He returned alone to his truck, scuffed his heels on the ground as he walked, got in, yanked the ignition and revved the engine a little too loudly. Pebbles flew every direction as he spun out of the parking lot.
9
Sam slung her pilot case into the backseat, allowing herself a sense of pride both in her nearly new car and in her spur-of-the-moment decision. According to Josiah, the former owner had hit a deer, not a moose, and opted for a replacement vehicle, selling the damaged one to Josiah, who fixed it up like new. Not a Cavalier, but red. Lucille II was a fitting name.
The transaction had taken more time than she’d expected, eating up most of the morning. She could barely believe that a total stranger would trust her, be willing to forego a security deposit, and let her drive away, leaving only a copy of her water-damaged driver’s license.
She should probably go back to the Lighthouse for lunch, possibly even a nap. Buying a car was more exhausting than she remembered from fifteen years ago. Besides, she should make a few phone calls before she went to the library—call Justine, and cancel the rest of her vacation at Stowe. Why not stay here in Haven? Good people…eccentric…but kind.
Zack had left in a huff. She should have told him about Jonathan and needing to rest, and she should have let him take over more on the car. Sam spun out of Josiah’s parking lot and headed for Aaron and Sadie’s enterprises, trying out the radio as she drove. Nothing but static, but along with other handy features, the car did have a CD player. She could purchase a few jazz albums at one of the bookstores, or see what Sadie had in her store.
She parked in the lot on the south end of Main Street, looking forward to a quiet afternoon. When she went to the library later, she’d check out a few books. Haven probably folded up at dusk, the hottest spot in town, the Lighthouse, the television her only other after-supper diversion. It might be worthwhile to drop her damaged laptop off at Bert’s Tackle, though she doubted it could be salvaged.
Sam stepped inside the lounge to see who might be playing cards or shuffleboard. If Leon was there, she might take him up on his offer to teach her how to play the game. Perhaps exercise would shake off this exhausted feeling. She scoured the Lighthouse, but no sight of Leon, only a half dozen elderly men who seemed glued to the shuffleboard table.
Sadie bustled to and fro with lunch preparations, and Sam glanced at the sign as she breezed by: Today’s Special: Barbeque pork on a bun and vegetable soup. By the time Sam reached the steps, a few customers—no, Sadie would call them company—wandered in.
The aromas punched at her stomach with more demand than the cry for rest. She sat on a stool near the Shuffleboard Gang, Murray the only one she recognized. He waved and grunted a quick greeting, “Howdy, Sam.”
“Howdy yourself, Murray. Where’re Leon and Doc?”
“Leon went upstairs to get his wallet and Doc had to take Cynthia into Albany for a doctor’s appointment,” he said, without taking his eyes off the shuffleboard.
Sadie served the gamers first, setting down six plates on the rectangular table to the right of the shuffleboard and another four plates on a table left of Mazie’s bridge group. Not one gamer stopped to acknowledge delivery.
“I win!” Mazie hauled in her jackpot, all of twenty cents.
The losers got up and moved to their lunches, and Sam overheard someone whisper, “I’m getting tired of letting Mazie win all the time…she can’t even remember what trump is from one play to the other.”
Mazie stood up and hollered at the women. “Well, ladies, let’s get started on our card game, shall we?”
The whisperer helped Mazie to the table. “It’s lunchtime, Mazie. We’ll play again after lunch.”
“We always have a game before lunch.”
“We already played a game, Mazie, now sit down and eat your lunch.”
Sadie brought in a fresh carafe of coffee. “You’re such a sweet gal,” Mazie said. “I think I know you. What’s your name?”
“Sadie. Yes, you do know me. We’re great friends.” She poured the coffee, her eyes moist.
Sam wondered how it had been with Sadie and her mother before dementia robbed them of their special relationship.
“I’ll be right with you, Sam.” Sadie scooted into the kitchen and came out with a tray filled with choices for a king. “We’re not really open for business, but if people wander in here, I certainly can’t send them away without a full belly.”
“How do you manage to make ends meet if you give away all this food? You shouldn’t let strangers take advantage of you like that.” Sam’s cheeks heated with the realization of how much she sounded like Justine. Preaching must be contagious.
“Oh, no one takes advantage of me, dear. Folks generally plop down some money on the table afore they leave…most times it’s a generous amount. The Lighthouse Lounge is a hobby, and we always have enough to cover our costs.” Sadie leaned in. “And sometimes a little extry.”
She zipped back into the kitchen, returning with more coffee urns for the visitors. One could only speculate how long before Sadie and Aaron would officially open for business, or if they truly wanted to. How did a town justice get away with scamming the IRS like this, even if they billed the lounge as a hobby?
Sam dug into her soup as Aaron sat at her table. “How is it?”
“Delicious.”
He eyed Sam like a defense lawyer studies the jury. “Sadie said your friend Justine called about an hour ago and wants you to call her back.”
“Thanks.”
Sam rushed to her room. Lunch and a nap could wait. She found her door slightly ajar, but her bed had been made and the bathroom smelled like pine. She picked up the phone and punched in Justine’s number. Something must be wrong if Justine called her first, when she expected Sam to call this afternoon. Acid erupted with each ring, relief when Justine answered in her usual cherry tone.
“Thank goodness. You scared me half to death.”
“Whoa, girl. Stop and catch your breath. Abe wants me to run a few errands for him this afternoon, and I didn’t want to miss your call. I’ve been worried about you. That was no picnic you had with that moose, you know. Since you were out, I take it you’re feeling better. When are you leaving for Stowe?”
“I made a slight change of plans. I decided to stay here for my entire vacation. Tell Abe I’m sorry. I hope it didn’t put him out too much.”
Justine giggled. “Not what I expected at all. I’m proud of you. Abe will be, too.”
Might as well tell Justine the whole of Sam’s newfound spontaneity. “I bought a car today.”
Justine squealed, and Sam moved the receiver away from her ear. “You are so full of surprises, girl.” She stuttered a few errs and ahs, then finally, “There’s another reason I called.”
“Thought so. It’s not about Robert, is it?”
“Robert’s fine. It’s the wedding that’s not so fine. We can’t get the reception hall we planned for, and the next available date isn’t until after Robert goes back to the Middle East. We’ve been trying to find another decent place to hold the reception, but so far no luck. Life is so unfair, sometimes.” Justine the Serene spewed a few choice phrases, cagily sounding like expletives without actually swearing. She’d do that when she got mad, then lift her eyes towards heaven and say, “Lord, forgive me.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently, someone else booked the hotel for the same time as our reception, but they supposedly made their plans before we called. The other party’s guest list is a lot larger than they anticipated and they need the extra space. My cousin who works there told me the other party was a city council member.”
Sam could hear the sobs in Justine’s voice.
“The wedding’s only six weeks away. What should I do, Sam? Should I sue a city council member?”
“Probably not the best thing to do if you want to keep your job.”
“We weren’t having a big to-do, about fifty people, but I’d like to have a place a little more festi
ve than our church basement, more than a covered dish reception, at least.”
Sam blurted the thought before she’d even let her brain digest it. “Why not ask Sadie to do your reception? You could have it here at the Lighthouse.” Sam gave Justine an in-depth description of the lounge and Haven. “I saw an old church on my walk this morning. I’ll ask around. It’s possible you could have your wedding there, too. Make the whole affair a getaway weekend. Sadie loves to theme things, and you like themes. The two of you could whip up a humdinger of a party.”
“I like it…love it, actually. I’ll see if I can get Abe to drive me up and take a look—that is, if you don’t mind some company. Abe and I have been out straight with the Styles case. We both could use a break.”
It wasn’t what she said that caused alarm, it was the way she didn’t say it. Something was wrong, or Justine would have blasted Abe for making her work so much overtime when she had a wedding to plan.
“What’s going on with Styles?”
“The usual drama that doesn’t amount to anything. Darnell Washington keeps throwing motions for a mistrial and Judge Normandy keeps throwing them out. And Abe and Darnell have held a ton of meetings behind closed doors. Nothing you didn’t expect, Sam. Darnell’s not letting so much as a pebble go unturned…what he’s noted for. You predicted Styles wouldn’t give up without a fight.”
Yes, she had, the reason Sam hadn’t wanted to take a vacation in the first place. “Maybe I should come back to Manhattan sooner?” A sense of loss crept over her with the thought of leaving Haven so soon.
“Don’t you dare! Abe would have my head if he knew I told you.”
“I’m glad you did. Promise you’ll let me know if the case gets any more complicated than Darnell Washington’s posturing.”
“Sam—”
“Promise me, or I’m leaving tomorrow.” How she hoped she wouldn’t have to, as if something held her in Haven, compelled her to stay.
“Fine…don’t get all righteous on me. I promise. Now, let’s get back to my reception. You really think Sadie could manage it on short notice?”
“I’m sure of it. Not only manage, but enjoy the challenge. The whole thing would have to be done like a gigantic house party. They don’t have a license.”
Justine laughed. “A New York City prosecutor is recommending work under the table?”
“Not like that at all. You’ll see when you get here. They might push the envelope so far to the edge it hangs off, dangles a bit precariously, but I don’t see the harm. Besides, Aaron’s an attorney, too, and the town justice. Who’s going to complain?”
“Sounds great. I can’t wait to see it. So, what kind of car did you get today?”
“Focus. Zack said it was a good deal.”
“Zack, the EMT guy? What gives?”
“Nothing. He’s merely being nice.”
“Nice is a good start.”
Sam was on a roll, might as well keep the surprises coming. “I bought a painting today.”
Justine roared with excitement. “Shut up. Really? You? The girl with the lowest grade in her Art Appreciation class?”
“A Gladstone landscape.” Sam let it fall off her tongue as if she’d visited every gallery exhibit in New York City.
“A Gladstone? Really? How did you manage that? He’s one of the most well-known landscape artists in post-modern circles. I can’t afford his pieces. How did you get one?”
That famous? And Sam had insulted him. “I’m going to his estate tomorrow to see the lake while the hyacinths are still in bloom.”
Justine gulped in disbelief. “Get out. You met him? Jonathan Gladstone lives in Haven? I knew his estate was somewhere in the Adirondacks. That’s way cool. Color me jealous.”
“He’s not as nice as his paintings.”
“Then why are you meeting him?”
“The lake, for one thing, intrigues me…so clear, like glass. I want to see if it’s as surreal as he paints it. And I’m curious. The town mechanic said the Gladstones are cursed.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Probably. She wondered if the legend self-perpetuated, if by believing they were cursed, the Gladstones brought tragedy upon themselves. “I thought you’d be happy that I’ve finally taken an interest in history, as well as art.”
“More like you’ve taken an interest in the artist, not the scenery.”
“Not so. I’ve also become interested in history. Haven’s is fascinating. Did you know that the southern Adirondacks played an important role in both the French and Indian Wars and The Revolutionary War?”
“Everyone knows that.”
Everyone except me. “I always crammed for the test, then forgot everything I studied as soon as the exam was done.” Storing facts and figures in a crowded brain was not among Sam’s preferred activities. Why strain with the weight of useless knowledge when libraries and the Internet were easily accessible?
“No wonder you stink at Trivial Pursuit. So, Jonathan Gladstone…I’ve seen pictures of him, a hunk—although there hasn’t been much publicity on him lately, almost like he dropped out of existence.”
Haven had now officiously moved from the quaint to the mysterious, another compelling reason to stay—the whole intrigue surrounding Dawn’s Hope a enigma Sam could dig her teeth into. “I suppose he’s good looking in a rugged sort of way. I hadn’t noticed.”
“I heard he was married once, that his wife died. Drowned, I think. Well, anyway, I expect a full report when we come up. Haven sounds wonderful. I can’t wait for the tour.”
The rattle from the closet sounded like ten mice on a rampage. Sam jumped and the phone dropped to the floor, the loud buzz evidence she’d lost her connection with Justine. She needed a weapon of some kind…Sam picked up the handset from the floor and tiptoed toward the closet door.
Ajar.
She took aim and pulled the door open.
Leon cowered and covered his face “Don’t hit me!”
“Don’t worry, Leon.” Sam set the handset onto the cradle. “See? I’m not going to hurt you. Now tell me what you’re doing in there.”
He slunk out, a scolded puppy. Sam pointed for Leon to sit on her bed while she imitated Judge Normandy’s you-have-one-minute-at-my-bench glare.
“I’m sorry, Sam. When you came in, I got scared and hid in the closet. I thought you were a burglar.”
“That does not explain why you were in my room.”
“This is your room?”
“Yes. Your room is down the hall.”
“Oh. That explains what all this furniture was doing here, though, Sadie’s always changing things around, putting new stuff here and there. I thought the room looked a little girly. But I’d never complain to Sadie. She’s the salt of the earth, that one.”
Sam studied the defendant’s mannerisms. His pupils never dilated as he spoke, although his hands jerked, and he scratched his head almost continuously. Obviously, Leon had some kind of dementia, like Mazie.
“Come with me. I’ll take you to your room.”
He opened the door and went in. “That looks more like I remember.”
Maps and charts covered the walls, and one legend read: Asia and Africa in 1945.
“Do you collect maps?”
He moved four tacks from England to France, as if evading the question.
“So, are you a collector, Leon?”
“Of what?”
Sam pointed to the wall. “Of maps?”
“Might be. I don’t remember why Sadie put them there. I think I might’ve been in the war.”
“Which one?”
“Which one, what?”
“Which war do you think you were in?”
“Sadie tells me I was in that big war with Japan.”
“You mean World War II?”
“That sounds right.”
If she needed a reason to head back to Manhattan, she now had a justifiable one—she’d managed to become a loon’s neighbor. She worried about Leon t
aking walks by himself when he needed closer supervision.
Sam glanced around the room. The yellowing maps encased in glass set off the rest of the 1940’s memorabilia: a bayonet, a grenade, a poster of Betty Grable, even an old-style cabinet phonograph.
She pointed to a stack of 78s. “May I look at these?”
“Be my guest.”
Most of the artists had unfamiliar names, but she did recognize Frank Sinatra and Glen Miller. “I love swing…the big bands.” She held up a record and squealed. “Look at this one… Doris Day…Sentimental Journey.”
“1945…her first hit.”
Sam had researched Alzheimer’s for a case she worked on during her internship, a woman with dementia who’d speared her caretaker with a knife. The patient pleaded self-defense since she forgot she had a caretaker and thought the woman was an intruder. The patient knew every movie made in 1935, the year she was married, but forgot her husband died three years ago. Apparently, recent memory went first, and long-term memory often stayed intact with confusing accuracy.
“What were you doing before you came into my room?”
“Don’t remember.” He acted out his recollection. “Let’s see, I went out for a walk. Saw you drive by with that new car of yours. Focus, isn’t it? Nice little car. I’d get me one if I remembered how to drive.”
Something didn’t add up. Leon couldn’t remember how to drive, but he knew Sam had bought a Focus? “Murray said you came upstairs to get your wallet. Is that it? Did you come to get your wallet and went into my room by accident?”
“Sounds right.”
This was getting her nowhere. “Leon, did you have lunch?”
“You know, Sadie comes to get me and bring me down. So I probably didn’t.”
“Why don’t you and I go downstairs and see what’s happening? And if you haven’t had lunch, Sadie will give you some of her good soup.”
“That’s so nice of you, young lady. What’s your name?”
“Sam.”
“Now that’s an interesting name. A nickname?”
“It’s short for Samantha, but not really a nickname. I use it professionally, too.”
“Professionally?”
The Other Side of Darkness Page 8
