The Forgotten

“It’s called foundation to hide the dark circles.”

“Ah.”

“Also, you’re not wearing your glasses.”

“I don’t need glasses!” Decker insisted. “Only with medicine bottles. Let’s not rush things.”

Rina grinned. “Did I tell you I love you this morning?”

“No, you didn’t.”

She did. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Then she handed him a paper bag. “I packed you lunch. Please remember to eat it.”

“That’s never been my problem … not eating.”

She pinched his ribs. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Below the belt, kid.”

“Stop talking that way.” Rina smiled. “We’re in a shul.”

Decker laughed and hugged her. She felt tense and tight. He said, “Don’t overdo it with all the cleaning, Rina. You’re punishing muscles that you’re not used to using.”

She broke away and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m aware of that.”

“I’m going to remember that ‘below the belt’ comment,” Decker said. “Especially tonight.”

“I sure hope so.”

Decker laughed again, then gave her a final wave and returned to his car. Before he started the engine, he tried the Goldings’ home phone number. When no one picked up, he left another message. He had almost made it to the precinct’s parking lot when impulse overtook reason. He did a safe but illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, backtracking until he hit the Goldings’ neighborhood—a ritzy area containing blocks of spacious homes on acre lots. The development had its own tennis courts, swimming pools, saunas, Jacuzzis, workout gymnasiums, and recreation rooms as well as its own private patrol. As Decker groped around for the specific address, a white-and-blue rent-a-cop slowed his cruiser to check him out. Decker flashed his badge. The private cop nodded, then parked in the middle of the street and got out. He showed Decker the route to the Golding abode.

Ernesto lived in a house that was an amorphous blob, resembling a mound of melting chocolate ice cream. It was constructed out of adobe and probably would have looked great in Santa Fe, but since it sat in a lane of traditional Tudor, colonial, and Mediterranean houses, the place looked unfinished. More than unfinished, it looked like a project that someone forgot to start. The front landscaping was an assemblage of rocks and stones, sitting in beds of sand, and drought-resistant plants, mostly varieties of cacti, but there were also ice plants for ground cover and other flowering mint-colored foliage. A couple of stunted pines framed an old, carved door—the front entrance.

Decker knocked but didn’t expect anything. To his surprise, Carter Golding answered with Jill peeking over his shoulder. Even more surprising, they acted as if they wanted to see him.