Death Waits in the Dark Read online

  Sam nodded. “Makes sense. Could be the car of a spouse or something. How many of them are married, Cliff?”

  “I don’t think any of them are, except Horace. Adam is a widower, Paul Graves is divorced, and so is Travis Pace.”

  “Karina, or Key Thibodeau, has a spouse. Or whatever her married name is,” I said. “Marge said she married a farmer. What was his name?”

  “Ken Fields,” Cliff replied. “Chip spoke to him. The man had a number of vehicles in his garage and was happy to show them off, Chip said.”

  “The car is the key to it all!” I said. “I think we should visit them all tonight. Find a way to shake their hands, or fall into them, make it look like an accident. We can know who this is within an hour.”

  “It’s late, Lena,” Sam said.

  “So? Cliff is a cop. He can make people get up. Someone is a murderer, and we need to catch him before his hand gets better!”

  Cliff stood up. “First thing in the morning, kid. Meanwhile I think we should all call it a night. Isabelle, thanks so much for the information. Sorry to bother you at this hour. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Almost eleven,” Isabelle said. “And I don’t mind at all. I seem destined to keep meeting you.”

  It was an ambiguous statement, but Cliff chose to believe it was directed at him. His face grew slightly red and he studied his car keys, then sent her a crooked smile. His eyes met Sam’s, and they exchanged a look that I could not read.

  Sam said, “Lena, Camilla is going to kill me if I don’t get you home to rest. You’ve only been out of the hospital for a day.”

  “I can take care of myself,” I said. I thanked Isabelle and walked to the door. I could only imagine the secret messages that were being exchanged behind me. I stepped out into the evening air.

  * * *

  • • •

  WE STILL SAW distant fireworks as Cliff turned off Wentworth Street onto the gravel drive that led up the bluff. I looked at my phone and saw a message from my father. I sent him a quick voice message, saying I was out of the hospital and would contact him soon. “I love you,” I said.

  I could feel Sam’s eyes on me, but he was keeping silent. I understood that he was confused by my erratic behavior, and that made two of us.

  Cliff looked at me in his rearview. “Where am I dropping you, kid? Sam House or Graham House?”

  I smiled wanly. I had no idea where I wanted to be right now.

  Sam touched my hand with one finger. “The kittens are lonely. And I will be, too, if you go to Camilla’s.”

  With a burst of love and gratitude I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I know I’m crazy.”

  “It’s been a long day,” he said. He leaned forward and tapped Cliff’s shoulder. “Let us off here, bro.”

  Cliff obliged, waiting patiently in the car while Sam helped me out of the backseat. I started to walk toward the path but had a thought and moved to the driver’s side window of the car. I tapped on it and Cliff rolled it down. “Isabelle likes you, by the way.”

  “What? Did she say something to you?” Cliff suddenly looked about eighteen years old.

  “No, but she’s my friend, and I’ve seen her before when she likes someone. She likes you.”

  “Well—I mean—should I ask her out? What’s my next move?”

  I laughed. A blue firework flowered over the lake. “I don’t know. Do you like her back?”

  “Yeah. It feels very natural, talking to her.”

  “That’s sweet. Then yes, you should ask her out. Good night.”

  “Good night, Lena. Feel better.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam murmured a good night, and Cliff’s car made a U-turn and drove down the hill.

  Inside Sam’s quiet house four tiny creatures bounded down the hall, thrilled to see us. Sam and I each scooped up two of them. I had a gray one and Arabella, the black-and-white female. I couldn’t do more than crook my arm, but they were happy with that. Arabella curled against me, and the gray boy walked up to my shoulder and sat there. I laughed. “Sam, do you know what I want more than anything in the world?”

  “What?” He held Geronimo and Jeeves like little babies, their bellies up.

  “A shower. A nice, hot shower. I feel like I haven’t been clean for days.”

  “I can help you with that. Let me feed these guys.”

  Moments later Sam was helping me strip off my clothes; he draped half of me with a robe but left my cast arm out; soon he was covering the stiff material with plastic garbage bags, taping them with an engineer’s precision. Finally, he leaned back and studied it. “You’re good to go. Let me go make sure the water is warm.”

  “Okay.” I trailed after him up the stairs, feeling foggy. By the time I got to the bathroom and Sam’s lovely blue tile shower, I was half-asleep.

  He helped me step into the water and I eyed him blearily. “I want to wash my hair,” I said.

  “Hang on,” he said. He stripped off his own clothes and stood in the shower with me, massaging shampoo into my scalp and helping me rinse it off, then gently using a washcloth to bathe me in areas I couldn’t reach. His touch was so light, the water so soothing, I felt a wave of relief pass through me.

  “I feel like a new woman,” I said.

  With a tender finger he wiped some soap from my face, then kissed me. “I don’t want a new woman. I liked the Lena I had.”

  I noticed his past tense, and he realized it, too, when he saw my expression. “Don’t read into that,” he said. “You know what I mean.”

  I avoided his gaze; I was on the verge of humiliating tears. “Okay. Help me out now.”

  He did, and he found a large T-shirt that I could wear as a nightgown. Feeling fragrant and sleepy, I went to his bed, which he had already turned down. Sam helped me in and then left briefly to turn off lights and check the locks on his doors. There was one rosy lamp still glowing in his room, and by this light I saw the silhouettes of the kittens as they tumbled through the door and used their claws to climb Sherpa-like up the side of the mattress.

  “You found me, huh?” I asked them. They walked around like men on the moon, lifting their paws high as they explored the new terrain. Sam returned and stood next to me. “Can I sleep with you? Or will it bother your cast?”

  “Yes. And no, you won’t bother it. I need to tell you something. I still have pain pills left. Allison said I shouldn’t take any more, and that I should see Dr. Salinger tomorrow.”

  “You think it’s the pills, then? Making you feel—off-balance?”

  “I hope so. I haven’t taken one since three o’clock or so today. And I’m not feeling it as badly now as I did earlier, and yesterday. Basically since the accident.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you have them? We can read the bottle.”

  “They’re in my purse. Camilla has it.”

  He touched my cast. “Are you in pain?”

  “No. I don’t think I need them. Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to take more.”

  “We’ll throw them away tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Yeah. I think that’s best.”

  Sam nodded and he climbed into bed next to me and lay close to my side, facing me. “You look better, Lena. You’re getting your color back. And the shower seems to have revitalized you.”

  “I want my mind back. It’s been playing tricks on me. Hey!” Geronimo and Arabella were trying to bite the moisture out of my hair. Sam scooped them up, laughing, and moved them to the bottom of the bed.

  “I’ll take you to the doctor in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know I love you, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer him. I had closed my eyes just to rest them, but I found I couldn’t open them again.

  * * *

  �
� • •

  IN MY DREAM I was once again in the car, and someone was gaining on me. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, determined to outrun him this time. Before I pulled too far away, I remembered that I had to learn his identity. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw him, quite clearly, the shape of his shoulders and the particular style of his hair. His eyes dominated, though, and stayed with me as I sped away. They were full of hatred, and they had been focused right on me.

  I sat up, breathing hard, gasping, and Sam woke up, too. “Lena?”

  “I saw him. In my dream, I saw him.”

  “Do you remember who it was?”

  “I saw a man at first. But by the end of the dream he had turned into Jane Wyland. That’s all I can remember. Her fury, and her hatred. But now I know why she felt so much hate, Sam. Because she thought James Graham took advantage of her sister and made her pregnant, and then paid to get her out of town. And Jane lost that close relationship she’d once had, because Carrie never wanted to return to this place, or to tell people what had happened. She simply cut Jane out of her life.”

  Sam nodded, stroking my hair. “Do you think you can fall back asleep?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s on me! Something heavy.”

  Sam pointed to my stomach. “It’s two cats. Should I move them?”

  I peered into the dark at the curled bodies of two kittens. “Where are the other two?”

  “On my side. They seem to like staying together and staying close to us.”

  “Yeah. They’re fine, you can leave them there.”

  I let my head fall back on the pillow. Sam said, “If you remember, Lena—anything at all—let me know.”

  “Okay.”

  I turned briefly and saw, even in the dark, the determined line of his jaw.

  16

  I know you like mysteries; I fear I find them too close to reality.

  —From the correspondence of James Graham and Camilla Easton, 1971

  DR. SALINGER’S OFFICE waiting room was almost full, but I barely had to wait at all before the now-familiar gray-haired receptionist appeared at the practice door. “Lena? You can come right through, hon.”

  I waved to Sam, who sat holding a People magazine without really reading it. “Should I come in?” he asked. “To talk about the medicine?”

  “I’m okay. Thanks,” I said. I followed the receptionist to the examining room, and she pointed to the table.

  “If you sit up there your cast will be just where the doctor can see it. You can put your purse right here on this little side chair.” I had just reclaimed my purse from Camilla that morning, but I did as the nurse instructed. “There we go. The doctor should be in shortly.”

  “Thank you, uh”—I looked at her name tag, which said “Sandra Walton”—“Sandra.”

  “Everyone calls me Sandy, hon.”

  “Sandy.” It took a couple of beats, but then I sat up straighter. “You didn’t happen to know a girl named Carrie Wyland when you were a kid, did you?”

  Her face changed rapidly over the course of five seconds: it first registered surprise, then confusion, then sadness. “Carrie Wyland? Why in the world would you ask about her?”

  “Oh—because her sister was just killed, you know. It was in the papers. And apparently Carrie herself died a couple of months ago.”

  Sandy Walton faced me in her pale pink smock, her eyes wide. “Carrie Wyland was one of the saddest chapters in my life. One of the happiest, at first. She was my best friend. Two years older than me and my idol in many ways. Oh, we had such fun growing up in Blue Lake!”

  “So what made it sad?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know why she stopped talking to me, but she did. Just never spoke a word to me again or told me she was leaving town. I tried to find out where she went, so I could call or visit or write a letter, but she was just—gone. I cried myself to sleep for a long time, missing that girl. We were like sisters. And I—to this day, I have to tell you, even as a grandmother—I wonder what I did wrong. How I could have offended her.”

  Somewhere in her eyes I could see the hurt child she had once been.

  “You didn’t offend her. That’s not why she left,” I said.

  She took a step closer to me. “How do you know anything about Carrie?”

  “They’re investigating Jane’s death, and I happened to be talking to the chief of police yesterday . . . anyway, we found something out about Carrie. She left because of someone in this town, but it wasn’t you. Unfortunately, she left all her friends behind. Her sister, too—her whole family.”

  “Yes, that’s true. What—how do you know that someone made her leave town?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure it will all come out when they finish investigating. When the police have a press conference—her story will come out.”

  She stiffened suddenly. “You—you broke your arm in a car accident, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it—does it somehow relate to Jane?”

  “Why do you ask that?” I asked. The light changed in the room, a shifting of sun to shadow, and she no longer seemed grandmotherly or nurturing. Her eyes, studying me, seemed sinister.

  “I—it’s silly, I suppose, but you said you had been talking to the police, and Jane’s death was a shocking crime in this town, and then here you were with this terribly broken arm—”

  I nodded, studying her face. “It may well be related to Jane’s death. In fact, the same person may be responsible.”

  “Oh dear. Oh my, that’s terrible.” She looked pale; I felt a wild urge to call for Sam, but then the light shifted. The sun filled the room and she seemed again like a friendly receptionist. The door opened and Dr. Salinger came in, tall and attractive.

  “Hello, Lena! How is that cast working out?”

  Sandy excused herself and went into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

  I stared at the closed door while Dr. Salinger studied my arm, saying, “Mmm-hmm,” once or twice as she examined her handiwork.

  “I’m not actually here about the cast,” I said. “Although I did take a shower. I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

  “Nope. Looks good. What else is on your mind?”

  She sat down in her wheeled chair and folded her hands, going into classic physician listening mode. “I had to stop taking the pain pills. I’m not in that much pain, anyway, but I’ve been—weird. Emotional, like you said, but other things. I’m suspicious of people.”

  “Suspicious?” Her brows rose.

  “Yes. I’ve felt like there’s no one I can trust. Not even my friends, or my boyfriend, sometimes. And yesterday there was a moment that—” I felt on the verge of tears suddenly, with her cool eyes on me. “I hated them.”

  She lifted my folder from her desk, peered inside. “Do you still have the pills?”

  “Yes, in my purse. Unless my boyfriend threw them out this morning.”

  “Why would he throw out your medication?” Brows raised again.

  “No, I mean—I told him to. I felt bad, the worst I’ve felt since I left here. But I’ve been pretty uneven emotionally. I know that, I can see it now, but when I’m having those emotions I can’t see any other view. I’ve been wondering who did this to me and I’ve suspected almost everyone. To be honest, I was suspecting your receptionist a minute ago.”

  “Sandy?” she asked. She didn’t laugh or mock me, much to my relief. She snapped the folder shut. “I definitely want you off the pills. You said you’re not feeling much pain? You shouldn’t be.”

  “No, I’m good. But I want to know how long I’ll feel like this.”

  She frowned. “It’s not a common side effect, but you seem to be experiencing some paranoia. If you stopped taking the drug yesterday, you shouldn’t have too many more unpleasant reactions, although
there can be withdrawal symptoms with the abrupt cessation of opioids.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Well, there can still be some anxiety or depression. Considering the fact that you just had a traumatic incident and that you’ve been experiencing the paranoia, I’m thinking that you won’t be fully yourself again for a couple of days. You weren’t on the pills long, but there are other factors that can affect your overall emotional and psychological health. You’re a victim of trauma. Your body underwent a severe injury. And you need to process all of that emotionally; even after you get rid of the pills. I can give you a referral to a wonderful therapist, if you’d like to work through some of the emotions with her. It makes sense, anyway, post-trauma.”

  “Uh—I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “I can at least write down her name.” She patted her pockets. “I left my pad at the front desk. How about if you follow me there now? Unless you had any other questions?”

  I was disappointed; I had hoped she would tell me a way that I could flip a switch and feel normal again, ready to sit with Camilla and dream up a suspense tale while we drank tea and laughed together. Ready to sit with Sam and not see his eyes creased with worry. Ready to reclaim my life . . . “No, I guess not.”

  She assessed me with a shrewd glance. “You have to be patient, Lena. And when you feel those strange feelings creeping in, tell yourself that you’re imagining them. It helps to push back against them.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Doctor.” I followed her to the front desk, where she jotted a name on a pad. Sandy was back in front of her computer, typing while she talked to someone on the phone, murmuring about the doctor’s availability. Before I walked toward Sam she gave me a friendly wave.

  I handed Sam the referral in the hallway. “What’s this?” he said.

  “A shrink. In case I want to go that way.”

  “What did she say?” he asked, taking my free hand.

  I told him the gist of our meeting, and he nodded. “We can get through this, babe. Okay?”

  “Okay.”