False Prophet

“Was Lilah raped?” Ness whispered into the phone.

“I don’t know.”

Ness took a deep breath. “Give her what she wants. I’ve got to button up this class—”

“The detective will want to talk to you.”

“So?”

“So … is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay!”

“I’m sorry, Mike, I’m just so nervous!”

Ness sighed. Little Kelley always did have a nervous tummy, always throwing up before finals. “Calm down, sis. Do some deep breathing.”

“It’s just that this job is so important to me—”

“Kell, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.”

Ness hung up, clapped his hands, jogged to the front of the room. Its mirrored wall was bisected horizontally by a ballet barre.

“Nice job, ladies. Real nice job. Now that you’ve burned off approximately two hundred and fifty calories and sweated off your weight in salts, you should immediately be thinking about what?”

A middle-aged woman in striped leotards yelled out, “Electrolytes!”

“Exactly,” Ness said. “Your electrolytes are sorely in need of rebalancing, so we have for your dining pleasure our famous potassium-rich broth and organic veggies grown in Lilah Brecht’s own garden. These comestibles are being served in the lobby from three-fifteen to three-forty-five. Be sure to partake of the feast and your body will say thank you. I’ll see you all at four for yoga.”

Wiping his face and neck, Ness waited in the rear as the women filed out. After the ladies left, he walked over to the video-camera stand, peered into the camera’s lens, and stuck out his tongue. Then he turned off the machine.

No sense worrying about fuckups when they’re out of your control.

He removed the camcorder from the stand. It was one of those tiny buggers—fitted snugly in the palm of his hand. Perfect for shooting on the sly. He’d check the tape later, see if it picked up all his body exercises, how he moved to the beat. He enjoyed watching his tapes, liked seeing his lithe body move and sweat, liked the defined muscles of his arms and legs. He knew he’d never be Schwarzenegger—he wasn’t the buffed-up type—but at least now he felt good about the way he looked. You had to look good always or it was all over with the ladies …

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a chickadoodle approaching him. Just what he needed—another sex-starved teenybopper. She was built, and not shy about showing it off. Her smile was too white to be natural.

“Hi, I’m Aurora,” she said.

“Hi.” Ness shifted his weight and folded his arms across his chest. “Have a good workout?”

“Great.”

“Good to hear, Aurora.”

“Really gets the endorphins going, ya know?”

“It can, that’s true.”

“I can feel it.”

“Good.” Ness started backing away. “Keep it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Ness looked at his watch, then at the chick. She seemed nervous, waiting for him to make his move. She was going to wait for a long time. “What’s up?”

“Umm … I wanted to know if we should be taking salt pills?”

A good fake, Ness thought. What she really wanted to know was if he was available for fucking.

“Not necessarily, Aurora,” Ness said. “Our consommé is a perfectly balanced electrolye replenisher—sodium as well as potassium.” He strolled toward the door. “That’s why it’s so important that you take your broth break. The liquid contains everything your body needs. We sell it at our health-food store. Be sure to buy some when you leave the spa. After your home workout, your salts will be depleted same as here. If you have our broth, you won’t have to worry a bit about your electrolytes.” He stopped talking when he hit the threshold. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s okay. I can see you’re in a hurry.”

“You just caught me at a bad time.” Ness flashed what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I’ll be here for yoga if you think of anything else.”

“Thanks. I’m going in for the broth right now.”

Ness waited until she was gone before he allowed the anxiety to resurface. What the hell had happened last night to bring the police out nosing around? He tossed the damp towel in the hamper and was about to lock the door. Sensing someone behind him, he turned. He knew without introduction that he had found the chick detective.

Actually, it was more like she had found him.

As he cruised the 405 Freeway south, Decker thought about the baby. It had been his idea. Not that Rina hadn’t wanted children. But she would have preferred to wait a couple of years, let everyone get to know one another as a family before adding another member. Even though he was forty-two, she was only thirty and it was maternal age that was the big factor in problem pregnancies.

Rina’s plan would have prevailed if he hadn’t been shot. It had been an odyssey that had led him from coast to coast until he found the missing kid and the psycho who abducted him. Unfortunately, the psycho had a gun. Psychos always have guns.

After the initial recovery from the gunshot wounds, Decker had been insistent that the baby schedule be pushed ahead. After all, he wasn’t a youngster and both of them had had previous fertility problems with their first spouses. What if it took a long time? What if medical intervention was needed? Why wait, only to discover a problem that could take years to fix? Rina understood his logic and agreed.

But the truth of the matter was, he’d needed this baby. After his brush with the other side, he’d hungered for something life-affirming. What better way to regain a sense of potency than to sire a baby?

He rolled up the window of the unmarked, shutting out noise as well as air, and turned on the air conditioner. A Freon-scented wind blasted his face.

Deliriously happy when Rina had told him the news, he had taken the whole squad room out for happy hour and actually gotten drunk. Not seriously plastered, but tipsy enough for Marge to have to drive him home.

Then reality had come knocking. Another body to feed and clothe and educate, stretching his paycheck that much further. Then there was Rina’s morning sickness and moodiness, and the cold shoulder given to him by his stepsons. Both had been slow to adjust to the idea of an interloper. Lately, things had been better; all those Sundays spent in the park launching model rockets definitely helped. But Sammy and Jake were still wary critters.

Fair enough. With time, he’d prove them wrong.

What hurt most of all was the reaction of his nearly adult daughter. Cindy had seemed so independent. She’d spent last summer in Europe, was away at college this year. She rarely wrote, never called. Never stayed on long when he phoned. But when they did speak, the conversation had always been friendly and upbeat. She had seemed to adjust well to his marriage to Rina. In fact, Cindy and Rina had always gotten along. Great—better than he could have hoped.

It shocked him how she had responded to the news—that awful silence. Would it have actually hurt her to tell him congratulations when she finally did open up?

Man oh man, did she know how to hit.

Don’t you think you’re rushing things, Dad?

It had been his turn to pause.