don't want to fight with you, Michael. I'm even sorry if some of what I said about Danny hurt you, although, God knows, you deserve to hear it. I don't really want to hurt you. Oddly enough, I don't really hate you anymore. I don't feel anything for you. Not anything at all."
Turning away, she left him in the sunshine, with the ice cream melting down the cone and onto his hand.
She walked back through the shopping arcade, rode the escalator up to the casino, and made her way through the noisy crowd to the front doors. One of the valet-parking attendants brought her car, and she drove down the hotel's steeply slanted exit drive.
She headed toward the Golden Pyramid, where she had an office, and where work was waiting to be done.
After she had driven only a block, she was forced to pull to the side of the road. She couldn't see where she was going, because hot tears streamed down her face. She put the car in park. Surprising herself, she sobbed loudly.
At first she wasn't sure what she was crying about. She just surrendered to the racking grief that swept through her and did not question it.
After a while she decided that she was crying for Danny. Poor, sweet Danny. He'd hardly begun to live. It wasn't fair. And she was crying for herself too, and for Michael. She was crying for all the things that might have been, and for what could never be again.
In a few minutes she got control of herself. She dried her eyes and blew her nose.
She had to stop being so gloomy. She'd had enough gloom in her life. A whole hell of a lot of gloom.
"Think positive," she said aloud. "Maybe the past wasn't so great, but the future seems pretty damn good."
She inspected her face in the rearview mirror to see how much damage the crying jag had done. She looked better than she expected. Her eyes were red, but she wouldn't pass for Dracula. She opened her purse, found her makeup, and covered the tear stains as best she could.
She pulled the Honda back into traffic and headed for the Pyramid again.
A block farther, as she waited at a red light, she realized that she still had a mystery on her hands. She was positive that Michael had not done the damage in Danny's bedroom. But then, who had done it? No one else had a key. Only a skilled burglar could have broken in without leaving a trace. And why would a first-rate burglar leave without taking anything? Why break in merely to write on Danny's chalkboard and to wreck the dead boy's things?
Weird.
When she had suspected Michael of doing the dirty work, she had been disturbed and distressed, but she hadn't been frightened. If some stranger wanted her to feel more pain over the loss of her child, however, that was definitely unsettling. That was scary because it didn't make sense. A stranger? It must be. Michael was the only person who had ever blamed her for Danny's death. Not one other relative c acquaintance had ever suggested that she was even indirectly responsible. Yet the taunting words on the chalkboard and the destruction in the bedroom seemed to be the work of someone who felt that she should be held accountable for the accident. Which meant it had to be someone she didn't even know. Why would a stranger harbor such passionate feelings about Danny's death?
The red traffic light changed.
A horn tooted behind her.
As she drove across the intersection and into the entrance drive that led to the Golden Pyramid Hotel, Tina couldn't shake the creepy feeling that she was being watched by someone who meant to harm her. She checked the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. As far as she could tell, no one was tailing her.
12
the third floor of the golden pyramid ho tel was occupied by management and clerical personnel. Here, there was no flash, no Vegas glamour, This was where the work got done. The third floor housed the machinery that supported the walls of fantasy, beyond which the tourists gamboled.
Tina's office was large, paneled in whitewashed pine,
Turning away, she left him in the sunshine, with the ice cream melting down the cone and onto his hand.
She walked back through the shopping arcade, rode the escalator up to the casino, and made her way through the noisy crowd to the front doors. One of the valet-parking attendants brought her car, and she drove down the hotel's steeply slanted exit drive.
She headed toward the Golden Pyramid, where she had an office, and where work was waiting to be done.
After she had driven only a block, she was forced to pull to the side of the road. She couldn't see where she was going, because hot tears streamed down her face. She put the car in park. Surprising herself, she sobbed loudly.
At first she wasn't sure what she was crying about. She just surrendered to the racking grief that swept through her and did not question it.
After a while she decided that she was crying for Danny. Poor, sweet Danny. He'd hardly begun to live. It wasn't fair. And she was crying for herself too, and for Michael. She was crying for all the things that might have been, and for what could never be again.
In a few minutes she got control of herself. She dried her eyes and blew her nose.
She had to stop being so gloomy. She'd had enough gloom in her life. A whole hell of a lot of gloom.
"Think positive," she said aloud. "Maybe the past wasn't so great, but the future seems pretty damn good."
She inspected her face in the rearview mirror to see how much damage the crying jag had done. She looked better than she expected. Her eyes were red, but she wouldn't pass for Dracula. She opened her purse, found her makeup, and covered the tear stains as best she could.
She pulled the Honda back into traffic and headed for the Pyramid again.
A block farther, as she waited at a red light, she realized that she still had a mystery on her hands. She was positive that Michael had not done the damage in Danny's bedroom. But then, who had done it? No one else had a key. Only a skilled burglar could have broken in without leaving a trace. And why would a first-rate burglar leave without taking anything? Why break in merely to write on Danny's chalkboard and to wreck the dead boy's things?
Weird.
When she had suspected Michael of doing the dirty work, she had been disturbed and distressed, but she hadn't been frightened. If some stranger wanted her to feel more pain over the loss of her child, however, that was definitely unsettling. That was scary because it didn't make sense. A stranger? It must be. Michael was the only person who had ever blamed her for Danny's death. Not one other relative c acquaintance had ever suggested that she was even indirectly responsible. Yet the taunting words on the chalkboard and the destruction in the bedroom seemed to be the work of someone who felt that she should be held accountable for the accident. Which meant it had to be someone she didn't even know. Why would a stranger harbor such passionate feelings about Danny's death?
The red traffic light changed.
A horn tooted behind her.
As she drove across the intersection and into the entrance drive that led to the Golden Pyramid Hotel, Tina couldn't shake the creepy feeling that she was being watched by someone who meant to harm her. She checked the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. As far as she could tell, no one was tailing her.
12
the third floor of the golden pyramid ho tel was occupied by management and clerical personnel. Here, there was no flash, no Vegas glamour, This was where the work got done. The third floor housed the machinery that supported the walls of fantasy, beyond which the tourists gamboled.
Tina's office was large, paneled in whitewashed pine,
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