Page 142 of Sunset Beach
“Uh, well, not really,” Jonah admitted.
“Give me the damn thing,” Drue said impatiently, holding out her hand. “I guess you’ve forgotten that you used to drag me out to practice at the pistol range for hours on end that last summer.”
“That’s right,” Brice said. “Father-daughter bonding time. I had forgotten. So, you remember how to use it?”
Without a word, she broke down the gun to show him her competency.
“I hated every minute of that time, and at the time, I hated you too. I still hate guns,” she said. “But I guess maybe I’ve gotten used to you.”
He nodded. “Okay, kiddo. Same here. Lock all your doors, okay? And letme know the minute you hear from Hernandez that they have Ben in custody.”
Jonah scrambled out of the backseat and opened the passenger door for Drue. He leaned inside. “Hey, Brice. I’m no good with a gun, but if Ben shows up here again? He’s going down.”
57
August 20, 1976
“Sit there,” Sherri said, pointing to a chair in the living room. “And don’t you move. You hear?”
Colleen did as she was told, a nice girl, sitting with her shackled hands folded in her lap, her feet crossed at the ankles.
The heat in the room was oppressive. She could already feel the sweat pooling between her shoulders, running down her neck.
Sherri went into the kitchen. Her guest heard the sound of an ice tray cracking, of cubes tinkling into a glass. Liquid poured.
A minute later, her captor was back, holding a tumbler of amber liquid in her right hand and a fifth of Jack Daniel’s in her right. Colleen’s hopes soared and then died when she saw the revolver tucked into the waistband of Sherri’s jeans.
With nothing better to do, Colleen appraised the room. There was a bamboo-looking sofa, hideous oversize lamps with gold-fringed shades and ugly harvest-gold carpet. The drapes were floral swagged satin. It was an old person’s room. Brice didn’t like talking about his home life, but he had mentioned, once, that the house belonged to his wife’s parents.
Sherri went to the sliding-glass doors, pulled the drapes apart and opened the doors to the deck beyond. A strong gust of wind billowed the drapes and the rain pounded against the wooden deck.
“Where’s your husband tonight?” Colleen asked, being careful not to use his name.
Sherri took a long slug of whiskey. “None of your business.” And then she smirked. “I’ll tell you where he isn’t. And that’s the Dreamland motel with some cheap whore.”
“So what’s the plan, Sherri?” Colleen asked. “You gonna keep me here, handcuffed, until he gets home?”
Sherri gulped some more whiskey. “By the time he gets home, it’ll all be over. You, me, all of it. And he can clean up the goddamn mess he made of our life.”
A cold shiver traveled down Colleen’s spine. Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t panic.
“You know,” she said, her tone conversational, “it doesn’t have to end like this. You could let me go. Take my money, leave his ass. I mean, he cheated on you, right? You’re the injured party. Do what I did. Take the money and run.”
Sherri ignored Colleen’s advice. “We had a good marriage. Not great. But it worked. Until you came along and ruined everything.”
Colleen’s lip curled in contempt. “Keep telling yourself that, Sherri. If it was so good, how come he happily hopped in bed with me the first chance he got?”
“You mean that night back before Christmas?”
Colleen didn’t bother to try to hide her surprise. “You knew?”
“I always knew when he was screwing around. He was like a little boy, thought he had to be naughty to get my attention. I kicked him out that night, but it was Christmas, you know? And like he always did, he promised it was over, and like I always did, I believed him.”
Sherri emptied her glass and poured herself another healthy tot.
Colleen crossed and recrossed her ankles, carefully working her feet loose in the cumbersome platform sandals.
“You know, it’s really kind of rude of you to drink in front of me and not offer me one. If you’re gonna kill me anyway, the least you could do is fix me a drink.”
