Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

Robyn turned to her, a woeful look on her face. “It’s the woman I’m sharing the house with. You know, Caroline’s stepdaughter? She’s acting so strange. She frightens me. I think – I really think she might be, you know, crazy.”

  Robyn’s morning was not improved when Lucy burst into peals of loud and sudden laughter; as loud and as sudden as Scout’s, and every bit as disturbing.

  * * *

  Her morning could stand some improvement, Scout decided, as she continued her fruitless search for some kind of painkiller; any kind of painkiller – as long as it was non-alcoholic. It was hard to believe that anything as sweet as apricot brandy could leave her feeling this bad, but there you had it. She was hung over, and hungry, and more achy than she’d previously believed possible for a person to be.

  There was no food in the house, which shouldn’t matter, since she couldn’t cook anyway, but this was one day when she really didn’t feel like going out to breakfast.

  And there were no painkillers, either. Not unless you counted Robyn’s feverfew tea, which Scout, for one, did not.

  She put some water on the stove to make coffee. It wasn’t until she looked in the canister that she realized she was out of that, as well. Great. Just perfect. No food, no aspirin, no coffee. She sighed in resignation. There was no way around it; she’d have to go downtown. And she’d have to walk.

  Overnight, her right ankle had become swollen and stiff. Even if the thought of getting back into a car again right now didn’t terrify her, she wasn’t sure she could drive anyway. But between her ankle, her lightheadedness and the bright sunlight that felt as if it were slicing into her head, walking there wasn’t going to be a picnic, either.

  She whistled for the dog, and then immediately wished she hadn’t. But the dog came running, obviously none the worse for wear, and they headed off. Scout did her best to keep her mind off the pain by trying to decide which made more sense: food first and then coffee? Or coffee first? She still hasn’t reached a decision by the time she got to town.

  * * *

  Glenn didn’t usually have this much trouble making decisions, but seeing Scout again had stirred up a hornet’s nest in his mind. Unpleasant memories and emotions buzzed about in his head, resisting all his attempts to bat them away. He couldn’t decide what to do.

  He knew he hadn’t handled things well so far. He’d acted rashly; said and done the wrong things. But it was a shock just learning she was back. And yesterday, being forced to make small talk with Marsha while Scout sat silent and distant, had been intolerable! He could tell she was thinking about finding Lisa, and it scared the shit out of him.

  Thinking had always been Scout’s problem. She thought too much – about everything. Everyone always said she was so smart, but look at all the trouble she’d gotten them into – planning things that were best left to chance, arranging things that didn’t need to be arranged.

  He’d have to see her again, wouldn’t he? That’s what he’d do. He’d see her and talk some sense into her. He should go to her house today. Or maybe tonight.

  Or better yet, he could go right now.

  They would talk some more about Lisa. Or, then again, maybe not. Maybe he’d let this just be about them. He thought about that for a moment, and a faint wave of pleasure washed over him.

  There was peace in its wake, and clarity.

  Maybe what he really needed to do was to stop thinking so much, himself. Maybe that’s where the problem lay. He’d always been good at thinking on his feet when he was younger, hadn’t he? He’d acted on impulse most of the time, and most of the time things had worked out for him. Could be that was what was needed right now.

  * * *

  Nothing was working for him today. And frankly, Nick was tired of the struggle. He’d put up a good fight, but no matter how hard he tried to push Scout from his mind, he just couldn’t do it.

  Maybe seeing her one time wouldn’t hurt... too much. Just seeing her from a distance? He wouldn’t even have to talk to her. But what if that wasn’t enough?

  And what if, on the other hand, it was more than he could handle? For twenty years, dreams and memories of her had sustained him. What if coming face to face with reality caused those dreams to shatter, turning his memories to dust?

  Was this really the chance he had been waiting for; the chance to finally free himself from his obsession with her? Or was it just another one of Fate’s cruel tricks?

  Lucy might know. Hell, Lucy probably knew the answers to all his questions. And if he and his cousin could just have a simple conversation about it, like two normal people, then perhaps he could avoid doing something as obviously stupid as what he was currently contemplating.

  Fat chance of that ever happening. For once, he knew just who to blame for the mess he was in. Damn it, this was all Lucy’s fault.

  * * *

  “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just—” Lucy was trying hard to apologize, but tears still streamed from her eyes, and stray gasps of laughter continued to shake her. “This is Scout we’re talking about, right? And you think she might be crazy? Might be? Nah!”

  Robyn sniffed angrily as Lucy dissolved into giggles once again.

  On the whole, Lucy thought, laughing again until her sides ached, this morning wasn’t half-bad.

  * * *

  “I love this story.” Marsha laughed gleefully.

  Scout shot her a weary, disgusted look. “I knew you would.”

  “Scout, your sister communicated with you from beyond the grave and saved your life. How can you not love this?”

  Grave? Once again, Scout had to wonder what Marsha knew. Did Lisa even have a grave? And, if so, where was it?

  “Well, if you felt as awful as I do right now, I don’t think you’d love much of anything about it either,” she grumbled. Where was her coffee? Where was her food? Where were the painkillers Marsha had promised her? “Anyway, it doesn’t prove anything, other than that I have a really vivid imagination. And I think we already knew that. I tell you, though, if that really was Lisa, and if she went to all that trouble just to save my ass, you’d think she could have done a better job of it. I feel like crap.”

  Marsha’s grin grew wider. “Well, who says you can’t judge a book by its cover? You look pretty lousy, too.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Scout sank her head in her hands. “Marsha, what am I going to do? I’m hearing voices! That’s just not normal.”

  “Scout. Come on, you’re over-thinking this. It was a stressful situation. And what do you mean, voices? It was just one voice, right?”

  Scout shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Okay. So. You hear one little voice and it keeps you from being killed. Where’s the bad here? Besides, I really think it’s a one shot-deal.”

  “You think?” Scout asked, perking up. “So maybe I’m not losing my mind after all?”

  “Let’s put it this way,” Marsha said, growing serious once again. “There may a lot of things you should be worried about right now, but I don’t think that’s one of them.”

  * * *

  Glenn’s day was not improving. Scout wasn’t home. He’d driven all the way out here and she wasn’t even home!

  Her car was, though. And, man oh man, the little red convertible was a mess. She must have had one hell of a close call yesterday. But he supposed the fact that it was here at all must mean she hadn’t been too badly injured.

  He shook his head in frustration, and came within inches of kicking the car’s tires. But given the way the car already looked, that would certainly be overkill. Shit.

  He tried to warn her of the danger, hadn’t he? He told her she ought to take more seriously her roommate’s suggestions that someone might be out to get her. But she wouldn’t listen. If she did get hurt, it was nobody’s fault but her own.

  The front door was locked, which surprised him. He’d spent all his life in Oberon, and like many people who lived there, he didn’t usually bother locking his door, except maybe at night.<
br />
  But it was typical of Scout to make things difficult. She could be lying in the house unconscious, and no one would be able to get in. She could be lying in there stone cold dead, too. What good would all her thinking and planning do her then? Not too damn much, that’s what.

  He went around to the back of the house, hoping to find another way in. There were three cats on the patio. He felt the weight of their stares and shivered. He hated cats. He had always hated cats. He couldn’t understand what anyone would want with even one of them, never mind three.

  Three cats! Surely it had to be against some type of law, keeping three of the creatures at one time? If Scout was not lying dead inside the house, they were seriously going to have to talk about that.

  The thought brought a smile to his face. Well, of course they’d talk, but he didn’t think he was going to be bringing up the subject of cats. At least, he was pretty sure they would be a little too preoccupied for that.

  The kitchen door was locked; the French doors, as well. What was she thinking? He eyed the cats again, and another smile crawled across his face. Well, as the old saying went, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Or, as his mother had been fond of saying, When the Good Lord closes a door, you can be sure He’ll open a window somewhere.

  There was still the basement door to try. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to think on his feet; to accept what life brought him and roll with the punches. Unlike Scout, who probably hadn’t, even now, accepted the fact that accidents were a part of life.

  Well, they were. He shivered as he thought of it. No one knew better than he how true that was. Accidents happened all the time. Hadn’t he seen that in his work? In his own life? Big accidents and small. Preventable, or seemingly unavoidable. Inconsequential, life changing or fatal. They could happen any day, anywhere, to anyone.

  And you couldn’t always plan for them, either.

  * * *

  Nick hadn’t exactly planned to drive by her house on his lunch break. First off, he rarely ever even took a lunch break. And today he’d meant to drive out to the coast. Fresh air, the open road, and a full tank of gas – that’s how he spelled relief.

  Instead, his car had practically steered itself through the narrow residential streets that led to her old home. There were two cars in the drive, and though he knew nothing about the kind of life she’d led for the past twenty years, he had no doubts that the new red Mustang with the convertible top was hers. It was exactly the type of car he could picture her driving. Although he wouldn’t have pictured it in quite this condition. It had obviously been in an accident recently. He wondered how she’d even managed to get it here, as banged up as it was.

  He didn’t know who the other vehicle belonged to, but she obviously had company, and the last thing he wanted right now was for anyone from Oberon to see him hanging around her house. He’d come back later, he promised himself. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped away.

  * * *

  He’d come back later, Glenn decided as he got back into his Montero. And when he did, he and Scout would have that little talk he’d been promising himself.

  Maybe. Maybe they’d talk, or maybe they wouldn’t have to. Depending on how things worked out, maybe he wouldn’t see her or talk to her at all.

  He still thought he could make her see things from his point of view – he just wasn’t sure he’d have to. But either way, it didn’t make any sense for her to waste time looking for Lisa.

  For a moment he allowed himself to think about Lisa. She had been so beautiful, so vibrant. And she always understood him. A whole lot better than Scout had seemed to, if he were honest.

  He’d truly never meant to hurt Lisa – why would he? But there was something about Scout that he hadn’t been able to walk away from. No matter how hard he tried to explain that, Lisa hadn’t wanted to accept it.

  Ah well, there was no sense in dwelling on the past. It was all so long ago; what did any of it matter now? Lisa was gone, and what they had together was over.

  Whereas Scout, on the other hand, was here.

  Perhaps... perhaps he had been too hasty. Perhaps she didn’t have to go away again, after all. If he could just talk to her, make her see reason. If she would only listen! It might save them both a lot of unpleasantness.

  His head began to ache again. Things were getting complicated. Perhaps it was best to leave things as they were. To let chance or fate or circumstances rule his course. One way or another, if he could just stay calm, he was sure things would work out fine.

  * * *

  “Okay, okay.” Lucy held up one hand to stop the flow of words from Robyn’s mouth. “I get the picture.” But the picture she was getting was enough to start the laughter gurgling in her throat again. “Look, you have to understand something. Scout and I go way back. I mean, I could tell you stories—”

  Once again, she bit back a laugh. They’d had some good times, before all the trouble started. She’d almost forgotten that.

  Robyn glared at her. “It’s not funny,”

  Lucy sighed. “I know it’s not. The thing is, I honestly don’t think you’re in danger. Really. She’s trouble, no question there, but not the kind you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” Robyn insisted. “She doesn’t sleep. I don’t think she eats. I mean, I’ve never seen her do it. She just drinks. Wine and coffee and stuff like that. She even had this bottle of brandy or something stashed in the back of the cabinet! And all of a sudden she’s smoking? Non-stop. I mean, what is up with that? But the worst was last evening when she came home from the festival. She’d been in an accident, or something, I guess. I mean, I think that’s what she said. But she looked like someone had beaten her up. Her hair was hanging in her face and she didn’t even seem to notice. Do you think she’s, like, on drugs?”

  Lucy considered the idea. Drugs? Not a bad idea. Could be that’s what Robyn needed. Something to help her calm down. But Scout? She shrugged. “I don’t think so. I saw her yesterday afternoon and she seemed okay.”

  “Well, she was definitely not okay last night,” Robyn insisted again. “And when I asked her about it, all she did was laugh.”

  Yeah, that sounded about right. Lucy shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you. She has a damn peculiar sense of humor. But like I said, I don’t think she’s going to hurt you. Just don’t get too close to her, and you’ll be fine.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely. Now why don’t you go get some lunch; you look hungry.”

  “Okay, Lucy.” Robyn smiled, happy for the excuse to return to her usual good mood. “Thanks.”

  Lucy sat thinking long after Robyn had gone. Accidents didn’t happen to people like Scout – not unless they caused them. But it sure did sound like she was having problems. And that was bad. Because Scout’s problems had a nasty habit of blowing up in other peoples’ faces.

  She’d been through enough explosions of that sort for a couple of lifetimes.

  She had to do something. She tugged at a piece of her hair, twirling it around her finger as she thought. There had to be some way to make sure that, if there was another explosion, this time Scout would be the only one who got caught in it.

  Back to Top

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  * * * *

  By the time Scout was halfway home, she felt almost human again. Her head still ached and her ankle throbbed, but all in all, she just might live. She’d picked up some supplies in town – more coffee, a couple of frozen dinners, some canned soup, and a box of doughnuts – so she was all set for food for a good long while.

  She’d splurged on a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of blackberry wine as well, although she refused to think too much about the impulse that had led to her doing so. There was nothing to think about anyway. It meant nothing. She was not getting too caught up in old memories. It was just the mood she
was in.

  The dog trotted along at her side, stopping occasionally to sniff around the base of a tree or under a bush. They’d left Main Street a block past the shopping district to hike through the greenbelt. Besides offering extremely pretty scenery, Scout was sure that the detour would cut the distance she had to walk by half.

  Part wilderness, part footpath, part labyrinth, the greenbelt was often described as Oberon’s answer to urban sprawl. Which Scout found pretty damn ironic, considering that Oberon could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered an urban area.

  Had any of the people who made those inane remarks ever actually been to a city?

  The belt intersected most of the town’s main roads as well as three of the creeks that made up part of the local watershed. It had always been something of a nightmare for local law enforcement. Scout remembered hearing stories of suspects eluding the police within the twisting maze of pathways and other tales of high-speed pursuit by motorcycle cops which, while usually successful, had still earned them the wrath of the City Council.

  As a teenager, she and Lisa had been forbidden to step foot within its shadowed boundaries after nightfall, or at any time of day at all if they were by themselves: prohibitions they’d routinely ignored.

  Sunlight slipped through the thin branches above her head as she limped along, stopping occasionally to shift the bags she was carrying. The sun-baked ground beneath her feet was hard, rocky and dry. She remembered from countless school field trips here that the greenbelt had been landscaped using native, drought-resistant plants whenever possible.

  She even remembered some of the plants she saw now, like Toyon, whose red, holly-like berries had given Hollywood its name. And Mountain Lilac, whose fragrant blue flowers the Native Californians had made into a type of shampoo. Or the Arroyo Willows – their bark was used either as a cure for headaches or in basket making, she wasn’t sure which.

  And those tall trees that lined the path were white alders. Scout couldn’t remember if they served any useful purpose, although she did vaguely recall being told to look for them if she was ever lost in the woods and needed to find water. The eyes of the forest. That was what the early settlers had called them, or so she’d been taught. They had a habit of dropping their lower branches as they grew, and the resultant scars were supposed to resemble eyes. As creepy an idea as any she had ever heard of, it reminded her of the dream she’d had the other night. Something dark and dangerous lurked in the depths of these woods. Watching and waiting. There’d been danger, terror, and the relentless rushing sound of running water.