When You Dance With The Devil Page 19

  She wanted to ask him if he had any visitors other than herself, but didn’t. Such a handsome man as Harper would have girlfriends. She sat in the one chair in his room, and he rolled his wheelchair to face her.

  “Thanks for the flowers, and thanks for the others that you sent. They lasted a long time.” His gaze seemed to penetrate her, but she didn’t mind, for it bore no hostility. “You’re nice to come here to see me, Jolene. We didn’t part on good terms that night. I was hurt and angry and self-righteous and . . . I drove like a maniac. I also wasn’t nice the first time you came to see me, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “I know, Harper, and it was all my fault.”

  “How’s it your fault? I’m a grown man. Nobody made me drive like that on a road I’d never been on before. I knew better.”

  But she didn’t feel absolved. “Like I said, I didn’t know how to treat people, but I’m learning. I’m still worried about . . . you know . . . I told you about the man who lives in the boarding house. His personality has changed. It’s as if he tries to shrivel up, as if he’d like to crawl into a hole and hide. He doesn’t talk to anyone, only eats his supper and goes to his room. I’d give anything if I could undo what I did, but I just couldn’t participate in that. He’s still mortified, and I don’t know how to help him.”

  Harper shook his head as if perplexed. “That’s a tough one. One of the worst things that can happen to a man is to get that kind of proof that a woman doesn’t want him. You’re probably the first woman to tell him that he didn’t have any technique. Sounds to me as if he’s been seeing ladies of the evening.”

  “The change in him is becoming obvious to all the boarders. I wish I could do something.”

  “Well, if you can get him alone, tell him you hope he hasn’t told anybody about that incident, that you’re still embarrassed, and that you appreciate the fact that he was such a gentleman about it, or something like that. He was, you know. Some men would have forced you.”

  She nearly laughed when she remembered what actually outraged Percy. “Maybe it was wasting his money that got to him at first. I offered to pay for the room, and he accepted that, but when he parked to let me out about a block from the boardinghouse, he seemed near tears and ordered me not to tell anyone about it. I assured him that I didn’t want anyone to know, either. I’ll do as you suggest.”

  Her gaze fell on the bag in her hand. “Good grief, I forgot to give you this butter pecan ice cream.”

  He reached for it. “I’ll take it. The last thing I’ll get in here will be ice cream.” She handed him the ice cream, a paper napkin and a plastic spoon. “I’d better be going. My landlady gets bent out of shape if any of us comes to supper late. She’s got more rules than a third grade teacher, but they make the boardinghouse a really nice place to live.” As she stood to leave, a tall, stately woman who she figured to be about sixty or sixty-five walked into the room.

  “Hi, Mom. This is Jolene Tilman. Jolene, this is my mom, Louise Masterson.”

  “How are you, Mrs. Masterson? I would have known you were Harper’s mother, if no one had told me. What a striking resemblance! I’m glad to meet you.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, and I’m really happy to see that Harper has company. I live in Hyattsville, and I can’t get here every day.”

  Jolene edged toward the door. “I’ll see you again, Harper. Good-bye, Mrs. Masterson.”

  “Thanks for the flowers, and especially for this great ice cream. Bye.”

  I can’t visit him too often, she told herself. I remember how he said he felt about me, and I don’t want to cause any more problems than I already have. She hurried to the bus stop, and when she boarded, she dropped her money in the slot, said “Good afternoon,” to the driver, and made her way to the back of the bus.

  I’m not getting friendly with any more men. If you say “Hi” to a man, he thinks you want to go out with him, and if you’re not friendly, he thinks you’re stuck up. I guess I would have learned all that if I had ever been a teenager. She looked skyward. “Mama, you did a real job on me. You took away my youth, and I’m just learning what I should have known when I was sixteen. You got a lot to answer for.”

  Jolene rushed into the boardinghouse at twenty minutes to seven and headed to her room to freshen up. She met Percy Lucas on the stairs and stopped, prepared to speak to him in the way Harper suggested, but when Percy saw her, he turned and went back up the stairs and on to his room.

  Shaking her head, perplexed, Jolene said aloud, “I’ve got to do something about that man, but what?”

  She looked up to see Francine walking toward her. “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” Francine asked her.

  “Something is, but I have to work it out myself.” The warmth of Francine’s hand on her shoulder consoled Jolene, and she wanted to ask her help, but the thought of sharing that woeful experience with a woman as worldly as Francine embarrassed her.

  “If you need a friend, I’m here. See you at supper.”

  If she needed a friend? She’d never had a female friend, and after trying to make one of Vida, she wasn’t sure that having one was a good thing. Yet, it didn’t take a genius to know that gender was the only thing Vida and Francine had in common.

  “Maybe we can have some coffee together after supper, Francine,” she said and continued to her room.

  After supper, Jolene joined Francine in the lounge, and they sat at a small table beneath a painting of Mary McLeod Bethune. “I always admired this woman,” Francine said, pointing to the portrait. “She founded Bethune-Cookman College in Daytona Beach over a hundred years ago, and it exists and thrives today. Gender and race didn’t prevent her from making a contribution to her people and from earning a name for herself.”

  “I wish I could do something like that, Francine. I had so much fun helping Richard and Gregory with the children in the computer class at the library tonight. If I had a college degree, I could do things.”

  “In four years or less, you can have one. Why not go for it?”

  “I was just going to take some courses, but I think I’ll register for a degree. There’s so much I don’t know, and I keep learning by making mistakes, hurting people, and myself.”

  Francine accepted the cappuccino that Rodger offered, sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar and took a sip. “Ahh, this is great. Thanks, Rodger.” To Jolene, she said, “No matter how many books you read or how many lectures you attend, the only way you’re going to learn about life is by living. Oh, the books and lectures help you to reason and to chart your course, but the loyalty of a friend or the kiss of a man who truly loves you are lessons you never forget.” Jolene toyed absent-mindedly with the lemon meringue pie, one of her favorite desserts, thinking of Percy and the unpleasant lesson that flirting with him and trying to use him had taught her.

  “What’s troubling you, Jolene? Can I help?”

  “I don’t know. What I did was so awful that I’m embarrassed to tell you about it, but I have to find a way to make amends.”

  “Is there a man involved?”

  “Yes. It . . . uh happened about three months after I moved here.” With effort, she forced herself to tell Francine about instigating a tryst with Percy Lucas and about the outcome. “I feel as if I’ve damaged him irreparably. He almost met me on the stairs tonight, and turned and went back to his room. I’m so sorry about the mess I made. He’d never said a word to me or done anything to deserve it.”

  “You act as if what you did is equivalent to murder; well, it isn’t. You had just learned that you have some power over men and you decided to test it. That happens to most girls when they’re teenagers. You’re a late bloomer. Write him a nice letter telling him how you feel about it, how much you appreciate his gentlemanly behavior, and send him some flowers. He’ll be delighted, and he will probably bounce out of his depression, or whatever it is that ails him.”

  Jolene rubbed her hands together, smiling as she did so. “A letter. Why didn’t I think
of that? Thanks so much, Francine. Lord, I hope it works, and I hope he likes roses.”

  “While we’re at it, Jolene, there’re two sides to this man-woman business. You mustn’t flirt if you’re not going to follow through and keep your promise, and you never make love with a man on his terms. You do that if and when you want to. For me, I have to know that the man loves me. I know that’s old-fashioned, but I won’t give myself to the care of a man who doesn’t think I’m precious to him.”

  “But suppose you want to and he doesn’t love you. Then what?”

  Laughter rippled out of Francine. “I deny myself, and I suffer.”

  Jolene followed Francine’s gaze to Richard Peterson. Ah, so Richard and Francine were at a standoff, because Richard wasn’t in love. If I’d had that much sense, I never would have gone to bed with Harper, and he probably wouldn’t be in that wheelchair.

  “What if you’re in love with him?” she asked Francine, sensing the answer.

  “I am, but I’m a disciplined person, and I don’t let my vagina make important decisions for me. If the guy doesn’t love me, we can be friends, but we definitely won’t be in the same bed simultaneously. Period.”

  “But—”

  Francine interrupted her. “It isn’t difficult, Jolene. Stand your ground. If you give in, you won’t be happy. Men will take what comes easily, but most of them won’t value it.” She threw up her hands. “My Lord, Jolene, to have a man who loves you and will worship every centimeter of skin on your body and every inch of the inside of you he can reach . . . I get practically unconscious thinking about it. I mean, if that’s not heaven on earth, what is?”

  Jolene wouldn’t have believed that Francine would discuss anything so personal. Both simple and sophisticated, the woman fascinated her. “If you loved him, too,” she said. “I’m sure it would be heaven. Thanks for talking with me, Francine. You’ve taught me more than you can guess. I’m going to write that letter to Percy before I go to bed. Good-night.” Her cellular phone rang as she reached the top of the stairs.

  Francine had hoped that Jolene would remain with her in the lounge for a while longer. She wasn’t ready to go to her room, and if she remained alone at that little table, it would appear that she was deliberately avoiding Richard, since no one avoided Judd. But she wasn’t so foolhardy as to think she could sit knee to knee with Richard Peterson and not take a whipping both from her heart and from her libido. She stiffened her shoulders, drained her cup and walked over to the table where Judd was teaching Richard how to play pinochle.

  “Glad you decided to visit with your friends,” Judd said. “Do you know how to play pinochle?”

  “Haven’t played it since college,” she told him, ignoring his barb.

  “Good, I haven’t played it since I sold m’ business and moved here. It’s more fun with three than two or four. Want to join us for a hand? With you playing, Richard will learn faster.”

  Richard got up and went to get a chair for her, brought it back and waited until she sat down. Then, he took his own seat, looked at her and said, “We can’t play tennis until spring. Would you like to learn to skeet shoot?”

  In other words, would she spend time alone with him? “Thanks, Richard, but I’d rather not. Sports shooting goes against my politics. I’ll hike over one of those nature trails in Ocean Pines with you sometime.”

  His gaze seemed to penetrate her flesh. “I don’t care what we do as long as we do it together.”

  At her sharp intake of breath, Judd put his cards on the table and said. “I’m getting sleepy. I’ll see you in the morning, Richard. Good night, Francine.”

  “Why did you say that, Richard? You embarrassed him.”

  “Not by a long shot, I didn’t. Judd knows there’s something going on between us, and he is also aware that you avoided me this evening. I said that because I figured you didn’t plan to be alone with me, and I’m a man known for capitalizing on opportunities, however rare and however small. If you’re off this weekend, can we hike as you suggested? I want us to be together.”

  “You’re not ready for a genuine relationship with me, Richard, and I am not going to accept what you offered.”

  He leaned back in the chair and looked her in the eye. “And what did I offer?”

  If he had the guts to ask, she had the guts to tell him. “You offered me sex.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  She let a shrug enforce her words. “Nothing, if that’s what suits you. It’s not what I’m about. If you’ll excuse me—”

  His hand covered hers. “You want a commitment? I can’t give it. If I let myself go with you, I’d be a nervous wreck whenever I wasn’t looking at you, scared to death that I’d find you in a heap somewhere. Lifeless. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “You care for me, and you don’t like the idea. I am who I am, Richard. If and when you come to me with your true feelings bared, I’ll welcome you with my arms wide open.”

  He sucked in his breath, and she knew she’d struck a blow that hurt. “As recently as a year ago, I would have taken you merely because I could and thought nothing of it, but I’ve put that lifestyle behind me. I’m straight with you. Why can’t you take me for what I am?”

  “Eventually, I will, and you will be precisely what I want and need.”

  He stared at her. “What the devil does that mean?”

  She smiled because a glow of happiness flowed through her body. “You’ll see. Good-night.”

  Inside her room, she removed her revolver and cell phone from her purse and placed them on her night table. She wondered how long that red light on her cell phone had been flashing. A check showed three messages from her captain, who wanted her to call him.

  “We’re holding a man who fits the description of one of those men you saw on the beach. Can you get over here as fast as possible?” he said.

  The first call had come in more than an hour earlier. She didn’t have to hide her activities from Richard, but after what he’d said earlier, she didn’t want him to see her leaving the house at ten-thirty at night. She dressed in a gray sweater, black woolen pants suit, boots, and her storm coat, put her revolver and cell phone back into her pocketbook and prayed that she wouldn’t encounter Richard. After mussing up her bed to make it appear that she’d slept in it, she managed to get out of the house without encountering anyone.

  “He’s not one of them,” she said when she saw the suspect, “at least not one of the three men I saw. Next time, could you please wait until the next morning. If any person in that boardinghouse had seen me leaving there at ten-thirty at night, no explanation would convince them that I’m a moral person.”

  “Sorry, but we had to make a judgment. At least we know he isn’t the one.”

  “I’m staying over here tonight in a motel. The boardinghouse front door will be locked by the time I get back there.”

  “Say, I am sorry,” the captain said.

  “Sure. From now on, please don’t expect me to come out so late unless it’s a genuine emergency. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Richard walked from one end of his room to the other one and back again several times, pausing occasionally to observe through his window the clear moon and the waves that sloshed and danced seductively beneath it. He plowed his fingers through his hair, punishing his scalp and exacerbating the pain in his head. Where the hell had she gone at almost eleven o’clock at night? And what was she doing? Would she try to handle those thugs alone? He couldn’t stand knowing that she was probably in danger and being helpless to protect her.

  “If I get my hands on her, I’ll shake her. It’s too dangerous, and her superiors ought to know that.” He slapped his left fist in his right palm. “Of all the women in this world, I have to fall for a police—fall? Who said I’d fallen?” He dropped himself on the side of his bed, leaned forward and, with his forearms on his thighs, clasped his head in his hands.

  For most of the night, he listened for her steps on the stairs
and in the hallway past his room with no results. At daybreak, he rolled out of the rumpled sheets, dressed and went to the parking lot behind the boardinghouse, didn’t see her car and hurried to the beach, his heart in his mouth, as his fear for her well-being rose to frightening proportions. No sign of her, and he didn’t know whether to be glad or more miserable. Where was she? If any person had entered that house during the night, he would have known it.

  He faced the ocean and let the frigid wind punish him. If she’d been out there, she would have frozen. As he headed back to the house, chills gripped his body, the wind drew tears from his eyes, and he blew his breath upward to warm his face. Hunched over against the elements, he began to run. Maybe she’d come home after he left. He checked the parking lot again. What had happened to her? What if she needed him? He couldn’t stand it. She wouldn’t stay out all night, unless she was in trouble.

  If only he had remembered to get her cell phone number. He telephoned Dan, the taxi driver. “I need a couple of hours of your time, Dan, as soon as you can get here.”

  “Be there in half an hour, Mr. Peterson.”

  Back in the house, he paced the floor of the lounge until the dining room opened for breakfast. “I have a couple of errands to do,” he told Judd. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  “Where to?” Dan asked him.

  “Ocean Pines. Just drive slowly around the center of town. I’m looking for a white 2004 Cougar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tried to relax, but knew he wouldn’t until he saw her safe and unharmed. When he saw that her car was not parked at the police station, he thought his heart had dropped into his belly.

  It was about eight-thirty when he yelled at Dan: “Stop right here.” A motel? Why the hell was her car parked in front of a motel? His first inclination was to go in and check the register. He stood at the walkway that led to the motel’s office and stared ahead catatonic-like, immobilized.