Isabelle shook her head ruefully at such a competitive streak and continued packing. When she was ready, she revved her quad and went back the route they’d come. She easily found the clearing and the plastic fender. She had to find out what had been pushed over the edge. She had to prove her hunch either right or wrong, though in her heart she already knew.
She lay on the edge on her belly and inched forward until she could clearly see the bottom of the fifty-foot drop. The area below was in heavy shade; the thaw had barely touched it and it was deep with snow. Even so, she could clearly make out the blackened metal of a burned-out vehicle protruding from a snowdrift. Against the soft, white snow and the frost-jeweled pine needles it looked hideous and twisted.
Isabelle lay and looked at the car until the damp seeped through her jacket. Her stomach cramped and her fingers curled so tightly to the ledge they lost all feeling. She was barely aware of the numbing discomfort. Her head was ringing with the order she had heard Ren give Patrick on the night she had finally clambered out of her sick bed. Round and round the words spun. “Burn it. Burn it. Burn it.”
Ren had not lied to her. She had not told Patrick to burn her car documents. She had ordered him to burn her car.
*
“I win. I win. I’m the winner!” Mouse crowed as Isabelle finally drew up before the barn. Joey set aside his broom and came to claim his quad.
“How’d she go?”
“Oh. Great, Joey. Great. Thanks for the loan.”
“I won!” Mouse crowded her for attention. Isabelle was still upset and distracted by her find, and she had to focus hard to present an amiable front to Mouse and Joey.
“Yes, you did. I’ll think twice before I challenge you to a race.” Isabelle wrapped an arm around Mouse’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “You’re a speed demon. Now, let’s take this bag back to Jenna and thank her for our picnic.”
She had to act calm, even though her heart pounded and her hands tremored. No one must know about her discovery. Not yet. Not until she had processed what it meant. She caught herself watching Mouse and Joey as they locked up their quads, and decided they knew nothing. They were so guileless, so happily innocent. She couldn’t bear it if they knew about her car.
Mouse led the way to the cookhouse, and Isabelle took a deep breath before mounting the porch steps. What about Jenna? Was she in on it?
Patrick was idling at the kitchen table while Jenna worked. Isabelle could tell by Jenna’s sharp, constricted movements she was annoyed at having him there. Patrick didn’t gel with this group at all, Isabelle noted, despite his supposed authority.
“We’re back,” Mouse shouted as they entered. “We went to Big Tree and had a race back and I won.”
Isabelle placed the backpack on the kitchen bench, tactfully avoiding eye contact with Patrick. She was angry, but careful not to show it. It was important not to tip her hand too soon, and especially not to him. He didn’t seem pleased to see her either. He picked up a magazine and pretended to read. The pages tremored in his hands and Isabelle remembered Mouse’s earlier comment about Patrick having the shakes. He did. His entire body trembled ever so slightly, his hands in particular.
“Thank you for the picnic, Jenna,” she said. “It was very much appreciated. Mouse? What do you say?”
“Thank you, Jenna. The sandwiches were nice and I liked the soda best.”
“Wow. That’s a first.” Jenna stopped to look at Mouse. “Mouse, are you learning some manners at last?”
“’Bout time,” Patrick said. “She needs to learn respect for her elders.”
“You’re not an elder,” Mouse retorted. “You’re just old.” She slid onto the seat and dragged one of her play magazines over and began to color in a picture.
Isabelle and Jenna both smiled, and even Patrick let it go. He sat sprawled with his magazine, his feet up on another chair watching Jenna. Isabelle noted how he gauged Jenna’s reaction to Mouse’s behavior and followed her lead.
So he’s sweet on Jenna. That will cause problems later. I can’t see Noah letting it go. And between the two, my money’s on Noah. Isabelle was surprised she was picking up these little nuances so easily. And that she was becoming concerned about the internal workings of this small group.
The door opened and Ren walked in. She hesitated on seeing Isabelle there, then smiled and came farther into the room.
“Any coffee on the go?” she asked. Patrick scooted upright in his chair and Jenna went to pour a generous cup.
“Busy day?” Jenna asked.
“Manic,” Ren answered. “Hi there,” she said to Isabelle, and came over to stand close, making sure their arms touched. “I hear Mouse took you on a guided tour.”
“Yes.” Isabelle side-stepped and went to stand behind Mouse, resting her hands on her shoulders. She was too upset to have Ren touch her. “We went all the way to Big Tree and had a picnic.” Her face muscles ached from trying to keep a bland look. If her hands weren’t sitting on Mouse’s shoulders they’d be two balled fists.
“Then we had a race back and I—” Mouse piped up.
“Won,” Ren finished for her. “You win all the time. Like your mom used to.”
“Because she cheats,” Patrick said. He seemed to begrudge Mouse getting any of Ren’s attention.
“I do not!”
“No, you don’t, honey. You’re just the best, that’s all.” Isabelle reassured her with a shoulder squeeze. “Don’t let him tease you. I know you won fair and square.”
This seemed to appease Mouse, and a temper tantrum was avoided.
“I told Isabelle all about Big Tree and the ghosts,” Mouse told Ren.
“Did you now?” Ren took a seat opposite, and Isabelle slid in beside Mouse, glad of the tabletop between them. Even looking at Ren hurt her. She surveyed her sitting nonchalantly at the table, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, or cars burn in her valley. The afternoon light pooled behind and haloed her, and Isabelle felt the siren’s pull. Her fingers tightened on the table. She wanted to give up and give in. She wanted it all to be untrue. She wanted never to have found the damn car. She wanted Ren.
What did a beautiful woman like Ren want with her?
Isabelle tried some self-scrutiny. She was a bedraggled specimen of womanhood, far too thin, sallow and haggard with illness. She had memory blackouts, and night terrors so fierce she was afraid to go to sleep. Why would Ren cheat her into staying in the valley?
Perhaps I’m rich? She pondered the possibility for a microsecond, then dismissed it. Ren’s property was run-down and threadbare, and in no way did Isabelle believe she had the funds to change that. Look at her. Her hair and complexion had never had money thrown at them. She was no missing heiress. Ren pulled her attention back to the conversation.
“Did Mouse tell you the whole legend?” Ren was asking her.
She shook her head. “Only that the Nuxalk hung wolf skins from the tree. Sounded pretty icky to me. What’s the whole legend?” She tried to sound casual, normal even.
Patrick muttered something about work, then stomped out the door.
“He’s a scaredy cat,” Mouse whispered to Isabelle.
In Isabelle’s opinion, he was annoyed his time with Jenna had been interrupted. Jenna looked relieved he had gone.
“Oh? Maybe I’m a scaredy cat, too. Is it a scary story?” Isabelle said.
“Hold my hand if you’re frightened.” Mouse held out a grimy hand and Isabelle slipped hers in it. Across the table Ren watched them with a curious expression. Her face softened and her shoulders eased into a less tense posture. Isabelle hadn’t been aware she was so keyed up until these little changes occurred. She realized Ren was as awkward around her as she was back.
At first she worried she had given herself away and somehow shown the discomfort and suspicion she’d tried so hard to conceal. She chanced a quick glance to see if Ren’s face revealed any clues. The inky surface of Ren’s eyes spilled out words that Isabelle could read as easil
y as print. They shone with adoration and with pride, and showed gratitude for her presence in this home. Ren looked at her with love. Isabelle broke away and fussed over a tangle in Mouse’s hair. She was overwhelmed. Ren loved her, and she was afraid of the intensity in that look, and all it meant.
What if Ren could read her as easily? She was not ready for her secrets to spill out. Isabelle was jealous and guarded of her heart and what it held. She was falling in love, too. But she was fighting it. She was fighting it hard.
“The stories are old and the words worn,” Ren began in a soft voice. Jenna settled in beside her. This seemed to be a well-loved story. “They actually belong to the people who were here before the Nuxalk, but no one knows who they were, or how long ago they passed through this valley.
“They tell of a Wolf-demon who came to these mountains. She found the valley beautiful, and settled here. Soon the hunters noticed the wildlife behaving differently. The animals were skittish. They stopped having young and began moving away. The shamans asked the bear why the forest was out of balance, and the bear told them a Wolf-demon had come who devoured souls, and so the animals were leaving.
“On hearing this, the elders sent their best warriors to hunt the Wolf-demon, for if the animals left, the tribe would starve. One by one the warriors set out. The bravest and best went first, and the less experienced last. One by one they disappeared until the tribe had no hunters left.
“Then one day a bedraggled, half-dead youth stumbled out of the forest. He had been the last hunter to leave, and he spoke wildly about an ancient tree and bad magic, but he was half mad with terror and no one could make sense of his words. So the elders traveled to the ancient tree, Big Tree as we call it today, and found it draped with the skins of their warriors. They had been flayed and left to hang in the wind like so many drying hides. And late that night as the elders made their sad way home, the valley began to ring with the howl of multitudes of wolves, and the elders knew these were the souls of their lost warriors the Wolf-demon had trapped in wolf bodies.
“And so the elders killed as many wolves as they could find, and hung the pelts from Big Tree to release the souls of their brothers and sisters up to the mountains. Then the tribe, like the animals, packed up and moved away.”
“What happened to the Wolf-demon?” Mouse asked.
“The Wolf-demon ran out of souls to eat, so she moved on, too,” Ren said. “The howls you hear at night are supposed to be wolf souls still trapped.”
A lot of things get trapped in this valley, Isabelle thought.
“They wander the valley singing for release,” Jenna said.
“And that’s why it’s called Singing Valley,” Mouse added with great aplomb.
“Well, that was creepy…and sad, too. I’ll think differently when I hear the wolves crying,” Isabelle said.
“Do. They might be your ancient sisters and brothers.” Ren rinsed her cup in the sink. “I’ve got to go to Williams’s horse ranch, would you like to come?” she asked Isabelle.
“Me. Me. Can I come?” Mouse bounced in her seat.
Part of Isabelle would have loved the excursion, but her secretive, cunning side knew this was the ideal opportunity to explore Ren’s cabin again while she was away for a few hours. There had to be some information about the float plane delivery schedule somewhere. All she had to do was check out the farm accounts in Ren’s bureau.
“Thanks, but I’ve got a headache. I think I should lie down for an hour or two.”
“A headache? Do you want a poultice for your forehead?” Ren was immediately concerned. “I have homemade remedies for headaches.”
“No, honest. I’ll be all right. I just need to rest.” Isabelle held her breath at her blatant lie, relieved Ren couldn’t read her well at all. Quickly she said good-bye and excused herself, and headed straight back to the cabin.
*
Isabelle ignored the bureau and walked through the living room to Ren’s kitchen. Straight to the bread bin where she had cleaned up Ren’s sooty fingerprints only yesterday morning. Her car lay burned out at the bottom of a gully. Her car documents had been tossed in the fire. So why was Ren rummaging about in the cold ashes? What had she been looking for? What else had been burned?
Isabelle was certain she had not crashed in this valley, but most likely somewhere close by. The marks in the clearing suggested her car had been towed in, dragged to the ledge, and pushed over. When Ren said “Burn it” she had meant the car, not the car documents. Ren had not ordered that, so she hadn’t lied to Isabelle about it. For some unfathomable reason, she could not lie to Isabelle, but she could omit the truth. Isabelle was bitter, and she worried Ren had no intentions of letting her leave the valley at all. She had covered Isabelle’s tracks so no one would know she was even here. And that left the question of why?
Isabelle opened the bread bin. It was empty. She checked the tin containers on either side. Empty. The cups on the shelf. Empty. The spice jars. Empty. Everywhere she looked she drew a blank. There was something she was not seeing. It was frustrating. Ren’s sooty fingerprints had left clues, and all Isabelle had done was wipe them clean.
She stepped back, drew a breath, and glared at the kitchen cabinets. What had Ren found in the ashes? Patrick had dumped a book in the flames. What if it was not just her car documents, what if there was something else?
Then she saw it—a thumb smudge on a soup ladle. It hung from a hook with other utensils. Isabelle tipped out a small brass key into the palm of her hand. A key! But to open what?
She ran into Ren’s bedroom and went straight to the dresser. The key fit in the locked drawer and turned with a perfect, oiled click. She opened the drawer.
“Oh God.” Her fingers touched the battered cover of a Canadian passport. She knew it was hers even before she checked the ID page. Her driver’s license was there, too, and a wallet with American and Canadian dollars. The credit cards were all in her name, and there was a set of house keys—for where? What was her address? Her driver’s license gave a characterless apartment building on a boring Portland street. Everything about her was nondescript. She was the perfect person to grab and hide away. What were Ren’s plans for her?
At the back of the drawer she found a battered digital camera and another burned book. It was the remains of a handmade journal. An expensive one, and that was what had saved it from total annihilation. The thick covers had protected some of the pages, but most were lost to the flames. The inner cover showed it was a Christmas gift from her aunt Mary, but the last section of the book was the more intact; a few pages were just about legible. Isabelle recognized her own handwriting. The journal entries were chronologically consistent, and ended at a date sometime in the last week or so.
This was her journal, and Ren had salvaged it from the ashes. She had wanted to preserve it after Patrick had carelessly tossed it away. Why was it so important? What did it hold?
Isabelle perched on the edge of the bed and opened the soot-caked covers. It smelled acrid, but she could still make out ash-smudged words on the cracked pages.
13th
It’s Friday the 13th today. Do I feel particularly unlucky? Well, I signed the last of the divorce papers and mailed them off to Jaggart, Swartz, and Tresco this morning, and that felt very, very good, if not a little lucky.
Aunt Mary says Paul Jaggart is a “damned good divorce lawyer,” and she should know, she’s used him three times already. She’s being so sweet and support—
15th
I am so looking forward to seeing the Old Ironshoe falls. I’ve even packed a picnic. I love spending time with her—so much fun and easygoing. She’s exactly what I need right now. A new friend and such a beautiful person—
Aunt Mary adores her, too, because of Atwell—poorly—
16th
—arrived this morning on a massive quad! Fantastic day, we went miles and—Came home and downloaded my photos immediately to show Aunt Mary.
18th
—kissed
—can’t believe I did that.—as gay!! But it feels so right. As if I have been waiting for this moment all my life. And she is so wonderful. I think I must be—
23rd
—acting so strange—we argued because I did not want to visit this lake she insists on going to. I became very upset. I hate it when—cold and distant. Lonesome la—Unpleasant—too intense, and—I feel awful, but she’s acting like she owns me, or something. I told her I was leaving in a few days and said good-by—
27th
—glad of the break. Drove Aunt Mary down to the Port Hardy ferry for a sad farewell. I will miss her, but promised to lock up tight and call her when I arrive back in Portland.
I must admit it is nice to have the house to myself for this last night. The full moon is beautiful this evening—
—all packed and ready to go at seven a.m. sharp—the weather looks good for the—
28th
—she really lost it, and scared the hell out of me. Glad to get away. What an intense woman, and she was so lovely at the start—
Isabelle closed the journal. There was no more to read, and what little she could make out told a bizarre tale. Was Ren hiding the journal because it showed their troubled past? Why not let the book burn? Eventually, Isabelle’s memories would return, and journal or not, she would remember this suffocating friendship. Except it wasn’t a friendship any longer. Last night she had allowed it to become something else. Isabelle sank her head in her hands. What had she done? It was all such a mess, when only last night it had felt so right. Her coup de foudre had collapsed into dust. Last night she had unwittingly flung herself from a point of safety into Ren’s arms. Today, secrets had been laid bare, and she realized she had fallen—heart, head, and soul—into a trap.
Indigo Moon Page 13
