“The way I see it, you’ve always been pretty independent.”
“No,” she said. “Just alone. And now I’m going up there. Please don’t try to stop me, Dr. Delaware. What’s the worst he can do? Try to run me down in his wheelchair? Sic his bimbo on me?”
“Lucy—”
“And what are you doing here?” She smiled. “You were going up yourself, weren’t you?”
“Lucy, these people are dangerous—”
“Who are they? What are their names?”
“The main guy is probably a film producer named Curtis App.” I described the way he’d looked twenty-one years ago.
“That doesn’t sound familiar,” she said, “so maybe he was the one with his back to me . . . but who was the one with the mustache?”
“There are at least two possibilities. Trafficant or another writer named Denton Mellors. Big light-skinned black man. He had a mustache, though it was skimpy, like Trafficant’s, and blond. He was one of those murdered, possibly because he knew what had happened to Karen.”
“No,” she said. “The man I saw was definitely white. And the mustache was thick and dark.”
“Your dream may be accurate in some respects but not in others.”
She turned and opened her car door.
I held her wrist. “I met with App yesterday, gave him a phony story about doing a biography of Lowell. He may find out I was lying and get nervous. He or his henchmen could be up there right now.”
“No, they’re not. No one’s gone in or out of the place all day. I’ve been watching the entry from before daybreak.”
“You’ve been staking the place out?”
“Not intentionally. I was sitting there, building up my courage. I came down here to get some coffee and use the ladies’ room. I was just about to head back.”
“How can you be sure no one spotted you?”
“No one did, believe me. No one even came close. I was the one doing the watching.”
“You sat from daybreak till now?”
“I know you think I’m being stupid, but I need to stand up to him and get him out of my life once and for all.”
“I understand that, but this just isn’t the time.”
“It has to be. I’m sorry. You’re a wonderful man. I trust you more than anyone—you and Milo. But this is something that’s been building up my whole life. I can’t put it off any longer.”
“Just a little while longer, Lucy.”
“Till when? You’ve got no evidence on Karen’s death. The police will never have a case.”
“Till we know it’s safe.”
“It’s safe now. There’s no one up there. Besides, my going up there won’t look funny to anyone. He wanted to meet with me. What’s the big deal about a daughter meeting her father?”
“Lucy, please.”
She patted my shoulder. “The patient doing things for herself. That’s therapeutic progress, right?”
“My only therapeutic goal, right now, is to keep you safe.”
“I’ll be fine. The prodigal daughter returned. Maybe I can’t solve any crimes, but I can try for personal justice.”
“What kind of justice?” My voice was sharp.
She stared at me and laughed. “No, no, I’m not going to play Dirty Harriet—search me for weapons if you like. I just need to see him. To show myself I don’t need him.”
She got into the Colt. “Maybe I’m making a mistake, but at least it’ll be mine.”
The car started. “I have to do it now,” she said. “I may never have the guts again.”
She pulled out of the lot.
I waited until she was out of sight. Then I followed her.
CHAPTER
42
She drove slowly, and I had to hang back. When I reached the honeysuckle at the mouth of Sanctum’s entry road, she was nowhere in sight. I began the upward crawl. A speed-walker could have beaten me to the double gates. Lucy had left them open. The second pair of gates was unlatched, too.
A few more bumps up the shaded path, then the trees parted and I saw the big lodge house, brown as the trunks of the bristlecone pines that nestled it. The Colt was parked nose out, as far as possible from Lowell’s Jeep and Mercedes.