“I just like the coconut,” I said, sipping it and smiling at her. “Thank you.”
“And here’s your book. I love this old hardback of Camilla’s—where did you find this nice old-fashioned cover?”
“A friend of mine saved them for me when the library gave them away. I thought I’d bring some with me.”
Tabitha plopped down beside me, adjusting the umbrella she had poked into the sand. “I’m so glad Sam brought you here. And it was lovely to have him for a couple of days. I wish he could have stayed longer.”
“Yes.” I slung my leg over the side of my chair and made a pattern in the sand with my toe. It had been nice, watching Sam sit with my father at the dining room table, chatting about sports and politics and movies. It had been hilarious watching him bake cookies with Tabitha, wearing a frilly, bedazzled apron she had made herself and which she had placed upon him so proudly that he couldn’t refuse. It had been lovely walking with him on the beach at midnight, the sand cool under our feet and his eyes mysterious in the moonlight.
He’d left after three days, telling me that I needed time to recuperate and time to be with my father. And only I would know how long a time it should be, he’d said before he kissed me good-bye.
I was furious, not only because Sam was leaving again, but because I knew he was right. Florida, and my father, and an escape from Blue Lake, had been just what I needed, and still needed.
“What else can I get you, sweetie?” Tabitha asked.
“Oh, please. Just rest, Tabby. You’ve been slaving over me since I got here. I’m doing fine. But I can’t wait to get this cast off. It’s been the only part of this visit that isn’t perfect.”
“It must be just murder,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “But only about one more week, right? Then they’ll remove that filthy thing, and life will go back to normal.”
I studied the cast. The well-wishes people had scrawled in marker were beginning to fade. I could still make out Doug’s name, and his faded message, “Don’t ever do this again.” I smiled. I saw Sam’s name and the heart he had scrawled while wearing his perpetually distracted expression. Allison’s “I will always take care of you” had degenerated to something like a warning: “take care.” Still, it made me feel good to see the names on the red plaster: Doug, Sam, Adam, Camilla, Allison, Belinda. “I hope so. I am looking forward to getting it off. But a part of me doesn’t want to leave Jupiter beach. It’s like paradise. If paradise were on fire. Geez, I thought Blue Lake was hot.”
Her laugh was like a little tinkling bell. “You’re so funny, Lena.”
I really wasn’t, but Tabitha had always thought so. Maybe, to her, I was.
My father appeared, wearing white shorts and a coral polo shirt. “Mail call,” he said cheerily, kissing me on top of my head. “Yes, my eager child, you got some.” He handed me a stack of mail, and I flipped through it greedily.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You would think that whole town was in love with you,” my father said indulgently, bending to kiss Tabitha’s cheek. “Did you both put on enough sunblock?”
“Yes, I made sure,” Tabitha said.
They kept talking, but I was distracted by my mail. Doug had sent me a postcard—the third from him in the last two weeks—on which was a picture of Blue Lake at sunset. On the back he had scrawled, “Enough vacation already. Belinda misses you. And I need to beat you at Trivial Pursuit.”
Doug had called me once, as well, to fill me in on what he had learned about Carrie. They found her son, William Guthrie. Carrie had in fact married her employer, now an eighty-year-old man, named Cal Guthrie. Carrie and Cal had another child five years after William was born—a girl named Jane, most likely named after Carrie’s sister. “William told us that his mother was a generally happy woman. She told him she had family in Blue Lake, and someday when he was older he should look them up. But she said she herself was never going back. Carrie died a few months before her sister Jane was killed; she had been battling cancer.”
“It’s sad that she felt banished from her town,” I said. “But I’m glad to hear that she was happy.”
“William said she was an ideal mother. He was clearly under the impression that Cal Guthrie was his father, and I did not tell him otherwise. I did say that there are records here in Blue Lake relating to his mother, and to her sister’s murder, if he or his sister, Jane, ever want to look at them.”
“What else is happening in Blue Lake?” I had asked.
“Nothing. You’re on information lockdown until further notice. Sam wants you relaxing, not finding things to worry over. Go play in the sand.”
Grinning at this memory, I opened Camilla’s letter, which shared some of her latest ideas for our book and was signed with Lestrade’s paw print—a sweet touch that made me feel rather tearful.
Finally, I opened Sam’s letter. He had written me one almost every day, and I knew that he was feeling pressured to be like James Graham, to give me the sort of correspondence that I had so admired in Camilla’s relationship, although it wasn’t the letters themselves that had been compelling.
Still, the fact that Sam wanted to provide them made me feel weak inside, as did the first line of today’s letter: “I know Blue Lake has been rough on you, but it also isn’t Blue Lake without you.”
I paused, thinking about this, and saw my father watching me. “Your color is much better,” he said. “You were like a ghost when you got here.”
“I feel better. Very good, actually. Just a few more days ought to do me,” I said.
He brushed some sand from his knee and said, “A part of me wishes you would move here permanently. There are some nice condos right down the road. You and Sam could buy one, and we could be neighbors.”
“That sounds nice.”
“But another part of me thinks I need to push you out of this little comfort zone before you convince yourself you can never go back to Blue Lake. It’s been a complicated place for you, but everything that makes you happy is there.”
“Except you and Tabitha.”
“And we’ll always welcome you here.”
I sat and thought about this. Even my father, who generally begged for my visits, was suggesting that I should go home.
“Maybe we’ll buy a condo anyway. Then we have an excuse to come here more often.”
My father’s handsome face lit up. “Now you’re talking!” he said.
“And when I say ‘we,’ I mean Sam. He’s the one with all the money.”
Tabitha giggled and gently slapped my knee. “Oh, Lena, you are so funny!”
20
On the night we met, my face was the first you saw when you entered the room. And when your plane lands, and you finally come home to Blue Lake, my face will be the first you see in the crowd waiting at the gate.
—From the final letter sent by James Graham to Camilla Easton, 1971
MY TAXI PULLED up outside Graham House at eight in the evening. I had told Camilla I was coming back, but no one else. I wanted one evening to myself to get my bearings.
Just before the driver flipped off his radio, I heard the start of a story on the local news: “After more than a week’s incarceration at the county courthouse, a Blue Lake man was transferred to an Indianapolis jail today for his arraignment on charges of murder and attempted murder. He is also allegedly the perpetrator in a forty-year-old rape case. At the advice of his counsel, he has pleaded guilty to the two charges. His attorney will ask for a reduced sentence in exchange for his client’s cooperation . . .”
I trudged up the steps, feeling a bit weary after a flight and a cab ride. My driver kindly put my bags on the porch for me, and Adam appeared to tip the man. “Welcome back, my sweet,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You would not believe how much you were missed.”
My father had said something similar when I arrived in Flori
da, and I stood on the porch for a moment, reveling in the knowledge that I was loved—and longed for—by two different families.
Camilla appeared at the door, wearing a pair of white pants and a peach linen shirt. “You look like a dreamsicle,” I said, and she darted forward to hug me. Rochester and Heathcliff, like busy river barges, milled around us and tripped us repeatedly as we tried to walk to the kitchen.
My cat, Lestrade, who normally gave me the silent treatment after one of my absences, strolled into the kitchen just as we did and stropped around my legs. “Wow! Lestrade isn’t mad at me!”
Camilla bent to pet him. “As you requested, we gave him lots of extra attention so that he wouldn’t feel neglected. It seems to have worked.”
“I think it’s because he sees you as his family now,” I told her. “We both do.”
She smiled at me, then at Adam. “We are both very glad to see you.”
“I believe you and I have work to do,” I said.
Adam yawned. “Well, now that you ladies have been reunited, I will leave you to your catching up. I have an appointment with my pillow.”
I frowned. “Adam, it’s only eight o’clock.”
He smiled absently. “Oh? Oh yes. Well, we’ve been very busy around here. Camilla’s garden, and her book notes, and doing Rhonda’s work—Rhonda’s back, by the way—and it’s just been a very busy time.”
“Fair enough.” I hugged him. “Adam? I was wondering something on the plane as I came back. Do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?”
“What’s that, dear?”
Camilla moved closer, curious. “Remember when we were all looking through photos, trying to figure out what could have made Carrie leave? And Sam found that letter in your photo album. You acted so strange about it . . . and you put it away. I just wondered what it was. Who it was from. I know it’s none of my business, but it had me curious.”
Adam smiled at Camilla, who smiled back. Ever since I had realized her true eye color I couldn’t seem to focus on anything except that alluring purple.
Adam said, “It’s funny you should ask. Camilla and I discussed that letter just a couple of days ago. It was from James. I decided that she should read it.”
“Oh, okay. If it was too personal—”
He slid an arm around Camilla’s shoulders. “James told me, in the note, that he knew I was in love with Camilla. This was just before their wedding. He said he understood. He couldn’t believe that every man who saw her didn’t fall in love with her. That’s how generous my friend James was—he knew I loved his fiancée and he said he understood.” Adam shook his head. “Anyway, he wanted me to know that he knew because he didn’t want it to cause estrangement between us, and because he believed that I could still have a good relationship with Judy; we were going steady at that point. He was right. We had a wonderful marriage.”
“I wish I had met him,” I said. “But in this last month—I feel as if I did.”
Camilla touched my hair, then said, “Adam, I’ll walk you to your car.”
I kissed Adam good-bye, and they moved toward the front door. Adam called back, “Lena, I already moved your bags upstairs.”
I climbed the familiar staircase of Graham House and found my room was cool and lovely; Camilla had flipped on a lamp and turned back a corner of my coverlet. There were roses in a vase on my side table, a sure sign that Rhonda was back in town, and my curtains were thrown open so that I could see the lake, just a moving shadow now in the waning light. Lestrade leaped up on the bed and began to take one of his elaborate baths.
I sat down and said, “I’m home, boy. This is home, now and forever.”
Lestrade stopped his toilette momentarily to twitch a whisker at me. He did not seem impressed by my decision. That’s what made him my Lestrade.
* * *
• • •
BY TEN O’CLOCK Camilla and I were talked out and ready to sleep. “I must confess I think that the anticipation of your arrival used up some of my energy,” she said, yawning. “I don’t normally feel this tired.”
“Me either. Must be something in the Blue Lake air. Well, I’m off to bed.”
“Good night, dear. I’m so glad to have you back in your room. This house isn’t the same without you.”
“Thank you. I am glad to be back, Camilla. You’ve made this my home, and I missed it.”
I gave her a hug and trudged up the stairs. I washed up in the bathroom and donned the long Sherlock Holmes T-shirt that served as my pajamas. My window curtains were still open. Hadn’t I shut them? Clearly, I was as tired as Camilla was.
I moved to the window and realized that now it was so dark I could not see the lake at all, but merely the shadowy, wide expanse of Camilla’s yard before it led to the sand below. This, too, was dark, except for a strange, dancing light. People walking with flashlights? I leaned closer to the pane. The light was brighter now, and leaping, jumping, as if it were—flame.
Fire.
The first thought in my head was that Travis Pace had escaped and was back, furious and vengeful. These flames were the revenge that ended Jane Eyre, that ended Rebecca. Didn’t everyone get revenge through fire?
I tore into the hallway, where Camilla was wandering past in her robe, clutching a novel and a book light. “Camilla, something’s on fire on the lawn! I think we need to call the fire department!”
Her eyes grew wide and the book fell from her hand. “Oh dear. Oh my. I’ll call now.” She moved toward her room, where one of her two landlines sat on a table. “Lena, peek out the kitchen window and see how bad it is,” she called.
I ran down the hall and tore down the stairs. Heathcliff and Rochester were at my heels, and they gave me courage. In the dark kitchen the flames were more visible, but they were strangely contained—I saw what looked like several separate fires burning on Camilla’s back lawn. “We’re going out there,” I said to the dogs. I grabbed Camilla’s fire extinguisher from under the sink and opened the door.
“Who’s there?” I called. There was no sound except the rustling of trees and the lapping of the lake.
I moved forward and saw that there were three barrels set at intervals of three feet or so; each one was on fire, or at least contained fire. The grass wasn’t on fire, nor were the trees, and there seemed to be no danger of it spreading. It looked like a weird nighttime barbecue.
“Travis?” I called. He couldn’t be out of jail, could he?
I moved closer, emboldened by the dogs, who stayed near my feet. Only then did I notice that something had been painted on each barrel. Star Kelly! said my brain, and I felt bitter disappointment at the idea that she might be vandalizing again. But what grudge could she have against me, or Camilla?
I inched forward and leaned toward the barrels until I could feel the heat of the crackling flames. The words were written in some sparkly substance that made them glow in the darkness, one on each barrel. The message, I now saw, said:
Marry Me Lena
I’m not sure how long I stared, but then I spun around and saw a shape in the darkness. It moved forward and resolved into Sam. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and he had never looked more handsome to me than he did then, with his hands thrust in the pockets of his jeans and his hair blowing in the breeze. “Sam.”
“I’m sorry I frightened you. I was going for dramatic,” he said.
A light went on in Graham House, and I saw Camilla and Adam standing at the window, fully dressed. “What is going on? She lied to me! She was dressed under that robe! She is a conspirator!”
Sam waited until I looked back at him. “Lena. It’s time for us to talk.”
“How did you even know I was back?”
“Your father called the minute you got on the plane. Another conspirator, I’m afraid.”
“Unbelievable.”
He edge
d slightly closer. “Did you like my letters?”
“I loved them.”
“Did you believe what I wrote in them?”
“Yes, mostly. I didn’t believe the stories you made up about Geronimo. I think he’s a little too small to fight off intruders.”
“Those might have been exaggerated. Although he did climb all the way up the living room curtains. I think Arabella was egging him on. She’s a troublemaker.”
“I see.” I smiled down at the dogs.
“Lena? If I had a thousand chances I would always choose you.”
“Sam—”
“No, listen. There’s a reason I wanted to light fires in your backyard. Look up at the stars.”
I did, appreciating the speckled, glittering sky.
“Now imagine if they were all gone, along with the moon.”
I closed my eyes and pictured the void of blackness, the sad emptiness of space without light.
“Lena, you are my light in the darkness. You have been, from the first day. If I try to imagine a life without you—and believe me, over the last couple of weeks, I had some very dark moments when I thought that might be possible—it’s dark and empty and dismal.” He took another step forward. “I love you. Not because I have to. Not because I’m grateful. But because you’re Lena and I fell in love with you practically the moment you entered this town. I want you to marry me and be in my life forever. Now tell me what you want.”
I looked up at the stars again. The wind was back, more gently, and it caressed my face. My eyes moved to the barrels and the glittering words. I wiped away some tears. Sam moved closer. “Lena?”
I took a deep breath. “I would love to marry you, Sam West. I would marry you tonight if I could.”
He held out his arms and I dove into them, careful of the cast that would soon be a thing of the past. I leaned my head against his chest and felt his heart beating. “This is very beautiful and romantic, and I’ll remember it my whole life. Thank you for that.”
“I bought a ring. I left it with Adam because I didn’t want to lose it out here in the dark.”
Death Waits in the Dark Page 22
