On the Edge, Page 4

  “I’m not surprised.” Amy half smiled at the thought of her mother’s exceptional organizational talents. Gloria Slater had brought the task of being the perfect corporate executive’s wife to the level of a fine art. If she’d been born a little later, she probably would have been an executive herself, not the wife of one.

  “Let’s see, you two leave for London on the fifteenth, right? That’s next week. You must be swamped trying to get ready.” It was a desperate bid to avoid the unavoidable. Amy wasn’t at all surprised when it failed. Douglas Slater was too shrewd to let her off the hook that easily.

  “Plenty of time. Listen, honey, we’ve got a great idea,” Slater announced. His tone was still jovial, but it held an underlying insistent edge. “Your mom and I have decided that what you need is a vacation. Come to the island this week. You can help Gloria finish the packing, do a little diving, eat a few home cooked meals and relax. On the fifteenth you can see us off on the plane. Then you can stay as long as you like at the house. Plan on a month.”

  “Dad, I’m really busy at the moment—”

  “You need some time off, Amy,” her father interrupted firmly. “Don’t you think I know the signs? Hell, I saw them often enough in the people who worked for me over the years. For the past few months you’ve been getting more and more concerned about your writing. Too concerned. It’s obvious you’re starting to feel the stress. You haven’t come to see us for over eight months. You know how you love this place. I’m worried about you. When I was running Slater Aero I saw more than one good man burn himself out just as he started to taste a little success. Selling that science fiction series last year put some real pressure on you. I’ll bet you’ve been spending the past few months worrying about whether you’ll be able to do the same thing again this year, haven’t you? I’ve got news for you, honey: If you don’t learn to relax again, you won’t be able to keep up the pace.”

  “Dad, it’s not a question of relaxing.” Amy leaned back against the kitchen counter, absently massaging her temples as she tried to marshal her arguments. But even as she made the effort, she felt herself weakening. Sooner or later she would have to go back to the island. She couldn’t put it off forever. “I’m right in the middle of a book and I wanted to get it finished before I took some time off.”

  “It would mean a lot to both your mother and me if you could manage a few days with us before we leave for London, Amy.”

  Amy groaned. “Come on, Dad. Mother might resort to this approach, but I always thought you were above using the old guilt trip routine.”

  “I’m desperate.”

  “You must be.” There was a small sound to Amy’s left. She glanced up and saw Jed leaning in the kitchen doorway, buttoning his shirt while he listened with unabashed interest. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll see what I can do about my schedule.”

  “Call me tomorrow and let me know what you decide,” Slater said bluntly. “I’ll tell your mother you’re thinking about it. She’ll be thrilled. I’ll take care of the tickets.”

  “Dad—”

  “Listen, don’t try to tell me you don’t want to come to the island because of the accident. LePage was a fool and he paid the price. It was a tragic event, yes, but there’s absolutely no reason to let it upset you forever. Accidents happen.”

  Amy froze. “I know that. It’s got nothing to do with what happened to Bob. It’s just that I—”

  “Good. He was a nice enough guy and the whole thing was very unfortunate, but you shouldn’t let it get to you. And I know you weren’t in love with him so it’s not as if you’re pining, right? Come and see us, honey.”

  “Dad—”

  It was too late. Douglas Slater had already hung up the phone. Amy tossed her receiver back into the cradle, crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at Jed.

  “Hey, I’m innocent,” he said, holding up a protesting hand. “I’m just hanging around for breakfast.”

  Amy smiled ruefully and turned back to the stove. “Sorry. That was my father. He’s accustomed to having people do as he wants. Right now he wants me to go visit him and Mom before they leave for Europe.”

  “And you don’t want to go?”

  Amy became very busy with the oatmeal. “I don’t really want to go to the island.”

  “The island?”

  “My father’s retired. For years he’s maintained a second home on a little dot of an island a few hundred miles beyond Hawaii. We used to go there for every vacation when I was a kid. Now that he’s no longer going into the office every day, he and Mom spend most of the year there. Mom paints and Dad’s writing a book on management.”

  “Why don’t you want to visit them?”

  Amy shrugged. “No good reason, I guess. It’s just that I’m right in the middle of Private Demons and I was hoping to finish it soon. I hate to take time off in the middle of a book. Dad says he’s worried about me. But that’s nothing new. He’s always worried about me.”

  “Yeah? Why?” Jed eased himself down onto a stool and hooked the cane over the edge of the counter. He studied Amy with deep interest as she added a handful of raisins to the cereal.

  “Probably because I’m the youngest. And probably because I’m classified as the black sheep of the family. You have to understand that my older sister is a board certified gynecologist, one of my brothers has taken over the running of my father’s firm and is making Slater Aero even more profitable than it has been in the past, and my other brother is a successful attorney who’s about to enter politics in a big way here in California. I, on the other hand, am twenty-seven years old and have spent half my adult life waiting tables and taking night classes in everything from surrealist painting to an intensive, in-depth study of the hard evidence for flying saucers.”

  “I get the picture,” Jed said dryly. “You’re not maintaining the family standards. But now you’ve actually sold a book. A three-part series, in fact, and you’re writing another book. Doesn’t that count?”

  “Dad thinks I’m going to burn out on my first taste of success. Not that I’m likely to go too crazy on the microscopic advance I got for the Shadow series. And the advance on Private Demons wasn’t much better, believe me.”

  “He thinks you’re working too hard?”

  “I guess.” She finished stirring the oatmeal and ladled it into two bowls. “He should talk after the way he battled to push Slater Aero to the top years ago.”

  “How long since you’ve been back to the island?”

  “A little over eight months.” She concentrated on taking the milk out of the refrigerator and setting it down on the counter, aware of the nervous tension that sometimes made her remarkably clumsy these days. With a little self-discipline she could control it, she knew. But when she safely set the milk down on the counter top in front of Jed, he only frowned at it.

  “I usually just have coffee and a doughnut in the morning.”

  “Well, I usually have oatmeal and grapefruit,” she declared stoutly. “Just another little item to add to our storehouse of knowledge about each other’s habits and eccentricities.”

  “I haven’t had oatmeal since I was a kid.” He examined the bowl of gray cereal distrustfully.

  “Throw a little brown sugar on it and it will go down as easily as a doughnut. Trust me. Besides, it’s good for you. You need to regain your strength.” Amy handed him the sugar bowl, plunked down the twin halves of a grapefruit she had prepared earlier and slid onto a stool beside him.

  “So who’s Bob?” Jed asked casually as he dug into the grapefruit.

  Amy blinked. The grapefruit spoon trembled slightly in her hand. “No one important. Just a man I was seeing casually the last time I went to the island. I invited him to go with me.”

  “You still seeing him?” Jed appeared only vaguely interested.

  “No.” She hesitated painfully. “There was an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “A diving accident. Bob was killed d
iving in some caves near my family’s home. He didn’t like the fact that my father had put the caves off limits to all visitors as well as the family. He went down on his own one night. I was the one who found his body in the cave entrance pool the next day.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yes. It was a shock, to say the least.” She carefully spooned up a piece of her grapefruit. “My father owns the land where the underwater caves are located. He’s never allowed any diving in them. He doesn’t even like members of the family showing the entrance to our guests. I doubt if many of the people in Orleana’s one town even know where it is. If they do, they’ve always respected my father’s wish to keep tourists away from the caves. Dad thinks it’s better if people don’t know where they are. Some dumb tourist might be tempted to dive. Cave diving is very hazardous.”

  “I know. I’ve done a little.”

  She looked up in surprise. “Have you?”

  “It’s been a while. Not my idea of a fun hobby.”

  “No. I don’t think it would be.”

  “Amy, I can imagine what it was like for you finding the guy’s body…”

  Amy managed a shrug. “It’s been eight months. It all seems like a dream now.” A nightmare.

  “Were you in love with the guy? Was he more than just a casual friend?”

  “Bob LePage was not my lover,” she replied stonily. “He was an acquaintance with whom I had something in common: Diving. That’s all.”

  “All right, calm down. I didn’t mean to get too personal.” He reached for more sugar and groaned. When Amy glanced at him in alarm he said, “I feel like I’ve been used for a football.”

  Amy seized the opportunity to change the topic. “Speaking of your diminished capacity…”

  Jed winced. “I can think of better ways to describe my current condition.”

  “I’m a writer. I value accuracy. What I was about to say is that I think you should stop by Dr. Mullaney’s office this morning and have him take a look at that leg.”

  “The leg’s okay. The company doctor got all the glass out and told me how to take care of it. I changed the dressing after my shower this morning. It’s almost healed. A few more days and I can stop wearing a bandage.”

  “I still think you should have Mullaney look at it,” Amy said stubbornly.

  He turned his head to look at her. “You’re a bossy little thing, you know that?” he asked almost indulgently. “I’m only just beginning to realize it.”

  Amy flushed and speared her spoon back into the grapefruit. “Sorry. Your leg is your own business.”

  “I Agree.”

  “I may be bossy, but there’s a real streak of stubborn macho arrogance in you, you know that?”

  Jed grinned, one of his quick, fleeting smiles that temporarily ruined the Calvinist minister image. “I’ve lived alone for so long I’ve never really learned to handle a woman’s nagging.”

  “I’ve never believed it was too late to teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “Your faith in my adaptability and intelligence humbles me. Actually, I don’t think you’re nagging, exactly. More like fussing.”

  “I’ll call Mullaney’s office after breakfast and make an appointment.”

  “You do that and you can damn well keep the appointment yourself.”

  Amy sighed. “Jed, be reasonable. You were ill last night. You had a fever. Who knows what kind of infection you might have picked up in the Middle East?”

  “I overdid things yesterday, that’s all,” Jed stated in a reasonable tone. “The doctors told me it was too soon to head back to the States, but I insisted. I got a little worn out and ran a slight fever. Nothing serious. I’m fine this morning.”

  “I hadn’t realized what an incredibly bullheaded man you are.”

  “You never see a person’s worst flaws until you’ve lived with him or her,” Jed explained philosophically. “Until this morning, for example, I had no idea you squeezed your toothpaste from the middle of the tube instead of from the bottom.”

  Amy surrendered. “All right, all right, I give up. It’s none of my business whether you see the doctor. And don’t feel obliged to force yourself to eat the oatmeal. You can pick up a bag of doughnuts on the way back to your place.”

  Jed looked startled. “Kicking me out just because I resist a little of your advice, Nurse Amy?”

  She smiled wryly. “Let’s face it. Neither one of us is used to having a live-in mate. In a few more hours we’ll probably be peeling long, painful strips off each other. Best to part while we’re still on speaking terms.” She hesitated, and then added impulsively, “You can come over for dinner this evening if you like.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  She saw the flickering trace of heat in his eyes and knew that this time it wasn’t caused by fever. Some of the familiar, high-strung excitement she had learned to expect around Jed when he looked at her like that erupted in her bloodstream. The man did things to her senses she still couldn’t quite understand.

  The problem was that they hadn’t spent enough time together, Amy rationalized. Jed’s frequent, extended trips had chopped up the relationship so much that each time he returned she felt as if they were meeting for the first time again. The primitive, very feminine uncertainty and wariness always returned in full force each time she saw him after one of his business journeys. But so did the compelling, indescribable attraction. Telling herself that this wasn’t really the kind of man to whom she should feel physically attracted didn’t help.

  Amy drove Jed back to his small, weathered house after breakfast. She watched a bit anxiously as he fumbled with the keys, flight bag and cane. Leaning against the car and having every intention of keeping her mouth shut, she heard herself ask, “Do you think you should spend tonight alone?”

  He glanced at her quickly and then focused on the front door. “I wasn’t going to spend it alone. I’m having dinner at your place, remember?” He hauled himself up the steps and shoved the key into the lock.

  “I meant after dinner,” Amy said stolidly. “I’m worried your fever might return.”

  “I can’t throw you out of your bed two nights in a row, Amy.” He pushed open the door and limped into the plainly furnished front room. “Come on in and I’ll make you a cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do after all the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

  Amy trailed after him, glancing around the familiar interior. Jed’s house was the same ancient vintage as her own and the furniture had a similar seaside Salvation Army look. But Jed’s home looked unlived in to Amy. There were no pictures on the walls, no plants, no cat.

  The only intriguing elements were the two bird cages that stood empty on one shelf. One was a fanciful Victorian design with looping gingerbread trim and a flight of wire steps. The other was another Baroque piece, this one, according to Jed, in the French style. Both cages were charming, but a little lifeless without either birds or plants to fill them. They looked as barren as his house.

  By the time Amy had finished her coffee she sensed things between herself and Jed had returned to their familiar, careful equilibrium. She knew that she, for one, would chew a hole in her tongue before she nagged him about seeing Dr. Mullaney again. To be accused of nagging when she had always taken such pains to keep her distance annoyed her.

  On the way home Amy stopped at the small grocery store in Caliph’s Bay, where she lucked out and found a supply of fresh clams and shrimp. Adding a sack of rice and some chorizo sausage to the rickety cart she was pushing, she mentally ticked off the items she needed to complete the paella. She still had a packet of saffron left from the last time she had prepared the dish for Jed. He had a weakness for it, she’d learned.

  On the way out to the car she eyed the health food store across the street and wondered if she could get her money back on the tryptophane. Probably not. Besides, in all honesty, she couldn’t swear it hadn’t worked. She had slept a little better than usual last night, even if she had found herself gla
ncing at the clock on the wall every few hours. In contrast, the herbal tea she’d been using the week before hadn’t helped a bit. She decided she would give the tryptophane another try before making up her mind about its effectiveness.

  Working out a logistics problem in chapter ten of Private Demons kept Amy busy for the rest of the afternoon. By the time she switched off the word processor for the day she was reasonably satisfied with her solution to the heroine’s dilemma. The nightmare Amy had created in the book had substance, but there was a way to contain it.

  A good therapist, Amy knew, would undoubtedly figure out right away that she was using the novel to try and work through the things she couldn’t seem to work through in her head. Nightmares could be handled in a book such as Private Demons; real life was proving to be another matter.

  She had finished scrubbing clams and shelling shrimp and was opening a bottle of Chardonnay when Jed’s familiar knock sounded on the door. A small frisson of anticipation trickled through her nerves. Wiping her hands on the red kitchen towel, Amy went to answer the door, not quite certain what to expect from Jed.

  She opened the door, took one glance at the weary way he was leaning on the cane, and knew that Jed Glaze wasn’t going to be launching any assaults on her that evening. A sense of relief went through Amy. She firmly ignored the equally disturbing sense of disappointment she felt.

  “You look like warmed over oatmeal,” Amy declared as he moved slowly over the threshold.

  “That’s a fairly accurate description of how I feel. I hate to admit this, but I took your advice and went to Mullaney’s this afternoon. Don’t gloat. I can’t take gloating just now.”

  “I’m not gloating, I’m relieved. What did he say?” She closed the door and watched with concern as Jed lowered himself carefully into one of the deep, badly sprung armchairs.