'I think she's right about those two being lovers. What do you think?'

'I'm not convinced,' Pen said, 'but I have my suspicions.'

'If they are, it's conceivable that they did decide to eliminate your father.'

'That's pretty hard to buy.'

'People commit murder every day.'

'I know that.'

'And the people they kill, more often than not, are friends or members of the family.'

Pen nodded. 'I've done some research on the subject.'

Bodie shrugged the comforter off his shoulders and leaned forward, elbows on knees. 'I'm not saying they're guilty. The thing is, Melanie thinks they are. She might or might not be right, but there's a strong chance she'll do something about it. I say we not only keep an eye on her, we help her.'

'Help her do what?'

'Nail them,' Bodie said.

'What?'

'Only we control Melanie, we channel hera First, we convince her that the vision isn't enough. Then we offer to help investigate. I think she'll go along with that.'

'And do we investigate?'

'Just some minor-league snooping. Who knows? We might actually turn up some evidence.'

'Fat chance.'

'If we do, we take it to the police. If we turn up zilch, at least we've kept Melanie out of trouble for a while, and maybe she'll even end up convinced they had nothing to do with it.'

'One problem. I'm not supposed to know about this vision she had, and I don't imagine she'd be overjoyed to find out you snuck into my bedroom to fill me in.'

'Tell her that you're suspicious. Right now, she thinks you'd take Joyce's side.'

'Did she say that?'

Bodie nodded.

'I guess I can't blame her.'

'But if you let her know that you have doubts of your own about Joyce, I think she'll see you as an ally and confide in you.'

'It's like conspiring against her.'

'Joyce?'

'Melanie.' She sighed. 'I don't know. If we start looking for clues or whatever, we might just end up feeding her delusion.'

'If it is a delusion.'

'Yeah, if. And if she's right, I'd be as anxious as anyone to see those two get what's coming to them.'

'Tell Melanie that.'

'Maybe I'd better.'

'I think she'll be glad to know you're with her.'

'Maybe.'

Bodie stood up. 'I'd better get out of here.' He lifted the comforter and carried it to the foot of Pen's bed. 'Talk about feeding delusionsa if she woke up and found out I was over herea' He put the comforter on the bed. 'She'd never, no way, believe it was innocent.'

'I don't know how innocent it was.'

Bodie's eyes widened.

'I didn't mean that.' Again, she felt herself blush. 'I meant the way we're plotting against her.'

Bodie nodded and went to the door. He paused with a hand on the k.n.o.b, and looked back at Pen. 'The times are out of joint,' he said.

'I think that should be Melanie's line.'

He smiled. 'Goodnight, Pen.'

'Goodnight.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Melanie was not in the room.

Bodie snuggled down and shut his eyes again. The bed felt too warm and cozy to leave. Briefly, he wondered where Melanie had gone.

Then he pictured Pen in her room last night sitting cross-legged on her bed: her mussed golden hair, her blue eyes, the light sprinkle of freckles across her nose. He saw the shiny blue pajama shirt open at her throat, the way it lay smooth over the mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and how it draped her lap. The pants legs were stretched taut to her knees. Her ankles were slim and bare.

Bodie ached as he lingered on the image of her. If onlya If only what?

Maybe if she had started to cry. She hadn't been close to it, though. But if she had cried, he could've comforted her - moved to the bed and put an arm around her, and she would've turned to him. He could've held her gently as she wept. Kissed her.

G.o.d, to kiss her. Just to hold and kiss her.

Thinking about it made a hollow ache in his chest.

Don't worry, Melanie, he thought, it'll never happen.

If Whit diesa Nice thought. d.a.m.n.

But to hold her, to kiss her.

He remembered his shock of alarm when Pen had asked, last night, if he was cold. For just an instant he'd feared - and hoped - that she would ask him to come to the bed. No funny stuff, she would've said. Promise? Oh, yes.

It didn't happen.

Nothing happened.

Not quite nothing. She hadn't told him to go away. They'd sat for a long time, alone in her room, she in her pajamas and he in his robe, and they'd talked. She'd told him things, shared secrets. There had been an intimacy to it all.

Thank G.o.d for Melanie's vision. Without that for an excusea It was not an excuse, he told himself. It was his reason for going to her room.

His intentions had been entirely honorable.

But G.o.d, what if something had happened!

It didn't. It won't. Don't even think about it.

Suppose she'd said, 'Bodie, I've been lying awake thinking about you, wishing you were here with me. I love you. I can't help myself.'

With a moan, he tossed his covers aside and got out of bed. When he was dressed, he stepped into the hallway. The bathroom door was shut. He heard water running -someone about to take a bath? So he combed his hair in the bedroom, then went downstairs.

From the silence, he guessed that n.o.body else was around. Someone had been in the kitchen, though. He poured himself a mug of hot coffee.

On the center of the kitchen table was a note folded in half to make it stand like a tent. Bodie picked it up.

Hi!

I've gone to Ma.s.s and I have some errands to run. Expect me when you see me. Make yourselfs at home. Their's bacon and eggs in the fridge as well as coffee cake in the freezer. So help yourselfs.

Love, Joyce ***

Good speller, Bodie thought, and put the note down.

Gone to ma.s.s? That would mean she's Catholic. Will you be confessing today, Joyce? And what sort of sins will you be whispering in the Father's ear? Adultery? Attempted murder?

Beyond the gla.s.s door, the patio was bright with sunlight. Bodie stepped to the door. He gripped its handle. He saw Pen off to the left, reclined on a lounger and reading a paperback. She wore a blue and yellow plaid blouse and white shorts. Her legs were stretched out, long and slender, her bare feet crossed at the ankles. She had a coffee mug in one hand.

Bodie wanted to go out there and pull up a chair beside her.

What could it hurt?

He didn't know what it could hurt, but maybe she wanted time to herself and maybe Melanie would put in an appearance full of suspicion and maybe he had just d.a.m.n well not find himself alone with Pen first thing in the morning.

So he backed away from the door.

He carried his coffee mug into the living room. The Sunday Los Angeles Times was on a lamp table. He searched through it until he found the book section, then sat on the couch to read it while he drank his coffee and waited.

When his mug was empty, he returned to the kitchen. He filled it. He stepped to the door and looked out again. Pen was still on the lounger. Her knees were drawn up, and she held the book open against her thighs. Her hair glinted in the sunlight.

With a sigh, he turned away. He took his coffee back to the living room and sat down. This is crazy, he thought, and I'm a rat. She's Melanie's sister, for G.o.dsake.

I haven't done anything.

And I'd better not.

It would probably blow up in my face, anyway. Even if Pen were interested in me (a d.a.m.n big if), she's loyal to Melanie. Look what happened when that Steve character put moves on her.

Bodie found the newspaper's 'Calendar' section and began to look at the movie ads.

Then Melanie came down the stairs. She wore her tan corduroys and a gray sleeveless sweatshirt with the neck stretched out so it hung below one shoulder. Her choker was black.

'Where is everyone?' she asked as she approached him.

Bodie stood up. 'I don't know where your sister is. Joyce went to ma.s.s.'

'Ma.s.s?' She smirked.

'All squeaky clean?' he asked, and stroked the back of her head. Her thick black hair felt damp. She moved against him, and they kissed. Her hands slipped into the rear pockets of his pants. As they rubbed him, Bodie eased his own hands under her sweatshirt. Her skin felt smooth. There were no straps. He ran his hands up and down her back. Velvety. Warm. Bare. She felt wonderful and she was his and he was nuts to want Pen when he already had Melanie. He pushed a hand beneath the waistband of her cords.

'Aren't you ever not h.o.r.n.y?' she whispered against his lips.

'Not when you're around.'

She smiled slightly. She kissed him again, then eased away. 'I wonder if the b.i.t.c.h left us something to eat.'

'Bacon and eggs in the fridge, coffee cake in the freezer.'

They headed for the kitchen.

'She sure got out of here early,' Melanie said.

'Think she's avoiding us?'

'I'd avoid us, if I were her.' Melanie lifted the note off the kitchen table. 'Ma.s.s. That's rich. Wants us to think she went off to pray for Dad?'

'Maybe she did.'

'Yeah, to pray he dies.'