Death with a Dark Red Rose Page 6

  1. We can try to capture, in the new book, more of the idea of the setting reflecting the heroine’s mood or her fear (tell Camilla about landscape to and from Allegan County). You’ve done this before, of course, especially in The Thorny Path and Sapphire Sea, but I think it would be fun to go back to this Gothic staple and let the landscape suggest the mood.

  2. I know you said you’d like to brainstorm about the new work, now that Death at Delphi is out of our hands (I miss our baby!). I had an idea in the car today, two ideas, actually . . .

  I paused here and glanced at my phone. It would be so much easier to talk to her. It was so strange not to have Camilla here, within hail, so that I could tell her my every whim or idea. How spoiled I was, really, to live in her house, and eat her food, and drink in her view. How lucky I was to be in her life at all.

  I felt on the verge of absurd tears at the thought. I pulled my phone over and sent a quick text:

  Do you have time for a quick phone call? If not, I will go away and wait until you return, I promise.

  Moments later I had a response:

  Do call, Lena dear. We are resting, and Adam is enjoying a football game.

  Relieved, I dialed her phone.

  “Hello,” I said in response to her greeting. “It’s silly that I can’t leave you alone for one day, but I already have a lot to tell you. I was writing it down, but then I thought . . .”

  “I’m glad to hear your voice, as always,” she said, sounding calm and rested and—young. The way Adam had sounded.

  “Is there some kind of special autumn cider out there?” I joked. “Because you and Adam both sound great.”

  She laughed. “Fresh air, I suppose. What are these wonderful ideas bubbling within you? I must admit I am curious now.”

  “Well, first of all, I wondered if the new book could be set in one of the little towns that you and I visited on our book tour. Remember when we were driving to a second signing, and our driver was just racing down those country lanes in the dark? Those high cornstalks and the minimal moonlight? I thought it was quite sinister, actually.”

  “Oh yes, indeed. And I know the area well.”

  “What was that town?”

  “We were just outside Debenham, I believe.”

  “Oh, Camilla. Danger in Debenham, or something like that.”

  “I’m assuming you had an idea for a story.”

  “Yes. We were driving, looking for Belinda, and I was worried about her. I was just thinking, ‘lost girl.’ And then Sam drove past some train tracks. And I thought—what if a young woman takes a train to meet her aunt or some distant family member. She’s not exactly sure what this person looks like. So she arrives at the station in the dark, and she’s picked up by the wrong people.”

  Camilla made a contented sound. “And when she finds out, she’s unable to contact the aunt. She’s already embroiled in a terrible scenario. I wonder what that is?” she asked, laughing.

  “Yes, it would have to—”

  “Lena! Do the people pick her up accidentally, thinking she is their own distant relation? Or do they go to the train station on purpose, looking for someone to abduct? Or even looking for her?”

  “Those last two are quite ominous. So of course we have to choose one of them,” I said cheerfully.

  “Wonderful. You had me at the country lane. That was a harrowing ride, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. Okay, before I let you go, I want to ask how you’re enjoying your trip.”

  “We are both enjoying it immensely. We needed to get away, but we’ll also be happy to return. We’ll see you tomorrow evening, I believe. Or the following morning. I’ll let you know when my chauffeur fills me in.”

  “All right. Meanwhile we’re back at your place, and the dogs are fine.”

  “Good—thank you, dear. I suppose I should also mention that I heard from Michelle, my editor. The publisher is strongly urging me to write some sort of memoir or writer’s advice sort of book.”

  “That’s amazing! Do you know how many people would devour a book like that? How they would treasure it? If I had never met you, and I heard that you were writing a book about writing, or about your life, I would preorder just the idea of it!”

  She laughed in my ear. “Dear Lena, how I do love your endless enthusiasm. Perhaps you can talk me through it when I return. What form it would take, and what the benefits would be, and why I should consider it at all.”

  “Oh, I will! I’ll have a whole page of notes for you!”

  “All right, then. Adam is rustling in his chair. It must be halftime, at which point we were going to step out for some dinner.”

  “You do that. I promise no more intrusions from me. Except maybe a text.”

  Amused, she said, “I love your texts. Have a good evening with Sam. Kiss the dogs for me. And my friend Lestrade.”

  “Thank you, and I will. Good-bye, Camilla.”

  I ended the call and smiled down at my notebook. I wrote:

  Camilla’s memoir/writing notebook

  1. This could be a combination of both biography and writer’s advice manual, with tidbits from Camilla’s life, but not a chronological life story, since Camilla is so private. Perhaps each chapter could begin with an anecdote, but then it could lead into a different kind of practical writing advice.

  I heard a door slam downstairs, and the prancing of excited dogs. Sam’s voice, promising them dinner. I closed my notebook and went to the door; Lestrade was just strolling in. “Time for a nap, buddy?”

  As if in response, he jumped up on my bed and began to groom his fluffy tail.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said. I gave him a quick kiss on the head and a scratch behind the ears, then jogged out the door and down the stairs. Sam had just set down bowls of food and was filling up the dogs’ water bowl.

  “How was your run?”

  “Invigorating. How was your writing?”

  “Same.”

  He set the water on the floor, then walked to me and took me in his arms. His hands were very warm, despite his trip outside. “We should think of other invigorating activities.”

  I laughed, amused but also excited. “This really is your day for double entendre.”

  My phone buzzed on the counter; I walked over and picked it up to find a text from Belinda. It said, Look at this! Attached was an article she had found in our local newspaper with the headline “Local Man Wins Trivia Contest.” I clicked on the article, which was about some contest sponsored by a Chicago radio station. People could take the trivia contest online, and the winner had received a book of trivia and a thousand dollars. It wouldn’t have been news anywhere else, but in little Blue Lake it was a notable achievement. There was a picture of the winner, and a caption that read, “Blue Lake resident Luis Castellan was the big winner of a Chicago trivia contest sponsored by WTRX radio.”

  I stared at the photo and texted Belinda: That’s him. The man from book club. Is it Carl’s friend?

  She wrote, Yes! Doug’s going to visit the wife today, and then he and Cliff are going to Plasti-Source.

  Good. I’ll tell Sam, I texted. I turned to Sam and handed him the phone. “Read this text chain.”

  Sam bent his head and began to read; I waited until I saw his eyebrows rise. “Luis Castellan,” he murmured. “We probably walked past this man more than once. It’s a small town.”

  “You think something bad has happened to him. You talk like he’s dead,” I said, half-fearful, half-accusing.

  Sam handed me my phone, his face concerned. “I do have a bad feeling. The same way that I felt Belinda was fine, I feel this guy is not. I hope I’m wrong.”

  “I hope so, too. I keep remembering little things about him from that book club meeting. Not everyone likes Dickens, but he really seemed to get the satire and to genuinely enjoy the
novel. Some people were complaining that the words were too difficult or the characters were too odd. Luis loved it all.”

  Sam shrugged. “Doug and Cliff will do what they can.” He glanced around the room. “Do we have a dinner plan?”

  I laughed and began my preparations for pizza and salad. Moments later I stood at Camilla’s sink, washing greens, gazing at the waves undulating on Blue Lake, and remembering the ugly shell of a building that was to become another Plasti-Source. How much plastic did the world need?

  Perhaps there was no place on earth that wasn’t somehow tainted by industry, but I had believed that Blue Lake was somehow untouchable, an Eden preserved for those who liked a quieter way of life. Now, after Luis’s disappearance and the vision of the black monstrosity against the sky, both seemed like bad omens for our beloved town.

  7

  Those dreaded middle chapters! The ones between the exciting beginning and the breathtaking ending? Why, those chapters are the hard work, while the beginning and the ending are the fun.

  —From the notebooks of Camilla Graham

  IN THE MORNING, tucked into the warmth of my bed with a slightly snoring Sam, I studied the nuanced color of a leaf that the wind had pasted to my window. Autumn was truly the loveliest time, especially in Blue Lake, and I wanted to savor every bright color, every woody aroma, every howl of wind.

  I closed my eyes briefly, then turned to look at Sam, who was no longer sleeping, but studying me through sleepy blue eyes. “Good morning,” I said.

  “Mmm. How do you already look so alert? You have that Lena London perpetual freshness about you.”

  “I wake up with ideas. That’s invigorating.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” He pulled me closer and I wiggled in protest.

  “Ugh, Sam, I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

  “Just a quick kiss,” he said. I complied, enjoying a moment of closeness with a warm and affectionate boyfriend.

  Alerted by our voices, Camilla’s dogs had bounded up the stairs, and now they came bursting into my room.

  “Oh shoot. I guess I didn’t latch the door all the way,” I said, laughing, as two long dog snouts snuffled at the edges of our covers. “They’ll want to go out, darn it.”

  Sam stretched and yawned, then jumped out of bed. “I’ll take them out. I need to check on my two little tigers. I’ll run these guys, tie them up outside my house for a minute so I can feed the kittens, and then we’ll come back for some breakfast.”

  “You are the best boyfriend ever. I’m going to steal five more minutes of cover time, then take a shower and start on breakfast. Maybe an omelet or something?”

  “Sounds good. I guess I’ll take a quick army shower myself.” He jogged into the bathroom, and moments later I heard the water go on. To Sam, “army shower” meant one that lasted only a couple of minutes, and sure enough, he was out looking clean, refreshed, and fully dressed within about six minutes.

  “I don’t know how you do that,” I said from my lazy vantage point. “But I admire it.”

  “Okay, we’re out of here, guys,” he said to the dogs, who stood regarding him with hopeful expressions, their tails wagging. “Lena, we’ll catch you in half an hour.”

  “Love you!” I called after them.

  Lestrade appeared, looking casual, and leaped up on the bed. I scratched his ears and he purred at great volume. “You sit over there, bud. I want to check my texts.” Lestrade, vaguely indignant, moved to Sam’s spot and began to wash his paws.

  I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and clicked it on. I had five messages. The first from my father, sending an emoji of a man blowing kisses. I sent a big heart back.

  The second was from Adam, informing me that I should expect our packages today and to keep an eye open for the delivery. This brought me great excitement. One of our big surprises for Camilla’s birthday was that Adam, Sam, and I had pitched in to buy canvas reproductions of all of her book covers, which we were going to put on easels all along the perimeter of the Wheat Grass dining room. It was going to look wonderful—a tribute to Camilla’s accomplishments and a stunning gallery of truly good cover art. “Oh goodie!” I said to Lestrade.

  He squinted at me briefly, his back paw stuck out like a pot handle, then returned to his grooming.

  The third text was from Belinda. Carl says that once he and Luis went to a gaming store called Blue Lake Games. Do you want to go there with me and see if anyone knows Luis? Doug and Cliff are going to be busy checking out his family and his workplace.

  Yes, I wrote back. Having breakfast with Sam and plotting out our day; I’ll get back to you.

  Doug had sent the fourth text to a group chat including Sam, Cliff, Belinda, and me. Elena Castellan is sticking to her story. She and her husband were recently estranged; she doesn’t expect him to return because they fought. I asked if he had taken his things with him or if his clothes were still at home. She did not want to answer the question. We’ll put that on hold for now; we’re heading to Plasti-Source this morning.

  I turned to my cat. “I have faith in Doug. He gets to the bottom of things.” I paused, thinking of Doug and Belinda, playing like children in the leaves outside the cabin. “He truly loves Belinda. I hope she has said it back to him.”

  Lestrade yawned hugely.

  “Fine. Cats don’t care about romance. But Lena does.”

  I scrolled to my final message, from Camilla. My knightly companion assures me that we’ll be home by this evening. You can shower me with all of your notes and ideas over a late dinner, perhaps.

  I can’t wait, I typed. We have a bit of a mystery for you. I already told you that Belinda’s brother is searching for his friend. Have you ever heard of Luis Castellan?

  I waited, looking at my phone. After a minute, I read her response: I think I have. For one thing, there’s an Elena Castellan who runs the coffee shop. Not Blue Lake Coffee, but the one called Coffee Dreams, on Violet Street.

  I rarely had reason to go to Violet Street, although I had recently purchased some expensive clothing at Sasha’s. Now I tried to picture a coffee shop near that location, and I thought I recalled seeing one near a florist on the corner of Violet and Braidwood.

  Thanks, Camilla! I wrote. See you tonight.

  I put my phone on the table and jogged to the bathroom for my own “army shower.” I was clean, dressed, and waiting for Sam when he and the dogs came tumbling back into the kitchen.

  “Change of plans,” I said. “We’re having breakfast at Coffee Dreams on Violet Street.”

  “That’s very specific,” said Sam, amused. “Is there a reason we are going there?”

  “Camilla says it’s run by Elena Castellan.”

  “Ah. We are planning to spy?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. The illusion of action, at least. That way we can tell Belinda that we did something to help Carl.”

  “I’m kind of glad you didn’t make breakfast. All of a sudden I have no appetite,” Sam said, and in the same instant, I noticed how pale his skin looked.

  I moved forward to put my palm on his forehead. “Sam! You’re burning up! Let me find Camilla’s thermometer.”

  I darted to a kitchen drawer and retrieved the little glass tube, then rushed back to slip it under Sam’s tongue. “Do you have any other symptoms? Did you feel strange last night? Are you low on energy?” I asked.

  With an ironic expression, Sam pointed at the thermometer in his mouth.

  “Well, you can answer in a minute,” I said.

  Moments later, we determined that Sam had a temperature of one hundred and three.

  “Oh my gosh! That’s terrible. You’re going back to bed. Climb up there now and I’ll bring you some ibuprofen and water. We need to keep you hydrated.”

  He shivered suddenly. “Oh man. Now I’m cold. I swear, I felt fine when I woke up. This just hit me
out of nowhere.”

  “Go up and get under the covers. I’ll be right there.”

  Sam trudged up the stairs; from the back, one might have thought he was an old man.

  I found a bottle of Advil, filled a glass with water from Camilla’s tap (Blue Lake water, the best in the world, Doug always said), and ran upstairs. Sam had put an extra afghan on the bed and now lay shivering under three blankets. I helped him sit up so that he could take the pills. “Thanks,” he said, and flopped back down on the pillow.

  I tucked the covers around him. “I’ll stay right here,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to sleep for a couple of hours. You go ahead to the coffee shop. Let me know what happens.”

  “Sam, I can’t leave you here alone!” I did like the idea of going to the drugstore to get some medicine, though.

  He gestured sideways with his head. “Just leave my phone on the table there. If I need anything I’ll call or text.”

  “Well—all right. I want to go to Sullivan’s Drugs and see if they have anything for fever. But if you need anything, I’ll race right home.”

  He nodded, his eyes closed. “It’s fine. You’d just pace around down there waiting for me to be better.”

  That was true. I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I’m so sorry that you feel bad. You got a flu shot, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope this is one of those twenty-four-hour things.”

  “Yes. All right, you go to sleep, and I’ll be right back.”

  I tucked him in again and he managed a smile. When I reached the doorway and turned back, he had already burrowed more deeply into the covers, curled into himself in an instinctive bid for warmth.

  I fed the dogs their breakfast and then ran to my car. I dialed Allison’s cell and her bright voice answered. “Hey, Lena!” I could see her in my mind’s eye, her pink hospital scrubs, her blond ponytail, her clip-on ID that said, “Emergency Department, Allison Branch, RN.”

  “Allie, Sam is sick.”

  “Oh, poor guy. Does he have a cold?”