Edge of the Shadow

by Yvonne Montgomery

  Neal bent to kiss Aura Lee's cheek. "You're an angel." He looked at Andrea. "How about it? You have enough energy to walk a few blocks for some great scenery?" Andrea gave a fleeting thought to the studio and setting up her equipment. Reading her mind, Neal said mildly, "You can do it all later. And you have to eat, right?"

  Her stomach gurgled on cue and she slapped a hand over it. "Okay, okay."

  Within fifteen minutes Neal was leading her around the side of the house, brushing past a mock orange bush just about to bloom. The spicy scent tantalized her nose and with a shock she realized that only two days ago she'd driven past snowdrifts in Montana.

  "There's a break in the hedge along the road and we'll be able to cut across to the trails. How hungry are you?" At her quizzical expression he added, "If you can hold out for about thirty minutes—forty tops—we'll hike up to the Amphitheater Trail. It's about a half-mile, but worth it. You game?"

  "Sure."

  Neal strode across the street bordering the Wisdom Court land. "This is probably what you came in on, Baseline Avenue. It runs along the Fortieth Parallel." He pointed up the hillside. "That's the road you see from your studio window. It goes to the top of Flagstaff Mountain."

  Andrea looked behind them. Wisdom Court receded into the shadow cast by the peak.

  They walked up a narrow lane beside a creek lined with clusters of willows and wild plums just leafing out. At the end of the trail was a cul-de-sac at the mouth of a ravine Neal identified as Gregory Canyon.

  A sign posted near the canyon warned hikers to beware of bears waking from hibernation. Neal smiled at the shifting expressions on Andrea's face as she read it. "They go after the chokecherries along the creek. Which don't grow on the trail we'll use."

  They stopped at the bridge across a small creek nearly hidden behind thickets where nesting birds twittered. In the distance Neal could hear a canyon wren. Behind him Andrea leaned against the railing, gasping for breath. "Altitude bothering you?"

  "A bit." Her cheeks were flushed and sweat slicked her forehead. She looked fit, even eager to continue, but he knew how long it took to adjust to higher elevation. Boulder was fifty-two hundred feet above sea level and they were still climbing up the trail. "You know, we could save the Amphitheater for another day. There's a closer spot where we could spread the blanket and eat. It has one of those great views Aura Lee was talking about."

  Andrea breathed deeply. Her eyes held gratitude. "Sounds perfect."

  After they climbed steep steps made of logs, the trail angled, cutting through chiseled boulders on the mountainside. Small wildflowers sprouted from fissures in the stone. At intervals more logs were set to restrain falling rocks and mud. A walkway complete with a handrail spanned the talus that buried the slope.

  Andrea was beginning to flag when Neal grabbed her hand. "We're almost there." He pulled her up the next switchback and boosted her to the clearing that lay above the trail like a balcony. Winded, she sank onto rough grass.

  Neal pulled the space blanket from the basket and snapped it open. The sunlight flashed on the folds of metallic fabric, blinding him for a second. "Here, let's get this underneath you." He levered Andrea up by one arm and tossed the cover across the ground in front of several small boulders. "Okay, sit." He placed the basket on the opposite corner to keep the breeze from flipping it over and knelt at the other edge. "Here's some water. As soon as you can breathe, we'll eat."

  Andrea didn't answer, and when he glanced at her, he understood why. Though she was struggling to catch her breath, her eyes were fixed on the panorama that extended for miles.

  Before them fell the hillside they'd just climbed, and beyond it lay the Boulder Valley. Sunlight shimmered like diamonds on three small lakes to the east. From the slope where they sat the foothills of the Rocky Mountains stretched northward. Below them the city sprawled across the valley floor, lines softened among multitudes of trees.

  "It's magnificent." Andrea turned toward him. Her hair drifted over half her face, and she pulled it back across her cheek. "I nearly drove off the road yesterday because I wanted to see everything as I came into town, but this... this," she said between breaths, eyes returning to the vista before her, "is probably the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

  Neal was surprised by the pleasure he felt. Taking credit for the scenery, he thought wryly. He inhaled the scent of pine on the breeze, and heard a dog barking in the distance. He reached into the picnic basket. "The sandwiches are tuna salad—one of Aura Lee's specialties. She puts in apples and walnuts and who knows what else."

  A couple hiking on the trail above their little bank called a greeting. Andrea waved at them. She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. Neal tossed her a small bag of potato chips and held out a bottle of beer.

  "Aura Lee does good picnic." Andrea looked at him with curiosity. "Is this on your list of duties at Wisdom Court?" Before Neal could say anything, she frowned. "I'm sorry, that sounded awful. What I meant was, have you brought other uh—people up here?" Her cheeks reddened.

  Neal smiled. "You mean, what's a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?"

  "Something like that." Andrea took a swig of beer.

  "A few years ago, Caldicott needed work done—one of the houses had foundation problems—and I'm an engineer. We'd met at a party, had taken a shine to each other—she was an amazing woman. She asked me to be on the board to keep an eye on the physical plant. I started hanging out because I liked her, and the others. Good company."

  Andrea nodded in agreement. "Yeah, from what I've seen so far. Do you hike a lot around here?"

  Neal shook the bag of chips absently. "Normally Chautauqua is crawling with hikers, especially on weekends. Sometimes I'll take one of the trails for a break, especially when I've been at Wisdom Court. I can get a nice little hike in without spending much time at it."

  Andrea bit into another potato chip. "I'm glad you brought me up here."

  "My pleasure." He poured chips into one hand. "Is this your first trip to Colorado?"

  "Yes." Her gaze wandered back to the horizon. "We have mountains in Washington, but not like these. I can't wait to paint them, if I can get a handle on them, that is."

  Neal regarded her with curiosity. "You aren't sure you can?"

  Andrea took the piece of cake he offered. "The landscapes I've done are places I know well, so I'm not only seeing them, I'm feeling them." She nodded at the view. "This is all new and big, and I haven't absorbed it, you know?"

  "Sure. You get past the point of noticing details. Here, all you see are the details. It's like that the first time you consider any big project. You look at all of it,"—he waved broadly—"and you get overwhelmed. When you break it down into separate parts you can get a handle on it."

  Neal studied the landscape below, wondering how painters chose a place to start. He shifted his gaze back to Andrea, to her frowning absorption in the rocks above them. "You do what you've always done before, I guess, and hope for the best." He reached over to flick crumbs off her chin.

  She wiped the same spot with a napkin. "One of the reasons I'm at Wisdom Court is to figure out if I can become the artist I want to be."

  The heat of the sun was making him drowsy. He swallowed the last of the beer. "So what were you doing before you came here?"

  The breeze again blew Andrea's hair into her eyes and she pushed it back behind her ears. "I was a forensic artist for the Tacoma Sheriff's Office. You know, crime victims described suspects and I made sketches that could help track them down. Kind of like boardwalk portraits, only from verbal descriptions rather than live models."

  "Sounds harder than with models. Did you use those things I've seen on TV shows? The cards with the different noses and ears and so on?"

  "The Identikit." Andrea shook her head. "Sometimes, but I worked better listening to witnesses. I think showing them all those unrelated body parts can be confusing."

  Neal pointed silently toward the sky. A redtail hawk, wings outst
retched, was circling slowly over the meadow extending toward rows of cottages. They watched its graceful arcs for several minutes.

  With a satisfied sigh he leaned back and folded his hands across his belly. "So, how'd you get invited here? Did Caldicott see some of your forensic sketches?"

  Andrea chuckled. "No. She saw one of my paintings and liked it."

  Neal glanced at her left hand, noting that she didn't wear a wedding ring. "Rose said you have a daughter. How old?"

  A burst of laughter came from four young women on the trail below them. Andrea watched their easy progress down the pathway. "Grace is twenty-three, just starting her first year as a teacher in Sacramento. She went to school out of state, but it still seems so final." She dusted off her hands. "Don't get me started on the empty nest bit. Do you have any kids?"

  "A son. He lives in Denver with his mother. We're divorced," he added. "He graduates from high school this year if all goes according to plan."

  "That's nice." Andrea had slipped the sketchpad from the side pocket of the picnic basket and rummaged deeper for a pencil. "Are the two of you close?"

  "Yeah. Jason's a good kid." Neal flashed on a memory of Jason's grin as he'd tossed him the keys to his car last weekend. Jennifer thought him too young to have his own car, but she might feel better if it were a graduation present. As long as she saw it as his trying to buy their son's love, it wrecked the whole idea. His eyes drifted shut against the sunlight and soon he was asleep.

  * * *

  A gust of wind flipped the corner of the blanket onto Neal's face and he swatted at the light touch. When he opened his eyes, it was to see how far the sun had gone behind a thick gray cloud promising showers. He stretched and sat up. A quick look around found Andrea still leaning against her rock, the sketchpad in her lap. "Andrea?"

  She didn't answer. Neal pushed himself up and moved closer. "Andrea." He knelt next to her, searching her face. Her eyes were open and she appeared to be staring at something in front of her. His gaze followed hers, but the pink pasque flower in her line of vision didn't appear unusual. He shook her shoulder and she shuddered. "What's going on?"

  At the sound of his voice, Andrea's gaze swerved toward him. She was pale, her eyes confused. "What happened?"

  "You were staring off into space." He glanced down at the sketchpad and frowned at what was on the page. The power of the drawing took him by surprise. "Maybe you got lost in your work."

  Andrea peered down at the notebook in her lap and gasped.

  Neal wondered what had possessed her to draw such a threatening scene. She'd portrayed a young man at the edge of a steep bank behind him, alarm on his face. A jagged rock formation loomed above him.

  "It's well done," he said carefully. "Scary, though. Almost claustrophobic."

  Andrea jerked the cover over the sketch with a snap. Her face was bone white.

  Neal realized she was struggling for control. "I'm no critic, of course, but you're very good. There's a lot of emotion in that sketch."

  She pushed herself up and he extended a hand to steady her. Her fingers were icy cold. "You feel okay?"

  "Fine. Can we go back?"

  Neal was certain now that something was wrong. "Sure, if that's what you want."

  He loaded the picnic basket and helped Andrea from their picnic spot to the trail. He couldn't figure out what had spoiled the mood. She'd gone from enchantment with the view to what looked like outright fear. Maybe something I said, he thought glumly as followed her down the path. They walked back to Wisdom Court in silence.

  Chapter 5

  Rose stared out the living room window at the aspen and cottonwood trees shuddering in the rising wind. She was cold, even with a sweater. The nights were still chilly, spring or not. She turned away from the glass, gaze going to the portrait of Caldicott Wyntham over the fireplace.

  The painting was done after World War II, when Caldicott was in her thirties. Her gray-green eyes gleamed with humor under flaring brows. The curved mouth hinted at mischief, and her firm chin offset an aristocratic nose. Chestnut hair was worn in an upsweep, emphasizing her graceful neck. Captured in the brushstrokes was the charisma that had remained throughout her life. She'd had the mettle to create Wisdom Court, and the ability to direct it to prominence.

  From the outset her plan was for women to live on site. After buying the old farmhouse beside Gregory Creek, she built the two wing houses to allow for expansion. Then came the alumnae group that was the foundation of both recruitment and fund-raising efforts. After the cobblestone courtyard was laid around the fountain, what Boulder called that Wyntham woman's place had become known as Wisdom Court. The play on her name was a nod of respect.

  Rose sighed, thinking of the forceful old lady who had maneuvered her into running the place. Caldicott never did tell her where the money for Wisdom Court had come from. The nineteen-forties had hardly been a time of great opportunities for women. What would she think of how things were going now, and how would she view Aura Lee's resolve to make her the focus of a séance?

  Clattering from the kitchen was a reminder of Aura Lee's current activities. She'd been cooking all afternoon, no doubt planning to lull her into a receptive mood. The davenport table near the window already held two of her favorite appetizers, mushroom caps stuffed with crab pate and creamy shrimp dip with butter crackers. Rose sniffed the air in appreciation. Beef bourguignon. She was going all out.

  Rose turned as Aura Lee came into the room. "It smells good. Is anybody else joining us for dinner?"

  The purple scarf at the neck of Aura Lee's turquoise hostess gown wafted behind her as she moved toward the sofa. "Andrea said she'd be here, and Noreen's a maybe. I made enough to feed everyone."

  "Let's have a drink first. What would you like?" Rose crossed to the breakfront cabinet.

  "Sherry, please." Aura Lee sent a fidgety glance toward the arched doorway that opened to the hall. "Andrea looked peaked when she got back this afternoon." At Rose's raised brow she added, "She and Neal went up one of the trails for lunch. When they got back, her aura seemed thinned out."

  Rose handed her a small glass of sherry and tasted her own Chardonnay. "Maybe she's tired. It takes a while to get settled in."

  "I guess so." Aura Lee sipped her drink. When she lowered her glass, her blue eyes were resolute. "We need to talk, Rose. Now, before anybody else shows up."

  Rose sat at the other end of the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. Noticing the unhappiness in her face, Rose wondered again how she could help her come to terms with Caldicott's death. "What's on your mind?"

  Aura Lee met her gaze with dignity. "You already know. I've been talking about it enough."

  "A séance."

  Aura Lee's brow wrinkled. "I know everyone's been dancing around the idea, or, more likely, ignoring it. But I have good reasons for wanting to hold one."

  "All right, tell me."

  "You know I'm very sensitive to feelings, Rose. Who else," Aura Lee added in a wobbly voice, "was able to tell what Cottie wanted even after she couldn't speak? I sensed what she needed toward the end." She groped in her pocket for a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  "You were her dearest friend. I know how much you miss her." Rose paused. "Caldicott's gone and the notion of trying to bring her back bothers me. It feels disrespectful."

  "Usually I'd agree with you." Aura Lee leaned forward anxiously. "But Cottie isn't gone. I can feel her, Rose, here at Wisdom Court. I know she's trying to tell me something."

  Rose blinked at the fervor in her voice. "What exactly would be involved in a séance?"

  Aura Lee let out a short breath. "There are rules and rituals," she began carefully. "We would form a circle and burn certain herbs to create a place of safety and focus on receiving her message."

  "Who do you mean by we?"

  "Why, everyone here at Wisdom Court."

  Rose groaned inwardly. She could just imagine the reactions of the others. Noreen would be curious enough t
o give it a try. Elizabeth might laugh and agree for the hell of it. Kerry—she'd be livid. Dolores would go along. Andrea was an unknown quantity. As for her, Rose thought ruefully, it came down to how long she could hold out against the pestering.

  Something had to be done to help her through her grief. "I'll talk to them." She raised a cautionary hand in response to the joy dawning in Aura Lee's face. "No promises, except that we'll talk about it. Okay?"

  Aura Lee surged to her feet. "I knew this was going to happen. The cards foretold a good outcome, and I'm sure that extends to the séance, too. I'll cast the runes tonight to make certain." She headed out of the room, scarf fluttering in her wake. "I'll check on dinner."

  Rose finished her wine. Wind buffeted the windows, and she thrust herself off the sofa, suddenly anxious to pull the long curtains shut. She tugged the cords, feeling an odd sense of reprieve when they met over the window, swaying gently. Time for hors d'oeuvres, she told herself firmly, and reached for a plate.

  * * *

  Andrea's eyes snapped open at the sound of Grace's scream. She bolted up, snagging her legs in the comforter. In confusion she looked to the window where draped sheers filtered the dying light of early evening. She wasn't at home. She was at Wisdom Court. Grace was in Scotland. There'd been no scream.

  Her gaze went to the sketchbook on the nightstand. The events of the afternoon came back, the hike with Neal, their lunch together, and the sketch she couldn't remember drawing.

  The walk back to the house had been awkward, the earlier, easy mood dissolving in their silence.

  She showered, grateful for the accustomed rites of grooming. Under the flowing water life was reduced to well-known steps. Finally, wrapped in the fuzzy yellow robe Grace had given her, she combed her drying hair.

  She'd put it off as long as she could. Andrea picked up the sketchpad. When she lifted the cover to reveal the sketch done the night before, her hands trembled.

  She could almost believe someone else had drawn this serious young man. But the smudged thumbprint on each side of the septum was her method for shadowing the nostrils. Here in the cross-hatching was her suggestion of hair texture. If she hadn't drawn it, the person who did had mimicked her style.