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DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES
CARLENE THOMPSON


ST. MARTIN'S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY CARLENE THOMPSON
The Way You Look Tonight
Tonight You're Mine
In the Event of My Death








don't close your eyes
Copyright й 2000 by Carlene Thompson.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-97576-7
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition November 2000
St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.




To all my dogs, who have given me joy, inspiration, and unconditional love throughout the years.
Thanks to my patient and supportive agent, Pamela Ahearn.
Special thanks to William E. Johnston, d.v.m., for technical advice and excellent care of the Thompson animals.



DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES

1
SATURDAY NIGHT
Tamara dried the last crystal wineglass, held it up to the fading summer light shining through the kitchen window, and nodded. Spotless. She hated spots on glasses, particularly crystal. Tomorrow night, when Warren came home from his conference in Cleveland, they'd share a bottle of Chateau Latour Blanche on their sixth anniversary. Tamara was not a wine connoisseur, but he'd assured her the Latour Blanche was expensive and should be properly appreciated. When she'd fussed about spending a lot of money on a bottle of wine, he said it was a gift from a patient. Tamara knew better than to ask which one. Warren was a psychologist and never discussed his patients.
Tamara looked around the pristine kitchen. The whole house was spotless. With no children and no job, she had more than enough time to keep the house perfect.
Tonight, however, she had nothing left to clean. She'd even reorganized the kitchen cabinets and put down fresh shelf paper. She could work on her latest quilt, the lovely one with the hummingbird design she'd created, but she wasn't in the mood. She could drop by the headquarters of the suicide hotline Warren had forced her to organize, but tonight she didn't want to hear any sad stories. She didn't enjoy Saturday night television and she felt too restless to read. Usually she took an evening walk, but a storm was predicted.
Tamara looked out the window and sighed. Daylight Saving Time extended light until nine o'clock. So far it was a lovely evening, a bit cloudier than usual, but still nice. Surely the storm wouldn't hit for over an hour. That left plenty of time for a walk.
She grabbed an old white sweater off the coat tree beside the back door. It was mid-June, but Port Ariel, Ohio, sat on the edge of Lake Erie, which sent cool breezes off its water all year. The comfortable temperature was what drew so many tourists to the beach area every summer. Warren hated tourists, but Tamara spent most of her time at home and rarely had contact with them. Besides, they were good for local business and therefore good for her twin sister Lily, who owned a successful antique store downtown. Tamara was making the hummingbird quilt for Lily's shop. "People like old furniture but not old bedding. Only bedding that looks old," Lily always said. "I could sell three times the number of these gorgeous quilts you make!" Tamara was pleased by their popularity, but she never increased her production. Haste made for sloppy work.
As she automatically locked the back door and descended the porch steps, Tamara glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Warren always called promptly at ten when he was out of town. She frowned. She mustn't be late for the call. Things were rocky between them. Warren had been irritable, quiet, and aloof for months. Tamara felt he was disappointed that she hadn't been able to give him a child, although he never mentioned it. Lily contended that Warren didn't want a childЧnot everyone did. Tamara told her sister she was being ridiculous.
To be twins, they were so different, hardly like sisters at all except for their looks and their love for each other. Lily wasn't even religious in spite of their strict Catholic upbringing. Ignoring Lily's good-natured skepticism, Tamara had begun attending mass every day, praying for the child that would draw Warren back to her. Now she knew her prayers had worked. Her periods were always irregular, but this time she was over a month late. She'd taken a home pregnancy test this morning and she had wonderful news for Warren, which she'd save until tomorrow evening when he returned.
Humming beneath her breath, Tamara crossed the lawn and walked down Hyacinth Lane, a wide dirt road running north through a wooded area. She delighted in the towering oaks, locust trees, and scattered dogwoods and crab apples. When the dogwoods and crab apples were in bloom, this place seemed like a fairy world.
She took a rubber band out of her sweater pocket and pulled back her long blond hair in a ponytail. Delicate silver filigree earrings set with amethyst stones swayed in the breeze, tickling her neck. She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. Clean, clear air tinged with the scent of approaching rain and the water of Lake Erie filled her delicate nostrils. When she was young, she and Lily had spent countless hours on the lake in their parents' cabin cruiser and their sleek twenty-foot inboard motorboat. The girls were excellent water-skiers. Warren went out with the family sometimes on the cabin cruiser, but he always stayed on board. He didn't even fish.