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She’d never gone back to smoking pot, either.

And she still wore her hair short, the way he liked it. Makes you look like Peter Pan, he’d said. Peter Pan’s a boy, she’d reminded him, and added that perhaps the hairstyle appealed to his latent homosexuality. Oh yeah? he’d said. Come here and we’ll see if I’m a fag.

Big macho cop.

God, she missed him.

She pulled the garter belt out from under her. She slipped her panties down, and kicked them off. Then she stretched, enjoying the feel of the cool bedspread against her buttocks and legs. She could doze off right now, so easily. With a deep sigh, she sat up. She struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress, pulled the dress over her head, and removed her bra. She climbed off the bed and started to gather her clothes.

While she’d kept her hair the same, stayed away from pantyhose and pot, changed very little about herself since leaving Dan, there was one major difference. She’d been chubby, then. In her first term at UCLA, she’d dropped fifteen pounds. As if she’d left her appetite with Dan. Though the appetite had eventually returned, she’d had no trouble keeping the weight off.

She took her nightgown from the suitcase, but didn’t put it on. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her eyes looked a little funny. That was the booze. She drew a forefinger over her cheekbone. For all Dan knew, she didn’t have cheekbones. Or a waist. Or hipbones.

She grinned at the Tyler Moran he’d never seen.

He’ll go ape, she thought.

Her heart started thudding, for she suddenly realized she would be making that trip tomorrow. No matter the pain no matter the outcome. If she didn’t, she would always wonder about Dan, about the second chance thrown away and she would never stop regretting it.

Her racing heart made her head throb.

She put the nightgown on. In the bathroom, she took three aspirin and drank three full tumblers of cold water.

Then she went to bed.

She lay in the darkness, remembering the look and feel and voice of Dan Jenson, wondering how he might have changed, worrying about what she might find tomorrow in Mill Valley, hoping.

Tyler smiled the next morning when she saw the Mill Valley bus depot through her windshield. “That used to be the best place for paperbacks in the whole town,” she said. “Wish I had a buck for every hour I spent in there.”

“How’re the nerves?” Nora asked, grinning at her from the passenger seat.

“Holding out. But just barely.” She wiped her sweaty hands on the legs of her corduroys. The nerves, in fact, were not good. Her heart was beating fast, her mouth was dry, and the armpits of her blouse felt sodden.

“A quaint little burg,” Nora said.

“It used to be quainter.” She drove slowly along Throckmorton, past brightly painted shops. The road curved. To the left was a wooded area. “Here’s where the old mill used to be. The Dipsey Trail starts over there.”

“The famous Dipsey Trail.”

She turned right onto a sideroad, and stopped at the curb.

“This it?”

“This is it,” Tyler said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s that apartment house across the street.”

Ducking, Nora looked out of the window. “Rustic,” she said.

“Quaint and rustic.”

“Can you hack it?”

“We came this far,” Tyler told her, and tried very hard to smile.

“Do you want me to wait here?”

“Are you kidding?”

They climbed from the car. While Tyler waited, Nora took her sweater off and tossed it on her seat. “Won’t be needing that,” she said. She stepped around the rear of the car. She was wearing short culottes and tennis shoes, and without the sweater it was plain that she wore no bra. The powder blue T-shirt clung to her breasts. Her nipples made the fabric jut as if fingers were pushing it out. Tyler wished Nora had kept the sweater on, and she had second thoughts about her friend coming along.

What if Dan…? No, that’s ridiculous.

He probably doesn’t even live here anymore.

They crossed the street and climbed a slanted walkway toward the weathered wood-frame apartment house. Nora’s breasts jiggled slightly with each step.

Dan won’t notice. Of course he will.

Even dressed modestly, Nora drew men like iron filings to a magnet. Her size must be part of it. She was five eleven barefoot. She dwarfed most other women, Tyler included. She was slender, but not at all gawky. Though her face was a bit too long, her teeth too prominent, her chin not quite prominent enough for real beauty, her blue eyes had an intensity that made the imperfections less noticeable. And there was something erotic about her wide mouth, her full lips.

Nora radiated sexuality. Not only men noticed it. So did women, and many seemed to resent it.

Tyler was not very happy about it herself, as they stepped into the shadowed entryway.

Don’t worry, she told herself. I’m the one Dan loved. Besides, Nora won’t try anything. She’s my best friend. She knows how I feel.

Yeah. Outclassed.

Forget it.

Tyler stepped close to the panel of mailboxes. “He was in number four,” she said.

The name, embossed on a strip of red plastic above the mail slot, was B. Lawrence. They checked the other labels. “No Jenson,” Nora said. “You sure you’ve got the right building?”

“Positive.” She felt a tug of disappointment, but it was mixed with relief. Her voice sounded shaky as she said, “I knew it’d be a waste of time.”

Nora squeezed her shoulder. She looked determined. “It’s not over yet, hon. You’re with Nora Branson, ace reference librarian. What I don’t know, I find out. Just a matter of research. First we check on B. Lawrence, then the manager. If they don’t pan out, there’s the telephone directory. If that doesn’t work, we’ll pay a visit to the local constabulary. If Dan’s not with them anymore, they’ll probably know where he went. He’ll have friends in the department, not to mention a personnel file that’ll tell where they sent his references.”

“Maybe we should just forget it.”

“No way. This is your life we’re talking about. You obviously love the guy. One way or another, we’re gonna find him for you. Where’s number four?”

Tyler sighed. “Upstairs.”

She followed Nora up the wooden stairway to a balcony that stretched the length of the building front. They stopped at the first door to the right. Five years ago, it had been stained wood. Since then, someone had applied bright, lime green paint. The trim was orange. A windchime of clay pipes, suspended just above the door, clinked softly in the breeze.

Tyler knew that Dan didn’t live here anymore, but her heart thudded wildly when Nora rang the doorbell. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

The door opened. A short, chubby woman in a muumuu and curlers smiled out at them. “Greetings,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Before Tyler could answer, Nora said, “We’re looking for Dan Jenson. Apparently he used to live here.”

“Righto. Steely Dan the cop. My old bud. You friends of his?”

Nora darted a thumb at Tyler. “They’re old buds.”

“Ah ha!” Nodding, she studied Tyler with one eye half shut, and shook a forefinger at her. “I knew it, knew I’d seen your face. Knew it the minute I looked at you. You’re the girl in the picture. That eight by five he kept over the fireplace. Sure. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Tyler shrugged. She didn’t know the picture, but Dan had always been snapping photos of her. He liked to catch her unaware—for the “natural look,” as he called it. He’d even taken a shot, once, as she stepped out of the shower. She blushed at the memory. Obviously, that hadn’t been the picture he’d blown up for the mantel.