Belinda laughed. “Okay, then there’s a bathroom down there, along with a guest room, in case you ever want to get away from it all.” She sent me a quick, smiling look that I couldn’t quite interpret. Then she led us all—Camilla, Adam, Doug, Sam, Allison, John, and me—back down her wood staircase to the main floor, where an open-plan kitchen widened into a dining and living room area. The hardwood floors gleamed under one central Turkish-looking rug of blue and turquoise. I said, “It’s beautiful, Belinda. I can’t believe I’ve never seen your house before.”
She shrugged. “It’s because we always go out for lunch and dinner. Or meet at Allison’s, because she’s the perpetual hostess.”
Allison raised her hand. “True! I love hostessing, but this is a great house, Belinda. I guess we’ll have to take turns. The Blue Lake Social Club.”
“It’s a very select club, though,” Belinda said. Like me, she was an introvert and chose her friends carefully.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “No one has signed my cast. I’m feeling forlorn.”
Doug ran to Belinda’s kitchen, where he opened a drawer with the ease of a man familiar with the space. “Here—a black Sharpie. Just what we need for this job!”
The whole group surrounded me, passing the marker around and cracking wise about my red cast. “It’s patriotic,” I said.
When they had all finished writing, we moved out onto Belinda’s deck, which bordered on Moonstone Park, one of three public parks in Blue Lake. “We would be able to watch the fireworks from this patio if it weren’t for these trees,” Belinda said, waving her hand at the stately elms which shaded her property. “The wooded lot is great for privacy, but bad for viewing the Fourth festivities, so we’ll have to mix with all of humanity in the park there. Still, it’s not far to walk.”
I studied my cast in the afternoon light. Doug had written, “Don’t ever do this again,” and then added “Love, Doug.” Good advice, I thought wryly. Camilla’s note said “Heal quickly, dear Lena,” while Adam had gone for an impersonal “Happy Fourth!” Sam had scrawled just his name and a heart. Allison wrote, “I will always take care of you,” with a bunch of x’s and o’s. Belinda wrote, “Get well, my friend,” along with her name.
“Anything good?” Allison asked, sitting down beside me in one of Belinda’s patio chairs.
“They’re all good. Good friends.”
“You’re a fine friend, too. I am glad to see your color looking better. Are you in pain?”
“No. But I still have pain pills left.”
“Any side effects?”
“No, not that I—well, I’m kind of emotional.”
Allison nodded. “Yeah, that can happen. You can feel a bit off-kilter.”
“I do. And—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
She leaned in and touched my knee. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“I feel like people are talking behind my back. I’m not a child. I don’t need to be managed. And I—I’m tired of them whispering.”
Allison didn’t laugh. “It’s a common complaint of patients. They don’t like feeling helpless or being treated as though they are.”
“Yeah, there’s that. But it’s more than that. It’s this constant—talking about me behind my back. Like people are conspiring or something.”
Allison’s dainty eyebrows rose. “These people?” She waved a hand at all of our friends.
A surge of resentment made me say, “Yes, all of them.” And then, a new wave of emotion: remorse. “Oh God, what’s wrong with me?”
My friend studied me for a moment. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Lena. There might be something wrong with your medicine, though. Do you have it with you?”
“In my bag. Right there by the door.”
She got up to retrieve my purse, then sat back down. She dug out my pill bottle and studied the label. Then she pursed her lips.
“What?”
“Um—I wonder if you might want to talk to Dr. Salinger about this. Most patients can take this without a problem, but some get side effects.”
“Like what?”
Her pretty blue eyes met mine. “Paranoia.”
“Oh.”
“Have you been feeling paranoid?”
I tried to recall my various moods and thoughts over the last two days. “I don’t know. Define ‘paranoia.’”
Allison’s tone became brisk and clinical. “It’s a range, of course. From just misreading cues to feelings of mistrust to extreme fear that someone is out to get you.”
“Well, I don’t think I am experiencing those things.” I was watching Sam, who was in a conversation with Doug at the edge of the patio. They spoke in low tones, their eyes scanning the patio every now and then.
“Didn’t you just say people were talking behind your back?”
“They actually were talking behind my back.”
“Or were they just talking?”
I had no response to this.
“Lena, I do think you should speak to the doctor. And tell her that you thought someone was in your hospital room.”
“There was someone in my hospital room! Or I dreamed it. I don’t know. It seemed real.”
“Think for a minute. Have you been feeling mistrustful?”
I remembered those dark moments I’d experienced when we had all been looking at pictures. Adam had seemed almost sinister, as had James in one of the photographs. I had considered the idea that James was lying, that Camilla believed in someone who wasn’t what he seemed. But then even Camilla had seemed rather menacing for a moment there . . . “Oh boy. Yes, I think she needs to change my medication.”
“When’s the last time you took a pain pill? The effect can grow over time.”
“I just took one half an hour ago,” I said.
She patted my hand. “If you can do without them after that, abstain. And then make a point of calling the doctor’s office tomorrow. Meanwhile—don’t trust your most negative thoughts.”
“Okay.” My mood was plummeting again with the knowledge that my brain was controlling me—or, perhaps more specifically, my medicine was controlling my brain.
Allison was looking at the group on the deck. “Oh, hang on, John’s beckoning to me. I’ll be back. You relax there.” She kissed my cheek and skipped across the wood planking.
I turned my attention back to the spot where Doug and Sam had been talking, but they were gone. I scanned the area until I spotted Sam’s blue shirt and plaid shorts, but this time he was talking to Belinda, who spoke up into his face with an animated expression, occasionally pushing her glasses up on her nose. Sam seemed to be protesting something she said; his brow furrowed, and he lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. Belinda spoke again, and Sam’s shoulders sagged slightly.
I crossed the patio until I stood next to them and heard Sam saying, “That’s not how it is.”
“Hi,” I said.
They both turned and smiled those fake smiles that I had been seeing since my operation—the smiles of people with something to hide. “What’s up?” I asked.
Sam pointed at the park. “I just wanted to find out what time the festivities begin. I didn’t watch last year, and I’m excited to see them.”
“And when do they begin?” I asked coolly, not believing him.
Belinda shrugged. “They didn’t give a certain time on the Blue Lake website. It just says that fireworks begin at dusk.”
“Huh,” I said. “Well, we’ve got an hour or so then, right?”
“Yes.” Belinda brightened. “Lena, have you been to the buffet table?”
“I found a drink, and one of those little taco things. It was very good.”
She took my arm. “Come back. I want to show you some of my special treats. I’m trying to give Allison a run for her money.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do that.”
I was going to walk away and leave Sam there out of an inexplicably perverse feeling, but he slung an arm around me and said, “Me too.” He kissed my hair, and I melted under his soft touch. What was wrong with me?
We went back into Belinda’s house and saw Isabelle at the door, tall and pretty in a blue cotton dress. “Knock, knock. Sorry I’m late! I covered the first shift. No animals harmed by fireworks at this point, thank goodness. Hopefully Arnie won’t encounter any, either.” She said all of this rapidly, breezily, on the threshold, after which Belinda ushered her in and I introduced them.
“Thank you for including me,” Isabelle said to Belinda, handing her a wrapped package and a rose. Isabelle had always been an elegant gift-giver.
“Of course. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Belinda said, sniffing the flower and closing her eyes.
I leaned toward Sam. “Is Cliff coming to this?”
“He said he’d stop by later, matchmaker.” Sam grinned at me.
“By the looks of things at your house yesterday, I don’t have to do any work in that regard.”
“Yeah. That’s good. She seems nice.” Allison and John had joined Belinda, and Isabelle had become immediately immersed in a conversation with them all.
“She is. How are my sweet kittens today? Brave Geronimo and Sweet Arabella? And Cliff’s gray duo?”
He held my face in his hands and studied it for a moment, then let go. “They are all fine. I had thought that their smallness would keep them off of the furniture, but it has not kept them out of anything. They also refused to stay in my office, so they currently have run of the whole house. I took first watch of Graham House last night and then Cliff relieved me. I went home and crashed, and when I woke up Geronimo was curled up on my neck and either Jeeves or Wooster was in my hair. I found the other two in my fruit bowl.”
I sniffed, smiling. “Fate brought them to their new home.”
“I’ll be glad when Cliff takes his two. He’s busy kitty-proofing his apartment. It’s hilarious how seriously he’s taking the whole thing. He’s actually building them a cat tree with some scrap wood.”
“That’s great! Have him build you one, too. It will keep them from clawing your furniture if they have some nice wood to dig their nails in.”
He glanced out the patio door. “It looks like the park is filling up. I wonder if we should drag some lawn chairs over there and stake out a claim? I don’t want people jostling your cast. Let me get the guys to do that with me.” He jogged toward Doug, then John, and the three of them disappeared out the door.
Camilla stood in front of me then, holding out a cupcake. “You look as if you could use some sugar,” she said.
* * *
• • •
BY NIGHTFALL CLIFF had joined our group and we had wandered over to the park grounds. I held Sam’s hand with my good one, and his grip seemed to grow tighter as we plunged into the throng. The people of Blue Lake chattered cheerfully, calling out to each other and waving as they saw friends across the grass. Children occasionally screamed with high-pitched voices, and I jumped at the jarring noise.
Sam peered at me in the dark. “This might be too much for you. Do you want to go home?”
I did, actually. I wanted to hold Lestrade, or Sam’s kittens, in an empty, quiet house, but I felt just recalcitrant enough to deny it. “No, I’m fine. Stop worrying over me, Sam.”
“Okay,” he said. I couldn’t see his expression, but his tone made me feel guilty.
A figure loomed up in the dusk. “Hello, Lena.” It was Marge Bick, and behind her were Karina “Key” Thibodeau and Horace Bick. “We heard about your accident! I’m so sorry, dear.”
They stood side by side now, three silhouettes against a dark gray sky, and they seemed to float and billow with the slight breeze. “It wasn’t an accident,” I said. “It was intentional. Someone slammed me from behind.” I wanted to see a reaction, but of course I could barely see their faces. Karina grabbed Marge’s arm, seemingly for support.
“Do the police know this?”
“Yes, of course. They’re looking for our assailant as we speak.”
Karina said something softly, under her breath, and Marge shook her head. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you and Camilla are all right.”
“Thanks, Marge,” I said.
“Be careful,” she told me with an odd expression. Horace, never a man of many words, put his hand on my shoulder, perhaps as a vague benediction. Then the three of them moved away. “I need to find Rusty,” I heard her say.
“That was weird,” Sam said.
“Yes.” Why had Marge warned me to be careful? Did she know something? Was an assassin lurking in the dark? How had Doug thought it was all right for us to be here in the open, when a random bullet could be masked by the sound of the fireworks?
In retrospect, Karina’s eyes had seemed almost hostile, glowing weirdly in the darkness. She had been the one, back when Camilla and I spoke with Jane’s old friends at Wheat Grass, who had put forth the theory about James Graham. Who had insisted, when no one else would say it, that James Graham had been suspected of making Carrie pregnant. But had people really suspected that? Or had Karina just wanted it to seem that way? Might Karina have been jealous of Carrie? She had loved Rusty Baxter—isn’t that what Marge had said? And Rusty seemed to have been close to Carrie . . . Thibodeau was a very distinctive name. I recalled what Nurse Amy had said in the recovery room: I had called out an “unusual” name.
Was Karina watching me now, in the dark, waiting for a chance to silence me? Was it her face I had seen in the rearview mirror?
A sudden explosion in the sky made me scream out loud, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd at the sight of the first pyrotechnic display—a blue, green, and gold layered flower, sparking and fizzing above us and occasionally popping loudly as new layers burst forth. I flinched against Sam and he held me more tightly. “This was a bad idea,” he said in my ear. I nodded.
He looked around for our nearest friends. “I’ll just tell—” and a new explosion drowned him out. In the changing, strobe-like light I caught brief glimpses of people I knew: Kerry, the proprietor of the coffee shop; Lane Waldrop, her husband, Clay, and their two children; Paul Graves and a woman I had never seen before. I even thought I caught a glimpse of Dr. Salinger in the red light of a particularly noisy firework.
I shifted my gaze to our own group and saw that Camilla was watching Adam, who was talking to two men: Travis Pace and Rusty Baxter. The three of them huddled close together, straining to be heard over the noise. I watched their silhouettes in the deepening blackness, but suddenly they were all illuminated, and Travis and Rusty turned to look directly at me, like monsters in a horror movie who had been trained to home in on their prey. I jumped in my seat and Sam’s arm tightened around me. “What does Adam have to say to them?” I said.
A moment later Paul Graves strode out of the darkness to talk with the other three. Once again, three faces turned to me. Why did they all look hostile, with expressions that bordered on hate? “Sam,” I said. “I don’t like them.” Karina and Marge hovered not far away from the group, and suddenly they were all there, the people from the restaurant table, and the next burst of light illuminated their pale faces, then turned them into mere shadows again. A thought, a memory, a silhouette came back to me, and was gone.
“Let’s go,” Sam murmured. We stood up, and the group of men, sans Adam, came to stand before us. A shiver ran through me, despite the warm air.
“Hello, Lena,” Paul Graves said. “I’m so sorry to hear of your accident.”
“It was a collision,” said Camilla’s firm voice. She appeared at my side and lifted her chin at the three men. “And it clearly was not accidental.”
Rusty held the last bit of a corn dog in his hand; a vendor on the sidewalk was getting rich tonight from the Fourth crowd. He pointed t
he stick vaguely at us and said, “Let’s calm down now.”
“I am calm, Rusty,” Camilla said. Even in the dark, her eyes were bright and intense.
Travis Pace, holding a light jacket despite the heat, sounded petulant when he said, “It wasn’t necessary to search our houses. We’re all old friends, for God’s sake.”
Camilla turned her laser eyes on him. “I would think you’d want them to find the perpetrator, Travis. Lena was nearly killed. I could have been killed, as well. Someone wanted it that way, and someone is bitterly disappointed.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Travis said. Paul Graves nodded his approval.
Camilla’s hands were on her hips. “How is it ridiculous, exactly? Jane Wyland is dead—shot to death. Lena’s arm was brutally broken. What exactly are you angry about?”
Travis took one step back, literally and figuratively. “I’m not saying they shouldn’t investigate. I’m saying that you shouldn’t let your suspicions make you turn on old friends.”
“You were James’s friend,” she said. She was about to say more, but instead she turned and walked away.
There were no forthcoming apologies from the men who faced us underneath a canopy of fireworks. Their emotions seemed somewhere between confused and furious, but I wasn’t sure why they would be angry. Did they feel defensive? Shouldn’t only one of them feel that way? Or had it been a conspiracy?
Another sulfurous boom in the sky made me jump. Sam said, “We were just leaving, if you don’t mind.”
He put a hand around my waist and guided me past the glowering men and toward Belinda’s patio. Another shadow appeared beside us. Rusty Baxter was there, looking earnest. “Listen—oooh, that was a good one! Look at that, Lena! My daughter used to call those ‘princess dresses.’ All that pretty gold and white.”
“How can we help you, Chief?” Sam said.
Rusty started to speak, but Doug and Belinda came running toward us. Doug patted Sam’s arm. “Allison’s got the key and will lock up the house. We have to go—Belinda just heard that our vandal has hit the library.”
“Oh no!” I said, looking at Belinda’s distressed face.
Death Waits in the Dark Page 16
