I thought of calling Aunt Tress. Then I pictured her bustling about in her kitchen, preparing for the Darby dinner, more animated than I’d seen her in a long time. Instead, I punched in the main number of the police station and asked for Chief Fenton. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else. It would take too long to explain. I felt sure that Lillian’s time was running out.
Fenton was off duty, so I left a long message on his voice mail. I told him what I’d discovered and where I was headed. That way if anything happened …
But it wouldn’t. If Lillian was still alive, I was going to find her and bring her home. The police would have to deal with the rest.
I bundled up. Hat, gloves, ski jacket, boots. I put fresh D batteries in my flashlight and loaded my car with blankets for Lillian. I had no idea what condition I’d find her in, so I wanted to be prepared.
Cursing myself for not owning a GPS, I memorized the directions to the cabin—no easy task with a head that felt like a punching bag.
Then I was off.
CHAPTER THIRTY
From the journal of Frederic Dwardene, Monday, January 15, 1951
Lillian’s mother was thrilled to hear from me. I confided that I was worried about Lillian, and she agreed that her daughter has not been herself at all. I confessed that by now I’d hoped my friendship with Lillian might have blossomed into something deeper. Her response was most encouraging. Between us, we’ve resolved to formulate a plan …
First order of business: check out the parking lot at Blake’s condominium.
My digital clock read 8:43 when I swung my car into the complex. Cruising slowly along rows of parked cars, I scanned every one, my tires crunching over the frozen snow. In front of Blake and Celeste’s building, I spotted Blake’s black SUV. Two spaces over from that was Celeste’s white sedan.
I breathed a quiet prayer of thanks. With any luck, they were both hunkered down for the night. If nothing else, the fact that both cars were here would buy me enough time.
The traffic was light on Route 114. I pressed the gas pedal harder and felt my little Honda skid slightly to the left. Much as I wanted to find the cabin, I had to pace myself. I couldn’t afford an accident. Not now, not when I was so close. Gritting my teeth, I tamped down my impatience as I mulled over what I’d learned.
Blake was a murderer.
I’d tutored him in high school, helped him earn a much-needed B in history so that he could remain on the football team. I’d always considered him to be a decent guy, if a bit self-focused. Still, he’d been a friend. I never saw his dark side, never realized he had one.
After finding the deed inside the valentine, Lou Marshall must have done exactly what I did: check the Registry’s indices to see if Lillian had conveyed the property back to Frederic. What did he do when he realized that she hadn’t? Did he tell Blake they’d have to cancel the closing? Did he burst his bubble with the bombshell that Lillian held title to the mansion?
And Lillian, had she seen the deed when she went into that room to pay for her china cat? Had Lou told her what he’d found? Something had clearly upset her that day. What else could it have been?
Oh Lillian, if only you’d confided in me, I could have helped you …
Right now I felt nothing but disgust for Blake.
Disgust and red hot rage.
I expelled a sigh of relief when I crossed over the Weare town line. A mile and a half later I turned onto Windsor Road, which would dump me onto Deer Trail Road. From there it was only a short distance to the cabin, if the directions were accurate.
Traffic was almost nonexistent. As I made the turn onto Deer Trail Road, a pair of headlights momentarily blinded me. For a few seconds I lost my bearings. I slowed down and checked my odometer. Seven-tenths of a mile to go.
Flanked on both sides by tall pines, the road grew impossibly dark and narrow. What if I passed by the cabin without realizing it? So far, I hadn’t even spotted a driveway, let alone a dwelling.
Without warning, Celeste popped into my mind. I thought of how devastated she was going to be by all of this. It was bad enough that her hopes and dreams were going to be blown to bits, her life torn in half. She would also have to suffer through the nightmare of learning that the man she loved was a murderer.
Don’t think about it now. Find Lillian first and bring her home.
I continued driving slowly, concentrating on the road, my headlights burning twin tunnels into the inky night. I glanced at my odometer again. I’d gone sixth-tenths of a mile and hadn’t seen a single house. Pressing the brake lightly, I let the car inch forward. And there, curving off to the right, were the faint remnants of tire tracks.
Fearful of missing the turn, I snapped my wheel to the right. I followed the path made by the snowy tracks, maneuvering my way along the rutted mess that apparently served as the driveway. It was a dirt drive at best, not designed for winter use. It would have been a breeze for Blake’s SUV to navigate, but although my little car handled like a dream, it didn’t have the weight of an SUV. Fir trees rose high on either side of me, smothering the sky.
Worse, the tire tracks began to snake steadily uphill. The cabin must sit at the top of a rise. Any second now, I expected to get—
Oh, God.
—stuck.
My left tire had slipped into a frozen rut.
No, please. Not now …
I jammed my foot against the accelerator and held it fast. The Honda rocked forward violently, then fell back again. The rut was only getting deeper.
I tried three more times. Bubbling with frustration, I slammed the car into Park and hopped out. Leaving the door wide open, I trudged around it and peered at the tire. Yes, it was a tire all right—stuck in one of the rings of Hades.
The same tire Fenton claimed wouldn’t pass inspection.
I fumed for a minute, squashing the urge to kick it. Then a thought smacked me on the back of the head. I clomped around to the back of my car and threw open the hatch. I hoisted out the bag of kitty litter I’d bought the night Elliot came home with me. With all the bizarre events of the past few days, I’d forgotten to haul it inside my apartment.
Thank heavens.
I dragged the bag around to the front of the car and tore it open—not easy to do wearing gloves. With any luck, the coarse litter would give the front tires some purchase.
I spread some litter all around, emptying the bag as I scooted farther up the drive. When I’d used it all, I tossed aside the bag and jumped back into the car. I slid the gearshift into Drive.
With a silent prayer, I pressed the accelerator and steadily increased the pressure. This time the Honda jerked forward, then shot out of the rut like a bullet. “Yeesss!” I cried as the car roared up the drive.
And then, like a shimmering lake materializing in the desert, a snow-covered log cabin came into view.
The same one I’d seen in the photo.
I killed my engine, grabbed my flashlight, and got out of the car. Looking down, I saw oval indentations in the snow—the telltale remains of footprints.
Someone had definitely been here.
I glanced at both of the cabin’s windows. No light shone from within.
I followed the prints to the door of the cabin, then tried the doorknob. It was locked. I’d expected as much, but my heart still dropped. I pounded my fist on the door. “Lillian? Are you in there?”
I turned the knob again, this time throwing all my weight against the door. But it was rock solid and wouldn’t budge.
Frustrated, I stepped backward and examined the two windows. In the photo they’d looked barely four feet off the ground. In reality they were more like five. That extra foot made all the difference. Even if I could break one of the windows, there was no way I could pull myself up to climb through.
The cold air was starting to chill me now. Beneath my gloves, my fingers felt like icicles. With a shiver, I flicked on my flashlight and shone the beam all around. I needed to find something I could stand on.
Drained of energy, and of ideas, I clumped around to the left side of the cabin, my boots sinking into the hardened snow. Maybe I’d find something I could use—a trash barrel, an old milk crate, anything …
Luck was with me. Stacked against the back of the cabin and covered by a tarp was a mound of cut wood. With a cry of triumph, I ripped off the tarp.
I shoved my flashlight into my pocket. Working as fast as my weary legs would carry me, I lugged chunks of wood to the front of the cabin. One by one, I stacked them in front of the closest window, forming them into a makeshift stepstool. By the time I’d made a pile about two feet high, my arms felt as if they were going to snap off at the elbows.
Flashlight in hand, I mounted the wood pile. My boots wobbled and my head spun slightly, but I kept my balance. Planting my feet securely, I directed the beam inside the cabin.
Rustic would be a polite word for the interior. It was a room about thirty feet square, adorned with the barest of furnishings. A sagging sofa bed rested against one wall, a wood stove against another. In front of the sofa was a low table made from a rough slab of pine. The back wall boasted a rack of fishing poles. Cut into the rear wall was a narrow door that I assumed led to a bathroom. If there was a separate room for sleeping, it wasn’t obvious.
There was no sign of Lillian.
My gaze jolted back to the pine table. A blue plastic bag rested on top, its organic contents splayed out in front.
Blue bread. Blake had left one of Celeste’s loaves of bread there for her to eat—a loaf encased in screaming blue cellophane. That’s what Lillian had been trying to tell me. She wanted me to make the connection!
But where was she?
Fear coursed through me. Had Blake come out here one last time and disposed of her?
“Lillian!” I screamed as loudly as I could, tapping on the window with my flashlight. “Are you in there?”
I waited but heard nothing. Hot tears streamed down my frozen cheeks.
Maybe Lillian had never been here. Maybe I’d gotten it all wrong.
Maybe I was totally insane.
I shone the beam around one last time, illuminating every crack and corner. My heart hammering, I doused the light and stepped off the wood pile.
In my car, I cranked up the heat as high as it would go. My entire body shivered as I slid the gearshift into Reverse. I had to pull myself together. Backing down the icy drive was going to be dicey, at best.
I was releasing the brake when something caught my eye—a flash of pink in the window. It disappeared as quickly as it came. Had I imagined it?
I waited another minute, but saw nothing. Dejected, I started back down the drive.
Then it flashed again, a circle of bright pink. This time it stayed in the window for several seconds. The color was dazzling, almost like neon—
Lillian’s necklace! The one she received for winning the Knitting Extravaganza.
I shut off the engine and flew out of my car. One leap and I was atop the woodpile, cracking the window with my flashlight. With my gloved hands I pulled out shards of glass and tossed them into the snow. Using both arms, I hoisted myself over the lip of the window and tumbled inside head first.
I landed on the floor with a thud. Beside me, someone cried out faintly.
I pulled myself into a sitting position and aimed my flashlight at the sound. Propped against the wall beneath the window was a rolled-up braided rug. Lillian’s pale head and one thin arm jutted out from the top. The necklace hung in a limp tangle from her fingers.
My heart rate did a wild spike. I set the flashlight down and gently clasped her shoulders. “Lillian, are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Her head lolled slightly, and her eyes looked glassy. She moved her cracked lips but couldn’t seem to form any words.
“Let me get this off,” I said. Very gently, I peeled away the rough carpet. The sour stench of human captivity wafted toward me, making me cough. Beneath the carpet, Lillian had been wearing her quilted bathrobe over a pair of yellow pajamas. Tears stung my eyes. Blake must have snatched her from her bed in the dead of night and tossed her into his SUV. Thank heaven she’d gone to bed still wearing the robe. It probably saved her from freezing to death.
Her lips moved again.
“Don’t try to talk, Lil. I’m going to get you out of here.”
I reached inside the pocket of my jacket and dug out my cell phone. I wasn’t sure how 9-1-1 worked from a cell, and didn’t have time to learn now. I pulled off a glove and punched in
Aunt Tressa’s number. I gave her the address and told her I needed an ambulance, fast.
A hand clawed weakly at my sleeve. “C-c-co …” Lillian tried to push out the word in a raspy voice.
Cold.
No wonder. The cabin was a freezing dungeon. How could Blake do this to a helpless woman? When did he become such a monster?
“Help is on the way, Lillian. Hang in there.” I peeled off my hat and snugged it over her head, covering her ears. Then I pulled off my jacket and tucked it around her frail form.
Seized by a sudden bout of coughing, I slid open the bolt on the cabin door and hurried out to my car. I returned with two blankets and a bottle of water. Lillian was still propped against the wall beneath the window, her tiny body lilting to one side. I tucked both blankets over her and uncapped the bottle. “Here’s some water, Lil.” I tilted the bottle to her lips.
She surprised me by taking several gulps. I should have realized she’d be dehydrated. I had a sinking feeling she was also suffering from hypothermia.
I rubbed my hands over her arms, hoping to massage some warmth into her. “Lillian, do you know what he drugged you with?” I wanted to give as much information as I could to the paramedics.
Lillian frowned in confusion. She shook her head, but couldn’t seem to form the words to utter a response.
“Never mind. You’ll be at the hospital soon,” I promised.
Somewhere in the distance, the squeal of a siren pierced the night. Tears slid down my cheeks as the sound grew closer. Less than a minute later, I saw red lights flashing in the window.
By the time the police and paramedics burst through the door, I was sobbing uncontrollably. They worked quickly to get Lillian onto a stretcher and immediately started tending to her.
Curled up on the floor now, I vaguely saw plastic bags and other things I didn’t want to think about. My stomach was roiling. Every bone throbbed.
One of the paramedics bent close to me. “It’s okay,” he said kindly, touching my cheek. “It’s all over now.”
I protested when I saw them bringing in another stretcher. “I don’t need that. I’m fine,” I told them. “I just need to get home and go to bed.”
“Uh … I don’t think so, miss. Pardon me for saying this, but your face is the same color as the hairball my cat upchucked this morning.”
With that, I threw up all over the cabin floor.
A silly thought popped into my head.
I should have swallowed Vicki’s zinc tabs when I had the chance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
From the journal of Frederic Dwardene, Thursday, January 25, 1951:
I needn’t have worried about Lillian’s soldier. Her mother today confessed to me that she’s been hiding his letters to Lillian. It explained my darling Lillian’s distress these past weeks, but oh, how sweet to have such a powerful ally in this war of love! How uplifting to know the elder Dora has been conspiring on my behalf all along!
“That son of a bad girl,” Aunt Tressa spat, her eyes dark with fury. “Killing Lou wasn’t bad enough—he had to put poor Lillian through all that torment.”
I wanted to respond, but another bout of coughing seized me.
“As for you,” she railed on, “I still can’t believe you went out to that place alone.” She tucked my comforter high around my neck, a little too tightly, I thought.
&n
bsp; I was back in my own deliciously comfortable bed, pumped with flu meds and floating high on the knowledge that Lillian was safe. When I saw her at the emergency room, the doctors were confident she was going to be all right. Wrapping herself in that grimy old carpet had probably saved her from freezing to death. She was a clever lady, and a survivor.
My eyes teared up again. “I’m so thankful she had that pendant from winning the Knitting Extravaganza. She’d rolled so close to the window that I couldn’t see her. If she hadn’t been able to signal to me with that neon necklace …”
“Never mind the necklace,” Aunt Tressa said, swiping a finger over her eyes. “If you hadn’t figured out what those numbers on the envelope meant, Lillian would probably be dead.”
I didn’t want to think about it anymore. Not right now, at least. All I wanted was to sleep for a week. The entire evening had been one surreal nightmare. I still had trouble believing it had all happened.
Blake, I was happy to learn, was in police custody. My deepest wish was that they’d serve him gutter water and wet crackers and green liver for breakfast and for every other meal for the rest of his life. Part of me still ached like crazy, knowing what he’d done. He’d been my friend for more than half my lifetime. Now he was nothing but a monster in man’s clothing.
Through all this, I couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. I felt so bad for her. She was strong and capable, but she was also in love with Blake. They’d planned a glorious future together. I was afraid this was going to destroy her.
Aunt Tressa was leaning over me, examining my face.
“Don’t get so close to me,” I said with a sniffle. “I’ve got the worse flu ever. Believe me, you don’t want to catch this one.”
“I never get the flu,” she reminded me. “But I still, still, still can’t believe you went there alone.”
“I didn’t want to bug you while you were getting ready for the Darby dinner,” I whined at her.
She twitched her lips into the tiniest of smiles. “All right, all right, point taken. God, it’s after two,” she said over a vociferous yawn. “Try to get a good night’s rest and I’ll be back in the morning. You can sleep all day tomorrow.”
Some Enchanted Murder Page 21
