Chapter 100
WE SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS as if we were in a beautiful dream. Chris's cabin was funky and charming, a redwood A frame ski chalet on Mason Ridge overlooking Heavenly. We hiked in the woods with Sweet Martha, took the tram to the top of the mountain, and walked all the way down. We grilled swordfish on the deck. In between, we made love in the comfort of his large four poster bed, on the sheepskin rug in front of the wood burning stove, in the chilly thrill of the outdoor shower. We laughed and played and touched each other like teenagers, discovering love again. But I was no starry-eyed adolescent. I knew exactly what was taking place. I felt the steady, undeniable current rising inside me like a river spilling over its banks. I felt helpless. Saturday, Chris promised me a day I would never forget. We drove down to Lake Tahoe, to a quaint marina on the California side. He had rented a platform boat, an old puttering wooden barge. We bought sandwiches and a bottle of chardonnay, and went out to the middle of the lake. The water calm and turquoise, the sky cloudless and bright. All around, the rocky tips of snow-capped mountains ringed the lake like a crown. We moored, and for a while it was our own private world. Chris and I stripped down to our suits. I figured we'd kick back, enjoy the wine in the sun, look at the view, but Chris had sort of an expectant, dare-you look in his eye. He ran his hands through the frigid water. "No way," I said, shaking my head. "It's got to be fifty degrees." "Yeah, but it's a dry cold," he teased. "Right," I chortled. "You go, then. Catch me a coho if you see one swim by." He came toward me with playful menace in his eyes. "You can catch one yourself." "Not a chance." I shook my head in defiance. But I was laughing, too. As he stepped forward, I backed to the rear of the craft until I ran out of room. He put his arms around me. I felt the tingle of his skin on mine. "It's sort of an initiation," he said. "An initiation for what?" "Exclusive club. Anyone who wants to be in it has to jump in." "Then leave me out." I laughed, squirming in his strong arms. With only weak resistance, he yanked me up on the cushion seat in the stern of the boat. "Shit, Chris," I cried as he took hold of my hand. "Geronimo works better," he said, pulling at me. I screamed, "You bastard!" and we toppled in. The water was freezing, a total, invigorating rush. We hit the surface together, and I screamed in his face, "Goddamn you!" Then he kissed me in the water and all at once I felt no chill. I held on to him, at first for warmth, but also because I never wanted to let him go. I felt a trust for him that was so complete it was almost scary. Fifty degrees, but I was burning up. "Check this out," I dared him, kicking free of his grasp. There was an orange boat marker bobbing fifty yards away. "Race you to that buoy." Then I cut out, surprising him with my speed. Chris tried to keep up with steady, muscular strokes, but I blew him away. Near the buoy I slowed, waited for him to catch up. Chris looked totally confounded. "Where'd you learn to swim?" "South San Francisco YMCA; fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen year-old division champ." I laughed. "No one could keep up. Looks like I still have it." Moments later, we had guided the boat to a private, shady cove near the shore. Chris cut the engine and put up a canvas shade around the cabin that was supposed to protect us from the sun. With hated breath, we crept inside, blocked off from anyone's view. I let him slowly unfasten my bathing suit, and he licked beads of water off my arms and breasts. Then I kneeled down and unbuttoned his shorts. We didn't have to speak. Our bodies were saying everything. I lay back, pulling Chris onto me. I had never felt so connected to another person, or to a place. I arched against him silently, the lake lapping gently at our sides. I thought, If I speak, it will change everything. Afterward I just lay there, tremors of warmth radiating through my body. I never wanted this to end, but I knew that it had to end. Reality always gets in the way, doesn't it?
Chapter 101
SOMETIME THAT EVENING, I found myself starting to cry. I had made spaghetti carbonara, and we ate in the moonlight on the deck with a bottle of pi not noir. Chris put a cello concerto by Dvorak on the stereo, but eventually we switched to the Dixie Chicks. As we ate, Chris asked about where and how I had grown up. I told him about my mom, and how my dad had left when I was just a kid; how she had worked as a bookkeeper at the Emporium for twenty years. How I had practically raised my sister. "Mom died of breast cancer when she was only fifty." The irony of this certainly wasn't lost on me. "What about your father? I want to know everything about you." I took a sip of wine, then told him how I'd only seen him \ twice since I was thirteen. At my mother's funeral. And the day I became a cop. "He sat in the back, apart from everybody else." Suddenly, my blood became hot with long-buried feelings. "What was he doing there?" I looked up, my eyes moist. "Why did he spoil it?" "You ever want to see him?" I didn't answer. Something was starting to take shape in my head. My mind drifted, struck by the fact that here I was, maybe the happiest I had been, but it was all built on a lie. I was blinking back the impact of what was going through my mind. Not doing real well. Chris reached over and grasped my hand. "I'm sorry, Lindsay. I had no right to…" "That's not it," I whispered, and squeezed his hand. I knew it was time to really trust him, time to finally give myself over to Chris. But I was scared, my cheeks trembling, my eyes holding back tears. "I have something to tell you," I said. "This is a little heavy, Chris." I looked at him with all the earnestness and trust my worried eyes could manage. "Remember when I almost fainted in the room with Jenks?" Chris nodded. Now he looked a little worried. His forehead was furrowed with deep lines. "Everyone thought I was just freaked out, but it wasn't that. I'm sick, Chris. I may have to go into the hospital soon." I saw the light in his eyes suddenly dim. He started to speak, but I put my finger to his lips. "Just listen to me for a minute. Okay?" "Okay. I'm sorry." I poured out everything about Negli's. I was not responding to treatments. Hope was fading. What Medved had warned only days before. I was in stage three, serious. A bone marrow transplant might be next. I didn't cry. I told him straight out, like a cop. I wanted to give him hope, to show him I was fighting, to show him I was the strong person I thought he loved. When I was done, I clasped his hands and took a monumental breath. "The truth is, I could die soon, Chris." Our hands were tightly entwined. Our eyes locked. We couldn't have been more in touch. Then he placed his hand gently on my cheek and rubbed it. He didn't say a word, just took me and held me in the power and softness of his hands and drew me to him. And that's what made me cry. He was a good person. I might lose him. And I cried for all the things we might never do. I cried and cried, and with each sob he pressed me harder. He kept whispering, "It's all right, Lindsay. It's all right. Ills all right." "I should've told you," I said. "I understand why you didn't. How long have you known?" I told him. "Since the day we met. I feel so ashamed." "Don't be ashamed," he said. "How could you know you could trust me?" "I trusted you pretty quickly. I didn't trust myself," "Well, now you do," Chris whispered.
Chapter 102
I THINK WE ROCKED ALL NIGHT. We laughed some, cried some. I don't even remember how I woke up in bed. The following day, I barely left his touch. With all that was threatening, all that seemed uncertain, I felt so safe and sure in his arms. I never wanted to leave. But something else happened during that weekend -apart from Negli's, apart from Chris and me. Something gripping, invading my sense of comfort and security. It was something Jacobi had said that planted the thought. One of those thrown-out remarks you didn't pay much attention to but somehow got filed away in your mind. Then it comes back at the oddest time, with more force and logic than before. It was Sunday night. The weekend was over. Chris had driven me home. Hard as it was to leave him, I needed to be alone for a while, to take inventory of the weekend, to figure out what I would do next. I unpacked, made some tea, curled up on my couch with Her Sweetness. My mind wandered to the murder case. Nicholas Jenks was behind me now. Only the countless reports to fill out. Even though he was still ranting about being set up. it was just more insanity, more lies. It was then that Jacobi's words snaked into my brain. Good collaj; he'd said, early Tuesday morning. He had that annoying, persistent look in his eyes. Just remember, he'd called after me, it was the champagne match, that got you. on your way… Why do you think Jenks left that champagne? I was barely paying attention. Jenks was locked away. The case was a slam dunk. I was thinking about the night before, and Chris. I stopped on the stairs and turned to him. I don't fe now Warren. We've been over this. Heat of the moment, maybe. You're right. He nodded. That must be why he didn't ball up the jacket and take it with him, too. I looked at him, like, Why are we going through this now? Jenfes needed a clean tux jacket to get out of the hotel undetected. The DNA match on the hair made it all academic, anyway. Then he said it. You ever read the whole book? he asked. Which book? Jenfes's boo fe Always a Bridesmaid. The parts that matter, I replied. Why? He said, I don't fe now it just sort of stuck with me. Like I said, my wife happens to be a fan. There were some copies of the manuscript around, so I took one home. It was interesting how it all came out in the end. I looked at him, trying to figure out where all this was heading. It was a setup, Jacob! said. This Phillip Campbell guy, he gets off. He pins the whole thing on someone else. Days later, Warren's words came creeping back into my mind. A setup. He pins the whole thing on someone else. It was ridiculous, I told myself, that I was even dignifying this scenario, running through it in my mind. Everything was solid, airtight. Setup, I found myself thinking again. "I must be an idiot," I said aloud. "Jenks is clinging to any story he can to wiggle his way out of this." I got up, brought my tea into the bathroom, began to wash my face. In the morning I would tell Cheery about my disease. I had some time coming. I would face this thing head-on. Now that the case was complete, it was the right time. Now that the case was complete! I went into the bedroom, ripped the tags off a "Little Bit of Heaven," a T-shirt Chris had bought me. I got into bed, and Martha came around for her hug. Memories of the weekend began to drift in my head. I closed my eyes. I could hardly wait to share it with the girls. Then a thought from out of the blue hit me. I shot up as if I'd had a nightmare. I stiffened. "Oh, no. Oh, Jesus, no," I whispered. When Jenks had lunged at me at his house, he had swung with his left hand. When he'd offered me a drink, he'd picked up the pitcher with his left hand. Impossible, I thought. This can't be happening. Claire was certain David Brandt's killer had been right handed.