A Dark and Twisting Path Read online

  “The rest are all Camilla’s—you will love them.”

  She patted Sam’s arm affectionately and included us both in her watery smile. “You’ve both done so much for me, but I’ll ask one more favor. If you and your librarian friend could put your heads together and work your intelligent magic to figure out where he might have taken Athena so that I can get her back before she forgets me—”

  Her voice broke on the last word, and Sam pulled her into a sideways hug. “We’ll find her, Vic,” he said. “I promise we will.”

  She cleared her throat. “Okay, enough of my pity party.” She looked at Sam. “I just miss her little face so much.”

  She waved at us and started through the trees, where I now saw her bodyguard was waiting for her. He was big and burly, but seemed quite tender in the way that he dealt with Victoria.

  I looked at Sam and wiped at my own eyes. “Well, she just broke my heart.”

  Sam sat down beside me and looked at the lake. “What did she want to talk to you about?”

  I shrugged. “Her gratitude about the rescue. You. Baby Athena. Love.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m glad she came to talk with me. Was that your idea or hers?”

  His blue eyes were innocent. “Totally hers. I would not have thought putting the two of you together was the greatest idea, but it seems to have cleared the air.”

  “I’ll bet she’s changed a lot, huh? Since back before the whole Nikon thing.”

  “In many measurable ways.” He nodded at the clouds before us. “But in many ways, she’s the same.”

  I picked up my laptop. “I think I got some good impressions down for now. The wind is getting a little chilly.”

  Sam took my free hand and we walked back to his house, where he started preparing us some lunch. I called Allison, who said that she and John had moved back home. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” she said. “I’m not constantly picturing poor Eddie. Someday we’ll be able to put this behind us.”

  “Good for you,” I said. “And are your neighbors being nice?”

  “Sort of,” she said. It sounded as though she was doing dishes while she talked. “I mean, a few of them came over, asked what was going on. Some of them wanted to talk about Eddie. You know that old guy that you told me was being rude to Sam? Mr. Hendricks. He actually invited us over for dinner, but John thinks he has ulterior motives and just wants to grill us at length rather than grilling for us, which is what he said he would do.”

  “Huh. I didn’t care much for him.”

  “Yeah, he’s not the best. We managed to get out of the invitation for the time being. Oh, and the worst thing is that we saw Eddie’s wife, Doris. She was at Bick’s Hardware while John and I were getting some supplies. She was very polite, but it was awkward.”

  “She certainly can’t hold you responsible for the fact that Eddie was found near your house!”

  “No,” she said, her voice trailing. “Unless she thinks we had something to do with it. I don’t think she does, though. She told us Doug has been over to her place a lot, asking questions and giving her some insights. Doug told her he may have been killed by a stranger.”

  “Really?’ I said. I had thought Doug was convinced, as we were, that Nikon was somehow responsible.

  “Yeah, well. He’s working on it. I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest.”

  “So who is this Doris Stack? Have I seen her before?”

  “Probably. She works at Dilley’s on Green Glass Highway.”

  “The grocery store? Is she the dark-haired woman who works at the service counter?”

  “Yeah, that’s Doris.”

  “I know her! Oh, the poor lady.”

  “Yeah. They don’t have children. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. But they couldn’t have had more than one, anyway; they’ve only been married a year.”

  “Oh, right. You mentioned that.” I sighed. “Sorry to bum you out. The good news is you’re back in your house, and you can listen to your birds again.”

  “I did miss them,” Allison said with a return of her spunky tone.

  * * *

  * * *

  I MADE A call to Camilla, as well, and read her some of what I had written on the bluff.

  “Oh, I like that, Lena! ‘The sky that hangs over the whole world.’ A nice way of capturing the limitations of human understanding, that we think it hangs only above the place where we live. Yes—as the book goes on, Lucy should grow more and more philosophical. This is what will ultimately bond her to the classics professor.”

  “Oh yes! Perfect. Maybe they can share a surprising love for Plato, or have a debate about his theory of Forms.”

  “Good.” I could hear her tapping away at her keyboard, logging some of our ideas. “I also did some research about the Greek ethos. The people in this little Greek town where she’s staying would be very closemouthed about information. When Lucy starts to ask, she will get nowhere. It’s not just that the Greeks have a strong sense of family, it’s that they consider this an obligation.”

  “Funny. I spoke with Victoria West this morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I was writing on the bluff—don’t worry, Sam was guarding me—and she appeared there. She said she wanted to talk to me, and she mostly just said that—well, that she was grateful, and that she doesn’t have designs on Sam.”

  “I should hope not,” Camilla said.

  “Anyway, she talked a bit about Nikon, and said that he talked her into having a child because he was so big on family, and talked about the family vine, or something. Interesting that you researched the same idea.”

  “The Greeks, my research tells me, wanted to preserve tradition, and family was a way to do that. One valued not only the immediate family, but connections that went back many generations.”

  “So Lucy would be seen as an interloper.”

  “Yes. We’ll have to give her a local contact—someone she befriends who is a native Greek.”

  I thought about this. How would an outsider find a way in? “Lucy can know first aid,” I said. “And she can help someone. Later, perhaps their gratitude will overcome their reserve.”

  “That has layered possibilities. You are a natural, Lena. Oh yes—first aid. We’ll have to think: Will she save someone from choking? Help a woman deliver a baby? Make a tourniquet for someone who has been wounded? Treat a snake bite?”

  “If she makes a tourniquet, perhaps someone has suffered a bullet wound. Perhaps, because she stumbles across this crime, it will make her a victim herself.”

  Camilla was tapping away. “Give me a moment,” she said.

  “Sure.” I thought about what we had said, and how much I loved brainstorming. It gave me a full and satisfied feeling. “I wonder if that Greek feeling of family is what makes Nikon so certain that Victoria is in the wrong. That she betrayed him because she left and didn’t resist the intrusion of authorities. From that perspective, Victoria abandoned her own.”

  Camilla was silent for a moment. “A good point. And if he couldn’t get Victoria to acknowledge his family, at the very least he would feel obligated to reclaim his daughter.”

  14

  There is the story people tell, and the story which is true.

  —From Death at Delphi

  MY FATHER CALLED that evening and said that he and Tabitha would be home rather late, and that Sam and I should have dinner without them. Sam said he would make something, but I suggested we just order food from Wheat Grass, which we did.

  An hour later we sat at Sam’s kitchen table and ate our meals in relative silence; we were clearly each distracted by our own thoughts. Finally I said, “Hey.”

  He smiled. “Hey. I’m not being polite, am I?” He poked at his salad.

  “I wasn’t making much effort, either. What are you t
hinking about? Belinda’s bombshell? Are you doing okay with that?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about that, but I was also realizing something. The last few days, when I went to town or ran errands, I always saw a Blue Lake police car.”

  “That’s not a surprise. Doug said they would be watching us.”

  “Look out the window. They’re watching right now.”

  I got up and went to the front door, then peered out. As Sam had suggested, there was a white and blue squad car parked near a tall streetlight; I could just make out Cliff at the wheel.

  I went back into the kitchen and looked at Sam. “Huh,” I said.

  “I’m not sure what to think.”

  “I see what you mean: why the double-duty? Doug is already at Graham House, right? So why does he need Cliff down the street? Who’s guarding the rest of this town?”

  “Right. And who’s to say he’s guarding us, Lena?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do I know they don’t suspect me? Let’s face it, I’ve long since ceased to believe that the police will leave me alone just because I’m innocent. And yes, Doug knows someone stole that knife—but for all he knows, it could have been me. Right? Creating an elaborate little sting operation that would allow me to commit murder.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t believe that for a second. And he just told us—Eddie was shot, not stabbed. So you stealing your own knife would be kind of ridiculous.”

  “Why Cliff, then? As you said, Doug is within hail. And shouldn’t they both be off duty by now?”

  “You’re just being paranoid. And making me paranoid, too! The fact is they feel bad that weird man was stalking me all over town, probably leaving the notes, and now they want to make sure that nothing else happens on their watch. That’s what it is. Eat your salad. It looks delicious.”

  “It is. But your pasta looks good, too.”

  “Here, let me put some on your plate.” I shared some of my ravioli, and Sam West smiled at me. Our romance was rooted in the sharing of food.

  “Thank you. I eat more when I’m around you,” he said.

  “Good. You were looking too thin there for a while.” We both ate for a moment, and I sipped my wine. “Sam.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think they’ll find Athena?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I really don’t know. Nikon’s a slippery guy. I want them to catch him. I would really love to see that man face-to-face. He has a lot to answer for, Lena. What he did to Victoria, what he did to me, what he just tried to do to you.”

  “If that was him,” I amended. “He could be anywhere. But I would like to see him, too. Especially now that I heard things from Victoria’s side. I said as much to myself when Nikon’s thug stole that baby. I was standing in the road, in the snow, thinking: I’m going to meet him, and I’m going to get revenge. I sound like someone from Greek mythology, don’t I?”

  Sam shook his head. “Everyone feels that way about the man. We need to lure him out.” Sam sat up straight. “That reminds me. I never called Jake Elliott. Do you mind if I do it now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Sam went to his kitchen counter and picked up his phone; he dialed a number and started talking in a low voice. I sipped my wine and looked out Sam’s giant windows onto the shadowy back lawn. How strange that every house in Blue Lake seemed to border on woods: Sam’s, Allison’s, Camilla’s. I thought of poor Eddie Stack, and the location of his body. Had he been trying to reach the woods when someone shot him? Is that why he had been just on the verge of the trees? Or had he simply been taking a shortcut from one block to another?

  Suddenly Sam was standing in front of me. “Elliott says he could come over now. Would that be okay?”

  “Sure. I’d like to see him again.”

  “You hear that, Jake?” Sam said.

  I heard Jake Elliott’s gruff voice, and Sam grinned at me. “He says that’s what all the girls say.”

  * * *

  * * *

  JAKE ELLIOTT SHOWED up about half an hour later; Sam poured him some wine and pointed out a platter we had quickly assembled with crackers and hard cheeses.

  Elliott limped into the living room; he was still recovering from a severely broken leg, but other than the limp he looked healthy and interested, as always. His bald head gleamed in the lamplight, and his dark eyes were intense as he studied us both.

  “So. You have an agenda, and you have lured me here with promises of Nikon Lazos details.” He plopped onto Sam’s couch and smiled his charismatic smile.

  “Yes, we do have an agenda, but you can pick and choose what you think is appropriate. You’re the professional, but you said that stories shape the narrative, right? We want to expose Lazos and make him feel weak, even emasculated,” Sam said.

  “Really? And why the sudden desire for this? It can’t be just that he stole his daughter, because that’s old news.”

  So we told him: About Eddie Stack. About Sam’s stolen knife. About the man with the beard. About my attempted abduction.

  Elliott’s eyebrows kept rising higher and higher as he took it all in, and then he pulled his phone from his pocket and said, “Do you mind if I take notes?” Then he fired off his predictable questions.

  “Have you ever seen this bearded man before?”

  No.

  “Did you have any previous knowledge of Eddie Stack?”

  We had not. “Although it turns out I’m familiar with his wife. She works at the service desk at the grocery store on GGH.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, sorry. That’s what some of the local people call Green Glass Highway.”

  Elliott frowned. “I despise acronyms,” he said.

  I sniffed. “Anyway, what do you think of writing something to expose him?”

  Elliott nodded. “It’s a good story—but are you sure it would have the effect you want—that it would anger him and draw him out? Or would he just feel persecuted?”

  Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. We would be attempting to smoke him out, and whatever strong emotion he felt might get him to make a move—to do something stupid.”

  “He hasn’t made too many mistakes so far,” Elliott warned. “The guy is like Teflon.”

  He took a piece of cheese and two crackers and made a tiny sandwich, then popped it into his mouth.

  I studied him, then said, “Hey, who is Joseph Williams? Is that a reporter you know?”

  He wiped his hands off and chewed his crackers. I waited until he swallowed, at which point he said, “I know who you mean. I saw the story. But that’s not a national rag, and I don’t know the name. It’s pretty clearly an alias.”

  “That’s what I thought! And it has to be someone from this area, because they had a picture of Sam and me. Who could get that kind of access?”

  “Anyone,” Elliott said. “As long as they’re willing to spy.”

  I frowned at this. The bearded man and his camera . . .

  Elliott leaned back on the couch. “So tell me this: what’s Nikon’s motive? He got his daughter; he wins. So why lash out at all of you?”

  Sam pointed at him. “That’s what you have to make clear. That he’s a control freak. That he can’t bear to lose on any level. That he sees Victoria as a disloyal wife and me, somehow, as a romantic rival. Rationality doesn’t seem to enter into it.”

  He typed some more into his phone. He was grinning while he did it, which I pointed out to him.

  “Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “But a good story is pure gold to me. And while Victoria West has been making my life worthwhile with a lot of interviews about her life with Lazos and a world without her daughter—well, this is better. It suggests future conflict.”

  “For whom?” I asked.

  Jake Elliott looked at me with his clear br
own eyes. “For whoever loses. One way or the other, there are people at risk here.”

  “There’s a lot we don’t know,” Sam said. “Almost everything is a mystery, in fact. But our biggest question is about the mailman. Why Eddie Stack? What does he have to do with the rest of us, and with these puzzle pieces?”

  Jake Elliott nodded. “And is any of this off-limits? Anything the cops don’t want me to use?”

  Sam’s face closed off slightly. “You can ask Doug. He’s up at Graham House right now. Guarding Camilla’s kingdom. Oh yes—we didn’t tell you about the break-in, did we?”

  Elliott’s eyes were almost twinkling. “You did not.”

  Sam began to tell him about it, and we heard his front door opening. My father and Tabitha entered, looking exhausted after their day in the fresh air. “Hello,” my father said. “Did we interrupt a party?”

  We stood up, and I introduced Jake, whom Tabitha immediately flattered by remembering his name from the AP articles. “We really admired your story about Sam,” she said. “You changed the way people looked at him, and it was powerful journalism.”

  Elliott beamed at her. “Thank you very much. I was lucky that Sam trusted me enough to confide in me.”

  We chatted for a while, but soon my father and Tabitha wished us good night and went up to their room on the second floor.

  Jake Elliott looked at his watch and nodded. “I have to go, too. Sam, thanks for the call. I’ll see what I can find to corroborate your ideas.”

  Sam thanked him and shook his hand, and then I did the same.

  Elliott left, and we stood in the silent room.

  “Just another day in Blue Lake,” Sam said with a crooked smile.

  Before we retired for the night, I went back down Sam’s entrance hall and peeked out the front door. The police car was still there, pale white under the streetlight.

  My spirits plunged. Sam was right; it couldn’t be a good sign that they were sitting outside his house, almost as though they expected something to happen.