"You sound like your mother," Gabe said.
"Retire, Dad. You've earned it."
"Too many bills."
"Sell the house," Orlando said, picking up his day-pack.
"I'm not going to stay in Las Vegas after I graduate from college anyway."
"You've been saying that for the last year. Why is living in your hometown so bad? You never used to feel this way before."
"I just want to get out and see the world, okay?"
"Okay, but the house stays in the family. You can have it when you get sick of seeing the world and move back home."
"I'm not coming back."
"That's what you say now," Gabe said.
"You may feel differently later on."
"I don't think so." Orlando dropped his crumbled paper towel in the empty pizza box.
"I've got to go study."
"You feeling all right, champ?"
"Just dred."
Gabe nodded toward the kitchen door.
"Go hit the books. I've got my own homework to do."
Orlando left and Gabe worked until his eyes gave out and his mind was fuzzy. He left his paperwork on the kitchen table and climbed the stairs with the ornate carved banister. At the end of the long hallway he could see light shining under the door to Orlando's room.
Except for Orlando's possessions, Theresa had taken most of the furniture when she'd moved out. Gabe had been replacing it a piece at a time, as he could afford to. He had a television and a couch in the downstairs front room. But the dining room was empty, as was the library, except for the collection of his grandfather's old books. His bedroom contained one double bed, a reading lamp clipped to the headboard, and a dresser he'd picked up at a garage sale.
He needed to buy a rug or a picture to hang on the wall.
In the bathroom he brushed his teeth, stripped down to his underwear, and dumped his clothes in the laundry hamper. The alarm dock was on the floor near his bed, next to the telephone. He set it, got under the covers, and was asleep within minutes.
After dinner, Kerney and Sara went back to his apartment. Kerney got the fireplace going, exiled Shoe to the patio, lit some candles, put a Brahms piano concerto on the stereo, and poured some brandy.
They never made it to the bedroom.
"Chilly?" Kerney asked later.
"Just a bit."
He padded into the bedroom. Lean with a small butt, a slim waist, square shoulders, and a nice chest, Kerney looked very sexy naked.
Their clothes were scattered on the furniture and the floor. They'd certainly been in a hurry; the brandy hadn't been touched.
He came out of the bedroom holding a robe and a heavy flannel shirt.
"Your choice."
Sara took the shirt, slipped it on, picked up her brandy glass, and stretched out on the carpet in front of the fireplace. She felt delightfully ravished and a little weak in the knees.
Kerney joined her on the carpet.
"Take me camping, Kerney," she said, reaching for Kerney's hand. He had perfectly proportioned fingers.
"Are you burned out on Santa Fe already?"
"I need to wake up to the smell of pine needles and the sight of a New Mexico sunrise."
"Did you bring your gear?"
"It'sintheCherokee."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Take a guess."
Kerney nodded.
"Give me the morning to get a few things done."
"That's fine with me. Plan on being late for work."
"Again?" Kerney asked with a grin.
"Oh, yes."
Kerney arrived at his office to find a phone message from a detective at the Arcadia PD waiting for him. He called back and spoke to Det.
Sgt. George Broom.
"I wish all my assignments were this easy," Broom said.
"The address you gave us for Wanda Knox turned out to be a residential treatment center for addicted mothers. They call it a therapeutic community. It specializes in working with women and their children.
It's one of those places that's run sort of like a commune.
Kids, pets, and toys everywhere; everybody does chores and goes to group therapy. That sort of stuff."