Death Waits in the Dark Page 6

  She saw me coming and waved. “Hello, Lena! Don’t you look pretty today.”

  Marge always said this, and I was fairly certain I looked less pretty than I did sweaty and irritated, but I smiled. “Thanks, Marge. Hey, are you super busy?”

  She waved a hand at the nearly empty store. “Not so much,” she said. “Too hot for even the tourists these days, although I heard it’s not so bad out since the wind came.”

  “It’s bearable. About eighty degrees, I think.”

  “What did you need to know, hon?”

  I looked behind me. “Um—can I take you to the coffee shop or something? I wanted to ask some things about the old days.”

  Her brows rose, and her face brightened. “Well, guess how many cute young things come in here and ask me to reminisce about old times? Exactly none.”

  “Your lucky day,” I said, smiling at her.

  “I have a better idea than the coffee shop. Come on in the back. I have a little sitting room here, did you know?” She disappeared from her window and moments later opened a door in the wall. “Come on back, kiddo.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I peeked at my text as I walked. To my surprise it was from Victoria West, Sam’s former wife. She had sent me a picture of her daughter, Athena, nine months old now, adorably plump and undeniably beautiful. Look at my girl! Victoria had written.

  Touched by the image, and by the fact that Victoria had shared it with me, I texted back She is amazing! Thank you for brightening my day! as I followed Marge back through a cluttered room, as strange as the store itself and equally disordered, but not unpleasant. The Bicks’ love of taxidermy was on display here, too, and various woodland creatures stared at me through strange button eyes. Marge took me to a wooden table at the end of the room, centered in front of a window. This was the biggest surprise of all: behind Bick’s hardware was a little courtyard full of green grass and various types of bird feeders. With one quick glance at the grassy space I spied a wealth of nature’s gentle creatures, sharing the seed that had fallen to the ground. I saw squirrels, a mother rabbit with three little babies, and about five birds with varying plumage. I turned my head to study a shelf next to my chair and met the gaze of a friendly stuffed raccoon.

  “That’s Biff,” Marge said, following my gaze. “He used to visit us out there all the time. Not sure what happened, but one day Horace just found him out there, stiff as a board. We loved that little guy, so Horace did what he could.” She gestured to the raccoon.

  “Wait—you mean Horace does the taxidermy?”

  “Oh yes. It’s a hobby of his, as you can see. He’s quite good now. Not so much at the beginning.”

  I thought about this as Marge went to a little refrigerator in the corner of the room. “Would you like a Dr Pepper, hon? Maybe a lemonade?”

  “Lemonade is lovely, thanks.”

  She selected a Snapple for me and a Dr Pepper for herself, then came to sit across from me. “Oh—did you see that one? Goldfinch. We have a never-ending show here.”

  “Marge, I had no idea you were such a naturalist!”

  “Well, this is the town for it, right? Horace and I keep a chart, and we’ve seen two hundred seventeen varieties of birds. It’s amazing, really. Like a jewel box.”

  A thought occurred to me as I screwed off the top of my drink. “Wait! Did Horace do the grizzly bear?”

  “Oh no. But there’s a story behind that fella, too. When he was alive, he was a fixture at the Riverton Zoo. Have you been? A really nice zoo, well kept and such. You and Sam should go. About a four-hour drive.”

  I nodded, taking a sip of the lemonade. “Sinfully sweet,” I said.

  “The bear’s name was Wally, and everyone loved him. He got up in age—about eighteen years, I guess—and he got sick. The zookeeper who worked with him every day said he would like to keep his image alive when he passed, you know, to make it less heart wrenching for everyone. He got permission, I’m not sure who-all he had to ask, and he preserved Wally. They say he captured the bear’s likeness and his personality and everything. But zoo officials didn’t want to keep him at the zoo because they thought it would upset children to see Wally not moving. For a while he was in a local museum, and then he went up at a local auction. They would have given him to the keeper, but he had died by then. Horace got word of it and put a bid in. This was just a couple years into us starting the store. It wasn’t that high a bid, even, but he got Wally. And now that grizzly is just a staple. It wouldn’t be Bick’s without Wally.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. That’s a wonderful story, Marge. I’m ashamed I didn’t ask about Wally before. I talk with him just about every time I come in here.” I took another sip of my drink. Marge’s strange back room was surprisingly restful. “You know what? You should make a sign explaining Wally’s story. Give him some context for the local people.”

  Marge pointed at the window. “Scarlet tanager! Now, that one you don’t see every day!” She turned back to me. “That’s a great idea about the sign. Horace could do a plaque, even. Lord knows he’s got the materials in this giant barn of a place.”

  “Cool.” My eyes drifted to the window, where birds vied for space at one of the large feeders, and a hummingbird flapped his frantic wings as he pulled honeyed water from a vial. The wind rattled the feeders and ruffled feathers, giving everything a slightly blurry look. “Marge, I don’t know if you’ve heard about Jane Wyland.”

  I darted a look back at her and saw that she was pointing to the local newspaper. “She’s in today’s news. Page three.”

  “It’s horrifying, I know.”

  Marge nodded. “She was a friend. Not so much lately, but back when.” Her eyes were shrewd as they narrowed in on me. “Are you and Camilla investigating something? Is that why you want to talk about old times?”

  “Sort of. Jane had visited Camilla just before she died. She was quite upset, but—she wouldn’t say why,” I hedged. “Camilla was mystified by it all. Then the next morning Jane was dead. Camilla can only imagine it has something to do with the distant past, because she hasn’t spoken to Jane in more than forty years.”

  “It’s true, Jane didn’t appear in town much anymore. But the last few weeks I saw her several times. Her little sister, Carrie, had recently died, and Jane seemed really torn up about it. I’m not sure where it happened. Back when Carrie left Blue Lake I think word was she had gone to Chicago. Maybe she was still there.” She shook her head. “Now both of them are gone. Makes a person feel old, you know? Like you have more friends under the ground than above it.”

  “Don’t say that, Marge! You have friends all over this town.”

  She smiled. “Yes, yes. But your first friends are special, aren’t they? The friends of your youth. I always think of that ‘Auld Lang Syne’ song. Drinking to the past.” She shook her head and turned to look at her birds.

  “Can you tell me about the old gang? And do you care if I take notes?”

  “No, go ahead. What do you want to know?”

  “Well—who were the major players? Who made up the base group?”

  “I suppose it was the ones who had gone to school together at Blue Lake High. Graduated in the ’60s, all of them. That was Horace, and Travis Pace, and Rusty Baxter. The police chief, you know? And of course Adam Rayburn and Camilla’s James. He was a handsome one, that James Graham.”

  “Oh? Did you have a crush on him?”

  Marge laughed and slapped her knee. “Oh no. Horace and I were high school sweethearts. He was the only boy for me, but I did admire James Graham. He seemed to come from another age, somehow. Had a very noble bearing. But some folks read that as stuck-up, like he thought he was better than others. You had to know James, though. He didn’t feel superior to anyone. He was actually very kind.” Her face grew slightly troubled, but she waved a thought away like a cobweb and sipped her soft drink.

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nbsp; “So those five were friends? And then it was you and Jane? Was Carrie a part of your group?”

  “Sometimes she was. She was two years younger than Jane, so she wasn’t always invited, but everyone loved Carrie. Very cute girl, blonde and pretty. Jane was dark and serious. They were like flip sides of each other. We saw Carrie as a kid. In fact, when she wasn’t with us, she hung out with a girl even younger than she was, someone she knew from high school. I remember her talking about her now and then, like a best friend. Sandy was the girl’s name. So sometimes Carrie was off with Sandy, being a kid, and sometimes she was with us, trying to act more sophisticated.”

  “And who did they have a crush on? Anyone?”

  “Well, I think for a long time Jane liked Travis. They might have had a thing once, I can’t recall. And Rusty was quite the ladies’ man back then; girls went mad for his red hair.”

  “Like Karina?”

  Marge’s eyes widened. “How do you know about Karina?”

  “I just spoke to Camilla about this same group.”

  She sighed. “Oh yes, my friend Karina was madly in love with Rusty Baxter. I think he led her on, to be honest. He loved the fact that girls loved him. But he really only had eyes for Darlene, who was so pretty she did modeling part-time.” She sighed. “Karina finally realized she was barking up the wrong tree and starting seeing a farm boy named Ken Fields. She’s Karina Fields now, as a matter of fact.”

  “Do you like Ken?”

  “Oh yes. A very sweet and thoughtful man. They have four kids and five grandkids.”

  “And where do they live?”

  “Bluefield, now. They started out with a little place in Daleville, but then Ken had the chance to buy out a farmer who was retiring. I visited once. Bluefield is a pretty place, but flat. Lots of sky. Blue Lake has a lot more trees.” Her eyes flicked to her own trees rustling outside. “Karina called me this morning, as a matter of fact. She’s going to come in for Jane’s memorial service. So you can ask her questions, too.”

  “Did you have any sisters? Or were your girlfriends your closest confidants?”

  “I had four brothers. Two are dead now, sad to say, and the other two are on the West Coast. They started a company together and it’s doing real well. I’m the only one who stayed in Blue Lake. I never could imagine leaving this town. I don’t know why anyone would.”

  Camilla had said something to me once, back when I first met her, about Blue Lake and the spell it cast over people, making it hard to leave.

  Two cardinals got into a brief tussle over some seed and Marge watched them, smiling. “Those two. Always fighting over the food when there’s plenty to go around.”

  “So let me see: there were five boys—Adam, Travis, James, Rusty, and Horace. Then we have you, Camilla—when she got to town—Jane, Karina, and sometimes Carrie.”

  “Yes. We were all close in age. Carrie was still like a sweet kid. She—well, like I said, everyone loved Carrie.”

  “Okay. So tell me about the guys. Did they all get along?”

  Marge started counting on her fingers. “Well, James and Adam were two peas in a pod. Best friends since childhood. It’s funny, Camilla ending up with Adam, but it makes sense, really. James would have wanted Adam looking after her.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Travis and Rusty were pals, too. And Horace kind of rounded out that group, but he was also my best friend, so we often did our own thing. Went on picnics, or hikes or things, just the two of us. They let us in and out of the group as we pleased, which was nice. No one gave us a hard time about being a couple. I guess because we always had been.”

  “And did Travis and Rusty get along with James and Adam?”

  “For the most part. Until the end there.”

  “What end?”

  “There was a big falling-out, right around the time Camilla got here. Maybe a few weeks or months after. I wasn’t there when it happened, but we all heard there was a real yelling match down at the pub. The Lumberjack was the place we all used to gather, although there was another bar in town we liked sometimes.”

  “The Mill Wheel?”

  “Yes. But that was a bit fancier. The Lumberjack was just for plain folks. That’s where we young people hung out, once we were drinking age.”

  “And there was a big fight? Was Horace there for it?”

  “I guess he came in at the end. He said everyone was red in the face—Jane, and the guys—Rusty, Travis, James, Adam. I can’t remember if Karina was there. We can ask her. Camilla wasn’t, I know that, because someone made the mistake of bringing her name into the argument.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know what it was, and Horace didn’t, either, but he just remembers the look on James’s face when someone mentioned Camilla. He said James looked like he would kill, and Horace believed he would do it.”

  She stole a look at me. “I know that sounds gossipy, but it was a huge blowup. It ended friendships, I think. I don’t believe the guys got together much after that. Horace and I got married and got busy with the store. None of us was a kid anymore, and we drifted apart. But it started from there. The big fight.”

  “And you have no idea what the fight was about?”

  Marge closed her eyes. “I’ll ask Horace if he recalls. I think Jane started it. I think Jane came in all hot about something and just started yelling at everyone.”

  This didn’t surprise me, based on the one meeting I’d had with Jane Wyland. But what had made the woman so angry? And what grudge could she possibly have nurtured through four decades?

  I sighed. “You said Carrie died. What did she die of, do you know?”

  Marge shrugged. “I don’t think Jane said. Sounded like natural causes. But it changed Jane, losing Carrie. It just opened up some old wound, and it was like it had never healed for her.”

  “Yes—I think you’re right, Marge.” I sighed. “This is a puzzle, and a very old one. I’m not sure we’ll have access to all the information we need.”

  “Since so many of the players are dead,” Marge said with grim finality.

  I turned to the left and found Biff contemplating me with what seemed to be fuzzy sympathy.

  “I know Adam. And I’m getting to know James through some letters Camilla showed me. And I know you and Horace. Tell me about Rusty and Travis.”

  “Rusty was handsome and red haired. Sometimes people don’t find red hair attractive in a man, but Rusty had charisma. Still does. If he weren’t still happily married I’ll bet he’d be a real player in this town.”

  I thought about the police chief I had met—portly, gray haired, a bit sleepy-looking. It was hard to imagine him as the devil-may-care lady-killer that Marge described.

  “Rusty also had a great sense of humor. He had us all in stitches all the time—maybe that’s what the girls liked most,” Marge said. “I liked to sit next to him at the pub because he always put me in the best mood.”

  “And Travis?”

  “Travis was the smartest of us. At first he was looking to be a doctor, and he got top marks in all the math and science classes. We used to drill him on his terms at the pub, back when he was in college. But his dad got sick, and he ended up dropping out of school to help with the family business.”

  “Did his father die?”

  “No, he got better, but by then Travis had taken a liking to sales. He was a quick talker and thinker, and he always found a way to make the sale. He increased productivity and his old man was thrilled. He still has the company, actually. It’s a restaurant supply chain called Pacer. Named for Pace. He supplies Adam’s restaurant. Easy to figure out how he got that customer.”

  “So not all of the old friends are at odds,” I said.

  “No—after all this time I think the bad feeling is dead and gone. Dead and gone,” Marge repeated, looking sad.
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br />   “But not for Jane.”

  Marge sipped her soda and studied my face for a minute. “Poor Jane,” she said.

  I jotted down some notes, then said, “Marge, you said Carrie left town. When was that?”

  Her eyes were on the birds again. “Carrie. It might have been Carrie that started it all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marge turned to me. “I think the big fight happened right after she left Blue Lake.”

  6

  I’ve learned today, Camilla, that a man can be pushed to the edge: of endurance, of trust, of civility, and of tolerance. I have reached the edge of all of those, along with my temper. You must think this does not sound like your mild-mannered James, but here in quiet Blue Lake I never had reason to stand up for what I believe in, or perhaps even to know my own heart in that respect. I know it now, and I know what I cannot forgive.

  I’ve learned there is darkness in the human heart: a terrible darkness, and one that I wish I had never seen.

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

  WHEN I LEFT Bick’s, I gave Wally the bear a special pat on the arm. Who knew that Wally had been visited by so many people? Who knew that little children had found joy in his presence? Who knew that a caretaker had loved him enough to try to preserve his face, his fur, to let him somehow still feel the light?

  “Lena?”

  I looked up to see the pretty face of Belinda Frailey. “Hey,” I said.

  “Are you okay? You looked like you were crying.”

  I sighed. “I’m emotional today, and I don’t know why. It might have to do with the wind, or the murder, or Camilla and James, or Wally.” I pointed at the bear; we were still standing in front of him.

  “Wally? Is that his name?”

  “Yes. He—God, I am emotional!” I wiped at my eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”

  Belinda gave me a warm, spice-scented hug. “Poor thing. Come to my car; I have a present for you.”