Date With the Devil Read Free

exchanged vows in 1974, when Kristin was about five years old. According to Peter, all four of the kids were a “lively group,” but she was the bubbly one. The twins, Robin and Rick, and even little Stephanie, were relatively quiet. Kristin had a gregarious personality, liked people, and loved to laugh. When she began attending school, said Peter, “she did reasonably well but could have done better. She was very social, and her peer groups were more important to her than her grades. Not that she did poorly. She was just very lively.”
    Peter took his new family to a home in Bolton, Massachusetts, located in the suburbs of Boston. “It was a small town, maybe five thousand people, and great for kids, with good neighbors. Everyone had two or three acres of land, giving plenty of space for children.” Kristin’s congenial personality made it easy to meet and befriend other families.
    An expert skier, Peter also taught the sport. “I got them involved in skiing, and Kristin took it up with wild enthusiasm. In my job as ski instructor, at a place near Leominster, I could get them on the slopes for free. When you teach young kids, they take it up easily because they have no fear. Kristin was one of the better ones, absolutely fearless. She loved going straight down the hill, objecting to making any turns. The faster she went, the more thrilled she was. The other three kids were a little more cautious. Remember, she was just a young tyke, six or seven. I still laugh when I recall one of her antics. I taught ski racing, and Kristin loved that. She noticed people on the Poma lift, a device to pull people up the hill. You straddle a bar that is attached to a moving cable, and lean back against a small platter, which rests against the back of your thighs. Kristin thought the spacing of people on the Poma lift looked like gates on a slalom course. She got up to the top, and started skiing down, zigzagging between them, ducking under the cable. Of course, the ski patrol spotted her, and they kicked her out for the day. She hadn’t hit anyone, but they didn’t appreciate her scaring the bejesus out of people going up the lift. Yeah, she was very exuberant.”
    Peter Means ensconced himself in the hearts of his new brood of kids. Robin still spoke of her second stepfather with a special reverence in her voice. “Peter Means was the one who raised us and was the only man in my life I consider my father. My birth name was Arlington, but I have never talked about it. We were so attached to Peter. He was our dad. We needed some normalcy, and he gave it to us. All of us kids took his name. He treated us like his own, but he related really well with Kristin.”
    Rick, Robin’s twin brother, in reminiscing about those childhood years, said, “I was really close to Kristin, even though she was three years younger. Sometimes, though, like most brother-sister bonds, it would be like a love-hate relationship. We were totally best friends or we were pissed off at each other.”
    In 1978, Peter’s employer offered him a promotion by moving to the West Coast. He realized that Marie and her children had lived a nomadic existence and wanted to put an end to their frequent relocations. Peter bought a home in one of the most attractive and affluent residential sites in Southern California, packed his family into a vehicle, and headed to the “Golden State.”
    Speaking of the trip to the West Coast, Rick recalled, “Kristin and I were not allowed to sit next to each other because we had too much fun. It was like, ‘Hey you guys back there, be quiet!’”
    Westlake Village is located at the westernmost edge of Los Angeles County and overlaps into neighboring Ventura County. It is separated from Malibu Beach by only a dozen miles across the Santa Monica Mountains. Nestled against picturesque hills, the tree-laden community surrounds a man-made lake. Personal boat harbors