Death Waits in the Dark Read online

  I flopped into a chair near the window. “Thank you so much to all of you. I am not a creature who thrives in the heat. Camilla said I looked like a wilted flower, and I felt like one this past week.”

  “You need to go down and jump in the lake when it gets this hot,” Doug said, shrugging. “Ned Purchase offered us full access to his private strip of beach—he’s in New York until September. Belinda and I have been in the water constantly.”

  “You just want to see her in a bathing suit,” I joked.

  Doug grinned. “She has some great bathing suits, but we’ve also opted for the au naturel experience. She rocks that, too.”

  Sam’s eyes met mine. “We should swim more, Lena.”

  Cliff sighed. “Have a heart. Some people at this table have no significant other.”

  I touched his arm. “Why is that? How does a handsome guy like you end up coming to Blue Lake all alone?”

  Cliff took a swig of beer and sighed. “Sam has already heard this whole story. There was someone. Beth. We lived together for several years. It didn’t work out, but we parted on good terms. I think she’s married now.” He looked out the window at the lake, which was still as glass on this windless day.

  “Maybe she just wasn’t the right one for you,” I said.

  Cliff shrugged. “I’ve always been a little too devoted to the job. And I was—kind of obsessing over Sam West in those years. Following up on every little thing I could learn about my little brother here. Beth told me to just contact him, but I was stubborn.”

  We thought about that for a while. Cliff had finally taken a job in Blue Lake just to be closer to Sam, who hadn’t known he had a half brother.

  Doug pointed at his fellow cop. “We’ve got to get this guy back into the dating pool. Lots of attractive women in this town.”

  I studied Cliff and had a sudden inspiration. “You know what, Cliff? I know someone I think you would really enjoy meeting. And I know she would like you. You meet several of her criteria for what makes a good man.”

  Sam laughed. “And how do you know this woman’s criteria?”

  “She went to high school with Allison and me. She graduated a couple years before we did; she pursued veterinary school, and she got a job at an animal hospital in Chicago, but they ended up reducing their staff. Allison’s been trying to get her to Blue Lake—you know Allison. She wants all her friends to come here.”

  “It worked with you,” Doug said. We exchanged a smile; we both recalled the day that I came to town, lured by a phone call from Allison Branch.

  “Allison’s been sending her clippings of job openings at animal hospitals in this area. Allie is hilarious in her enthusiasm, as always. But Isabelle really is considering coming out for some interviews.”

  “Isabelle,” said Cliff appreciatively. “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Yes.” I studied him. “Isabelle’s the whole package: smart, pretty, fun. Like you, she was with someone, but he ended up revealing his true character, and Isabelle dumped him.”

  “Good for her,” Sam said.

  Cliff shrugged. “Well, if she ever comes to town, I’d be happy to meet her. Meanwhile, I’m on duty in about an hour and I need to get home and put on the uniform.”

  Doug’s face changed; he always looked serious when he thought about cop things. “I’m off today, and I have plans to take Belinda to Warrenville for a movie and dinner. But if you hear any more about our vandal, let me know.”

  “Blue Lake has a vandal?” I asked.

  Doug and Cliff both took on that shuttered look that law enforcement people get when they can’t share information. “Don’t we always?” Doug said lightly. He stood up, and so did Cliff.

  I turned to Sam. “I think your playmates are leaving.”

  Sam stood and joined the other two as they walked to the kitchen door. The men exchanged some of those hearty man-hugs and thumped one another loudly on the back. I darted in and hugged them all, too. “I appreciate your help, and I always love your company. Come back soon, and we’ll play a board game in Camilla’s nice cool house.”

  “Invite Isabelle, too,” Cliff joked.

  Doug put a hand on my shoulder. “Belinda wants to have a little get-together at her place soon. She’s thinking maybe a Fourth of July party. She’ll be contacting you.”

  “Okay! Sounds fun,” I said.

  I waved and watched from the kitchen doorway as Sam walked his friends to the front door and saw them out. He shut the door and turned to say something to me, but he was interrupted by a loud voice saying, “Of course you would protect him! You were in love with him!” Camilla’s study door flew open and the woman named Jane Wyland came stalking out, her fists clenched at her sides. Camilla emerged as well, her face paler than I had ever seen it, her eyes desolate.

  The Wyland woman moved to the front door without saying a word, but when she reached the place where Sam stood, she pointed at him and said, “The notorious Sam West. It figures he would be your friend. That says a lot about your family, doesn’t it? The whole Graham family. I’ll be back tomorrow, Camilla. So make your decision.”

  She scowled at me, and then at Sam, and then she swept out of the door.

  Shocked, I turned to Camilla, who seemed on the verge of tears. “Camilla? What in the world—?”

  She held up a hand. “Lena, would you call Adam and cancel my lunch date with him?”

  “Yes, if you want, but Camilla, are you all right? That woman—”

  She covered her face with her hands for a moment and then moved swiftly to the stairs. She spared me one quick glance; her eyes were full of tears. “I can’t talk about this right now,” she said, and she ran up toward her room.

  Sam and I stared at each other across the space of the foyer, our mouths open in disbelief.

  Finally he said, “Who was that woman?”

  I narrowed my eyes. In the ten months I had known her, Camilla had never lost her composure, in any situation. And no one had ever dared to speak to her in that tone. Now this Wyland woman, this stranger, in her grim black attire, had waltzed in and upset my mentor, my friend—my family. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”

  I ran out the front door and saw that she was just reaching her car—a long, dark vehicle that seemed to emanate heat. I tore down the steps and met her as she was unlocking the door. “Miss Wyland,” I said. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Camilla is very upset . . .”

  If I thought that confronting her would make her back down, I thought wrong. Her face looked almost triumphant when she heard about Camilla’s distress. “Oh, did I upset her? Well, that is a shame, isn’t it? For forty years this family hasn’t faced justice, and now that I try to hold them accountable, you take her side. They’ll all be on her side! That’s why I am taking a different route. She’ll want to keep the family pride intact, won’t she? So now I have my chance. Now I can stand up for my family, and for once people will listen. You can count on it.” She climbed into her car and slammed the door.

  I was too shocked to do anything but watch her drive away.

  * * *

  • • •

  I RETURNED TO the house, shaking my head at Sam to indicate that I had failed in my mission. Recalling that Camilla had asked me to cancel her luncheon, I dialed Adam’s number. Adam sounded concerned, and a bit confused.

  “Jane Wyland? Why in the world—?” He paused for a moment; I could almost hear him thinking. “That is very distressing,” he finally said.

  “You must know her too, right? She said she knew Camilla way back when—I guess around the time Camilla came to America.”

  “Yes. I know Jane.” His voice was neutral, but I sensed some emotion, as well.

  “In any case—Camilla needs some time to recover, I think. The woman was really unpleasant. So—she doesn’t want you to c
ome over until she feels better.”

  “I understand,” Adam said. “I’ll text her later, let her talk to me that way first. She’s a woman of the written word, as you know.”

  “Thanks, Adam.” I ended the call, glad that Adam understood Camilla so well.

  Sam gave me a bracing hug and then went home to work, promising to check in on me later. “Give her some space,” he advised. “She’ll open up eventually.”

  I did just that; I cleaned up the beer glasses and recycled the bottles; I went to the store and bought some ingredients for dinner salads (Camilla’s chef, Rhonda, was in Italy for two weeks with her family, so we were in charge of our meals); I walked the dogs briefly, until I couldn’t stand the heat anymore; I took a nice, cooling shower and donned a T-shirt and some shorts; I ruffled the fur of my cat, Lestrade, who lay stretched out to his full length on my bed, letting the new stream of chilled air cool his belly.

  Then I went to see Camilla. Her room was a space I did not normally enter, although I’d ventured in once or twice if called there. It was a wide, airy room that looked down on the driveway and the start of the path to the bluff and the forest vista behind it. Her bedspread was a lovely European-looking blend of garden colors, and above it hung a framed reproduction of Pierre Bonnard’s Young Woman Writing, given to her as a gift by her late husband, James. He told Camilla that it reminded him of her when they first met. On a table near the window sat a vase of flowers and an antique typewriter that had belonged to Camilla’s grandmother. There was a blotter there, too, so that Camilla could write her correspondence or jot ideas for books if they came to her while she lounged.

  She sat at this table now, looking out the two panes of the window that didn’t hold the new air conditioner. I had already opened the door to peer in at her, but I knocked on it. “Camilla? I waited a few hours, but I wanted to check on you.”

  “Come in, Lena,” she said.

  I moved into the room, which felt cool and smelled subtly like Camilla’s perfume. “Are you all right?” I asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

  “I’m better now, thank you.”

  “I—I don’t understand what that woman wanted.”

  She turned to face me for the first time. Her eyes were dry now, and her color looked better, but she still looked distressed. “I don’t understand, either. But I confess I am at a loss. I need to ask for your help.”

  “Of course! Anything, Camilla. You know that.”

  She nodded. “You are such a sweet girl.” She got up and came to sit next to me. I put an arm around her.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “I only met Jane Wyland a few times, when James and I were first married. He was working near Blue Lake, and we came to live here. His mother had died, and his father was ailing, so James and I essentially ran the house. He had a brother, Allan, but he had moved to Philadelphia.”

  “You’ve mentioned Allan,” I said, my tone encouraging.

  “William Graham—that’s James’s father—was an influential man here in Blue Lake. His family, for generations, had owned businesses in the town. James’s great-grandfather ran the sawmill, and his uncle had a stake in what is now Schuler’s ice cream. His father was on the school board and had his own law practice in Blue Lake. It no longer exists.”

  “Ah.”

  “Back to Jane,” she said. “When James and I first arrived, he gave me a tour of the town. He was a proud local boy; he loved Blue Lake and was happy to have me here. We ran across Jane at a pub in town called the Lumberjack. It’s no longer there, either, but it was a favorite haunt of the locals. James introduced me to Jane, and everyone was very polite, but there was palpable tension. Jane taught at the local grade school—”

  “She taught children?”

  “She was very good, and very popular. The parents and children loved her, from what I heard. I thought, at the time, that my children might one day end up in her class, and I said something of the sort to her.”

  This made me sad. I knew that Camilla found out, not long after arriving in Blue Lake, that she could not have children. “So you were all—friends?”

  She shook her head. “No—James was friendly, or at least polite. But there was something stiff about her even then. Something felt off with the encounter, and when I mentioned that she might one day teach my children, she stood up quite abruptly, although she’d been there dining with some friends, and said she had to go. And she left, to the surprise of her friends and the consternation of James. He was quite upset about the scene, as I recall.”

  “That must have been, what, 1971?”

  “Yes, 1971. Just after our wedding, when I came to Blue Lake for the first time.”

  “What did James say after that?”

  She shrugged. “I asked him about it when we returned home. Returned here,” she said, gesturing around us. “He said he didn’t know what would have caused her to react that way, but that he felt badly about it. He said she was a nice woman, and that they had always gotten on well. He had gone to school with her.”

  “How strange—the whole encounter.”

  “Yes. After that I saw her now and again in town, and she was polite, but rather—cold. Then a couple years later she moved out of Blue Lake, although I think she still taught at the grade school. I never ran across her again. Until today.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “What did she want?”

  “She said she wanted to ‘finally make things right.’ I had no idea what she meant, and I told her so. She said she felt sorry for me, because I was ignorant of the Graham family’s biggest secret.”

  “Maybe she just always resented them. They were powerful, and rather wealthy, right? Living in this big house on the bluff. Maybe life disappointed her, and . . .”

  “I don’t think so. The Wylands were a nice family. Well respected, well educated, although James did say they had some unlucky investments and were always at a loss for money. In fact, Jane had a sister who once worked for James’s family. James said she was very sweet and did a good job. She came every day to clean and cook; it was especially helpful because his father needed looking after, which took James’s time when he wasn’t working. He really didn’t have anything bad to say about the Wylands.”

  “But this Jane is insisting that the family has a secret?”

  Camilla nodded. “Yes. And normally I would dismiss it as nonsense, but she’s given me a bit of an ultimatum.”

  “She what?”

  “Yes. She said that I should tell the truth to the press about my husband, James, or she will.”

  “What truth is she referring to?”

  Camilla looked into my eyes, and I saw the worry in hers. “I have no idea,” she said.

  2

  The family bond is such a mystery, isn’t it, my dear Camilla? There is no dissolving it, no matter how much time or distance or circumstance may test it. Invisible and permanent, it reminds us of the reality of blood.

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

  I PROMISED CAMILLA that we would come up with some solution to the problem—a solution which would probably take the form of reasoning with Jane Wyland. “Even if we have to bring in some sort of arbitrator or a therapist or something. She seemed genuinely disturbed,” I said.

  Camilla shrugged. “Life continues to surprise me. I thought I had gotten to an age at which I’d seen it all, but her behavior, her words, are simply inexplicable. She’s essentially a stranger, but something drove her to come to my house, to speak about my poor late husband with such—rancor. About his whole family. James’s father was such a sweet man; he was ill when I met him, and he never got better, but he was always kind and solicitous toward me. I was proud to be a Graham.” She lifted her chin. “I still am proud.”

  “Of course you are. Don’t let that woman give you a moment’s pause about your
family. Whatever is tormenting her clearly has nothing to do with you.”

  She smiled at me. “Oh, Lena—you really do always know what to say to lift my spirits. And now I realize I haven’t eaten a bit since that Wyland woman came charging in here. Do you think if we rummaged through cabinets we could find ourselves some dinner?”

  “I bought salad fixings, but I have a better idea,” I said. I took her hand and persuaded her to stand up. “What do you want on your pizza?” I asked as we crossed her slightly creaky bedroom floor.

  She giggled. “Oh, pizza! Like we’re girls in a dormitory. All right, yes. I like pepperoni and red peppers.”

  “Ooh, yummy. I’ll order it right now. Allison tells me that Pietro’s is the best in town.”

  We descended the stairs, and, using Camilla’s kitchen phone, I ordered a large pizza. Then we sat down at her kitchen table. “Do you want to work on the book?” I asked. Camilla and I were almost finished with a draft of a book based on one of my ideas—we planned to title it Death at Delphi—and we were still putting on the finishing touches.

  She shrugged. “I must confess I feel a bit too unnerved to be creative right now. I might have to spend the evening distracting myself in some other way. Watching television, maybe, or playing a game.”

  “Allison is always begging to play a board game. Shall I invite her and John over? Or better yet, what if we went to their house? A change of scenery would be good, right?”

  She thought about this. I was used to Camilla’s thinking silences, so I wasn’t offended when she didn’t answer immediately. She liked to ponder her options before she made a decision. Finally, she said, “Do you think Allison would be willing to host? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her house. And I’d love to have Doug and Belinda there, and Sam and Cliff. Cliff needs a girlfriend, doesn’t he?”

  I laughed. “We were just talking about that today. I have someone that I’d like to introduce to him. She lives in Chicago right now, but we’ll see. Allison’s trying to bring her here.”