What did Doug know that we didn’t know?
15
When she took the path to Apollo’s temple, she knew that someone watched her from the shadows, but she wasn’t willing to stop her quest now.
At this point, she felt that never knowing would be more painful than a confrontation.
—From Death at Delphi
ON MONDAY MORNING I spoke to Camilla on the phone while I scrambled eggs; she was eager to get back to her house and back to work; I agreed. “The distraction might have energized our writing for a day, but now we need our routine again,” I said. I was starting to miss my purple chair, where I sat each time Camilla and I worked together.
“Yes. I’ll speak to Doug today. I admit I felt a bit intimidated after the break-in and the attack on you,” Camilla said. “But we will all be more vigilant now, as will Doug and Cliff, so I think we can resume our normal lives.”
“Sam talked to Jake Elliott,” I said. “Soon, through him, we’ll be taking a stand against Nikon. Asserting ourselves via the press. The story might even come out today.”
“It’s a good step, I think. Oh, Adam is beckoning to me. We’re going to have breakfast on his balcony. He has a lovely little town house; I’ll have to bring you by sometime.”
“Okay. Go have breakfast, then, and let me know what Doug says.”
I hung up and turned to my father, who was on toast duty. Sam and Tabitha were chatting while they set his table and laughing over a chipmunk on the patio who kept looking in Sam’s window. “What would you like to do today, Dad? I’m open, except that Sam and I want to talk to Belinda at the library at some point.”
My father smiled at me. We had spent the previous day together, going to a movie in town, throwing stones into Blue Lake, and eating a leisurely dinner at Sam’s while we watched the sunset from his back patio.
“Well, as you know, Tab and I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Now you know you always have at least two second homes in Blue Lake,” Sam said cheerfully.
My father nodded. “We would love to come again—maybe in the fall?”
“Oh yes!” I said.
“But meanwhile, there’s something you always wrote to me about, but we’ve never seen.”
“And what is that? I thought we hit all the hot spots.”
“Not Bick’s Hardware!” my dad said, his eyes twinkling. “We saw the outside the other day, but we didn’t go in. And now that we met Marge and Horace at your party, I feel we should pay it a visit.”
I laughed. I had written all about the eccentricities of Horace Bick and his wife, Marge, and their one-of-a-kind store. It was true: he had not seen Bick’s in all its glory. “Of course! We have to take you there. As their sign promises, they have everything, so you might even get a souvenir or two.”
“Ohh,” Tabitha said, pleased at one last chance to shop.
We sat down together with eggs, toast, and coffee and spent a hilarious breakfast trying to name our chipmunk friend. Sam ironically said his name should be “Heller,” because that was Doug’s last name, and for a certain period of his life Sam was always finding Doug at his door, similar to the way the determined chipmunk put his little paws up on the glass and peered in at us. Tabitha said he should be named “Stripey,” for obvious reasons, and my father suggested “Eager.” Since that described the tiny animal’s expression perfectly, we selected that one, and Sam finally took pity on Eager the Chipmunk and tossed some bread crumbs out his way. Eager was soon joined by a friend, and they stuffed their cheeks with bread and darted away.
“Now that Sam has provided the morning’s entertainment,” I said later as we cleared the table, “I can take you to Bick’s for a whole different kind of show.”
My father and Tabitha agreed, and the four of us soon left the house and walked down the bluff path until it connected with Wentworth Street. We turned left and walked half a block until we reached the distinctive sign that said “Bick’s Hardware.” We walked into the foyer, where an inexplicable stuffed grizzly bear held a sign that said “Bick’s Is Best!”
“So I’ve been told,” my father said to the bear.
We went inside and stood still so that our visitors could take in the altered reality that was Bick’s. It looked like a world bazaar, with shelves that went up to the ceiling, and Horace Bick, as usual, presiding on the floor, asking people what they needed. “Don’t use the ladder,” I said, holding my breath, and as if in response, a dark-haired man asked Mr. Bick for oil for his tiki torch, at which point Mr. Bick went clambering up a ladder attached to the wall, nimble as a monkey, to retrieve the product.
“Oh my goodness,” Tabitha said, clutching her heart.
“It’s terrifying every time,” I agreed.
Sam sniffed. “The man’s been doing it for forty years. He knows his terrain.”
I led them through the thematically unconnected departments: kitchenware; beach attire; automotive; stuffed animals; shower curtains; paperback books; and then, against a back wall, Marge’s little post office window. Marge spotted us and waved. “Hello, Lena, Sam! How nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here together.”
We looked at each other and nodded in surprise. It was true. “Marge, you remember my father and his wife, Tabitha, from my party, right?”
Marge did. She shook their hands and asked if they needed stamps. “Oh, I would love a book of stamps,” Tabitha said obligingly.
Marge rang her up, and on a whim I said, “Marge, have you seen a bearded man in here recently—someone who hasn’t been in here before?”
She thought about it, clearly pleased to be consulted. “Well, it’s May, and we’re starting to get a trickling of tourists. And of course there’s always the odd reporter, thanks to this guy.” She pointed a thumb at Sam as though she were hitchhiking, and then laughed. “Just kidding,” she said.
Sam nodded. Marge had very little tact, but Sam knew, as I did, that she had a good heart.
“He has brownish-red hair and a bushy beard. If he’d been in here, you surely would have noticed him,” I said. Marge had an eagle eye.
She shook her head, disappointed. “No, can’t say that I’ve seen him.” She noted our expressions and said, “But now I wish I had! What’s the scoop?”
I looked around before speaking. “He’s—someone the police are looking for. He’s been lurking around town for a few days.”
“I’ll have my eyes open. I swear, I’m downright paranoid now, with all the stuff that’s happened. But everyone in this town is paranoid. You are,” she said, pointing at Sam and me. “And I am, and poor Horace is, and that library lady who was in here.”
“Belinda?”
“Is that her name? And poor Eddie Stack. He was talking Horace’s ear off last time he was in here. Horace figured maybe he was on drugs.”
Sam turned a bit paler at the mention of Eddie’s name.
Tabitha leaned forward. “Let’s change the subject,” she said. “We have two little children who live next door to us, and I’d love to get them those lions that I saw in the stuffed animal aisle. They’re kind of high up. Can we get them without your husband using the ladder?”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Marge said. “Horace! We need you to climb up and get a toy!”
“Oh no,” Tabitha murmured, and I touched her arm for consolation.
Mr. Bick came sloping toward us on his long legs, looking like a wind-up toy. “Which ones?” he shouted importantly.
Sam slipped his hand into mine and squeezed it to acknowledge that he, too, thought this was funny, but his face remained expressionless.
* * *
* * *
WE DROPPED MY father and Tabitha at Sam’s house, then started on our own errands. Sam said he needed a few groceries, so we drove out to Dilley’s, a big white store on Green Glass Highway about a mile west of the
town center.
“Need anything?” Sam said as he grabbed a cart and started piloting it down the first aisle.
“Not really. Maybe I’ll get something sweet to feed Dad and Tabby tonight. They both like ice cream.”
“Sure. And remind me I need some of those special stickers for my yard waste bags. Otherwise the garbage guy won’t pick them up. They have them at the service desk.”
“You get your groceries. I’ll run and get the stickers. Grab some chocolate ice cream.”
“Okay, honey,” said Sam.
We grinned at each other, pleased to be sharing domestic chores. I waved and made my way to the service desk, where I found myself face-to-face with Doris Stack, Eddie’s widow. Why was she working so soon after his death?
“Hi. What can I do for ya?” Doris asked. She smiled, but I noted the dark circles under her eyes and a general sadness in her expression. She had dark hair and dark eyes; perhaps that was what made her skin seem so pale.
“Um—yard waste stickers, please. Five of them.”
“Ten dollars.” She opened a drawer behind her counter and counted out the stickers. Then she said, “Can I ask you something?”
This surprised me. “Uh—sure.”
“You’re Lena, right? I mean, I’ve seen your picture in the paper a bunch of times. You go out with Sam West.”
My face grew hot, but I said, “Yes, that’s me.”
She leaned forward. “How do you deal with it? The comments from people, the questions? I—my husband recently died, and it was in the paper, and you wouldn’t believe the things people have said to me.”
“Yes, I would,” I said.
“Yeah—I figured you could relate. So what do you do?” She hadn’t yet looked directly at me, except to dart glances at me now and then.
I shrugged. “You ride it out; it dies down eventually. I’m sorry for your loss. I—didn’t know your husband, but my friend did. She said—he was a great mailman.”
She smiled. “It wasn’t his life’s dream or anything, but I think he liked his job.” A worried expression flitted across her face. “Most of the time, anyway.”
“Had he been—threatened, or anything? I’m just wondering what sort of person would harm a mail carrier.”
She leaned in, her voice soft, although there was no one else in line. “He told me something a couple of days before he died. I didn’t think anything of it, but then later I remembered it, and it gave me the chills.”
“What was it?” I asked, nakedly curious.
She reached up to pat her dark hair with nervous hands. “He came home after his route and had a weird expression on his face. I asked what he was thinking about, and he said, ‘I think I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.’ I asked if he overheard someone’s conversation, and he said no, that he heard a sound that was out of place, or something, and it got him thinking.”
“What was the sound?”
“He wouldn’t say, but”—her eyes filled with tears—“he said he thought it meant money.”
I patted her hand. “I’m really sorry for your loss. I have a friend at the library—Belinda Frailey—and she told me once that there’s a support group that meets in the basement of First Methodist. For people who have lost a spouse.”
She wiped her eyes. “Yeah? I’ll have to look that up. I’ve been working to keep my mind off things, but it’s not really helping, you know? So I’ll look into that, for sure.”
Now there was someone in line. “Take care, Doris,” I said, and I picked up the stickers and headed back toward Sam.
“We need to talk,” I said in a low voice.
He was examining a tomato, but he looked up at me, his handsome face curious. “Not in here?”
“No. Hurry up.”
We finished up the last of the shopping and Sam paid the young cashier; then we wheeled quickly out to the car, where Sam stowed several bags in his trunk. He returned the cart and ran back, then tucked into the car and turned to me. “What?”
I told him what Doris Stack had said to me, and he whistled. “So here’s what we have,” he said eventually. “Eddie Stack hears something he shouldn’t hear. He tells his wife it means money. He calls me and tells me he has information about that little girl. So—did he hear a child? Maybe where a child shouldn’t have been?”
“It’s Athena,” I said. “She’s here, she’s in town!”
He shook his head. “Why would she be in town? He has the whole world to hide her in.”
I couldn’t answer this one. “I’ll tell Doug,” I said.
“He probably already knows,” Sam said. “He’s interviewed Doris, right? Isn’t that what Allison said?”
“Still,” I insisted, dialing our friend’s number. I left Doug a message, telling him what I had told Sam, and then hung up. “It’s such a letdown,” I said. “I feel all riled up with this news, like we should go find Athena right now.”
“We’re jumping to a lot of conclusions,” he said.
“But they make sense!”
“Still. Let the police do this, Lena. They’re the experts, and they’re not as emotional about it as we are.”
With a sigh, I agreed. “Fine. Let’s drop off these groceries and go see Belinda.” I had called her that morning and she did, indeed, have some more material for both of her research files.
After a quick stop at Sam’s, we were back on the road. I stared at the side of his face until he looked at me, smiling. “What’s up?”
“I just like you. And I was admiring your noble jawline.”
He laughed. “I have never been told about my noble jawline.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
He slid a hand across the seat and I put mine in it. We continued that way, hand in hand, while Sam steered the car with his left. Finally he said, “You make everything easier.”
I looked out the window at the bright landscape, letting a quiet joy seep in.
Moments later Sam pulled into the library lot and we climbed out, then joined hands again. We mounted the steps and opened the door to the “Secret Garden” arbor, and only then did I remember Darla and her obsession with Sam. I darted a glance to the circulation desk and, sure enough, Darla was behind the counter, checking out a book to a dark-haired woman. “Oh shoot,” I said under my breath.
“What?”
“The lady there,” I said in a low voice. “She’s the one I told you about. She’s obsessed with you. She asked me once if you’d ever be—”
Suddenly Darla was there in front of us, along with the woman who had checked out the book. They both looked rather starstruck. “Hello, Lena,” Darla said. “I don’t know if you’ve met Agatha Wallace? She’s one of our regular patrons here.”
Sam regarded both women with the blank expression he’d developed over the last year—a form of self-protection.
I looked at the woman with Darla. “Uh—I don’t think so, although you look familiar. I’ve probably seen you in town,” I said.
“I think I’ve seen you at the library before,” she said, and I realized that she was right; I had seen her talking to Darla on the steps during one of my last visits.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I said. I shook her hand, which was soft and cool.
Both women shifted their gaze to Sam, and I realized it couldn’t be avoided. “This is Sam West,” I said.
Darla stuck out her hand first. “Sam, it’s so great to meet you! I can’t tell you how much I admire the way you stood up to adversity and held strong while people oppressed you. I don’t know if Lena told you, but I did a paper on you in grad school. It explores the legal ramifications of your situation. I’d love to have you read it at some point.”
Her enthusiasm was so great that I could feel Sam recede slightly into himself. He remained polite, however. “It’s all a bit t
oo fresh right now. But someday, certainly—I’d be interested to take a look at it.”
The woman named Agatha put out her hand again. “Mr. West, I have followed your case on the news for more than a year. It is remarkable, all the twists of fate that brought you to where you are today.”
“I agree,” Sam said, shaking her hand. “Let’s hope fate is finished twisting me.”
She laughed, her dark eyes sparkling, and Darla laughed even louder. She was about to say something else, but I quickly interjected, slapping my forehead as if having a sudden realization. “Oh—I just remembered Belinda said she only had a short amount of time to talk with us—I guess she has some visitors coming later?”
Darla drooped slightly. “Members of the library board are stopping by. We’re looking for them to fund some renovations.”
Sam pounced on this. “Well, we’d better get Belinda’s information before she gets too busy.”
Darla’s face was alert. “Is she researching something for you?”
“Just some vacation destinations,” I lied. “I’m planning to take Sam away from it all.”
The women digested this for a moment, their mouths parted slightly; they looked oddly like twins.
“Well, it was nice meeting both of you,” Sam said. “I’m sure we’ll meet again; we seem to share a love of books.” He pointed at the volumes clutched in Agatha Wallace’s hands.
This broke whatever tension there had been—perhaps I had imagined it—and the women laughed and smiled, waving as we moved to the back of the library.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I forgot to warn you.”
“Oh, for the days of boring anonymity,” he said.
We found Belinda in her office, studying something with a magnifying glass. She looked up and brightened at the sight of us. “Hi, guys! Good to see you. Pull up a couple of chairs there.”
We did, and I said, “Beware. Darla now knows that you’re researching something for us, and she didn’t seem to believe my ‘dream vacation’ story. You do lock up those files, right?”
A Dark and Twisting Path Page 18
