My stomach dropped. A forewarning?
The night and what would happen next felt like it was up for grabs. Anything could happen from this point on.
Chapter 27
Row, Row, Row Your Boat...
All I heard was muffled cursing up front, coming from Tony, who was paddling right behind a fuming Martha.
“We have to paddle in sync,” whispered Tony testily.
“You accusing me of not having rhythm?” she asked.
“If we don’t coordinate, we’ll go in circles,” he hissed.
“Because my tempo is just fine according to...”
I overheard a final muttered curse then the sleek canoe straightened out and moved along, cutting a smooth pattern down the center of the lake, heading toward that rental.
I heard Betty and Hazel behind me, what sounded like praying as they each clung to the sides of the canoe, strapped up in their life vests they insisted on wearing when Tony first offered them to us. I had waved my vest off.
I mean what could possibly happen on this placid lake?
Tony declined, saying it was a direct reflection on his Italian heritage. Martha said it clashed with her black spy ensemble, taking the element of danger out of our caper.
Suddenly, out in the dark we heard a splash...
“What was that?” whispered a panicky Hazel, turning left then right, trying to locate where it came from.
“It sounded like someone just dumped a body,” quipped Tony lightly.
“More likely a large fish,” offered Martha.
“You’ve seen your fair share in Highlands,” said Betty.
“What? A dead body or fish?” joked Martha.
“Didn’t you used to fish at night?” Betty asked Martha.
“I recall one time digging up and filling a whole a can of night crawlers,” laughed Martha. “I caught the biggest...”
“Shush!” said Hazel. “We’re on a covert mission here!”
Betty jolted. “Hey, something crawled across my foot!”
Hazel, who was already jumpy, quickly turned to Betty with a jerking motion, asking, “Oh my! Where?”
The canoe began rocking precariously. Tony and Martha were once again at each other about rowing out of sync. I smelled trouble when Hazel abruptly stood up. Weighing more than me, I tried to pull her back down. Then Betty grabbed her from the other side. I finally stood up to gain more leverage. Then Hazel stepped up onto her seat to get away from whatever was crawling around inside the bottom of the canoe.
Tony whipped around to see what the commotion was all about, as did Martha. But Martha was still gripping her oar, which abruptly went airborne. Tony ducked just before it clipped him in the side of his head. Unfortunately, I couldn’t because I was standing up and now rocking back and forth trying get my balance and to sit Hazel down. I felt myself sway on the last tug to pull her to sit. So when that oar hit me broadside, I lost my grip on Hazel as my foot slipped and I toppled overboard headfirst into the lake.
I flailed about after hitting that icy-cold lake water then panicked, speculating who might be in that lake with me: snakes, snapping turtles, eels, trying not to shriek from my imagination and the sheer mind-numbing cold of the water. Frantically, I latched onto Martha’s now floating oar.
“Shhh! Sam, relax,” said Tony, leaning off the canoe.
He reached out and I felt him firmly grasp my arm and tug hard, trying to drag my sodden body back on board. My extraction from the lake wasn’t exactly as coordinated or as graceful as I would’ve preferred as Tony grabbed onto my waistband of my jeans with one hand and my arm with the other and roughly hauled me and the oar I was clutching back into the canoe. We were both gasping and breathing heavy from the whole effort because I was deadweight from my soaked clothes and shoes.
No one said one word as a dog howled, two back-porch lights flicked on at cottages up ahead, and a door slammed. We all froze. Last thing we needed was trying to talk our way out of why we were in a canoe after dark on a lake we didn’t live on. Cold, my teeth began chattering. A jacket was thrown over me. Then all went quiet and dark again.
Speaking low, Martha said, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Hazel asked, gripping the canoe in fear.
“Us paddling back,” said Martha, sarcastically, jabbing angrily at the water with her rescued oar, and ignoring Tony, who again was cursing at her rowing rhythm method.
“And we were so close,” added Betty with regret.
“...I...need...a...hot...shower,” I chattered.
“I need a drink,” said Tony.
“I have to go to the ladies room,” said Hazel.
Everybody turned to Hazel as we glided along the water.
Death-glares abounded because of her actions.
“Well, I don’t handle stress well,” she said.
Everybody began muttering.
Trust me, none of which I’m going to repeat here.
Chapter 28
Plan B
Tony eased his car away from the sandy berm, leaving behind us the grassy land bridge where our canoe was left abandoned in the dark.
Tony tried not to laugh, but failed miserably. “Well, I’d say that went real well, ladies, don’t you think?”
I was still shivering, Betty kept shaking her head, and Hazel was glaring at Martha, who sat in between them in the backseat of Tony’s car.
“In theory, I figured we had a good shot,” said Martha.
“A canoe, huh?” Hazel said to the back of Tony’s head.
“Hey, we needed a boat, I got one,” Tony said coolly.
“But a long skinny canoe?” Betty asked skeptically.
I turned to her. “Tony made a good decision. A rowboat would’ve been too small for all of us and motorboats aren’t allowed. Besides, even if they were, the motor would’ve drawn attention to us being on the lake this late at night.”
Tony faced me. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
“So, what’s plan B?” I asked no one in particular.
“I say we attempt it again tomorrow night,” said Martha.
Hazel turned on her. “Are you certifiable or what?”
Betty glared at Martha. “We could’ve been arrested!”
“I hope I don’t get sick from this,” I said, shivering. “I think I swallowed a gallon of lake water back there.”
Martha ignored us all, asking Tony, “Hey, where did you get that slick canoe? That glossy baby was a beauty!”
Tony cleared his throat, enjoying her compliment. “I placed an order. One of my associates found it and left it.”
“What exactly do you mean, placed an order?” Hazel asked warily.
Betty shushed her. “At this point, it’s irrelevant.”
I grew animated. “You mean we were in a hot canoe?”
Tony raised his shoulders slightly. “Hot, cold, what’s the diff? We needed some water transportation and I came through pronto. Period.”
Martha patted my shivering shoulders. “He produced. That’s what counts. After all, it was on such short notice.”
Begrudgingly, I agreed and nodded. “Hmm...”
“Tomorrow night then?” Martha asked enthusiastically.
“Well, we can’t cut through all those backyards edging the lakefront,” I conceded, considering it, but still skeptical.
No one said anything for a full minute, thinking it over.
Personally, I wasn’t convinced it would work. Once we got there, flooding the area with flashlights, we could draw attention to ourselves, while we tramped around that patch of woods, trying to figure where to start digging. What if my memory was faulty and I couldn’t pinpoint the spot?
Finally, one by one they all agreed to give it another go.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, trying not to shake from being wet and cold. A smile crossed my lips. I could never pull this off by myself. Here I had friends, and of course, one...(I didn’t quite know what to call Tony, so I
kept it neutral)...acquaintance, in the investigative field that had my safety and well-being in mind too.
I was one lucky person. Or maybe a person of interest if arrested for risking these crazy antics, skirting the limits of the law, while trying to pursue the truth.
What was the truth?
This was a secret I wanted to solve.
Chapter 29
Well, Hello & Good Morning
I woke up the next morning, tender from my unintended nosedive into the lake. Initially frowning at how painful I felt, I smiled when I got a whiff of coffee brewing, drifting up the staircase from the kitchen below. My-best-friend-because-they-had-their-priorities-straight, had made some. Who? I didn’t care, I’d embrace, then give them a big kiss for making it. After last night I needed caffeine big time.
After tying my bathrobe in place on my way down the stairs for a cup, I came to a screeching halt when I hit the kitchen doorway.
“Well, hello, sweet thing,” said Tony, in approval.
I felt his eyes give me the once-over, traveling up and down. I suddenly felt self-conscious and tied my bathrobe tighter then haltingly approached the countertop where the coffee machine was located. I slowly licked my lower lip, salivating in anticipation of my cup of coffee and not the hunky man holding it, wearing his form-fitting jeans, tailored shirt, and Louis Vuitton belt around his trim waist.
To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to say, finding him standing in our kitchen. All coherent thought went out the window when I caught sight of him handing me my cup of gold. Trust me, I felt desperate... for the coffee that is.
Our eyes locked as my lips met the rim of my cup and I sipped. He blinked once. I blinked once. Apparently neither one of us trusted what the other would say. I knew I wasn’t responsible for what came out of my mouth until I had my coffee. Period. So I said nothing, savoring the moment.
Tony finally broke the silence. “I let myself in.”
I paused. “Don’t tell me, I forgot to lock the door.”
“No worries. You didn’t. I just let myself in.”
That stopped me.
He broke in?
Tony knew what I was thinking. “Let’s just say, I have a way with locks and leave it at that, okay?”
“So, why the visit?” I asked, eyeing him over my cup.
“This whole thing has become way too complicated,” he said, after breaking lip contact with his cup of coffee.
I was about to ask him what he was referring to: him flirting because Clay was gone, or the journal episode that was proving to be problematic?
I took the noncommittal route.
“How so?” I asked, curious what was up Tony’s sleeve this time around. With Tony it was always, trust but verify.
He stepped closer. “I’m a big proponent in consensual.”
I stared him down.
Two could play at this word game.
“Consensual what?” I asked naïvely, making him fidget.
“We need to go back and find out what is buried in the woods. It might give us a clue as to who buried it.”
“And consensual has to do with this, how may I ask?”
Tony hedged awkwardly. “...Well, to be truthful, after seeing you last night in your clinging, sopping wet clothes, it put my priorities to the trust-me test.”
I was enjoying him squirming for a change.
“How so?” I asked, giving him a sweet smile.
“I don’t steal unless it’s consensual. Got it?”
A thief with a conscience. Well, who knew?
Chapter 30
Calling The Shots & Moving On
The caffeine was doing its magic as I considered a reply when we heard voices coming from down the hall.
“To be continued,” whispered Tony, smiling at me.
I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath and let it out in a whoosh, finally coming to my senses and realizing the consequences of his words. I tightened my bathrobe sash once more, reinforcing it and my thoughts on the matter. As tempting as Tony was, I couldn’t jeopardize what I had with Clay.
...Well, whatever we had anyway.
“Never,” I whispered back.
He subtly shook his head. “Never say never.”
“I mean it, Tony. Don’t bother going there.”
“Why it’s no bother at all, sweet thing.”
There was a cough behind us. We both turned.
Martha stood there, hand on her hip. “Didn’t you hear the phone ringing?” she asked, peering suspiciously at me.
I wasn’t sure what part of our exchange Martha heard or didn’t hear and wasn’t about to broach the subject in front of Tony either. “No, we were talking. Why? Anything you can’t handle?”
“It’s for you. I believe she said her name is Marilyn.”
My eyes cut from Martha’s to Tony’s.
His eyes narrowed. “I think you need to take this one.”
“I’ll listen in on the extension upstairs,” said Martha, rushing from the kitchen.
I nodded. “Good idea.”
Tony moved quickly. “I’ll listen from the living room phone. Wait thirty seconds for us to get in place then go ahead and pick up.”
I checked my watch then grabbed the kitchen phone, all the time wondering why Marilyn was calling. “Hello?”
“I bet you thought I was ignoring you,” Marilyn said.
“It had crossed my mind,” I replied. I was about to ask her questions concerning her last name and odd behavior, including her no shows when she abruptly cut me off.
“Do you know an Anne Baxter?” she asked.
The sudden turn in subject matter threw me. “...Yes.”
“Don’t trust that woman,” she warned.
With that I was listening to a dead line. She was gone.
Both Tony, then Martha, Hazel and Betty rushed in.
“Now that sounds like a red herring,” said Martha.
“How so?” Tony asked.
“By dragging Anne into this,” I answered.
“Women,” huffed Tony. “Nothing but trouble.”
“I think Marilyn’s sidetracking our attention,” I said.
“Sounds suspicious,” said Betty. “I don’t trust her.”
“What is she trying to accomplish?” Hazel asked.
“Maybe she’s just trying to help us,” suggested Martha.
“For what purpose?” I asked, not getting her point.
“We’d never suspect that unlikely target,” she replied.
“Unlikely target?” Hazel asked somewhat confused.
We hit so many snags lately. Who could keep track?
“Anne could be the one involved in this potential rehab center insurance fraud,” said Martha.
“Anne?” We all asked simultaneously.
“It’s the sweet old ladies you have to watch!” she said.
Chapter 31
Watching, But Not Waiting
After I received the phone call from Marilyn, my list of questions began piling on top of existing questions.
Was Marilyn misleading me intentionally by suggesting I take a closer look at Anne?
If so, that misdirection felt like a strategic play, maybe one of delay. It could also mean that an element of mistrust had set in and was now playing at both ends, mine and hers. When I returned home after rehab, I had to come up with an approach on how to handle this unexpected news.
Was this Marilyn real, what is this all about?
It was a question I hadn’t addressed before, but should be addressing now. In the meantime, I would handle Anne at rehab, so the ladies stayed at home with Tony to see what they could come up with online. I was doing back-to-back physical therapy/info-getting sessions.
Did this Marilyn suspect I knew about the other Marilyn at the lake? Were they one and the same?
I kept going over the facts as I walked into rehab.
There was no way a sweet older lady like Anne would be involved in dumping a body in the
backyard of a house I rented over ten years ago. It was preposterous. It didn’t fit.
Then how did Anne fit into all this?
As far as I knew Anne had no connection to Bill or Marilyn. But then I paused.
How would I know for sure?
I hadn’t done background checks on anyone yet.
I had two Marilyns.
One was named Chambers. Were they one and the same? As illogical as it sounded and as far as coincidence went, it could be two Marilyns with different last names.
I hadn’t researched Bill yet because we had just met him. And for some reason, I never bothered checking out Anne after I first met her.
Why would I be suspicious of her?
Once inside rehab, I paused to scan the rehab center.
Both Marilyn and Anne were MIA. I almost laughed at the irony of it all.
Now what?
Phil snapped me out of my thoughts by calling out to me and waving me over to a therapy table in the back corner.
“You seem preoccupied,” he said.
I knew this would sound lame, but went with it anyway.
“I was just wondering about Marilyn and Anne. I don’t see them here today and I’m disappointed, that’s all. I enjoy talking to them both.”
Phil glanced out at his other clients. That was when I noticed he was clearly disturbed. “I haven’t heard from Marilyn in days. It could be nothing at all. But you know me, I always worry about my patients and their well-being. This morning Anne called in saying that she tripped going down on some stairs and couldn’t make it in today.”
I became concerned. “Is Anne all right?”
Had someone pushed her too?
“She claims she’s just banged up a little,” said Phil. “She should be back by tomorrow to resume her rehab.”
He left me on my own to do my exercises. I don’t know where the time went but it did. My mind was doing double-time trying to figure out what was going on.
Maybe Martha and the others might have some info to shed light on these bizarre episodes. This was a case that wasn’t a case because nothing was confirmed. There was only so much I could speculate on. Now two no-shows.
Too Close For Comfort (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 9) Page 7
