“Like?” she asked, opening her drink.

“I have to ace a whole bunch of classes, for one thing. I’m not going to be getting a football scholarship.”

“Hmm. So, where do you think you’re going to college?”

“Harvard.”

“Whoa. That’s gonna be expensive.”

“There are whole websites and blogs dedicated to tips on how to get in and pay for it. You could fill a phone book with the scholarships and grants available. Not to mention loans.”

“Isn’t there anything closer?”

“There are lots of good universities that are closer, but I want to go to the east coast. There’s a lot out there I haven’t experienced—museums, libraries, galleries, theater, observatories. Not only does Harvard have a lot to offer but the whole area is a cultural mecca. Not to mention—I just want to spend some time in New York City. And D.C. I’ve never seen the monuments. And the National Air and Space Museum. I guess you already know—I like space and numbers.”

She was mesmerized. “You are going to be Bill Gates....”

He chuckled. “Bill Gates is taken. I’ll just be me.”

“Would you drop out of college?” she asked, thinking of Gates.

“If I had ideas that were bigger than what I could get in college, I might. That hasn’t happened yet. And I don’t see it happening soon. I’m more excited about the classes I’ll get to take than the prospect of getting out of school and making money. I have a long way to go.”

“You don’t have as far as everyone else,” she pointed out. “Show me the constellations again,” she said, leaning back and looking up.

He leaned back. “See the Big Dipper? Ursa Major. And right across from that is Cassiopeia—the Lady in the Chair. See it? Shaped like a W. And see the North star? The last star in the handle of the Little Dipper.” And then two burning stars shot across the sky. “Whoa,” he said. “Nice.”

“Make a wish,” she said.

“Don’t I get two?” he asked. “There are going to be more. It’s the perfect night for it.”

She laid back on the porch, her legs hanging down the stairs. “I love summer nights in Thunder Point. Tell me what you want to see in Boston, in New York.”

“Everything—revolutionary landmarks all over New England. And there’s the Museum of Fine Arts, the biggest art museum on the east coast. The Freedom Trail. Fenway and Boston Harbor.”

“Fenway?” she asked with a yawn. “So you are a baseball fan?”

“You don’t grow up a Downy without being constantly immersed in sports. I’m not as obsessive about spectator sports as everyone else, but I enjoy them. I’ve never been very athletic, but I like to sail. I have a friend who has a small sloop and we’ve taken it out on the ocean when the weather is decent. I like biking, which is probably a good thing since there’s no way I’ll have a car in college. In fact, I wonder if I can get a messenger job—that could be fun, biking through traffic, not that a good old Oregon boy knows much about real traffic. There’s a great observatory at Boston University. They have nights open to the public and seminars. That’s Coit Observatory. Harvard has a great observatory, too—and the Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics. Did you know it was founded in the eighteen hundreds?”

A soft snore answered him.

He chuckled and laid back, watching the sky. “Big surprise, I put you to sleep. Don’t feel bad. It happens all the time. And I didn’t even get to New York or D.C. yet. My mother says you should never ask me a question. If you visited me at Harvard, there are about a million things I could show you. We’d take the train to D.C. and spend a whole day on the mall, go to all the museums and monuments, check out the Naval Observatory, spend a day in Georgetown...”

Undeterred by her sleeping, Frank just kept talking, though softly. He knew he missed a lot of meteors because he had turned his head and was looking at her. She slept with her lips parted just slightly and her rusty brown lashes, so thick, fanned over her high cheekbones and he wondered why she bothered with makeup at all. Her lips were peachy and full, her skin so smooth and ivory. She was so much more beautiful than Selena it just made him laugh inside—Selena was going to be the emotional death of his older brother. But then that was Downy, so egocentric, thinking with his dick. With Downy he was either watching sports, playing sports or angling a way to get laid. It was a miracle he got into State, he could barely maintain a B average and that was taking classes that didn’t require much study.

Ashley, when she was only a sophomore, had helped Downy with his homework. Sure, she had called Frank a few times to ask him questions for her math assignments, but he was sure she had no idea how smart she was.

He wanted to touch her, but if she caught him it would send the wrong message. “If you wanted to, you could make it to an Ivy League school,” he whispered. “You could do anything. Be anything.”

He just looked at her for a while, letting about twenty minutes of silence pass. Then he gave her arm a soft jostle. “Ashley?”

She opened her eyes. “Did I fall asleep?”

He smiled and nodded. “Were you dreaming of some geek going on and on about observatories and museums and libraries?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t realize I was so tired.”

“Why don’t you go to bed,” he said. “I’m headed for the beach. Just for an hour or so.”

She yawned deeply. “Want me to go with you? So you’re not alone?”

He smiled at her. “No. I don’t want to have to drag you home. Go to bed.”

“I think I will,” she said. “Thanks for coming over, Frank.” She rose, stretched, gave him a wave and went inside.

* * *

Ashley went to her bedroom, slipped into the boxers and T-shirt she slept in, put her earbuds back in and crawled into bed. You could do anything. Be anything.

No one had said that to her before. Well, her mother had, but mothers don’t really count—they have to say that to their kid.

She hadn’t been asleep the whole time. She had nodded off for a minute, but when she heard Frank talking about the train to D.C. and all the museums and monuments, she just listened to his comforting voice, eyes closed. She had never appreciated him before—he was more than just smart and good-looking, he was kind and gentle and fearless. Somewhere along the line he had developed a strong, beautiful body without being a jock, without seeming to be aware of it. Yes, she was discovering there was a lot more to Frank Downy than met the eye.

Fifteen

It had been three weeks since Cee Jay had visited her kids at the meeting that had ended so unpleasantly. It had been three weeks since Mac had hired a detective to get more information about what her life had been like over the past ten years in the hopes of getting a better grasp on what she might be after now. He’d called the detective a few times and had been reassured they were still in the data-gathering process.

It had been hard to be patient. He kept waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Finally a FedEx package was delivered to his Thunder Point office. It was filled with information, call logs from the detective’s office, a few pictures, some of the same public records Mac had accessed—records of marriage and divorce—and a bill. Seventeen hundred and eighty-seven dollars.

He gulped.

Then he sifted through the material. And just when he thought he couldn’t be surprised by anything, he was blown away. But there was one important thing missing. He called the detective’s cell phone. “I looked through all your material and sadly, it all makes sense. But where is she?”

“Is there a casino within two hundred miles?” the detective replied.

“What makes you think she’s still in the area?”

“Both women—Cee Jay and Maddy Crofts—came from the area and she’s not turning up anywhere else. She used a credit card in North Bend a week ago.”

“There’s a casino there,” Mac said.

“Want a wager?” the P.I. asked, laughter in his voice.

Mac wasn’t laughing. “I’ll pass. What does she want with me? Or the kids? We don’t have anything.”

“I can’t answer that, buddy. I can only tell you where she’s been and what she’s done. Good luck.”

So, was it all about gambling? Mac had considered many possibilities but never that one. How that could possibly involve him was a mystery. But, he’d have to know. He called the casino hotel in North Bend and asked for Cee Jay or Cecilia McCain and was told there was no one there by that name. He asked for Cecelia Raines and again came up empty. On to Madeline Crofts—no, again. But he struck oil with Antoinette LeClair, the fictional attorney.

“Let me talk to Cee Jay,” he said when she answered the phone.

“Who’s calling please,” she replied.

“Coos County Sheriff’s Department,” he said.

And then he heard her say “Cee Jay, it’s your husband.”

“What do you want?” she asked impatiently when she came to the phone.

“I think we should talk, Cee Jay.”

“And I think I’m all talked out.”

“We should meet. Or my next call could be to the Los Angeles County District Attorney.”

“I haven’t broken any laws!” she shot back.

“Oh, yeah, you have. And even if he doesn’t want to prosecute, at the very least he’ll sign out a warrant and let poor Mr. Raines know he’s not obligated to that alimony. So, would you like me to come to the hotel?”

Silence answered him. At long last she said, “I’ll be in the hotel restaurant.”

“I’ll be there in less than an hour. And don’t bring your attorney—no one’s filming Law and Order episodes today.” And he hung up.

He called one of the deputies who worked for him and asked him to cover the town. Then he texted Lou—he said he had to drive up to North Bend on business and asked her to cover the kids if he was tied up. And then he drove and was glad it took a while; he had to think.

In police work, he always had a strategy, a method of approaching a situation or suspect. A lot of his strategy was following policy, but some was pure instinct. But he knew so little about gambling and less about his ex-wife. He had three images of her—the young girl he’d once loved, the pretty young woman who’d left them so coldly and the beautiful and sophisticated woman who turned up a few weeks ago. He wasn’t sure who she really was. And while he could assume her appearance in Thunder Point had something to do with money, probably with a debt, he wasn’t sure of anything else.

As for gambling, he’d been to a few casinos. He’d even taken his Aunt Lou. Lou liked the nickel slots because she could play for hours, get mesmerized by the rolling cherries and other fruits, and do it on five bucks. He liked blackjack, but he never lasted long. He thought he had an exceptional memory and tried to remember card play to get to twenty-one, but the house beat him every time. But Cee Jay had obviously gone through millions in a few years. She wasn’t doing that at the nickel slots or two-buck blackjack table.

He drove through the parking lot surrounding the hotel casino, passing down each lane slowly. Twice. Her girlfriend, the fraudulent attorney, must have gone somewhere—there was no sight of the fancy car.

When he walked into the hotel, people reacted. They stiffened, stared, watched. Dare he even hope Cee Jay would be intimidated by the uniform? She hadn’t been the last time, when they met at Denny’s. He went to the restaurant and spoke to the hostess. “I’m meeting a woman here, early thirties, dark hair, very blue eyes....”

The hostess smiled and sent a graceful arm and questioning glance into the sparsely populated dining room.