He waited a moment, then shook it. “I apologize for being rude, Officer Decker. I’m not a big fan of the police.”

“Neither is my boyfriend.”

“The man you’re with is your boyfriend?”

I nodded.

“I thought he might be your partner.”

“Not in this getup.” I smiled. “Once he was DWB-driving while black-and it put him in the wrong place at the wrong time. He spent a night in jail because of a mix-up in identity with a rapist. After hearing the story and the circumstances, I told him I would have done exactly what the cops did.” I shrugged. “He didn’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sure I could agree with him, having had a similar experience.” Paxton pointed to the dining room. “After you.”

We went back to our respective tables. By the time I sat back down, the waiter had brought our Caesar salads. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Everything all right?” Koby asked me.

“Actually, yes, everything is very all right.” Even if I didn’t find David, at least his baby might be provided for. Certainly, Louise Sanders could use some monetary help. Things were tough for her. If Paxton came through, then it was well worth his initial snubs.

I picked up my fork. “Wow, this looks good. I’m starved.” I took several bites. “Delicious!”

Koby stabbed a crouton and chewed it slowly, a half smile on his lips. “I love it when women eat. It’s very sensual.”

“You’d get lots of female fans with that statement.” I laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re for real or is it, you know, like the Ethiopian restaurant. You just have all these great lines and angles to get into women’s pants.”

“It’s only your pants, my love, and I think I don’t need a lineoran angle. You seem always very willing.”

A warm flush crawled over my body. “Will you please eat? You’re making me nervous, staring at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking.”

“What areyouthinking?”

“That you look very handsome.”

His smile turned white and luminous. “Thank you.”

I stole a glance at his face. “That you lookverygood.”

“Thank you again.” His eyes had turned hot and hungry. “You know, Cynthia, we could ask the waiter to pack our main dishes.”

I put down my fork. “Yaakov, I’d really like to make it through a meal.”

“Certainly.” He sipped his beer, licking foam off his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. He raised his eyebrows. “Would you like another drink?”

“No… I’m okay.” I picked up my fork again. “But thanks.”

“Anything you want, my love. That is my motto.”

“Did you take your charm pills today, Koby?”

“With you, I don’t need them. It is all natural feelings.”

“That’s sweet.” I gave him a shy smile. “Really. I mean that, Yaakov. I feel the same way. I think you’re wonderful and sexy and brilliant… fun… just the best.”

He grinned. “It is you who takes the charm pills.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who needs them.” I laughed. “I wish a little of your smoothness would rub off on me.”

He took my hand. “You are not slick, Cynthia, but you are always sincere.” He kissed my fingers one by one, then gently swiped my nose with his index finger. “Eat.”

I speared another leaf of romaine, my eyes sweeping over his face. Again he was studying me, those long, luscious lashes sweeping over those magnificent pale whiskey eyes.

He really lookedfine!

I nibbled on salad, but suddenly everything was tasteless.

Who was I kidding?

Oh my God, I was sinking again.

I summoned the waiter, requesting our entrées to go, along with the check.

40

The coast of Californiais God’s kissed countryside from San Diego to the Oregon border-blue iridescent seas on one side, towering verdant mountain majesty on the other. Traveling north from Santa Barbara on 101, Decker couldn’t have asked for lovelier weather. It was in the low 70s with the sun playing peekaboo behind woolen tufts of crystalline clouds. As he turned east onto 234, going deep into the Santa Ynez Valley, the Porsche began to climb between granite walls of imperial rock and twist seamlessly through the winding canyons. The temperature dropped and a fine mist hovered above.

“Spectacular,” Rina whispered.

“Hannah’s getting bigger,” Decker answered. “We should really do this more often.”

“Yes, we should.” Rina adjusted the baseball cap on her head, enjoying the wind and sun on her face. “It’s nice to feel young.”

“Free,” Decker said. “We never had much of this.”

“I know. Instant family when we married. Poor you.”

“Not poor me,” Decker told her. “Rich me. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Still, you’ve got to find a balance. We shouldn’t have to use a project as an excuse to get away for a weekend. But since we did come up with a purpose, what is the game plan here?”

“I have a couple of questions about the murder, but if I don’t get to ask them, I’ll be fine.” Rina took in a deep breath and let it out. “It’s really all about my mother’s childhood. I don’t even care about the murder anymore. That was just the catalyst.”

“I’m thrilled to hear you say that. Basically, I think we should just let the ladies talk.” Decker took in a lung’s worth of pine-scented air. A minute later, they were off the freeway, the exit for Solvang putting them onto Mission Avenue, a two-way boulevard lined with imposing cedars, regal in size and wide in girth. For a few miles, they passed farm country and orchards, patches of foot-high baby avocado trees dotting the earth like plugs in a hair transplant. A hundred yards later, they drove by an ostrich ranch. No sign of the big beasts, but coming up from L.A., they had seen a genuine llama ranch, so Decker was sure the flightless birds were somewhere near.

Soon they drove by the official green sign welcoming the visitor to Solvang-population 5,332.

Danish Disneyland.

The little tourist town really had an amusement-park feel to it, down to the street names-Vester, Aarhus, Nykobing, Midten-using Hof and Sted instead of street, avenue, or lane.

Lifted right out of a fairy tale: picture-perfect cottages with mullion-paned windows, dozens of gables, and multipeaked roofs topped with special tiles evoking thatched straw. Cute little bungalows of sparkling white stucco and red brick, overwhelmed with gingerbread, set on lots with meticulously planted flower gardens. Almost all the dwellings had exterior walls deluged with Tudor-style trim-stripes and triangles and squares of brightly painted wood appliqué, light blue being the most common color for the decorative beams. But some of the owners had chosen brown or green or in some cases bright red. There were lots of white picket fences and many second-story balconies ringed with white dowel railings. Two of the motels on Mission Avenue had life-size windmills, another had a clock tower with a weather vane.

Decker had never seen streets so clean, as if they were washed daily.

The business district, also on Mission, was a couple of miles long with architecture that was nearly identical to the residences. The shops and restaurants andbacariswere owned by individuals with names like Mortensen, Petersen, and Olsen. And the names weren’t just for atmosphere. Both he and Rina agreed that they had never seen so many white-haired, pink-complexioned elderly people in such a small geographical area. When they drove past the local school-across the street from a Lutheran Church-it was all fair skin and light hair, except for a clique of Native American children.

Anika Lubke lived in a bright yellow one-story house, the door surrounded by two bay windows and the sides trimmed with blue wood beams. Set into a pole was a Danish flag guarding the entryway; the hand-painted address numbers were red on blue-and-white delft tiles. The front yard was a pallet of color, a profusion of wildflowers. Someone had plunked a stuffed Nordic seaman, complete with beard and cap, smack in the middle of a daisy bush-the Danes’ answer to a scarecrow. Decker parked the Porsche and checked his watch. Ten-forty: They were twenty minutes early.