Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary

“Of course not.”

“I think I got an A and three Bs.”

“That’s terrific!”

“Aren’t you cheerful.”

Decker exhaled slowly. “When are you coming in to L.A., Cindy?”

“Daddy?”

“What?”

“Are you mad at me for not telling you about the summer?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not mad at all.”

“Is it okay?”

“Cindy, it’s more than okay. I’m looking forward to it. We’ll have a great time together if I can ever get your butt in the saddle.”

She said nothing, but Decker could picture her smiling with moist eyes. Her voice was little when she returned to the line. “It’s okay with Rina? I don’t want to impose—”

“Cynthia, you’re my daughter. You are never an imposition except when you get cranky and even then you’re not an imposition, just a pain in the butt. You’ve been very cranky lately. What’s bothering you? Is it Rina being pregnant? Is it me having another baby? Are you jealous?”

There was a long pause.

“Not consciously.”

Decker smiled. What a college-kid answer. “Baby, I love you. I love you, love you, love you. You are my kid, you will always be my kid even when you’re in your seventies, I’m in my nineties. It’s a sentence of life without parole, Cynthia. You’re stuck with me.”

He heard a chuckle over the line. That made him smile again. “So just tell me when and where and I’ll pick you up. Your mother already dropped off your car, so you should be all set.”

“I won’t get in your way—”

“Cindy, you’ve never gotten in my way.”

“I can be a help to Rina.”

Decker sighed. “For God’s sake, princess, you’re becoming your old man—too darn serious. Even I wasn’t this bad at nineteen. Will you do me a favor? Will you try to have fun this summer?”

She laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Try hard, Cindy.”

She laughed. “I’ll call you after I’ve scheduled my flight out, Daddy. You know there’s something wrong with your phone—”

“Damn!” Decker gently hit his head with his fist. “I’m working on a bizarre case and we’ve changed our number. I forgot to tell you.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Cindy. Mea culpa, twenty lashes with a wet noodle, ashes and sackcloth.”

“Oh, Daddy!”

He gave her the new number. “I love you, princess.”

“I love you, too … I know I’ve been testy. And I know you’ve been trying really hard. It’s okay. You’re really a good guy.”

“’Preciate the compliment, beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Bye.”

She cut the line.

Decker hung up the phone, feeling on top of the world. A good talk will do that to you. That’s all she needed—a good talk, words of support from Daddy. Nothing like a father’s love to make you feel good.

Then he thought: Maybe she felt better because she’d made it through her first year of college. Maybe it had nothing to do with their conversation and had a lot to do with finals being over and an A and three Bs at Columbia.

With teenagers you never could tell.

He shrugged, then laughed to himself. Of course it was their talk that had eased Cindy’s mind. His understanding words, his paternal love. The hell with being a shrink. What was that famous motto? When it comes to kids, take all of the credit, none of the blame. That sounded about right to him.

It was all Ness could do to refrain from punching her lights out. Instead, he kept himself hidden, waiting until Davida opened the door to her bungalow. Then he moved in, pushing her inside with his body and shutting the door behind both of them. He latched the chain, then shoved her against the wall. Davida’s expression changed from frightened to furious, then back to frightened.

“Where have you been?” Ness whispered.

Davida cast her eyes down at her pumps, then slowly inched them back to his face.

“I bought a new car, Michael. A black BMW convertible with a new Alpine stereo, DAT tape deck and CD.” Her lips formed a wide smile. “I drove it off the lot. Would you like to take a ride?”

Ness closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them. “Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?”

“Me?” Davida laughed. “Why, Michael, I haven’t done—”

“Remember that so-called little assignment you gave me yesterday, Davie?” He eased his grip on the old woman and stroked her arms, lowering his voice. “Kingston’s dead.”

Davida brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear!” She pushed Ness away and sat on her divan. “Oh, dear, are you sure?”

“Yes, Davida, I’m sure.”

Slowly, her eyes moistened. “I thought it might be bad, but I had no … I thought it was …” She choked out, “My poor baby …”

Ness went to the bar and poured himself a Scotch. Davida wiped her cheeks, only to have them wetted again by a fresh flow of tears. Ness sat down next to her. After downing half the shot, he held the tumbler to her lips.

“Drink.”

She took the glass and sipped. “What happened?”