A Dark and Twisting Path

by Julia Buckley

  “Yes . . . but that seems weirdly similar to theory one.”

  “But not quite, because it’s linked to a particular person. Theory three is that this is a motive unrelated to anything we know about. But that’s not likely, is it? Because after a year in the spotlight, it’s unlikely that Sam West has any secrets. And Eddie Stack mentioned a child. Would we be leaping to conclusions if we decided that the phone call and the ninja visitor were related?”

  I pointed at her. “It seems hugely coincidental that one man would call Sam, demanding money for information, and that a separate person, for separate reasons, stole a knife out of his house and plunged it into the very same man who had left the message. But as Doug pointed out, the timing is wrong. Eddie was killed a week after the ninja invasion. So perhaps there was a different motive for the break-in, and Eddie managed to get himself in trouble later. He got careless, perhaps. Somehow let them see that he had suspicions.”

  She put her hands on the sides of her face. “I need to wrap my head around this, preferably while taking my walk around the lake. I’ll do that later.” She stood up. “Let me just take some dishes to the kitchen. Rhonda won’t be here until noon today. Now perhaps we can distract ourselves with some work?”

  “Of course. I’ll meet you in the office.” Camilla walked out of the room, and I briefly consulted my phone. Belinda was indeed available for lunch. “Camilla, if it’s all right I’ll be going out for lunch. I asked Belinda if she would dine with me.”

  Camilla reappeared in the doorway. “Oh, Belinda! We haven’t seen much of her lately.”

  “No. That’s partly why I want to talk to her—to find out if something is going on.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll tell Rhonda that it’s just Adam and me for lunch. He likes to come here on his way to Wheat Grass each day.”

  “Great. I’ll give you lovebirds a chance to be alone. And if you ever need me to just vacate the premises, you can let me know.”

  Camilla smiled. “We’re not twenty-five years old, but thank you. Adam is very fond of you, you know. You remind him of his daughter.”

  “He has a daughter?”

  “And a son. Unfortunately they both live far away—one on the West Coast, one on the East. So they rarely see each other, which is a regret for him. He has toyed with the idea of moving one place or another, but he fears he would relocate and then his gypsy children would just decide to wander again. Besides, you know the effect of Blue Lake . . .”

  I did. It was the sort of place one couldn’t imagine leaving.

  “He should invite them over more often. Make up an occasion.”

  “I’ll tell him that.” She smiled. “See you in a minute. Bring your notes.”

  * * *

  * * *

  WE MET, AS we always did, at Camilla’s desk. She sat behind it in her customary spot, and I sat in a plump purple armchair that had become my special seat. We worked in the middle, looking at proofs, considering notes, sharing ideas. It was our established way of collaborating.

  Today we were looking over the final pages of Camilla’s novel Death on the Danube. It would hit the shelves in just under two months, and we needed to be sure everything was perfect.

  “You and I found many of the same typos,” Camilla said. “The comma error on page forty-nine was particularly glaring.”

  “Yes. And I found another one last night—look at page two hundred fifty-three. On line twelve, the word ‘bridge’ is repeated, and then there are no final quotation marks.”

  Camilla frowned, looking at the error. “Goodness—let’s be sure we jot that down for the proofreader.” She made some notes on the page in her elegant handwriting, then looked up at me.

  “I’ll mail these out today. But the big question is: what’s our next project? I’d like to hear your ideas.”

  “Mine?” I stared at her for a moment. “You don’t have something in mind?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, ideas are always floating in there. But you must have some, too.”

  “I do, I always do, but—well, let me think.” My pulse had increased suddenly, and I tried to calm myself while I considered her question. “Well—you always start with a place, don’t you? A setting?”

  “Often I do, yes. Did you have a setting in mind?”

  “Just the other day I was thinking that even though so many terrible things happened in the last year, and even though Victoria went through a great deal in the Greek islands—I did extensive research about Greece, and looked at many images. I sort of fell in love with the place, independent of Victoria’s dilemma.”

  “Greece is beautiful. I’ve set a book there, as you recall.”

  “Yes! But it was set on Corfu, and I was thinking more about Delphi. The place of the oracle, with such antiquity and solemnity. It would be a great backdrop for a mystery.”

  “I agree!”

  “We could call it Death at Delphi.”

  Her eyes glittered with interest. “You have been thinking about this.”

  “A little, yes.”

  She took out a file folder and set it in front of her. She wrote “Death at Delphi” on the file tab, then set down her pen. “We’ll keep our preliminary notes in here. Sound good?”

  “Camilla—yes—if you’re sure—”

  She touched my hand. “Oh, your sweet little face. You take such joy in everything. It’s really beginning to rub off on me, I must tell you.”

  “I’m just excited!”

  “Yes. I am, as well. Now, let’s jot down some ideas. Who is our heroine, and what brings her to Delphi?”

  * * *

  * * *

  BY THE TIME I left Graham House for my lunch with Belinda, Camilla and I had accumulated three pages of notes for our new project, and we were both pleased with our progress and with our expanding idea. Camilla and I had agreed, for the sake of our sanity, to try to put the whole Nikon thing out of our minds for the present. We would reconvene to discuss it after we’d both spent some time focusing on other things. The theory, she assured me, was that by relaxing and thinking other thoughts, we would allow our minds to come to a solution, or at least a hypothesis, in an unconscious, non-stressed state. I had agreed; I was happy, on this sunny day, to leave it all behind me for a while. Doug and Cliff were on it.

  I was still glowing when I got to the Blue Lake Public Library, an ivy-covered building located about a mile north of Camilla’s house. The parking lot was surprisingly crowded, but I found a spot near the fire door and walked back through the lot to the entrance.

  Someone had erected an archway over the main doors, filled with springlike artificial flowers and greenery. It looked almost real, and it was quite lovely. Attached to this arbor were various books that were meant to appear as though they had sprouted from the leaves—paperbacks, hardbacks, graphic novels, children’s books. Someone had put a lot of work into it, and it had a powerful effect on those strolling in. At the base of the arbor was a sign that said, “Welcome to the Secret Garden.”

  I scanned the room and saw only an unfamiliar woman checking out books for a family at the main counter. I walked toward her, waiting until the three little children and their mother had claimed all the items they were borrowing. “Hi. I’m looking for Belinda?”

  “Oh, sure. Is she expecting you?” she said, studying me with a surprising amount of interest.

  “Yes. I’m stealing her away for lunch. Are you new here?”

  She stuck out her hand. “Yes—I started last month. I’m Darla.” She had dark hair and blue eyes, and she wore black-rimmed glasses that looked attractive on her. She was perhaps in her early forties.

  “Oh—nice to meet you, Darla. I’m Lena.”

  “Oh wow, I thought so!! I recognized you from the newspaper. I’ve been catching up with some back issues. I mean, I’m new in town, but even in Wisconsin we had heard of Sa
m West!”

  She smiled, but I didn’t smile back. “Yes,” I said. I could barely grind out the word.

  Her smile faded. “Oh, don’t think I’m one of those psycho stalker types. I had to study Sam West because he was the topic of my final paper in my graduate class last year. I was researching the way that public perception influences legal proceedings.”

  “Ah,” I said. I still didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I was defending Mr. West,” she tried, her expression hopeful. “I think it’s just terrible, the way he was treated.”

  I saw Belinda coming from her back room, and I waved. “Oh, here’s my lunch companion,” I said.

  “It was nice meeting you, Lena. You’re even prettier than your pictures. Does Sam ever come in here?” she asked, still with a hopeful expression.

  “No, not really,” I said. I sounded unfriendly, but I couldn’t help it. When would people just leave Sam alone? Why did they treat him as some kind of celebrity?

  She was undeterred. “Well, I know you’ll see him. Tell him I’d love for him to read my paper sometime. It exonerates him in a way that might surprise you. And him. I got an A on it.”

  I forced a smile. “That’s great, Darla. I’ll be sure to mention that to him.”

  “Thanks!” Her smile was bright with hero worship.

  “Nice meeting you,” I lied, and moved toward Belinda, who looked as lovely as ever in a pale yellow spring dress and a white cardigan sweater. The pastels brought out the golden color of her hair, and she sported a new pair of glasses that made her look attractive in an intelligent way.

  “Hey, pal,” I said to Belinda. “Long time, no see.”

  Her pale brows shot up. “Has it been that long? Well, it’s good that we’re meeting, because I have been compiling little bits of information.”

  “Ever on the job,” I said, giving her a quick hug.

  “It’s true. Where are we going for lunch? I’m craving a Caesar salad with lots of grilled chicken.”

  “Wheat Grass?”

  “Sounds perfect. Let me just tell Darla.” She moved to the desk and spoke to the clerk in a low voice, but Darla’s eyes kept darting back to me.

  We went outside, and I offered to drive. As we tucked into my car, I said, “What’s up with Darla?”

  Belinda giggled. “She’s just enthusiastic. She had terrific references, and a degree in library science. Now she’s working on a law degree, as well. A very ambitious person, and she does a good job. Is this the first time you’ve seen her? She’s been here a month.”

  “I guess I haven’t been to the library in a while, but I still expected to see you. Where have you been hiding out?”

  “Nowhere. Just working a lot. Diving into research. I have some stuff for you . . .”

  “Have you been spending time with Doug?” I asked, turning on the ignition.

  “Now and then. Not so much lately. We’re both busy.”

  “That’s not what he tells me,” I said, keeping my voice light.

  She turned stiffly in her seat. “Oh God. Is this some kind of love intervention?”

  I sent her a regretful smile. “Doug asked me to talk to you. He really likes you, Belinda. And he feels—forlorn.”

  “Forlorn?” She thought about this word for a while. “I don’t know. I think he’ll bounce back nicely.”

  Now I was confused. “I thought you had a huge crush on him. You called him Inspector Wonderful before you even met him, and then you two seemed to be going strong.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It was beautiful, while it lasted.”

  “Belinda, come on. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell me.”

  She stared out the front window, her blonde hair glinting in the sun. “It was really great, until I started to feel like he was still thinking a lot about someone else.”

  “You mean a former girlfriend? Granted, I think Doug has a few of those, but nobody that I’ve ever—”

  “You’re going to make me say this, and then I’m going to feel weird. Okay: it was you, Lena. I had the feeling he was still hung up on you.”

  “I—why? Doug and I talked it over and agreed that whatever little five-minute attraction we had was in the past. I love Sam, and Doug knows it. Besides, we’re like brother and sister.”

  She looked uncertain. “I don’t know. Every conversation we had, it reminded him of something you said, something you did. That’s not normal, is it?”

  “Do you have a brother?”

  “Two of them.”

  “Do their names come up a lot when you’re talking?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  We drove for a while in silence. When we got to Wheat Grass, I turned to her and said, “I won’t bother you about this anymore except to say: Give Doug another chance. Tell him he can lay off on all the Lena stories and focus a little more on building some Belinda memories. He’ll be happy to do it.”

  She looked at her hands. “I miss him,” she almost whispered.

  “He misses you. So much so that he interrupted an investigation to ask me to talk with you. Okay?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I pulled up next to the entrance. “That’s all I ask. Would you run in and snag us a table by the window, if you can? I’ll try to find a spot.”

  She did as I said, and I parked quickly and pulled out my phone, then sent Doug a text:

  Talked to Belinda—she says she misses you. Told me that she felt you were pining for someone else, namely me. I told her this was not true, and that she should give you another chance. Time to bowl her over with a romantic gesture.

  Pleased with my efforts, I tucked away my phone, locked up my car, and went to join my friend for lunch.

  Belinda had found us a seat near the south window, where the sun shone on a vase of the roses that Adam always had fresh on his tables. Today’s flowers were pale pink, a pastel as delicate as the color of Belinda’s dress. “I’ve missed seeing you,” I said as I sat down. A waiter appeared instantly, and I ordered an iced tea. Belinda wanted lemon water.

  “Me, too,” she said. “I’ve been working on our file, just as background. I have some good stuff to show you.”

  “The London File?” I said, grinning at her. She had called it this when we first met, saying that it sounded like the name of one of Camilla’s novels.

  “Yes. Some articles and pictures relating to Nikon Lazos. I’m not sure how helpful they might be, but you can look.”

  “I will. Anything to help. I know Victoria is going crazy, and I feel terrible for her. If there’s anything you can look into—to help find the baby. I know that sounds impossible, but any little clue at all would be helpful.” I wanted to tell her about Sam, the knife, the phone call—but I had already broken my promise with Camilla. If Doug wanted Belinda to know, he would have to tell her.

  “Of course. I’m working on it a bit every day.”

  “I wonder—if there’s something else I can ask you for.” This had been on my mind, but I didn’t really have Sam’s permission to discuss it. He had confided in me, over the winter, that before his family died they had contacted him about some “good news” that his mother had received in a letter. They wanted to talk to him about it in person, but they had died before Sam could learn what it was. It had remained a mystery for almost thirteen years.

  “Sure.” Her green eyes grew brighter behind her glasses. Belinda genuinely loved research, and new projects got her excited.

  “The thing is—Sam told me something a few months ago that I’m not at liberty to discuss, at least not yet. It had to do with his family. I don’t know if you are aware, but Sam’s family—”

  “Died in a plane crash,” she said, her eyes sympathetic. “I know. I came across that information while I was working on the London File. Poor Sam. When I think
about what he’s been through. First being orphaned, and losing his sibling when he was just a teenager, or what—twenty years old? And then all this stuff with Victoria, and more than a year of persecution. I don’t know how he managed not to jump out a window.”

  “I know. Anyway, I can’t go into it right now, but I wonder—if you could just start some general research about his family—mom, dad, sister. I doubt you’d find that much, but whatever. Just as a sort of background file. That way, if he ever did want to research this particular thing, you would have some material for him.”

  “That’s mysterious! But yes, of course. Articles about the crash will be easy to find, so I’ll use them as a starting point and work my way backward.”

  “Thank you. And just so you know—this is confidential. Between you and me.”

  “Of course.” The waiter appeared with our drinks and took our orders. Belinda sipped her tea and said, “I saw something on the news about a murder. Another murder in this tiny town. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  I sighed. “I know more than I want to. You’ve met my friend Allison?”

  “Yes—at Camilla’s party for Sam, last winter.”

  “It was in her backyard. Her mailman, as a matter of fact.”

  “Someone killed a mailman?” she asked, her face blank.

  “Yes. It’s hard to believe. Not just the victim, who seems kind of random, but the number of murders. I feel like I’ve cursed Blue Lake. Someone was murdered the day I got here, and people have been getting killed ever since.”

  Belinda nodded. “That is a weird coincidence, but that’s what coincidence means. A random intersection. Nothing to worry over.”

  “You would think.” I toyed with the napkin on my place mat.

  “Something else is going on? What do you know?”

  “Nothing yet. Let’s just say it seems to involve Sam once again, just when the poor guy was starting to feel free of all the public scrutiny.”

  “They didn’t mention him on the news.”

  “Good.” I thought about this. “I think that will make someone out there really angry.”