Сидни Шелдон – Tell Me Your Dreams (страница 10)
She went out into the corridor. It was empty. She took the elevator down to the seedy-looking lobby and walked over to the checkout desk, where she handed the elderly cashier her credit card.
“Leavin’ us already?” He leered. “Well, you had a good time, huh?”
Ashley stared at him, wondering what he meant and afraid to find out. She was tempted to ask him when Dennis Tibbie had checked out, but she decided it was better not to bring it up.
The cashier was putting her credit card through a machine. He frowned and put it through again. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. This card won’t go through. You’ve exceeded your limit.”
Ashley’s mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible! There’s some mistake!”
The clerk shrugged. “Do you have another credit card?”
“No. I—I don’t. Will you take a personal check?”
He was eyeing her outfit disapprovingly. “I guess so, if you have some ID.”
“I need to make a telephone call …”
“Telephone booth in the corner.”
“San Francisco Memorial Hospital …”
“Dr. Steven Patterson.”
“One moment, please …”
“Dr. Patterson’s office.”
“Sarah? This is Ashley. I need to speak to my father.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Patterson. He’s in the operating room and—”
Ashley’s grip tightened on the telephone. “Do you know how long he’ll be there?”
“It’s hard to say. I know he has another surgery scheduled after—”
Ashley found herself fighting hysteria. “I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Can you get word to him, please? As soon as he gets a chance, have him call me.” She looked at the telephone number in the booth and gave it to her father’s receptionist. “I’ll wait here until he calls.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him.”
She sat in the lobby for almost an hour, willing the telephone to ring. People passing by stared at her or ogled her, and she felt naked in the tawdry outfit she was wearing. When the phone finally rang, it startled her.
She hurried back into the phone booth. “Hello …”
“Ashley?” It was her father’s voice.
“Oh, Father, I—”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m in Chicago and—”
“What are you doing in Chicago?”
“I can’t go into it now. I need an airline ticket to San Jose. I don’t have any money with me. Can you help me?”
“Of course. Hold on.” Three minutes later, her father came back on the line. “There’s an American Airlines plane leaving O’Hare at ten-forty A.M., Flight 407. There will be a ticket waiting for you at the check-in counter. I’ll pick you up at the airport in San Jose and—”
“No!” She could not let him see her like this. “I’ll—I’ll go to my apartment to change.”
“All right. I’ll come down and meet you for dinner. You can tell me all about it then.”
“Thank you, Father. Thank you.”
On the plane going home, Ashley thought about the unforgivable thing Dennis Tibbie had done to her.
When Ashley got back to her apartment, she felt as though she had returned to a sanctuary. She could not wait to get out of the tacky outfit she was wearing. She stripped it off as quickly as she could. She felt as though she needed another shower before she met her father. She started to walk over to her closet and stopped. In front of her, on the dressing table, was a burned cigarette butt.
They were seated at a corner table in a restaurant at The Oaks. Ashley’s father was studying her, concerned. “What were you doing in Chicago?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “You don’t know?”
Ashley hesitated, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him what had happened. Perhaps he could give her some advice.
She said carefully, “Dennis Tibbie asked me up to his apartment to help him with a problem …”
“Dennis Tibbie? That
Ashley knew instantly that she had made a mistake. Her father had always overreacted to any problems she had. Especially when it involved a man.
“It’s not important,” Ashley said.
“I want to hear it.”
Ashley sat still for a moment, filled with a sense of foreboding. “Well, I had a drink at Dennis’s apartment and …”
As she talked, she watched her father’s face grow grim. There was a look in his eyes that frightened her. She tried to cut the story short.
“No,” her father insisted. “I want to hear it all …”
Ashley lay in bed that night, too drained to sleep, her thoughts chaotic.
People had tried to warn her that Dennis was obsessed with her, but she had ignored them. Now, looking back on it, she could see all the signs: Dennis had hated to see anyone else talking to her; he was constantly begging her for dates; he was always eavesdropping …
At 8:30 in the morning, as Ashley was getting ready to leave for work, the telephone rang. She picked it up. “Hello.”
“Ashley, it’s Shane. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“It’s on television. They just found Dennis Tibbie’s body.”
For an instant the earth seemed to shift. “Oh, my God! What happened?”
“According to the sheriff’s office, somebody stabbed him to death and then castrated him.”
DEPUTY Sam Blake had earned his position in the Cupertino Sheriff’s Office the hard way: He had married the sheriff’s sister, Serena Dowling, a virago with a tongue sharp enough to fell the forests of Oregon. Sam Blake was the only man Serena had ever met who was able to handle her. He was a short, gentle, mild-mannered person with the patience of a saint. No matter how outrageous Serena’s behavior, he would wait until she had calmed down and then have a quiet talk with her.
Blake had joined the sheriff’s department because Sheriff Matt Dowling was his best friend. They had gone to school together and grown up together. Blake enjoyed police work and was exceedingly good at it. He had a keen, inquiring intelligence and a stubborn tenacity. The combination made him the best detective on the force.
Earlier that morning, Sam Blake and Sheriff Dowling were having coffee together.
Sheriff Dowling said, “I hear my sister gave you a bad time last night. We got half a dozen calls from the neighbors complaining about the noise. Serena’s a champion screamer, all right.”
Sam shrugged. “I finally got her calmed down, Matt.”
“Thank God she’s not living with me anymore, Sam. I don’t know what gets into her. Her temper tantrums—”
Their conversation was interrupted. “Sheriff, we just got a 911. There’s been a murder over on Sunnyvale Avenue.”
Sheriff Dowling looked at Sam Blake.