Widow's Web: A Jim Cavanaugh Saga

CHAPTER 1

Finally making her move, the black widow is seeking a new victim. Jim smiles at the thought.

Flying his private jet cross-country from his personal airstrip in Vermont to San Francisco International in California was tiring. As with cars, James Cavanaugh likes to be the one behind the wheel. Still, there is no time for jet lag, no time to waste. This is the golden opportunity, come at last. He is ready, so very ready.

Northern California suits Jim. He likes the mild weather, especially between the ocean and the bay. Conveniently nestled amid the peninsular hills of North Portola Valley, his favorite home is near, but not too close to his target. Very advantageous. Dressed in high style for a casual evening, he hops into his new Aston Martin DBS Carbon Black convertible, all part of his image, and puts the top down, one of the pleasures of the mild spring weather, clear skies with just a bit of an evening chill. Ensnaring this black widow will be a notch in his belt; one he will wear with pride.

Stalking her has been easy. She likes to be seen, and she loves spending money. Tomorrow he will make contact. As for tonight, Sundays she likes to cruise the City's hot spots for the filthy rich. He follows her, patiently waiting. He cannot rush setting things up. Tonight he is bait, simply to capture her interest.

Candy Corbin walks out the entrance of the elite historic Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill. Even with the chill in the air, she is without an evening wrap. There she is, in glittering red. Oh so sexy, baring all that cleavage. The only evidence that he took her picture is the soft click of the cellphone's camera shutter, an inscrutable method. Dressed for a magazine cover as usual. No doubt what she has been up to tonight, trawling at the Top of the Mark. There must have only been couples. I should get a room at the Mark.

He follows her into a new expensive, high-class, street-level bar nearby, keeping to himself. He murmurs, No contact yet, not tonight. I'll just let her see me hanging out alone, spending plenty of money, and then I'll leave before she can make contact.

She keeps glancing at him in the bar mirror behind the overtly flirtatious female bartender showing Jim excessive attention. Candy watches him while he sips his drink, a ginger ale on the rocks in a nondescript glass, occasionally smiling back at the bartender. Candy is trying to catch his gaze, but he deliberately looks away. Time to go. She's taking the bait.

Maintaining awareness of his surroundings to avoid getting mugged later, Jim carefully flashes his money clip her way as he calculatingly pulls out a big tip with his cash payment before he leaves the establishment without looking her way. The valet brings his pointedly flashy, vulgarly expensive, sports car to the curb. He deliberately takes a moment to lower the top. As he drives away, he checks his rear-view mirror. Candy now stands by the valet, watching. She's definitely taking the bait.

His heart beats faster with growing anticipation, anxious to play the game. Jim has waited so long for this, for her. He ponders his next step. Got to move to the Mark Hopkins tomorrow. That's about five grand a night for the Penthouse with minimal room service. That should pique her interest. Perhaps let her find me in the Top of the Mark. Then she can try to bait me.

In the Penthouse Suite of the Mark Hopkins, Jim pats himself on the back for securing the best room the hotel offers. He moves in, fixing things so it will look like he has been there for days.

Appraising himself aloud while looking in an elegantly framed full-length beveled mirror, he remarks, I look much younger than my years even with the silvery accents above my ears, and I'm loaded, a stud with no one to fight over my money when I'm gone. He starts laughing. Okay, I shouldn't have said that aloud. It's not vanity. I'm just in good shape and the last of the family line. That's very important. She'll bite.

Turning side-to-side in the mirror for a more complete assessment of his appearance, Jim silently confirms his appeal. He looks at his face, Should I go for the smooth shave? Nah, she's seen slightly stubbly already. She prefers that look now, so maybe I should stay with it. He rubs his jaw. Not too stubbly? I'll shave now but not in the morning.

Moments later, looking himself in the eye in the bathroom mirror, he says, Don't rush it, Jimmy. Take your time. Got to set the hook, buddy. Laughing, he steps into the shower. I've got to stop having these conversations with myself. Showering always clears my mind. This woman has been conning folks all her life. Got to keep my head and stay cautious.

Jim speaks softly into the great void surrounding him while he showers. Happy Birthday, Joe. This is it. It's time now. I miss you, twin brother. I hope you don't mind me pretending to be you. You had it all. A fabulous wife, great kids, big home, great job ― not that either of us ever needed to work. Then wham! One mistake and it's gone. Oh, not the Vermont house. I kept that. That's all I have left of you. Well, that and your favorite cars. I had to keep your Lamborghini and the SUV that you drove to the airport that day. I'm all alone now. I'm sure Candy will especially like that.

Drying off, he states, This black widow will be snared in her own tangled web. Sweet Candy is mine for the taking. Finally.

He smiles into the mirror as he combs his hair. She'll go for me as Joe, a widower. I can make it a real sob story. She would never trust me as myself ― a bachelor who never settled down. She might think I'm out to get her. He grins. Well, the no living family part will suit her fancy. She never learned to share.

As he dresses, he proclaims, Tomorrow, Candy. Tomorrow the games begin, with thanks to Joe. He chuckles.

Jim retrieves his briefcase from the wall safe behind a gilt-framed mirror, a nice amenity, very convenient. He rolls the combination and flips it open, spreading her file across his bed. He holds up her picture. Hmm. Plastic surgery wasn't really needed, Candy. A face lift, liposuction, loose-skin tucks, and breast implants. He picks up an older photo to compare side by side. Not needed. Pure vanity. That makes her look at least fifteen years younger now. Good. Vanity makes the game more fun. She loves her baby blues. Good thing mine are gray.

Glancing at her latest credit card charges, he observes, Yep. A new gym membership last month, so she must have liked what she saw when she stopped by that day, the right atmosphere: Lots of males with fat wallets. She's definitely on the prowl for a new man. This is not her tone-up time after losing weight ― she's already done that privately. She'll be checking out the men while she's there. Looks like I may need a visitor's pass at the same gym tomorrow.

Having watched her routine for the past few weeks to choose his contact locations, Jim waits in the parking lot for Candy to arrive at her carefully chosen gym.

Alone, he says aloud, She hasn't done the gym scene like this in quite awhile. She did the same thing last time, but she didn't have any luck then. She's decided to give it another shot, but why? She abandoned it before because there had been too much competition at the ones she tried, specifically focusing on older well-established men. That's when she went after the one man she was sure she could trap, her brother's best friend, completely disregarding the fact that he was happily married. She knew he had a fat paycheck and a soft spot in his heart for his buddy's kid sister, but more importantly, he would soon come into a very comfortable inheritance—his parents were loaded—and she had no doubt that once she got him to cross the line, he was as good as hers. I'll bet that took longer than she expected. He chuckles. "Ten years to get his wedding ring on her finger."

Observing the other vehicles while he waits in his car until he sees her go inside the gym's glass doors, he surmises that she has taken the time to know where the big money is in San Francisco, or at least where the rich come and go while visiting, so she can hang out in all the right places on any given day, not merely the usual weekend nights' hot spots. She spends a lot of time on the internet.

He chose to use a different vehicle so he could catch her off guard, as his flashy Aston Martin was too noticeable. Keeping her off balance is key to making her think she is trapping him, not the other way around. Jim is driving his white 2014 Alfa Romeo 4C, a Maserati that is more conservative than his other cars, especially his five sports cars that easily cost over two-hundred grand each. Her brother taught her all about the fancy sports cars. Jim's love for them definitely has its advantages for attracting chicks. This lady likes money more than most, she craves it, and his automobiles smell of money, scream money.

Ignoring her presence is essential to the plan, so Jim works out completely focused as though he were alone. He will let her find him. She does.

Hey, there. Didn't I see you at the Dragon's Lair Pub last night?

Could be. I stopped in. He keeps up with his presses, as if she were just a fixture, perhaps a trainer or towel girl.

I'm about to go do ellipticals. How about you?

You inviting me? He stops to look her over. She is wearing the typical show-off-my-assets skintight outfit women like to don at gyms, hers being especially light-weight to reveal more, in shimmering hot pink to attract attention.

He casually scans her form, sharing just a hint of a grin.

She smiles as though reading his thoughts.

With a full grin of approval, he raises his eyebrows while saying, Nice outfit.

Thanks, she purrs. Care to join me?

Sure. It would be rude to turn down a friendly, pretty girl. He winks, grinning innocently, knowing it is just enough to bring out the dimples that the gals seem to like so much.

She acts coy, like a teenage girl, trying to appear sweet and innocent.

Realizing his discomfort in being so close to her, he has to check himself to reveal nothing, to play this role staying focused on the pursuit with expectancy.

She smiles amiably to introduce herself, My name is Candice, or Candy.

Sweet name. I'm Joe.

Are you new to this gym, Joe?

Yeah. I'm just visiting. He wipes his brow with a hand towel. In the city on business. I live Back East.

Just visiting? That's too bad, she purrs.

I visit Frisco often. Just haven't tried this particular gym before. Got a visitor's pass.

Why?

Thinking about joining for when I'm in town. I have a gym in my home, so I don't normally venture out into the public ones. I felt in need of some hormonal rushes today. Been idle too much, you know?

Oh, I know. Maybe I should put one in my home, a gym that is.

Knowing she's playing dumb, he ignores her ditziness. Sure, if you have the room.

I have lots of room. I'm all alone, a widow.

I'm sorry to hear that, Candy. Recent?

She shakes her head. Three years.

He adds, I'm a widower myself.

Oh, that's too bad. A long time? It does get easier with time.

A few years now. Lost the kids, too. A small plane accident.

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm lucky, I guess. My son is still among the living, even if he is off in Europe for awhile.

He knows her son's been back for years, but he goes along with her. Europe, huh? That must get lonely for you.

It does.

He points with an open hand, saying, There're two machines side by side. Shall we?

She smiles, but her eyes are inviting more, and nods.

Joe?

Yeah?

Never mind.

What is it, Candy?

I don't want to seem forward. I've been wondering where you stay when you visit San Francisco. She claims her machine by mounting it already in motion, grinning at her success.

Stepping onto his awaiting machine, he answers her implied question. I get a suite at The Fairmont or the Mark Hopkins. I like the classics. I'm at the Mark now. He flips the other machine on and easily walks upon its moving belt.

Oh, why is that?

I like to avoid the nouveau riche.

You do?

I suppose I'm a bit of a snob that way.

She sighs, acknowledging that he's from old money. I've heard they have a top-notch fitness center there at the Mark. You don't use it?

Sometimes. People get to know who you are there. I like anonymity.

Oh, I see. Well. . .

Well?

Would you like to meet me at the Top of the Mark tonight?

Sure. For dinner or a drink?

Either. I can pay for my own, if that makes a difference. She tilts her head to one side while questioningly raising her eyebrows.

No need for that. How about dinner, my treat. Is seven okay?

Seven's good. I'll meet you there.

Candy, there's something I should tell you. There are no strings attached. I don't expect sex.

You don't? Feigning surprised relief barely covers her true disappointment.

Never do it on a first date. Bad manners. He knows she's anxious to dig her fangs into him to eventually suck his bank account dry.

We could count this as a date, she purrs.

Surprised, he clears his throat, refusing to make it easy for her. She needs to work for this. Maybe tomorrow night, Candy, if tonight goes well for us.

You'll be in town for awhile? Her coy look is a tad overdone.

I pretty much come and go as I please. It isn't always possible, but I like flexibility. You aren't a stalker are you?

She laughs. Of course not. But when I see something I want, I go for it.

I see. He tries to appear flattered. She smiles, so it seems to have worked. Your eyes are so beautiful ― you are beautiful ― especially with your dark hair. Is it black or brown? It's hard to tell in this lighting.

She speaks softly, Dark brown.

Stunning together. He notices her gray roots barely peeking out. It must be getting time for a touch up.

Soon she tells him she must leave, saying that she had been there a long time, but he knows exactly when she'd arrived. He is glad to see her go. He wraps up his workout so he too can leave. Talking to himself once again, She never once asked me about my family or anything else personal about me. The opportunity was there. She kept to the basic how-available-are-you questions plus tidbits about herself. She really is self-centered.

Outside in the parking lot, her car is still there. She is hiding, watching him. He chuckles. She is too a stalker. He walks to his sports car, pays his chit at the gate, and drives away to the Mark Hopkins, watching her follow in her all black ragtop BMW 325 CI. He enjoys the adrenaline rush from the intrigue. He pulls up in front and tosses his keys to the valet with a friendly greeting, telling him that he will be using it again soon, and then goes inside. The change of cars probably has her in a dither. He wonders if she'll come inside now. She most likely plans to check on him tonight and get his room number if he doesn't invite her up as she hopes. He chats with the concierge just for fun, in case she is waiting for him to go to his room. She is. The concierge lets him know that she has wandered away. He graciously takes his leave to follow her, thanks to that location device he had planted on her car weeks ago in case he needed it. It's come in very handy this week.

My turn to play stalker. Alone, he's thinking aloud. I'll just tail her to see where she goes. I'm betting on a hotel or a friend's house. She doesn't have time to go home. That drive is tiring and takes at least an hour each way late at night when traffic is light and much longer at this time of day. She'll need hours to get ready. I've been told getting ready for nothing special takes her three hours.

Candy drives directly to a Motel 6. While observing her actions, he comments, Motel 6? Pinching pennies? He chuckles. I remember when the chain was new. My folks said the six stood for $6 per night and Super 8 was $8 a night, less than half the going rates back then. Boy, that was a long time ago! Oh, already checked in and no luggage? I didn't see that coming.

A tall, unpleasant, paunchy man greets her at the door. Timothy Roach. I should have known. I'm surprised he came all this way, about 150 miles from his home in the foothills. He must think she needs prodding. No kiss in greeting? I thought they were lovers. Hmm, he hasn't aged well, now mostly gray haired and quite corpulent. He looks angry. Those beady little eyes are just slits now. Oh, a power play, making her squeeze past him. Guess she was supposed to have bagged someone like me tonight. She must feel like a prostitute. Doubtful she cares one way or the other.

With a light evening fog rolling in, he drives back to the Mark Hopkins and settles into the Penthouse Suite, resisting the impulse to straighten the books and newspapers to keep the lived-in appearance.

CHAPTER 2

Poised to greet her downstairs in the lobby's lounge, he awaits her arrival hoping to confuse her just a bit, to tease her brain by making her wonder if he really is registered there or if he is way too anxious to wait upstairs. Thinking he is eager will bolster her confidence. He enjoys playing the game. He chuckles at the thought of her calling the front desk to see if they had a man named Joe registered there. Succumbing to curiosity, he checks with the concierge. Yes, they had received such a call, but they wouldn't tell her anything more than they are not permitted to give out that kind of information. Good.

She walks into the lobby, focused on the elevators while walking toward the front desk, so she doesn't see him waiting. She's wearing a show-all lacy black dress with an oddly out of place wide black ribbon choker, which detracts from the overall look and sits a little too low on her neck for a choker. The skirt is long, slit to the hip on one side and cut at angles with too little fabric to close. It cries out, Touch me. He won't, at least not for quite awhile, and that should drive her crazy. Just part of the game, he smiles at the thought. Eventually he must give her that tease to keep her interest. He'll enjoy pulling her strings.

Anxious to ensnare this spider in a web of his own, he quietly comes up beside her before speaking. I thought maybe the fog would keep you from coming. I decided to wait for you down here. Do you mind?

Startled, she smiles broadly, replying, Of course not. And, Joe, fog comes with The City, you know. I'm a local so I'm used to it.

She is obviously disappointed that she lost her chance to find out more about him at the front desk. Now she will want to check the internet to see if he is scamming her, so she will be fishing for his surname. He conceals a smirk with a grin. She is so easy to read.

You look nice, Joe. Gray-blue looks good on you. Accents your eyes.

Thank you. You look ravishing in black, Candy. All the men will be watching you, wishing they were me.

She lights up with the compliment, then with feigned humility replies, You are so sweet! Thank you.

In the richly wood-paneled windowless elevator, they are accompanied by two other couples going to the Top with standard elevator etiquette in place, quiet and coolly aloof, avoiding eye contact with those not of one's own party. Candy looks at the elevator control panel, staring at the floor-indicator buttons just below the highest one marked as T for Top that he pressed. Some floor numbers are skipped, no surprise that 13 is missing, but the top couple of floors below the Top of the Mark are also. Directly above the buttons, below the modern but practical high-tech floor-indicator screen, there is a small cross-divided brass plaque that has codes with a keyhole next to each section. He nudges her and holds up his key.

Oh, I see.

As she turns, Candy accidentally bumps the two men near her, perhaps wanting to capture their admiring eye. Each man casts a casual glance her way as she leans against Jim, deliberately adjusting her dress to show more gratuitous cleavage to him and anyone else who would care to glimpse. Amused by her forwardness and conceit, he smiles without thinking about it. A poorly timed smile could ruin everything.

What's that smile for?

He whispers, Shhh. Not now.

She smiles, turning to face him. No secrets. Her soft utterance with a sweet expression belies the command.

Secrets? Then he whispers to her ear, Just enjoying the view. The other two men turn around to look her over more scrupulously, for which their companions nudge them, frowning.

She nods, demurely lowering her eyes while turning around again allowing her hand to brush adeptly against his trousers, she leans back into him to give him the best view over her shoulder that she could with others there, gratuitously offering the visage of her legs for the other men as well. Both men snap cellphone pictures of her sweetly posing for them. Each woman glares at Candy while turning her partner's face away, whispering a quiet reproof. Candy smugly grins.

TM appears on the screen as the elevator stops and the doors open. Moving aside for the others to pass, exiting last they step out of the elevator directly into the lounge. The maitre d' nods, formally addressing him, Mr. Cavanaugh, this way please.

All-around exterior windows enhance the view for the diners at the classy tables positioned around a central circular bar. They are escorted to the elite's preferred window table furthest from the bar and elevator and somewhat more private, per Jim's reservation requesting the best. Candy softly utters, The skyscape is breathtaking.

He nods in agreement. It's just as breathtaking from my room.

After being seated, she bends forward to whisper, It's too bad it's so noisy in here.

Noisy? He leans toward her to teasingly say, I agree. It's hard to hear each other with the soft music and private conversations. At least service clatter is non-existent.

It's giving me a headache. Frowning, she touches her forehead for emphasis.

Doesn't she know that men don't like whiners? Repressing a grin, Jim offers an escape to his lair. We could just have dessert now, and then order food from the menu to be delivered to us down in my suite.

She lights up, grinning. They would do that? she says a little too eagerly.

Of course.

The imaginary headache forgotten while reading the menu, to show her interest and approval, she asks, What dessert are you having?

I'm fond of the Blueberry Buttermilk Tart.

Oh, the Blueberry Buttermilk Tart looks delicious. Almond cream with blueberry meringue, almond tuile, that sounds delicious. I'd like to try it.

She knew to pronounce it tweel. Does she know what it is? Instead of asking her about it, he says, Good. Have you tried the ahi tuna?

No. It's good? she sweetly asks.

I think so.

Mimicking his pronunciation, she reads, Za'atar ahi tuna: avocado paint, daikon salad, faurot ranch frisee, sesame wonton crisp, heirloom tomatoe. That sounds perfect.

Wonderful. I'll have two sent to my suite. He signals the waiter, Henri. Soon the desserts are served with pristine perfection.

Oh, this is better than I could have imagined, Joe. She pointedly scans the people in the room to see if she recognizes anyone while appraising their attire, frowning with disappointment that she sees no celebrities.

I'm glad you like it.

You're the best dressed man here, Joe. She smiles her approval then knowingly asks, Did you order wine with the food?

Instead of stating the obvious, biting back You know I didn't, he graciously replies, No need. The bar is fully stocked.

In the Penthouse. You told the waiter the Penthouse Suite.

Yes. Have you stayed in the Penthouse before?

Before? She chuckles. I live around here so I haven't had a need to stay overnight in The City.

Ah. Then this will be a treat, he replies while placing his napkin on the table, having finished the dessert. Upon rising, the waiter steps up to assist Candy with her chair. Jim reaches out for her hand.

They wait for an empty elevator. Making trivial conversation, Candy asks, What do you do when you come to The City, Joe? I mean, how do you get around? Cable cars seem too blasé for you. Do you rent a car?

No, I bring a couple of cars and my limo on my jet.

She tries to cover her involuntary gasp which meant He's loaded! by saying, It must be a big jet.

This one is. I have another smaller one for quick jaunts.

Ooh, I'd like to see your jets sometime.

That could be arranged.

She simply smiles in reply. Though she tries to act nonchalant, he can see her subdued excitement. Once inside the elevator, he inserts his key for his suite one floor down. As soon as the doors open, Candy quietly gasps. He takes her hand as they step into the luxurious lobby for the two suites on the 18th floor, the California and the Penthouse.

This way, Candy.

Once inside the room, he hands her a brochure for the suite. She reads, Penthouse Suite takes advantage of its location in the building and atop Nob Hill with three picture windows along the east side, immediately drawing guests to the breathtaking views of the city and the bay. She joins him at the window. Wow! The touch of wispy fog makes it so romantic.

She continues to read in piecemeal phrases, Original 1926 wood wall-paneling and built-in bookcases. Beautiful. Let's see, the color scheme, the accents, obvious, loveseats, she looks at Jim, giving him a brief approving grin, dining room, bedroom, bathroom, oh, she grins before saying, a Jacuzzi tub. The Penthouse is 1,650 square feet. With both suites combined, the whole floor for only. . .$7,750 per night? She swallows hard.

He pretends not to have noticed. Hook has been set.

Before he can respond, the doorbell softly chimes for the delivery of their meal. She notices his generous tip to the waiter. Jim tells him, Thank you for bringing this yourself. Wonderful service, Henri.

The waiter nods. After dinner, I recommend a stroll in the private rooftop gardens. It has a 240-degree view of the bay, Mr. Cavanaugh.

Jim nods his thanks, making note that she had overheard his surname again.

She looks around at the city, her eyes scanning the structures and the bay's expanse. This view is beautiful. I would love to see the rooftop garden, Joe. I didn't know there was one.

He deliberately begins his seduction, looking at her as he agrees, Yes, the view is beautiful. Then looking out the window, he adds, The fog has settled in on the water, hiding Oakland's lights. But the sky is clear. Look up. It's a starry night.

Lovely.

And inviting, he says with his voice lowered. She turns toward him with a knowing smile.

They meander toward the dining room where Henri had set out the dinner for them. By the ornate fireplace while checking her appearance in the imposing mirror over the majestic marble mantle as they walk past to the dining room, Candy comments, Beautiful. I like the arched windows with the Roman blinds. Very nice.

Jim looks around. I suppose I've begun to take it for granted. It's nice to get a fresh view of it.

You stay here enough that it becomes commonplace?

I do.

After eating, Candy says. I'd like some wine and then to see the garden.

Would you? he grins, pleased with her eagerness. He fills her wine glass from the bottle she chose. After he hands her the stemmed goblet, while taking her free hand to guide her along, he says, Come with me.

Enjoying the spectacular view beneath a canopy of stars, a breeze makes her shiver. Jim suggests they return to the Penthouse. Once there, she immediately asks to see the Jacuzzi. Set in elegance, she turns to take it all in while sipping more white wine. Oh, this is nice. Don't you drink wine, Joe?

I prefer water and fruit juice to just about everything, plus I'm a pilot so I avoid alcohol if I may be flying.

Oh, but you won't be flying tonight. I'm sure you'll be safe in the Jacuzzi.

He chuckles, but avoids answering her implied question about having some wine. We'll try it out later, skin-only if you like.

That's fine. I'd love to by candlelight. It would be so romantic.

I'd like to get to know you a little better before we get that intimate. Let me show you everything. Obviously this is the bathroom, he takes her hand and leads her to the adjacent room. Breathing in her ear, he whispers, This is my bedroom. . . .

We could see the rest later, she interjects as she sits on the bed, sending a clear message of her intent by seductively stroking her exposed thigh. Don't you know me well enough by now, Joe?

An invitation? he asks, making note that she's in an awfully big hurry.

She nods.

You're very sexy, Joe. Too tempting for me. Don't worry. . .I'm safe.

Safe, you say? As safe as touching a sizzling hot stove? he teases, then straight-faced adds, Me, too, and I'm shooting blanks.

She behaves demurely. He can tell she was flattered that he implied she was sexy and still young enough to worry about conception.

It would be nice with the lights out, don't you think?

If you want. I don't mind them on. He grins to imply that it would be his preference.

I could relax more with them off. Her eyes reveal some degree of trepidation.

Shy?

A bit, she whispers with her hand at the choker, holding it in place. Looking closer at her neck he sees bruising.

Jim sits beside her to begin the game. First he must kiss her and be convincing that he wants more. He puts his hand down on the bed behind her and leans into her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. His other hand caresses her throat, gently stroking before slipping his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. He slowly approaches her mouth, teasingly, waiting for her to kiss him. She does ― the kind of kiss that his nephews used to say looked like the actors were eating each other's faces. She lacks emotion. He tries to be convincingly passionate in order to ensure her confidence as to his desires.

She leans back into his arm. Bending his elbow, he lowers her to the bed and begins the sensual touching before briefly stroking her exposed thigh. Other than giggling when he slid his hand over her shoulder, brushing near her armpit, she acts like a primadonna.

Nervous, Candy?

A little bit. It's been awhile.

He gently says, We'll just take it slow. I'm in no hurry.

More wine would help.

I'll get you some. He comes back with the wine bottle and a second wine glass. As he surreptitiously slips his cellphone from his pocket and places it on the nearest hard surface, the dresser, he notices the choker is hiding more than just one hickey, apparently fresh bruising. The necklace's term takes on new meaning for him. He refills her now empty glass. She drinks it quickly.

As he is about to pour his own, there is a soft buzzing. He glances toward his phone. Ignoring it, he fills the glass anyway. The vibration progressively gets louder. He had set his cellphone to vibrate every thirty minutes, just in case he needs an excuse. This one he has been waiting for, its noisy vibration being an obvious interruption.

What's that sound?

He replies, My smartphone. He grabs the phone roughly as though annoyed with it, looking at the screen for the caller ID. Sorry. Got to get this, he says apologetically. He answers it, Yes? He pauses as if listening. Are you serious? All right, I'll fly back tonight.

Candy's face reveals anxiety, perhaps worried that Roach will not be pleased.

Blast it. I'm sorry, Candy. I've got to go back East for a couple of days. Write your number down for me while I get dressed for the flight and get my things together. If you want to stay here tonight, you may as well; it's paid for. I'm really sorry, sweetie. We'll have to pick up where we left off when I get back. I'll tell them you'll be leaving in the morning, before noon. Have lunch on me before you leave. Is that okay?

She nods, pouting as though about to cry. Staying the night should help if she is afraid to face Roach, but Jim feels no sympathy for her dilemma.

I'll let the room go since I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. I'll get another suite here when I return, if they have one available. I'll call you when I'm heading back, all right? She sighs with relief and hands him her phone number before he rushes off, gracing her with a quick peck as he shoves several hundred dollars into her hand and says, For tips and parking fees.

She only nods. Jim notes that she never asked anything about his work, nor did she ever thank him. Interesting. She has no cares about how he gets his money, only that he has it. He could be getting it through illegal means and she would not care.

He stops by the concierge desk before leaving, to check out and to give instructions as to what to tell his guest. The concierge receives a hefty tip for this additional service, to be split between the night and morning desk clerks. Please call and ask her what time she would like breakfast served and if she'd like to order it now. Remind her that lunch is included, whether in the dining room or in the privacy of the suite. Tell her those were my instructions before I left for the airport. Remember to mention that I'd been here all week whether or not she asks. He gives the concierge manager an extra $500 tip for himself at that point. For you. I'll be back in a week or so. I'll take a suite then also ― whatever you have available if the Penthouse is taken.

Mentally Jim recites two appropriate lines in Sir Walter Scott's poem Marionism, Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.

As he leaves, smiling, Jim whispers, My oh my, Candy, your web is tangled, but you have no idea how much worse it's going to get, now do you?

CHAPTER 3

At home in his North Portola Valley mansion south of San Francisco, Jim reviews the facts. Candy grew up farther south on the peninsula. Her dad had already established himself as a top-notch new-car salesman, promoted to dealership sales manager, and was set on owning a dealership himself. . .but that was waylaid by his drinking problem. Candy's mom seemed content being a low-key socialite, living in elite neighborhoods before her husband became ill later in life and died. Candy's only brother, older by four years, seems nice enough. She's surprisingly close to him. He married following his girlfriend's high-school graduation, a seven-year difference. Candy married Barry at twenty, annulled a year later. Married again to Matt, and had a son, Kit. Divorced, she married a third time to Jay, or so Candy's story goes. A fourth marriage to Neil. Now she's a lonely widow. The affair with Roach started before Neil died. Money is getting low and she's looking for a new husband with deep pockets.

It is Thursday, time to do something. Now that he has Candy on the line, he is anxious to set the hook and scoop her up into the net, figuratively speaking. For two days he has mulled over his strategies, the plan. He decides to call Debra, Neil Corbin's ex-wife, as he needs her perspective, her knowledge. He has put it off, not wanting to cause her more pain, but it is long overdue. She made some comments after Neil's funeral that he had overheard. Surely she cannot remember seeing him there among that large crowd. She may shed some light on Candy. Casually chatting with people has been very enlightening. Most folks thought Neil was crazy to let Debra go, except their two kids wondered why she stayed with him so long.

Jim drove to Sacramento before calling her. Debra Corbin?

Yes?

My name is Jim Cavanaugh. Would you be willing to meet me somewhere to talk a bit about Neil Corbin.

Why?

I'm not certain it was a suicide.

I'm sure it wasn't. Who are you anyway? A cop?

No. I'll explain in person. Where would you like to meet? We will need a place where we can't be overheard, a library conference room or something like that.

All right. How about using the public library downtown, then. They have some rooms there that are smaller and private.

Give me the location for my GPS and I'll meet you there.

It's at 8th and I. . .828 I Street, I think. How will you know me?

I've seen pictures, and I've seen your Facebook page.

Oh, of course. Do you have one I can see?

Yes. It's private, only for friends, so let me send you a quick invitation. Are you on your computer?

I am now. Do you need anything from me?

Nope. Get it yet?

Not. . .Oh, there it is now. She takes a moment to open his page. Oh, she gasps softly.

Oh?

I'm pleasantly surprised. Sorry.

He chuckles. Don't worry about it. Say when, and I'll be there.

Oh, my. She lets out an audible lengthy breath, like a person trying to regain composure.

What?

On the beach, running. . .labeled Sexy in Stereo.

My twin brother's wife took that about ten years ago. She labeled it. I'm the one nearest the surf.

Sexy in Stereo, she repeated flatly with a hint of awe.

And?

You are very handsome.

Thank you.

Can we do this by phone?

It's better in person. When? When should I be there?

Debra lets out a deep sigh in resignation to the situation. He can tell she still doesn't believe him, but also senses her interest in talking to him about Neil. In a businesslike manner, she asks, How long will it take you to get there and park? You probably won't be able to find a parking spot on the street and it's metered anyway. There's a multi-story parking garage on the next corner, at 8th and J.

I'm not too far away, but parking may take a bit. Will twenty or thirty minutes work for you?

If I come as I am, casual. Let's make it thirty, to play it safe.

That's fine. I'll see you then. And, please call me Jim.

When he walks into the library, she is standing just inside. He sizes her up. She looks much younger than she is. She actually is dressed casually, just as she said. Nice blue jeans, silky gray-blue blouse, sandals, her long blonde hair loose down her back. Sweet and sexy.

Keeping his voice low, respectful of being in a library, he says, I brought a snack, croissants and hot chocolate. Do they allow food to be brought in?

That was thoughtful. Yes, food's okay in the conference rooms. I took the liberty of asking for a smaller one. It's over that way. Shall we, Mr. Cavanaugh?

Absolutely, Mrs. Corbin. You look lovelier than your photographs.

She avoids looking directly at him after hearing that. I am not very photogenic, so I avoid cameras.

I think it's the lighting. You just changed hues.

I did?

Fluorescent lighting. It's probably because you're so fair. A natural blonde?

I am. Blonde naturally streaked with white, or gray if you prefer. Old age, you know. She grins showing a dimple in her left cheek. Why did you assume that?

Blue eyes, no roots, fair skin. Natural.

Ah. Like you. She still won't look at him.

My eyes aren't blue.

Close. And your tan is a blonde's tan. Lighter than most.

Are you putting down my tan? He grins.

She chuckles. No. My guess is it is natural, too. From exposure to the sun instead of electric tanning beds.

Yes, and proud of it. Teasing, he notices she relaxes a little.

Not afraid of skin cancer?

I don't sunbathe, and I wear a hat when I'm working outside.

I'd like to see your hat. I hope it isn't a ball cap. I hate those.

I have horses, so I have a cowboy hat. Stetson, of course.

Oh, of course. She softly giggles. I love horses.

I know.

How do you know that? She turns to look him in the eyes.

That's more like it. Wow, it feels like she can see right into me, into my thoughts, too. He tells her, I've taken the time to find out as much as I can about you.

They step inside the small conference room she had requested, but Jim lingers at the door after closing it. Through the narrow side window, he watches others in the library to see if anyone shows interest in the room.

What's going on? After she speaks, he sees her quickly scanning his body head to toe. He detects a slight grin.

Just checking to see if anybody seems to be showing particular interest in you, or us. The look in her eye indicates her interest in him. She turns away, embarrassed.

He lifts a smartphone from his tailored sportcoat pocket to show her. Do you mind if I record this?

It's all right as long as you are legitimately investigating Candy.

I am. He knows she would never take the word of a stranger at face value.

May I see your driver's license? She wants proof of his veracity.

Sure. He pulls out his wallet to retrieve it, handing her only the plastic card.

Nice picture. And it's legit. Returning his license, she asks, Am I in danger? She searches his face for a moment, as though to detect deception. She takes a seat.

He sets the food items on the table, setting one cup of hot chocolate in front of Debra while placing the croissants between them, and takes a seat across from her. He already knows she was trained to spot fake IDs, so he lets that pass.

Could be. Candy tried to put a hit on you. The hitman she paid told the FBI. They have people watching you. Hopefully she thinks the job is taken care of and doesn't hire a second person.

No way, she'll watch my family's Facebook activity. A hit? Really? On me? How do you know about the FBI thing? She maintains eye contact. He reads concern but not fear, noting that she is not easily shaken. She breaks off a piece of croissant to eat and follows it with a sip of chocolate. Mmm, this is excellent.

Candy knows you weren't convinced that it was a suicide, plus she knows that she cheated your children out of their inheritances. Then matter-of-factly he adds, I know some FBI guys.

Is my family in danger?

They're being watched, just in case.

Are her phones tapped? They still do that, don't they?

Yes. She's being careful, though. For significant things, she's going directly through some. . .

Roach. He would be her 'someone else'. He has connections, she finishes for him.

You know about Roach?

More than I care to. Hangtown's a small town.

But you aren't there any more.

No, but I grew up there. That's my hometown area, not theirs.

Whose?

All of them. Neil, Candy, other family members, they all moved there from the Bay Area because of Neil, after we split up. That's where I grew up. Neil moved there because of me. I showed him all I loved about the area and he loved it, too. It's really beautiful. So, in the long run, they all moved there because of me, yet I had to be the one to leave. In fact, he was buried a mile from where I was born, as a crow flies, or a mile and a half by car. I was born at home, you know.

Jim acknowledges that tidbit with a nod. Why did you leave?

"Neil became dangerous, from guilt, and attacked me. Why would anyone stay with someone who tried to kill them, no matter how much they love them? I reasoned that the next time he might not stop himself. Then when I filed for divorce, he was outraged, afraid he'd lose everything. I wasn't safe near him. It was a no-win situation. So, I let him have everything except my car, but he wanted the car, too. He started tampering with it. I had to get distance between us so I left the state. Then he tried to get it repossessed by not making the payments. My attorney had told me that he had to keep the car payments current, but Neil didn't. He didn't