by Patti Larsen
Quest. Please, let it be a quest.
“I wasn’t ready,” she whispered, voice shaking just a little. “I only needed a few more weeks, maybe a month. But then Thea died and they used it against him and I…” she looked up at me then, anguish on her face. “I had no choice. And then I only had one.”
Me. “What are you looking for, Viv?”
She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “I can’t, Fee. Not yet.” Vivian sank back into the chair, hugging herself. “I don’t have proof and until I do… you’ll think me mad.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. And sat next to her in the other seat while she met my eyes, her own open, vulnerable.
“That’s the last of your worries at this point,” I said. “This whole town has gone mad. Driven there by the puppeteer who runs the Patterson family.” I paused, stared into the fire, wondered how much I should bring up. And plunged in because it was the only thing I could say that might convince her to finally share what she knew. “I’ve been having nightmares,” I said. “About that day, Vivian.” I turned to her again, watched her face register understanding, then the kind of grief that could cripple, then fury so powerful I knew she was in danger of losing herself the way her mother had. I couldn’t let that happen. “Dr. Aberstock says I repressed the memories for a long time. But almost drowning triggered it, Vivian. And I started to remember.”
She sat there, silent, watchful, lost in the past.
“The day Victor died.” I worried she might lose it but she didn’t, no reaction, so I went on. “Do you remember, Vivian?”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, pale, so pale, and a trembling hand rose to wipe them away. “I remember,” she choked.
“Do you remember who was there?” This was important. Because maybe my buried memories were playing tricks on me and I didn’t have things right. Except I knew I did. Was positive of it, that it was Robert who stood by and watched Victor drown before running away.
Whatever progress I’d made, whatever opening into Vivian’s psyche, slammed shut with that question. She surged to her feet and shook her head, lips tight, anger a visible fist around her entire body.
“No,” she said. “Not now. We can’t do this now, Fee.”
I stood too. “Why?” What time like the present?
“Because.” She swayed slightly. “I have so much to do and I can’t fall apart.” That came out in a faint wail only to be smothered by the shutters closing on her eyes, her being. “I refuse to fail. I’ve come too far. I will see this through. And then those responsible will pay, Fee. I will make certain of that.”
Did she have any idea how freaking scary she was in that moment? I doubted it. But even I wouldn’t have crossed her just then.
Except she’d dragged me into this with her, hadn’t she? And left me in the dark. “Fine,” I snapped, not meaning to lose my temper, too, but not knowing how to get through to her. “I’ve backed you for the last time. The next call? You’re on your own.” I didn’t mean it, of course I didn’t, but it drove an iron rod through her spine and put a giant gash between us wider than any chasm.
Rather than wait for more excuses from her, I left of my own accord, abandoning her to her loneliness and grief in the room that was her father’s while I stormed out of her big, white, perfect prison with a self-righteous chip on my shoulder and a need to hurt someone.
As I exited Vivian’s, the only thing I wanted to do was go home to Petunia’s, curl up on the couch in my jammies, eat popcorn and copious amounts of chocolate and bury myself in a rom-com with Crew on one side of me and my pug on the other. Like, the perfect retreat from anything resembling Reading, Vermont’s ridiculously complex and insanity-inducing politics.
Except, as I climbed behind the wheel and headed for home, I remembered with a painful flash that I couldn’t. That I was banned from my own business and my apartment and the life I was used to living thanks to Rosebert and murder.
It’s not that I wasn’t used to stress, pressure, the devolution of my life on a regular basis. I’d been through this sort of unhappy experience multiple times in the past, so it wasn’t like I didn’t have precedents set or coping mechanisms in place or even escape plans unhealthy at the time but that beat sitting in my cold, dark car and crying my eyes out.
Yeah. But every other time I had home to go to, didn’t I? A place to hide that was my own. I wasn’t expecting the pileup of incidents and disappointment to hit me so hard, and I think that’s why it took me a solid ten minutes of sobbing into a handful of old fast-food napkins I scrounged out of the side panel of my door to get myself back under control.
Did Vivian wonder why I hadn’t left yet? Who cared, really. I was past giving a crap what anyone thought. All I wanted was to marry the man I loved and that wasn’t going to happen tomorrow, not at this rate. And that only seeded more doubt, the sneaking, nasty whisper from deep inside that had tried its best the last few days to convince me this joyful existence I’d been living the last little while was all a smoke screen of deception meant to set me up for the most tragic failure of all time.
Fleming, Fiona. Pity party for one.
As I inhaled a shaking breath and wiped away the last of my tears, blowing my nose on the harsh paper, shivering from the cold since I’d failed to even turn on my car, I texted Jill on the off chance I might be able to go home after all.
They are still at it, she sent back. Sorry, Fee. I’ll keep you posted.
Craptastic. I glared at my screen, reaching for my old friend, anger, hoping to at least warm myself up from the inside with a surge of heat. No such luck. Despair and the dull acceptance of apathy had come to roost.
Well, I could always go to the annex. Daisy would have gone home by now, I could tuck myself into the living room there and try to create some semblance of normalcy. Except the house was full of guests, so I’d likely be interrupted multiple times. And the last thing I wanted was to come in contact with other human beings.
At least, human beings who didn’t know me. So, how about Mom and Dad’s? Could I handle my mother’s freak out over the delay of the wedding, or my father’s attempts to calm her down? Grunt. No way, not with the mood I was in at present.
Silly girl. There was only one destination for me. Why then was I hesitating to go to Crew’s house? He had everything I needed in his possession, really, from his own awesomeness to the pug we both adored. Bless him for taking her home with him so I didn’t neglect her.
Took me a bit to admit it, but I finally accepted it as I started my car and pulled out of Vivian’s circular driveway, heading for downtown and my true love. I was terrified. What if something did happen? What if this was all a dream and I’d been lying to myself and I never got to marry him and we fell apart and he left town and married someone else—
Okay. Deep breath, you psycho.
I couldn’t go to his place like this, not in the state of desperate need to know he still loved me. No way was I dumping all my fears and worries and insanity on the man who adored and wanted to take care of me for the rest of my life. I needed some perspective.
Instead of going right to his house, I parked at Petunia’s, avoiding looking through the windows, keeping my head down and, hands in my pockets because I’d forgotten my mittens, set out at a brisk pace to Crew’s.
Much better. I needed the exercise and the fresh air to clear my head. By the time I turned the corner and the home stretch to his street, I was inhaling giant gulps of chilled mountain freshness, perking me up like nothing else could.
We’d be fine. This was a setback, nothing more. Of course he loved me and we’d be getting married and I’d be spending the rest of my life with the most amazing man I’d ever met. I really needed someone to shake me from time to time. How had I let myself spiral so badly when I had so very much to be thankful for?
I paused on the sidewalk and smiled up at the clear sky, the sparkling stars, the full moon rising over the lip of the mountains as early evening descended on Reading. T
here were Christmas lights on the next street over, lighting the center of town with their magical glow and finishing off what the walk had started. Optimism returned in a heady rush as I chose to release all of the crap and just trust everything was going to work out exactly as it was supposed to.
So. Awesome. I was grinning when I took one last deep breath. Just as tires squealed behind me, the sound of a car engine revving up, flashing headlights so brilliant that, when I turned in surprise to see what was going on, I had to raise my arm to shield my eyes from the glare.
And couldn’t move, couldn’t comprehend anything as those brilliant lights headed right for me.
***
Chapter Eighteen
Self-preservation is a funny thing, isn’t it? I don’t even remember moving, telling my brain to fire, my muscles to work, my body to act. In fact, if I’m going to be totally honest, I should have been dead about two seconds after the headlights hit my gaze. Because if I had been in total control of me without instincts or a fight or flight guidance system? I’d have been a hood ornament on the front of that big, terrifying car hurtling toward me.
Instead, I came to from a sort of muddy haze, shaking snow out of my hair from the bank I’d thrown myself into, hands frozen where they braced me deep in the icy stuff, heart pounding, body shaking while the car peeled away out of sight.
Gone too fast for me to catch the license plate, even if I’d had the wherewithal to notice such a detail. I panted my terror out into the freezing air, giant puffs of white exiting my lips, sitting in the snow and trembling as I pulled myself together yet again.
No one came out of the house whose yard I used to escape certain death, and my ever-ridiculous mind was grateful there weren’t any witnesses to my clearly ungraceful leap into the snow, not to mention my struggled recovery. And, when I finally stood, brushing clumps of white from my coat, my hair, shivering as some of it made it down inside my collar, I fought for calm.
First assumption? Someone tried to kill me just now. I looked down with hesitant concern and noted the tire tracks on the sidewalk where I’d been standing. Yup, there they were, not my imagination.
Second assumption? It came on the tail of the first, that the driver had simply lost control of their car and it wasn’t an attempt on my life and I was really being very silly, wasn’t I? Making it all about me like that, typical Fiona Fleming.
Yeah, guess which one won?
My knees were weak, my whole body wobbly, while I set off the last block to Crew’s. By the time I reached his door, I was mostly better, though I knew I was likely in shock, especially when my hand didn’t seem to want to unclench from a fist after I knocked on his door.
First off, I hadn’t knocked in about a year. Second, he had a doorbell. And third…
There was a third, right? Apparently when I was worked up I liked to list things in numerical sequence. Coping mechanisms I had in spades.
Crew’s surprise when he opened his door just made things worse. With a low cry that told me my walk might have helped to a point but almost being run over trumped everything, I threw myself into his arms.
It wasn’t long before I was installed on his couch with a beer, his arms around me yet again, Petunia happily leaning into my thigh with her wrinkled head in my lap and big, brown eyes staring up at me with that adoration she shared with everyone. I stroked her soft, black ears, telling Crew about everything that happened. Except.
I knew better than to fill him in about the car just now. He’d lose his mind and I’d lose my freedom and I really needed my freedom. I’d be more careful, watch my back. Whoever it was behind the wheel of that car, whether it was an accident or a murder attempt, I was pretty sure informing Crew about it would lead to Dad knowing and my existence as I knew it reduced to the office handcuffed to the desk.
I know, I know. It was a dumb decision to keep it from my fiancé. But he had more than enough to mull over so what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Never mind I was aware it might kill me.
When I was done talking, Crew kissed me before resting his cheek on my hair, my nose pressed into that soft hollow at the curve of his collarbone that I loved so much. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply of him, feeling everything melt away to the sound of his beating heart, the soft circles his big hands made on my back, the scent of him filling my existence with Crew and nothing but Crew.
The doorbell jerked me out of the sweet moment, my fiancé’s regret clear on his face. But he stood, went to answer it, didn’t make it as it opened of its own accord and Liz walked through, stomping snow from her boots.
“Fee make it home?” She waved to me, hanging her coat in his small entry, kicking off her shoes and joining us, accepting the beer Crew fetched from the fridge. It was only then I noticed the scent of lasagna cooking, realized he had a stack of plates out on the counter. He was expecting company?
Liz collapsed next to me, petting Petunia before clinking her bottle with mine. “Hell of a day,” she said. “Best wedding rehearsal ever.”
I snorted, then laughed, hopeless and helpless but the puzzle piece I needed to return to mostly me. I hugged her quickly before standing to help Crew who was taking the casserole dish out of the oven.
“I was about to text you,” he said. “I thought it might be a good idea to have everyone over for dinner. Kind of regroup so we can decide what to do from here.” His blue eyes looked worried. “Fee, it’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”
I suddenly wasn’t anxious anymore. His arms were warm around me when I circled the counter and embraced him, kissing the side of his neck, his cheek, before smiling up at him. How had I doubted I’d be marrying this amazing man? Nothing would or could keep us from each other. Just let Reading throw its worst at us. We had this.
Oh, Fee. Be careful what you wish for.
Mom and Dad arrived as I let my fiancé go, Daisy on their heels with a bright smile for all of us before she hugged and rocked me and whispered to me how much she loved me. She had no idea why my eyes stung with further tears, though she likely thought I was upset over the delay in my wedding.
Nope, not why I wanted to cry. Her support meant everything.
We sat down in a surprisingly cheerful mood, even Mom’s jittery angst subdued enough she was able to smile and converse like a normal person while I sat back and watched the people I loved the most in the world bring light to each other, to me. This was why everything was going to be okay. I had these amazing, brilliant, supportive souls who loved me and had my back and nothing and no one would come between us.
“Do you think your cousin was looking for the treasure evidence?” Liz had been filled in on the hoard a few months ago, shortly after she helped me solve the death of Melina Canty at the Marie Patterson Olympic Equestrian Center (say that three times fast). With zero objections from any of the interested parties, Liz had been drawn into our inner circle and, her delight and fascination as clear as ours, had vowed to help in any way she could to uncover the truth.
Leave it to her to change the subject from Dad chattering on about his new snow blower to one of the tasks at hand.
I shrugged, still on the fence but leaning. “No proof of that,” I said.
“Except they know about it,” Daisy said, her misery obvious. “I messed up.” She blushed deeply, her shame so clear I reached out and grabbed her hand, Mom doing the same, everyone else murmuring denial.
“Day, stop that right now.” I released her while Mom continued her comfort. “Without you, we wouldn’t have the music box.” She’d known the secret to opening it. “Without you, we wouldn’t have the letters clue that led us to Crew’s grandfather and the book.” Daisy perked with each point I now ticked off on my fingers. “We need you. And we all make mistakes.”
She nodded, honey curls bobbing. “Speaking of which.” She stood and went to the door where she’d left her bag, returning to the table. Mom cleared a space in the center and my bestie deposited the music box there for us all to see. I
opened it, the chime of the familiar song ringing, the secret compartment popping loose. I retrieved the pieces of the map, the doubloon, and spread them out as Dad and Crew cleared the rest of the dishes.
Which made me think about Martha French and the thing she’d pressed on me at Vivian’s. I’d mentioned it to Crew, but not the others, so I filled them in on my visit to the mayor while I went to my coat and retrieved the prize the old lady had given me.
I set the small crocheted bundle on the table, not sure what to think, when Mom squealed and lunged for it, her fingers exploring it while she grinned.
“I haven’t seen one of these in ages,” she said. “We used to make them when we were little girls. There’s a pocket here,” she tugged on a single thread that pulled back a layer of the crocheted creation, revealing a gap and, inside, something that looked like paper. Mom gingerly retrieved the item and unfolded the now-familiar parchment, the edges crackling just faintly as she smoothed it out and my heart leaped.
This was the biggest slice we’d seen, easily half of the map and more than enough for us to piece together what we already had.
“John, the frame.” Mom didn’t exactly snap her fingers but she didn’t have to. Dad was on his feet, heading outside without his coat, feet shuffling barely into his boots. He was back a moment later while I perused the mountain range, the edge of Cutter Lake, the area where Reading now was, all still clear if faded slightly from age.
Dad set the frame upright on his chair and, with Mom’s help, the pair of them pinned the existing pieces together while I bounced a bit and watched the image take shape.
“Almost,” my father grunted with the growling delight of a bear elbow deep in a honey pot. He pointed to the bottom right corner, still missing, but so close, so very close to complete I had to wonder if we had what we needed to find the treasure.
