Speak of the Devil Read online

  Rowland sat forward and put his elbows on the edge of the table. “It is every American’s dream to own a nice home. I think that people who already have homes might think twice before they criticize other people for wanting one of their own. And,” his friendly face grinned in a boyish way, “they might forget that the land where their houses are built was ‘open land’ once too.”

  Sterling interjected before Greer could state the obvious fact that a three-bedroom home on five acres left quite a bit more open land. “True enough, but here we are, with an opportunity to ease up on both sides,” he said. “I know you’ve already started construction on phase one, so those houses and their lot size are set in stone, or in asphalt and concrete as the case may be, but you have an opportunity to make some changes for phase two, and three if it’s approved,” he added with a nod toward Susan. “I’m proposing that if you cut your number of homes by even one-fifth, you could leave communal open space and create corridors between streets where indigenous trees and shrubbery could be left intact, or replanted if it’s more cost-effective. That would serve to make the development less of a visual impact from below, and give the buyers more of what is so special about Shadow Hills to start out with—a little more space.”

  Sterling sat back and waited to see what effect his suggestion would have on Rowland and Susan. They were looking at each other with knowing, piteous expressions on their faces. Then Rowland turned back to Sterling and shook his head sadly.

  “I wish I could. But the fact is, people don’t want yards, they don’t want outside space. They want the biggest, most impressive house they can get for their hard-earned dollar, and that’s all they’re willing to pay for. If I were to cut the number of homes and increase open space, I would have to charge a fifth again as much as I’m asking now for each home, and that”—his face looked pained and he put a hand against his heart—“I just can’t expect people to pay. And before you suggest I take a little less profit, remember that I’ve got investors to answer to, and they have a right to see a certain return on their money. That’s how capitalism and this great democracy works. I’m proud that I can provide the American dream to so many people on so many levels. It really means a lot to me and I’m committed to giving as many people their dream homes as I possibly can.” He smiled around warmly at all of them, his eyes shining.

  Greer was stunned to find that she actually believed he was sincere. She had to admit that judging from the number of gigantic housing developments in and around LA County, and the trend toward massive homes on little land, people really didn’t seem to mind being packed in; otherwise, she reasoned, they wouldn’t buy the homes, though it had always baffled her that anyone would choose to live that way, and she had always assumed that if they were given an option, they would take it. But maybe she was wrong.

  Susan was smiling kindly at Sterling too, as though at a precocious two-year-old who had asked for a real motorcycle. “We’ve already made allowances, as much as we can,” she explained patiently. “I made a deal for smaller lot sizes in exchange for leaving two open acres, which will be in the steeper runoff area leading to the wash.”

  Greer couldn’t help herself. “I heard that the city made you leave that area open because of erosion.”

  Susan winked and said brightly, “See, with a little forethought, things can work out nicely for everyone. Wendy Sostein, the local councilwoman, has been so helpful. She understands that if a community doesn’t grow, it stagnates and dies, just like any other living thing.”

  Rowland put his arm around his wife. “Isn’t she amazing?” he asked, beaming as though he’d found a van Gogh at a yard sale.

  “Amazing,” agreed Sterling, though he declined to say in what way.

  Rowland released Susan, who straightened her jacket and folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Now,” he said to Sterling, “let’s hear your thoughts on shrubbery. I’m thinking lots of quick-growing ficus trees and ice plant for ground cover.”

  As Sterling tried to patiently explain that ice plant was a type of vegetation that supported absolutely no animal or insect life, and ficus trees were also an invasive non-native, so they might not be suitable for the national forest adjacent, Susan turned her attention to Greer.

  “So, are you a hairdresser as well?”

  “No, I do massage, reflexology, facials, those sorts of treatments. I’m more focused on the body than the hair,” Greer answered.

  “I wish I had more time for massages. I could really use one. This push for phase three has become much more complicated than I had hoped.” Her face tightened into a mask of tension and Greer’s instinctive nurturing tendency took over.

  “But you must have been through this many times. Aren’t you used to it?”

  Susan shook her head. “Actually, though I have done this before, this is the first time that it’s been this size project and it’s our first one in California.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Florida. I met Rowland when I was working for a law firm in Tampa and I was assigned to one of his projects there.”

  “How long have you been married?” Greer asked, hoping to turn the conversation to a more comfortable, female level.

  “Almost a year,” she said, “and no time for a honeymoon. Well, unless you count a weekend in Florida for his youngest daughter’s college graduation. And I’m not exactly his ex’s favorite person, so . . . I don’t.” Susan’s mouth thinned to such a fine line that, for a moment, she lost her precarious hold on her late thirties and slipped into her fifth decade.

  Laying a hand on Susan’s arm, Greer said encouragingly, “Why don’t you come into the salon and let me try some reflexology on you. I think it might be very good for you to let off some pressure.” The darkness that she had sensed in Susan’s chest came into her consciousness again as she touched the other woman. Greer tried to focus on it without losing her attention on the conversation.

  The darkness had a definite outline, but it was without mass, more like the absence of light. In shape it was jagged, spiked outward. As Susan turned to comment on a suggestion that Sterling made about planting only native plants, Greer was able to focus on the impression it gave her. Whatever it was, it meant imminent danger for Susan, danger from within. Greer could feel a certain instability there. In spite of Susan’s amazingly together front, Greer sensed strife and conflict, but before she could identify whether the danger was emotional, physical, or something else, she found herself drawn back into the conversation and the opportunity was lost.

  As they ate and the evening wore on, Greer kept watching the other woman surreptitiously. What did the darkness mean? She had detected the tinge of death, but mostly danger, and every time she looked at the prettily practiced face, all she could think was Something is killing you.

  Chapter 7

  Greer stepped out of the restaurant into the too-hot night air, and the tinge of wood smoke filled her nostrils. Her first thought was Who’s built a fire on a night this warm? but the disconcerting premise was quickly replaced by logical alarm. It was wood that was burning, but not in the safety of someone’s fireplace.

  Sterling had smelled it too, and they exchanged looks of concern before scanning the hills that rose, still and solid, beyond Foothill Boulevard, their shadowy presence beyond the scattered lights of the residential streets revealing no secrets.

  “Oh no,” Greer said softly as she and Sterling headed for the car, “I hope it’s nothing bad.”

  “It won’t take much in this weather,” he said. “We’ll check the news when we get home.”

  But they didn’t need to. As they drove the seven miles up to Greer’s house, the scent, even in the closed, air-conditioned car, didn’t go away, though it didn’t grow stronger either. Greer scanned the dark canyons as they drove, looking for signs of the source, but she saw nothing. Yet when they pulled into the parking area in front of Greer’s lovely mission-style home, they saw Joshua’s car, loaded to the max, and next
to it, a car that neither of them recognized, so heavily packed that its back axle was almost touching the unpaved ground.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Sterling,” Joshua called out from the kitchen table, where he sat with the Caseys. He introduced everyone and quickly explained what had happened, ending on a cheerful note: “We got the call about five minutes ago that the fire is contained and nowhere near their house anymore, so it’s safe for them to go back. We were just having a celebratory cup of tea, before we drive back up there.”

  Emily was just shaking hands with Greer as Joshua finished, and she held tight to Greer’s hand as she said, “We’re so grateful to your son. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t come along when he did.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned to Joshua. “You know it was your warning that saved our home, and maybe us.”

  Greer felt a surging pride in Joshua; he was exceptional in so many ways. She beamed gratefully at her son. But it was Sterling who had crossed to him and, after shaking Joshua’s hand, pulled him into a tight hug.

  “Good job. I’m proud of you,” he said, his eyes glowing with admiration.

  Greer thought her heart would burst. She could see how much it meant to Joshua to have this strong, capable man think so highly of him. He had lost his father when he was eight, and though Greer’s business partner had filled that place as best he could, it meant so much to her to have the man she had brought into her life and her son caring for each other. Filled with pride as thick and foamy as the crown of a double latte, she joined the Caseys at the table and asked, “Do they know how the fire started?”

  Larry exchanged a tired look with his wife and then said, “No. We’ve had small fires nearby before, but they started near the road—some idiot tossing a cigarette out the window. They think this one started a long ways from the road, which means . . .” His voice trailed off and he sighed deeply.

  “Arson,” Sterling finished for him. His strong, dark hands had balled to fists on the table in front of him. “What would possess someone to do something like that?”

  “It’s hard to fathom,” Larry said grimly.

  Watching the faces of this elderly couple and knowing what it would have meant for them to lose their home, their memories, their security, Greer went beyond unfathomable to wondering what kind of evil had to be in a person’s heart for them to want to harm someone they didn’t even know, to destroy at random. A tide of hot, bitter bile rose up in her.

  Outside, a forest service helicopter passed only a couple hundred feet above them. The aircraft pounded the night with its thrumming and rattled the glass in the windows of the house, violently reminding them of the threat that, though dispelled for the moment, would remain until the first true, forgiving rainfall.

  Chapter 8

  “Ooph,” Jenny stopped and placed a hand against her tummy as she used the other hand to agitate the metal pitcher up and down under the steamer, turning the cold milk into a sensual froth.

  “Baby says, ‘Hi’?” Leah asked as she leaned against the counter of Jenny’s coffee shop waiting for her second double latte of the morning, and it wasn’t even seven.

  “More like ‘Hey!’ ” Jenny shouted so loudly that Leah jumped back slightly and all the other customers in the shop turned from their papers and computers to see why. Jenny just waved cheerfully and called out, “Sorry,” to the assembled observers.

  Leah laughed and broke off a tiny portion of the muffin waiting for her on the counter. She had just placed it neatly on her tongue, so as not to disturb the carefully applied lipstick, when the bells on the door chimed. She turned automatically at the sound, and what she saw made her catch her breath, resulting in sucking an errant crumb down her windpipe.

  Walking through the door was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. He was tall and dark, and his chiseled jaw had a day’s worth of stubble that lent him the romance of a cowboy back from rounding up stallions on the range. His eyes were blue, his stride long and confident. And if all that weren’t enough, he was dressed in the unmistakable uniform of a fireman. Leah, choking on the pastry, was unable to swallow or look away as this young Sam Shepard walked right out of her personal fantasies and into her personal space, so that she found herself staring and incapable of answering when he reached the counter and said in a deep, sonorous, playful voice, “Good morning.”

  Suddenly aware that she was also in this movie, Leah struggled to clear her throat and find her voice simultaneously. The result was that she croaked out a “Good morning,” swallowed more crumbs the wrong way, and went into a fit of coughing.

  The apparition reached out and thumped her firmly on the back. “You all right?” he asked, holding her forearm firmly with his other hand, as though securing her in case she fainted.

  Looking up into almost royal blue eyes through the mist of her own tears, Leah thought that she just might swoon. Maybe it would be a good move. Rescue me, she thought dreamily, imagining those strong arms lifting her up and holding her tight against that broad chest. The next thought she had was far more severe, a loud voice screaming in her head, Don’t let him touch you!

  “Uh, I’m fine. Thank you,” she said as soon as she could speak. She pulled her arm away and stepped back, placing an invisible barrier between her and the devastatingly handsome fireman. Her face hot with embarrassment and discomfort, she turned to take her latte from Jenny only to find that Jenny was standing limply, a dreamy expression on her face, looking up at the fireman.

  “Can I get you something?” Jenny asked. “Anything?”

  Either the man was oblivious to the effect he had on women, or he was so used to it that it didn’t affect him. Or maybe it was Leah’s choking and Jenny’s advanced pregnancy that disguised their overt admiration. He scanned the blackboard behind her. “Uh, let’s see. How about a double latte, with a shot of vanilla, and cinnamon toast.”

  “Coming up.” Jenny flashed a look at Leah that clearly said, “Hello! Talk to him!” before she turned to fill the order.

  But Leah could think of nothing to say, so she just stood lamely by, wondering if she should chance another bite of her muffin as an excuse for her muteness.

  Jenny shot her another impatient look and then filled in for her frozen friend. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new in the neighborhood?”

  “Kind of. I was called in on the brush fire yesterday afternoon. We’ve been working all night. I’m the relief pilot.”

  “Oh, you fly?” Jenny said in a singsong voice, as though it needed only this for him to achieve perfection. “Planes?”

  “Yeah, but mostly helicopters. We spent last night doing drops on flare-ups.”

  “Flare-ups,” Jenny repeated, and if she hadn’t been so very pregnant, it would have sounded obscene. She set his coffee on the counter and extended a hand. “I’m Jenny Sanchez.”

  He shook it. “Weston Oakmont. Nice to meet you.” “And this is my friend,” said Jenny pointedly, “Leah Falconer.”

  “Hi,” said Leah, feeling stunted. She was furious at herself for allowing this irrational fear to get the best of her, but it had rendered her incapable of fluid movement or speech. It was as though she were disabled.

  Weston turned his stunning face to her again, and Leah wondered if it was only her fevered imagination or if he really looked interested. “Leah.” He nodded and kept his eyes on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Leah’s heart fluttered with irrational panic, and she looked to Jenny for backup, thinking, What is wrong with me?

  Far from supportive, Jenny looked as though she would like to kill her. “So,” Jenny said pointedly to Weston, “will you be around for long?”

  “Oh yeah. Probably most of the fire season.” His eyes flicked to Leah again. “They put us up at the ranger station. We do two-week shifts.”

  The sound of air brakes hissing loudly outside pulled all their attention to the windows. A big water truck had pulled up at the curb, and emerging from the cab was a tall, thin man in spotl
ess, ironed jeans and a neatly pressed plaid shirt. He was older, his face creased and lined by upwards of sixty years. His angular jaw worked as he took a last deliberate draw on the butt of a cigarette; then he put it out carefully in the gutter before striding across the parking lot and into the coffee shop.

  “Morning.” He nodded to Weston and the ladies.

  “Good morning.” Jenny took his order—plain coffee, largest she had—and turned to fill it.

  Weston seemed to recognize the newcomer. “They cut you loose?” he asked.

  “Hell no.” The older man’s voice was gruff and hesitant, and his eyes darted around as he responded, as though uncomfortable with human connection. “I’m taking another load up Oak Springs. County had me sitting around all night before they used the first load.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about waiting around for County to make a decision. If one of those administrators’ hair caught on fire while they were standing next to a pool, they’d have to get three verbal approvals before they would jump in,” commiserated Weston. “I’m Weston,” he introduced himself.

  The driver’s eyes twitched around the room, flickering briefly over Weston’s as he nodded curtly and said, “Sheldon Tucker.”

  “Maybe you’ll be able catch some sleep later today.”

  The newcomer snorted. “Not likely in this weather. I got about ten houses with wells drying up. If I don’t take ’em water, they’ll be awful thirsty. No”—he smiled grimly and his eyes swept over Weston’s face in passing again and landed on the safety of the bakery selection—“I might get some sleep late tonight, but not before then.”

  Weston smiled at the ladies as he took his change from Jenny. “And miles to go before I sleep,” he quoted.

  “That’s my favorite Robert Frost,” Leah managed to whisper barely audibly, showing her first sign of intelligent life, but Weston had already looked away.

  “Here you are,” said Jenny, handing the water-truck driver a large, steaming to-go cup and taking his money. “We sure are glad you’re both out there.” Her next comment was directed to both men as well, but she fixed her gaze on Weston. “Come in anytime you like,” Jenny said warmly. She looked pointedly at Leah and stressed the next word. “We are always around.”