moved to the other side, engrossed in what she was doing. The first nightstand drawer was empty; the second yielded a stack of girlie magazines. Tara riffled through them. Finally, in the last drawer, something far more telling. Catalogs and magazines for guns and ammunition, mercenary want ads. And used as a bookmark, the article by Martin Martinez that asked whether or not the Circle K killer was indeed in Albuquerque.
Tara had begun to read, refres.h.i.+ng her memory on the impressive subtleties of his work, when she was touched. She froze. The newsprint fluttered from her fingers. She stood tall and rigid, her eyes closed, her back to the door. Seven seconds. Huge numbers flashed in her mind as she counted the moments. She waited for a blow, the tear of a knife, a bullet ripping through her brain and stopping the show. When it didn't come, when she still lived, Tara turned slowly and opened her eyes, wanting to see what was to come. She would look him straight in the eye for Vera, for Paulette, for the woman in the Circle K, for Donna who refused to see for herself what he was.