A Dark and Twisting Path

by Julia Buckley

  “Why?”

  I sent her an apologetic glance. “I probably can’t talk about it—not yet. But soon I’ll give you the whole sordid story.”

  “Okay.” She sent me a mischievous glance. “Or maybe I’ll get it from Doug.”

  “I have a feeling he’ll be showing up at your door sometime soon.”

  “And I have a feeling you texted him while I got our table.”

  “We both have good instincts,” I joked, clinking my glass against hers.

  She sighed and leaned back against her chair. “I do like him so much, Lena.”

  “I know. And he likes you. Believe me. He reminded me about ten times to talk to you.”

  A little smile played at the edges of her lips. “Yeah?”

  “Just know that he’s going to be pretty busy. There’s a lot of weird stuff happening.”

  She leaned forward, interested. The waiter appeared with her salad and my sandwich, and we paused while he set them on the table. “Thanks,” Belinda said, and then leaned in again. “Does this have anything to do with all that stuff that happened in the winter? The Victoria West stuff?”

  “I don’t know. I—it looks that way. I do know that whoever is involved is crazy.”

  “Oh my.” She forked up some of her salad and then looked at her watch. “Shoot. I’m probably going to be a little late. I’d better call Darla.”

  She made a quick call to the library, talking in low tones. “Thanks, Dar,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes at her, and she laughed. “Darla’s great. She works hard, and she basically showed up out of nowhere just when we needed her. I’m not sure why she applied in Blue Lake when she has all this big-city experience, but she was really eager to get this job.”

  I thought of Doug’s warning about disguised reporters, embedding themselves into Blue Lake daily life. “Listen, Belinda—I don’t want Darla to know about the London File. Or anything about Sam or Doug or Victoria. Nothing, okay?”

  Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t anyway, but why not? She’s also a good research librarian.”

  “She’s an outsider. I know I’m officially an outsider, too, but—I just don’t trust them right now.”

  She nodded. “Understood. Everyone’s a little paranoid these days, and with good reason. First Camilla’s house is exposed as some kind of drug tunnel, and then—well—the murders.”

  “And don’t forget what the press did to Sam and me not too long ago. I learned my lesson: I trust no one.”

  “I will be discreet. Now I’m going to talk about my food. This salad is amazingly good. How’s your sandwich?”

  “Great. Adam really found his calling. He chooses the best of everything, including his chefs.”

  She leaned forward. “Are things getting serious between him and Camilla?”

  “I think so. But I don’t know how much Camilla feels like changing. I mean, I suppose she could end up marrying Adam, but I can’t imagine her leaving the house, or changing her lifestyle, or altering anything. Maybe that’s just my selfish view.”

  “Plus, no offense to Adam, but Camilla Rayburn is not as cool a name as Camilla Graham.”

  I stared; I had not thought of this. “No. She has to remain Camilla Graham!”

  “Just as you have to remain Lena London. ‘Lena London West’ sounds like a location in England.”

  My face grew hot. “Well, I don’t think that’s a danger. I mean, we’ve never talked about—things are still in the early stages.”

  Belinda grinned. “Okay.” She took her last bite of salad and said, “Mmmm, that was good. And now you have to drive me back to work before I get fired.”

  “They wouldn’t dare fire you. You’re one of a kind.”

  “Thank you, Lena,” Belinda said. She seemed genuinely flattered.

  We paid our bill and left a nice tip for our waiter, then made our way out of the restaurant. A bearded man in a booth by the entrance seemed to be staring at us. I suppose it wasn’t unusual for a man to stare at women, although it was rude. There was something in his expression, though, that made me nervous, and when I made direct eye contact with him, he didn’t flinch or look away.

  In the parking lot I said, “Did you know that man who was looking at us? The man with the beard?”

  “Hmmm? Sorry, I didn’t notice anyone. Maybe he just thought we were cute.”

  I didn’t think so. His expression had bordered on hostile, and there had been something vaguely familiar about him.

  When we left the parking lot, Belinda’s mood seemed to have lifted, while mine was descending into paranoia.

  6

  Delia had never realized the depth of her feeling for her parents until she traveled far away from them. Now everything reminded her of something her mother had done, something her father had said. It was painful to discover this deep love from such a distance, especially because she had no idea when she could return.

  —From Death at Delphi

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I skipped down the stairs. My father was coming today; the visit was long overdue, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness. I went into the kitchen to get coffee and found an envelope on the table with just the word “Lena” on the front. It wasn’t Camilla’s handwriting. Intrigued, I picked it up, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of thick cream-colored stationery that I recognized. At the top it said “Sam West, Investment Counselor,” and at the bottom was Sam’s contact information. It was spare and elegant—typical of something Sam would use. Scrawled across the middle of the paper, in black ink, was the message “Hello, Sweetheart! I have a surprise for you!”

  I stared at it. Why would Sam leave me a cryptic note when all he had to do was text me? And why would he put it on his professional stationery? Sam had never called me “sweetheart.” The whole thing was odd.

  I moved into the hall and peered into Camilla’s office, where I found her behind her desk, drinking a cup of tea. “Camilla? Where did this note come from?”

  She looked up. “Oh, you found it? Good. It was sitting on the front steps this morning when I got the paper.”

  “It’s very strange,” I said. I walked into the room and handed it to her. Her smile disappeared and her brows creased.

  “Sam didn’t send this,” she said. “Call him.”

  She gestured to the phone on her desk; I picked it up and dialed Sam’s number. “Sam West,” he said. Even in a stressful situation I was always able to appreciate the low and sexy timbre of Sam’s voice.

  “Sam.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I got a note from you, on your stationery. Did you—”

  “No, I didn’t send anything. It’s on my stationery? The stuff from my desk? The ninja took something out of my desk, remember? Lena, call Doug right now.”

  “Okay.” I hung up and dialed Doug Heller, who said he would be right over. Sam came over, too, and half an hour later the four of us studied the letter.

  Doug was grim. “We can fingerprint it, but we got nothing from Sam’s house. The ninja wore gloves; the letter writer might have worn them, too. My concern is that they’ve brought Lena into this. Why? Is this meant as a threat?”

  I sighed, my eyes spiked with tears. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know my dad is getting here in an hour, and I don’t want him to know anything about this. So we will all pretend that everything is fine.”

  Sam and Doug exchanged a glance, then nodded. “Okay, yeah,” Doug said. “You just enjoy the time with your dad.” He had sealed the note in an evidence bag. “But if you get any more of these, don’t touch them. Okay? Just leave them alone, and I’ll get them to the lab.”

  Doug left soon afterward, warning us to be vigilant and promising that patrol cars would pass Graham House throughout the day. “I’ll canvas the area, see if anyone saw someone delivering
your note,” he said.

  Sam spoke briefly with Camilla and me, but he wore a determined expression that told me he was going to want to investigate some things on his own. Sam, like me, needed to take action to feel that he was in control. He pulled me against him in an almost savage hug, then left with a promise that he’d return later to meet my father.

  When everyone had left, I tried to put the letter out of my mind. I looked out the window and focused on Blue Lake, breathing deeply. In the back of my mind, though, there was a small voice, mocking me: “Hello, Sweetheart!” What did it mean? Why was it addressed to me? Was it as sinister as it seemed, or would we find it was all a big misunderstanding?

  But of course we wouldn’t find that, because it wasn’t a random note on random stationery; it was stationery stolen from Sam West. I stared harder at the lake, then closed my eyes and concentrated only on breathing in and breathing out.

  * * *

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER I paced back and forth in the driveway of Graham House. Heathcliff and Rochester seemed to share my excitement and occasionally milled past, nearly tripping me with their big bodies. “Settle down, boys,” I said, but I could barely calm myself, much less the spirited dogs.

  The day was not quite as sunny as the one before, but occasional beams of sun made it through the layered clouds and warmed the gravel under my feet. When I had first come out a light drizzle was falling, but that had gone away, and the weather seemed to be contemplating its next move.

  I walked to the edge of the driveway and squinted down the road to see the edge of Sam West’s drive. I halfway hoped to see him there, since he had said he would be returning. I saw nothing, no one, and I started pacing back toward the porch. Then I heard the car. It came up the bluff at a sedate pace, and I moved to the porch, calling the dogs to safety on the steps. We stood there and watched as the gray rental car pulled up parallel to the house and a driver leaped out to get luggage out of the back hatch. Soon after that my father emerged, his gray familiar head bent over his wallet. Tabitha, his wife, climbed out gingerly, adjusting her blouse over her blue jeans. She made eye contact with me first, and I waved. “Lena!” she called, and then my father looked up. His warm brown eyes were just the same, and full of love when he jogged around the car and opened up his arms.

  I dove into them and hugged him tightly. He smelled like spearmint and Magno soap. The latter was something my mother had once gotten him for Christmas and that he had continued to buy as his signature scent. “Dad,” I said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  He kissed my hair and stepped back to look at me. “You are just beautiful. I guess this little town agrees with you, despite all the drama. From what we’ve seen, it’s a scenic place.”

  Tabitha approached then, and I hugged her, too. “You look great,” she said.

  “You, too, Tabitha. You two must have found the Fountain of Youth in Florida.”

  She giggled. “You’re so funny, Lena.” Tabitha continued to labor under the delusion that I was hilarious, which I accepted since it was flattering.

  I clapped my hands. “I want to show you guys everything! But first you have to sit down, have something to eat or drink. I know Camilla has put together a little spread for you in there. And of course you have to meet her, and some other people. These insistent creatures at our feet are Heathcliff and Rochester. They’re the guardians of the house, but also my walking friends. We’ve been through some stuff together.”

  Tabitha bent to scratch Heathcliff while my father patted Rochester on his big head. “They’re gorgeous,” Tabitha enthused.

  “Come on up. There are people inside who want to say hello.”

  My father paid his driver; I grabbed a couple of their bags, and he and Tabitha each picked up one. We moved up the stairs and into the hallway, where Camilla stood, smiling at us. “Mr. London. How nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

  My father ignored it and gave her a hug. This was typical of him, and Camilla looked only briefly surprised before she laughed. “Oh my. All of the Londons are affectionate.”

  “We are. And you can call me Eric,” my father said. “This is my wife, Tabitha.”

  Tabitha held out her hand and shook Camilla’s, and the women exchanged some pleasantries. Adam wandered in, holding a bottle of champagne. “Hello, hello,” he said.

  Camilla touched his arm. “Adam Rayburn, this is Lena’s father, Eric London, and his wife, Tabitha London.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” Adam said. “We’re just preparing a little champagne brunch in your honor.”

  “How sweet,” Tabitha said. “And what a lovely house you have, Camilla.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure Lena will give you a tour when the time is right. Would you like to go up to your room and set down your things? Adam can help you carry those, perhaps?”

  “Of course, of course. Hold this, dear.” Adam gave Camilla the champagne and lifted a heavy-looking bag, then instructed my father and Tabitha to follow him up the stairs. Camilla had chosen the only other lake-facing room for them; it was wide, airy, and attractive, decorated in shades of white and pale yellow, and adorned today with a vase of roses from Wheat Grass.

  I heard my father and Adam booming at each other upstairs in those loud voices men use in social situations. I turned to Camilla. “I’m already exhausted,” I joked.

  She laughed. “Would you like to come into the dining—”

  “Lena?” Tabitha called from upstairs. “Could you come here for a moment?”

  “Excuse me,” I said to Camilla, and darted up the stairs. Adam and my father were standing in the hallway, inspecting the wood trim for some unknown reason. Tabitha was in their bedroom, beckoning me.

  “Come here just for a moment, hon,” she said.

  I walked into the room, which was just as Camilla and I had left it, aside from the bags that now sat on the floor. “Do you like the view?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s lovely! We might just have to make this a regular visit,” she said. Her brown curls bobbed slightly with her enthusiasm. Tabitha was a pretty woman—perhaps in her mid-fifties—and she was proud of her looks. She maintained them scrupulously with regular trips to the hairdresser to dye out her gray and carefully sculpt her brows. Her face was kind, which had been a relief to me when she first started dating my father. I knew when I saw compassion in her eyes that their relationship would work.

  “That would be terrific. Camilla says that you’re always welcome here at the house. I had been planning to put you up at the Red Cottage, but Camilla wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “That’s very generous. And I know they’re expecting us downstairs, but I just wanted to give you a little something.”

  She opened a garment bag and took out a tall cardboard package. “That’s not a little something,” I said.

  “No—well—I just had this idea, after we heard about your publication. Your father was just so proud, and of course I was, too.”

  She pushed it toward me and said, “I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped very well, but I was mostly worried about protecting it.”

  Curious, I pulled off some duct tape and carefully tore at the top of the cardboard. I pulled out what looked like a framed picture. Moments later I saw that it was—a poster-sized enlargement of the book cover for The Salzburg Train—my first collaboration with Camilla. She had written the book, but she had included some passages written by me, and then very generously included my name on the cover.

  I looked at it now, large and lovely, and felt the same burst of joy that I had upon first seeing it. “Tabitha—this is just so thoughtful. I can’t believe you did this.”

  She was pleased with my response, but held up a hand to indicate that it was nothing. “We were just so excited when you told us—and then when we saw it online and in our bookstore—it was just amazing. The ladies at my salon are all Ca
milla Graham fans, so they are just fascinated by these stories you tell us, and which I tell them, you know.”

  I leaned the poster against the large bed and pulled Tabitha into a hug. “This is a lovely gift. Thank you so much. I’m going to hang it up today in my room, in a spot where I can see it every morning when I wake up.”

  She nodded. “I thought you could do that—a way of celebrating your success, you know. Can I see your room? You described it, and you sent your dad that one picture, but—”

  “Of course. It’s right next door. And then we have to go down and be sociable.”

  I led her to my room, where we found a dozing Lestrade. He woke up and glared at us, but soon went back to sleep. Tabitha murmured about the view and the wood floor and the carpet and the bedspread until I took her hand and led her back to the stairs. “Did you have a nice trip?” I asked.

  “It was fine. Not as long a flight as I thought, which is good. I’m not much of a flyer.”

  “Well, I’m so glad you made the journey. Now let’s get you something to eat.”

  We went into Camilla’s dining room, and Camilla ushered us into seats. Rhonda came in with a breakfast casserole, and Adam followed her with a large fruit salad. On the table already were a variety of coffee cakes and cheeses. Tabitha enthused over this and Camilla made a toast to our visitors, and we all imbibed some morning champagne.

  As we ate our brunch, Adam and my father enjoyed a lively conversation about Adam’s restaurant, and about my father’s favorite eatery in Florida, about which Adam had many questions. Camilla and Tabitha had started talking about the dogs, and Tabitha revealed that she’d had a much-loved German shepherd as a child. What followed were some delightful canine tales about the eccentricities of pets.

  I ate and watched, at one point exchanging a smile with Rhonda, who had come in to replenish the fruit salad.

  When everyone was finished eating and in fine spirits, my father said, “Adam, Camilla, I will want to consult you about a special project I’d like to undertake while I’m visiting Blue Lake. But for that I will need a certain daughter to be out of the room.”