A Dark and Twisting Path Read online

  “Except that I’m asking you to make it your business. Just get a sense of things, okay? And then tell me what you think. See what you can find out.”

  “You really like her, right?”

  He sighed, impatient. “Yes. I really like her. Will you do this for me, Lena?”

  Camilla had told me, months earlier, that she saw Doug’s and my relationship as similar to a brother-and-sister bond. I had come to see it that way, as well. “Yes, of course. You would do it for me, so I will gladly do it for you. Give me a day or two and I’ll find a reason to meet with her. Okay?”

  His face creased into a smile. “And put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”

  “Will do.” I grinned at him.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out quickly, hoping it was Sam. I held up a finger, asking Doug to wait. “Hello?”

  “Lena.” It was Allison’s voice, but it lacked all the bright happiness that it usually held. A chill ran down my spine.

  “Allison? What’s wrong?”

  “Lena, you have to come here now.”

  “Come to your house? Why? What happened?” Doug stiffened, on the alert.

  “Something terrible. I don’t know what to do. It’s terrible. I—you have to come.”

  “Allison. Doug is right here. Should I have him come, too?”

  “Oh God,” she whispered. Now I was really afraid. “I don’t know. No. Just come.”

  “Allison?”

  Now Doug was leaning forward, trying to take the phone. I moved backward. “Allison? Tell me what happened. Are you okay?”

  “Lena, just come here. I need you. I won’t touch anything until you get here.” She ended the call.

  I turned to Doug. Cliff had emerged from the car and was loping back.

  I took a deep breath to calm my suddenly jittery nerves. “That was Allison. I have to get going.”

  Doug was wearing his cop face. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. I mean, something. I’ll let you know.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, but Cliff arrived and tapped him on the shoulder. “Paula said, come pick up your messages at the office. And the mayor called.”

  He shrugged and pointed at me. “Keep in touch.”

  “I will.” They went back to their car, and I ran inside to get my keys.

  Camilla appeared in the kitchen doorway. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “It’s Allison—there’s an emergency at her place.”

  “Go,” she said. “Call later to fill me in.”

  I waved and ran down the steps. Doug and Cliff’s vehicle had already driven off, shooting up gravel in its wake. I paused a moment, watching the retreating car. It was strange seeing Doug with a partner. And why did Doug suddenly need more help in little Blue Lake?

  I shook my head and ran to my car. Allison was my priority now.

  3

  The body lay at the foot of the hill, and for a moment, in the disconcerting timelessness of the temple ruins, Delia had the odd thought that someone had left a sacrifice for Apollo.

  Then the thought faded, and she was left contemplating a dead man.

  —From Death at Delphi

  I DON’T REMEMBER the drive to Allison’s place—just the way I lurched into her driveway and stumbled out of the car, half-fearful that she would be murdered by some unknown assailant. This was not rational, since she had called me herself, but her tone had left me chilled and frightened. I ran to the door, which was open, and Allison stood inside, trembling.

  “What’s going on? You scared me,” I said.

  Allison grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. She was dressed for work in pink hospital scrubs, her hair tied neatly back, her St. Andrew’s ID clipped to her pocket: her smiling face over the name “Allison Branch, Emergency.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Remember I said John had a fight? A fight with the mailman. His name is Eddie Stack.”

  “Okay, slow down. What about Eddie? Did he come back?”

  She nodded, and two fat tears rolled down her face. “He’s in my backyard.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Allison! Call the police! Call an ambulance. Here, give me your phone.”

  Her hand tightened on mine. “He’s dead, and I think someone killed him. Lena, everyone will think it was John!”

  “What? Of course they won’t. John’s an accountant,” I said nonsensically. “He’s a pacifist. Why would anyone—”

  “Because they had a fight yesterday, about the mail. Eddie started yelling, so John yelled, too. People came out of their houses to see what was happening. They saw, and now Eddie is dead in our yard.”

  “Allison. Take a deep breath. Do it! Okay, now think. First of all, are you sure he’s dead?”

  “I’m a nurse,” she said. “I went out and examined him.”

  “And how do you know he didn’t die of natural causes?”

  She turned pale. “I didn’t turn him over, but there’s blood on the leaves around him. He—there’s blood.” She grabbed my wrist and led me to her living room window, where I saw nothing at all. I turned to her.

  “Allie? There’s no one out there.”

  She pointed. “Look beyond my backyard, to where the forest preserve begins.”

  I peered out and saw, in the shadow of the tall trees, something on the ground. Someone.

  “How did you find him?”

  She sighed. “I like to take a walk in the woods before I go to work. It centers me. This morning I went for a walk, and there he was. I couldn’t believe—I just—this seems like a bad dream. Now I know how you and Sam feel.”

  I put a calming hand on her arm. “Okay. Now think about this. Doug Heller is the one who will investigate this. Doug is one of John’s best friends. Doug hated Sam, and even for Sam, Doug was willing to suspend his dislike to look at the case rationally. And in January, when a body appeared near Sam’s house, Doug didn’t immediately assume that Sam was a murderer. He won’t make a crazy assumption, Allison. Not to mention—when did this body appear? John’s at work, right?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know how long Eddie has been lying there. I just happened to walk that way . . .”

  “We need to call Doug,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Unless you’re telling me you think your husband actually did this.”

  Her eyes grew huge with indignation. “Of course not! I just—oh God, I know you’re right. I might not—I haven’t been thinking straight.”

  I gave her a big hug. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”

  “And now I wonder—I think I’ve been really irrational, Lena—I wonder if I could have made a mistake. Maybe he’s not dead. But I—I can’t bring myself—”

  “I’ll go,” I said, acting brave for Allison but feeling cowardly. I had seen my share of dead bodies in Blue Lake, and a part of me was really having trouble believing I was about to see another one. I let go of her hand and made my way to the sliding glass door, out into the yard, and toward the shaded wood beyond. As I approached, serenaded by birds and caressed by a lighthearted breeze that did not seem to acknowledge the seriousness of death, I saw that the man under the tree was lying disturbingly still, and I felt certain that Allison had been right. Still, I moved cautiously toward him. He was almost entirely facedown, but just slightly tilted to one side. I peered at him long enough to see the stiffness of his features and then, feeling sick, I pulled back, ready to retreat, but something underneath him glinted in a beam of sun. I leaned back in, looking at the small part of his chest that was visible. There, protruding from his shirt, was a silver handle embedded with blue twinkling gems.

  I stood quickly and staggered backward, not sure whether I wanted to retch or cry.

  There was no mistaking th
e little knifelike object. It was a letter opener; a sterling silver replica of the sword that King Arthur pulled from a stone. I had learned that Sam liked Arthurian legend, and I had purchased the little knife for him on Valentine’s Day.

  Now Sam’s distinctive letter opener was stuck in the chest of a dead man. Once again, Sam’s name would be linked to a murder. Once more he would be in the headlines, where he had never wanted to be again. I wondered briefly what would happen if I put my hands on the hilt and pulled the knife out. Was it all right to tamper with evidence to protect an innocent man?

  Allison called me from the door. “Lena? I did what you said. I called Doug. This is all just a bad dream, right?”

  “A nightmare.” I spared one last glance at the body on the ground, then walked toward her without looking back, depressed and worried. The poor man remained behind me, frozen, just the way that someone had left him there. Despite my feelings of sympathy for the dead man, I couldn’t stop thinking about the living.

  How had my present to Sam ended up in Eddie Stack’s chest? What could he possibly say to Doug to avoid suspicion?

  It couldn’t be happening—and yet it was.

  * * *

  * * *

  DOUG AND CLIFF arrived five minutes later, looking official. They marched into Allison’s backyard and came back in almost immediately. “Did you touch anything?” Cliff asked, his face stern.

  Allison lifted her chin. “I touched him to find out if he was in distress. If he needed help. I’m pretty sure he was already dead. I mean, I could be wrong, but—”

  “He’s been dead for hours,” Doug said, covering her hand with his own and sending her a reassuring glance. It was generous of him, I thought, to care about her feelings in a moment when all his thoughts had to be focused on crime.

  Allison looked relieved. “Do you have a minute to talk alone?” she said to Doug.

  Cliff looked surprised; he scratched at some stubble on his jaw, then pointed to the back door. “I’ll call the team from out there,” he said.

  Doug nodded, then turned to Allison, his brows raised. “What’s up?”

  “That’s Eddie Stack. Our mailman. Your mailman.” Doug lived just a block away from Allison and John.

  “Oh wow. Eddie! I thought I recognized the face. Poor guy.”

  “The thing is—he and John had a fight yesterday.”

  Doug’s face remained impassive. “What about?”

  “He was always giving us the mail in terrible condition.” Allison looked near tears. “Mangled magazines and envelopes that were torn. John confronted him, and Eddie got defensive and started yelling, so John yelled back. All the neighbors saw.”

  “So?” Doug asked.

  “So—he’s right behind our house, in our yard. I don’t want you to think John had anything to do with it.”

  “I don’t,” Doug said. “But thanks for telling me. I’ll make a note of it. Maybe a lot of customers had a problem with Eddie.”

  Now the tears were flowing out of Allison’s eyes. “Other than that, he was an okay guy. We didn’t even get mail today, though. That must mean—I—oh, God. I’m sorry this happened to him. But John—this wasn’t—”

  Doug pulled her into a quick hug. “You’re dressed for work. Are you able to call in for today? Maybe call John to come and be with you?”

  She nodded tearfully and went to find her phone. Doug turned to me. His blond hair was once again slightly mussed from being outside in the gentle wind. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. We need to talk, before Cliff comes back in.”

  He almost looked amused. “Are you going to tell me that your boyfriend also had a fight with Eddie Stack?”

  “No. I’m going to tell you that my boyfriend’s knife is in his chest.”

  Doug was normally unflappable, but now his mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I gave Sam a letter opener last month. A replica of Arthur’s sword; it’s silver with blue stones in the handle. I saw part of it—sticking out of that guy out there.”

  “What—do you have any idea—?”

  “No. Sam didn’t say that he lost it or anything, but then again I haven’t seen him since I got back from England. It’s a moot point, because he’s not even in town, but—”

  Doug’s eyes flicked away from me.

  “What?” I said. “What do you know?”

  His eyes flicked back. “Sam’s in town. I saw him this morning.”

  This news hurt more than the knowledge that my gift to Sam had killed someone. Sam was in Blue Lake and hadn’t told me so. Hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Almost as if he hadn’t wanted me to know . . . “Are you sure it was Sam?”

  “I talked to him,” Doug said. “He was at the gas station, filling up his car. He said he was headed home to wash up. He’d had a long ride.”

  I tried to be casual. “When was this?”

  He shrugged. “It’s eleven now, so maybe around eight?”

  “Huh.” Some terrible emotion was boiling in me, but I hadn’t yet determined what it was.

  Doug nodded. “Call him up. Tell him to head out here. I’ll want to ask him some questions.”

  We’ll both want to ask him some questions.

  I looked out the window and briefly made eye contact with Cliff Blake, who was on the phone. His expression was something between sympathetic and suspicious, and for some reason it made me feel guilty.

  4

  The man who had led Delia to the temple reappeared when she was ready to leave; he seemed to sense her every need, and his eyes, bright and blue even in the sun, seemed to her exactly the way Apollo’s eyes must have looked when he appeared in mortal form.

  —From Death at Delphi

  I DIALED SAM’S home number on my cell and waited while it rang, and until he answered I hadn’t believed that Doug was right. “Sam West.”

  “Sam,” I said. “You are home. Doug told me he saw you.”

  “Lena.” His tone was warm, as always. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Sam. I had to hear from Doug that you were back in town. Because he happened to run into you at the gas station.”

  “Babe, don’t be mad. I went straight from there to bed, for a couple hours of shut-eye, and then I took a shower. I didn’t want to see you with bloodshot eyes and sour clothes. We debriefed in Indianapolis, and then I drove straight through to get back. I was wiped out.”

  “Still. You could have texted me.”

  “Lena, if only you knew how much I wanted to see you. What dangerous speeds I was doing on the expressway just so I could get back to my own house and then walk up the bluff to meet my beautiful girl.”

  “Don’t call me a girl.”

  “Sorry.” His voice held the hint of a smile. “How long are you going to be mad at me?”

  I sighed. “I don’t have the luxury of being mad at you. Get to Allison’s house right now.”

  “What?”

  “Sam. I don’t know how to say this. There’s another dead body.”

  “What?”

  “It’s in the woods behind Allison’s house. It’s her mailman—a guy named Eddie Stack.”

  “I don’t know him,” said Sam, clearly mystified. “Why do I need to come to Allison’s?”

  “Because Doug is here, and he has questions.”

  A pause. “I’m still not clear, Lena. Why does this have to involve me—or you—in any way? What kind of questions does Doug need to ask me?”

  I sighed. “He needs to ask you how your Arthurian letter opener ended up in the man’s chest.”

  A longer pause this time, and again I heard the tactless birds singing their merry songs. “That is a good question,” Sam finally said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  * * *

  WHEN H
E ARRIVED I was waiting at the foot of Allison’s driveway. He parked his car across the street, which was now clogged with emergency vehicles, and jogged toward me. I flung myself into his arms. “I’m very mad at you,” I said, clinging to him. He did smell nice, as though he had just emerged from the shower—not that I had doubted his story.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed my hair, and then my cheek, and then my lips. After that I felt significantly less angry. Sam smiled, seeing this. “Let’s get this out of the way so we can go home,” he said.

  We moved up the driveway. Allison’s neighbors—the ones who weren’t very welcoming—were out in their yards, staring at Allison’s place and talking amongst themselves. The dark-haired gardening woman from across the street was standing in her front yard and clutching her gardening gloves against her chest. Next door to her a middle-aged couple peered over their hedge, and on Allison’s side of the street several neighbors had gathered, their faces concerned as they contemplated the police cars and emergency vehicles. One man in particular wore a highly scandalized expression as he stared at the yellow police tape that an officer had just finished wrapping around Allison’s property. The man walked up to Sam and me. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “We’re not sure,” I said. It was part lie and part truth.

  He narrowed his eyes. He was tall and thin, with a white mustache and some sparse white hair. “I know you. Aren’t you Sam West?” he said to Sam. “I’ve seen your picture in the papers.”

  Sam nodded briefly. He hated being accosted by strangers.

  “Does this have something to do with you?” the man asked, jutting out his chin.

  I stepped in front of Sam. “In case you don’t recall from the newspapers, Sam wasn’t guilty of anything. It was everyone else who was guilty of believing things that weren’t true.” I stared him down and he moved away, shaking his head.

  Sam’s mouth curled up on one side. “You don’t have to be my bodyguard, Lena.”

  “Yes, I do. You’ve dealt with enough nonsense from these people.”