by Jan Coffey
“She is not a five-year-old anymore. I can’t tell her to go outside and kick the ball, and I can’t very well drag her to quilting class.”
Despite the sharpness of his tone, Léa nodded her understanding. “Another possible way to address a situation like this—and this is a recommendation I often make to kids’ parents—is to get their son or daughter into some kind of therapy.”
He didn’t say anything right away, but the rejection of the idea was etched on his face. Léa could almost read his thoughts. She and Ted had had years of therapy, and she knew first hand that most people still attached a negative label to it. Most people didn’t know how much relief it could bring.
“This doesn’t even have to be a one-on-one session,” she persisted. “Just having her take some classes on identifying feelings or on developing some sense of assertiveness might be enough to bring Heather out of her shell. She very well might need someone other than her parents to help her out of the slump she’s in.”
“Those questions you were asking before about taking risks or talking about death. Don’t you think you might be overreacting a little?”
His tone was accusatory, but Léa recognized that she was no longer talking to Mick, her big crush next door. She was counseling a concerned father who was possibly in denial about his troubled teenage girl.
“I warned you before we started Mick. I am not the most qualified person for a situation like yours. I make recommendations about the teenagers I work with only after spending many, many days with them. I really don’t know Heather, and whatever overreacting you think I am guilty of, it’s only based on what you’ve told me.”
“That’s good.” He rose to his feet. “Thanks, Léa. This was quite educational.”
“You’re welcome,” Léa murmured, feeling as if she’d been kicked, inside and out.
As she watched Mick walk back to his house, Léa silently upbraided herself. She should have expected this. Of course. She was back in Stonybrook. Here, only the Hardys had problems. The rest of them were picture-perfect.
On the surface, anyway.
~~~~
He was the last one left in the kitchen.
Chris finished rinsing the large, double, stainless-steel sink, and used a towel to dry and shine it, just the way Brian wanted it.
Finishing there, he wiped the top of the stoves and the counter, then ran a clean rag over the front of the refrigerator and freezer doors. The large mixing bowls were put away in order by size. The pots and sautéing pans hanging from their hooks. The utensils lined up in the drawer. Chris shut the cabinet doors tightly and picked up the mop to run it one last time over the tiled floors. Brian would have nothing to complain about.
In addition to being the second-generation owner of Hughes Grille, Brian Hughes was also the chef. At forty-something years old, the man took great pride in the establishment he’d worked hard to improve. And he had strict rules that all his employees had to follow. Cleanliness and order were at the top of the list.
Sister Mary Brian, some of the help called him behind his back. But not Chris.
The floor gleamed from the wash. Satisfied with it, Chris dumped the bucket into the sink by the back door and rinsed everything out. Storing the mop and bucket, he saw a sports car parked by the screen door. The teenager glanced toward the double doors leading to the restaurant and wondered if Brian knew that Jason was back.
Chris never had any problem getting along with Brian, as fussy and particular as he was. But putting up with Jason Shanahan was something else again. It wasn’t that he had any problem with the restaurant owner being gay. Brian was a solid guy, and he seemed committed to his relationship with Jason the same way most married couple in town were committed to each other.
But Chris saw how Jason acted behind his partner’s back, and it only increased his dislike of the man.
The teenager’s apron was soaked, and he tossed it in with the rest of the kitchen laundry for pickup tomorrow. His own car was parked in the back, but he decided to poke his head in and let Brian know he was done.
He punched out and worked his way back through the kitchen to the alcove that led to the darkened dining room. After the kitchen’s bright fluorescent lights and tile, the darkness and the carpet made the dining room seem startlingly tomblike.
As soon as the swinging door of the kitchen closed behind him, Chris could hear the argument that was going on in the front bar area. He approached cautiously, unsure of how to make his presence known.
“…took care of it!” The restaurant owner was unhappy. Very unhappy.
“So what if I made a mistake? That was two goddamn years ago! Water over the dam, remember? You’re getting all bent out of shape over nothing, Brian.”
“Nothing, my ass! When the hell are you going to get it in your thick head that as long as there is proof out there, fingers can get pointed at us? At me?”
“The scag is dead. Her husband is gonna fry. And if I can’t find that shit, nobody else is gonna, either.” There was a long pause. “And remember, nobody’s looking for it. So there we go. Now stop your damn nagging and let’s lock up. I had a tough day.”
“No, you can’t brush it off just like that. Listen to me, Jason.” Brian’s voice dropped down low. “It was all over town today that Léa is back. She’ll dig it up, damn it. And if she…”
As he moved closer to the bar, Chris’s hip brushed against the corner of a table. The delicate flower vase fell over with a soft thud, and the water spilled out onto the tablecloth. He quickly righted the vase, but the dining room lights came on instantly.
Jason peered in suspiciously from the archway leading to the bar. “Oh. What do you want?”
“I’m finished in the kitchen. I came in to tell Brian I’m on my way home. Is…is he out here?” Chris used one of the cloth napkins set out in preparation for tomorrow’s lunch to soak up the water. “I…I’m sorry. It was so dark in here, I just couldn’t see a thing.”
“Leave it go, Chris.” Brian appeared behind his boyfriend. His face was flushed. “It’s late. Your parents will be worrying. I’ll take care of it.”
With an appreciative nod, Chris backed out the same way he’d come in. Before disappearing through the swinging door though, he cast a final look over his shoulder. Jason had disappeared into the bar again, but Brian was changing the wet tablecloth.
Chris couldn’t recall ever seeing Brian Hughes quite so upset.
~~~~
Get me the names, damn it,” Marilyn screamed through the phone at her attorney. “I want the name of every goddamn traitor in this town who’s given a deposition to Ted’s lawyers about me.”
She slammed the phone down.
“You want to play dirty? I’ll show you dirty.”
Chapter 10
What else could she expect from a hole-in-the-wall pharmacy?
Heather added the three paltry pills to the larger bottle she’d been hiding on her closet shelf. She crumpled the bag after looking once more at the note telling her the rest of her prescription would be available by Tuesday.
“I’ll be six feet underground by then,” she murmured, tucking the bottle in the front pocket of her pants.
She didn’t need them, anyway. Her mother had given her the original prescription in California six months ago, and Heather had gotten it filled right away. She’d had Natalie write this prescription slip for her just before coming east, but it didn’t matter. She had enough here to do the job.
Heather glanced around the room one last time. All the letters—the envelopes clearly marked with the recipients’ names—were taped to the dresser mirror. The piles of clothes on the floor were more or less cleaned up. She didn’t want to waste any time putting them away, so she’d just stuffed them into the closet. The effect was good enough.
She checked her watch. It was 2:10 a.m. Plenty of time. She slipped out of her bedroom into the dark hallway.
Tonight, Heather had come to the conclusion that taking the pills here i
n her room wouldn’t be right. Considering the way her father had acted today, she decided he couldn’t handle it. He’d freak, pure and simple. And even though the house had been in their family for a couple of generations, she figured he might not be able to live here anymore. Not if she died right here in the house.
As always, Max followed her step by step as she went silently through the house. In the kitchen, Heather took a couple of cans of soda out of the fridge and a big bag of Oreos out of the cabinet. Max whimpered softly as she reached for the back door. Instead of trying to go out ahead of her, or grabbing his leash in his mouth, or jumping at the door, he sat back on his haunches with his big chocolate brown eyes staring at her.
Heather crouched down and gave him a big hug. He was always a smart dog.
She slipped out the back door before the tears came.
~~~~
A cut branch dangled from the hedge, brushing against the driver’s side window. Léa’s eyes vacantly watched the hypnotic back-and-forth swing of the leaves in the breeze while her mind skimmed along the thin edge of sleep.
She was curled up on the front seat with her back to the house. Her legs were draped over the center console. The key was still in the ignition, her purse on the floor. Léa’s eyelids closed for a second, and she gratefully felt the first waves of oblivion advancing.
Out here, at least, she might be able to sleep. She didn’t have to be afraid. She didn’t have to listen to every creak in the wood, certain it was some stranger’s footstep. Out here, she didn’t have to stare at the shadows and imagine her father alive again. Preparing to do the unthinkable. Out here, she could escape. She was safe in this car.
A muscle jumped in her leg, and her foot pressed involuntarily against the driver’s door. And her eyes were open again.
“Please!” Her quiet appeal was to no one but to herself. Exhaustion had her on the edge of tears, and she had no one to blame but herself. Why, after all these years, was she still unable to block out the demons of the past.
“It’s too hot in here.” She balled up the blanket that was partially covering her legs and threw it into the back seat of the car. As she did, she saw the shadow pass through the backyard and disappear inside the carriage house.
The chill that washed down Léa’s spine froze her. For one confused moment, she stared, questioning what was it exactly that she’d seen. The night was very dark. The equipment in the trailer, still hitched to the back of her car, partially obscured her vision. As she tried to clear her head, she could not grasp whether what she’d seen was real or imagined.
The shadow of a tree branch, she told herself. Clouds racing across the moon. Léa knew her best choice was to ignore it and go back to sleep. But she could not tear her gaze away from the carriage house. Her mind wouldn’t stop thinking the worst. Someone lying in wait in the yard. A stalker watching the house. Watching her.
Or maybe, she thought, a teenager meeting someone. Or a young woman hiding in a place where she wouldn’t be found for a while.
Léa suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Her hands were shaking when she reached over and took the keys out of the ignition. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she scrambled out of the car and stood in the dark driveway.
She took a step toward the carriage house, and then stopped. Reaching inside the car, she fished her pepper spray out of her bag. She could be wrong, and years of having to be street smart were engrained in her.
Léa edged along the car and then the trailer toward the carriage house. Every sound, every movement seemed unnaturally distinct. The summer breeze riffling through the leaves. The scrape of branches overhead. The barking of a dog far across town. Even the slight grind of her sneaker-clad feet on the gravel.
By the time she reached the shadow cast by the carriage house itself, serious doubts about what she’d seen caused her to pause. Through a wide crack occasioned by one of the warped wall boards, she peered in. Everything inside was still and dark. Any number of creatures, wild and dangerous, could possibly be making their homes inside this place. Léa remembered her newly purchased flashlight. It was sitting on the back seat of her car.
A soft noise like the popping sound of a plastic bottle drew her attention back to the inside of the building. Someone was in there. She moved quietly toward the side door. It was slightly ajar. Still holding the pepper spray tightly in one hand, she grasped the latch and pulled the door open a little more. A narrow strip of dim light widened inside. At the very edge of it, Léa spotted the tip of one dark shoe.
“Heather?” she whispered softly.
The shoe immediately pulled back into the shadows. Léa paused by the partially open door and stared into the darkness. The sound of her own nervous breathing was blocking any sound from inside. The sudden doubt that Mick’s daughter might not be the shadow lurking in the dark chilled her blood. Léa took a hesitant step back.
“Bitch!” The whisper came from behind. As she looked over her shoulder, she spotted the dark object flashing toward her head.
The blow was sharp, and Léa’s head bounced against the door like a rubber ball as she went down hard in the grass.
~~~~
Before his mind was clear of the gray layers of sleep, before he even realized who was screaming, Mick was out of bed and running down the hall.
In a moment, he was standing in his daughter’s doorway. The room was empty. Downstairs, Max was barking furiously, and Mick looked in confusion at the empty bathroom at the end of the hall.
The screams subsided, but he could now hear Heather calling for him. Urgency bordering on panic infused every cry. He realized that the cries were coming from the open window in his daughter’s room. Crossing to it, he yanked the window open. A shadow was hunched over by the carriage house on the Hardys’ property. Heather cried out for him again.
He was down the steps and through the house in seconds. Max was barking and scratching at the back door. Mick switched on the floodlights in the backyard and charged out the door behind the dog.
“Heather?” Mick ran across the yard.
“Daddy, it’s Léa.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s…dead. Léa is dead!” She turned at his direction. Her hands were shiny with blood. Her eyes were wild. She was hysterical. “Pushed her…hit the door. She’s bleeding.”
“Go back to the house. Call 911.” Mick crouched down beside Léa. To his relief, he found the pulse beating strongly in her neck. Heather continued to sob raggedly next to him. “She’s alive. Get moving. Now!”
The teenager scrambled to her feet and ran toward the house. Max continued to bark furiously by the stone wall at the back of the property. Blood covered Léa’s forehead, and he lifted her hair. There was a long gash right below her hairline. The blood was continuing to ooze out. She was breathing.
Léa said something unintelligible under her breath.
“You’ll be okay, baby.”
Mick checked her shoulders, arms, hands, legs. Looked for any broken bones. Her fingers clasped his hand.
A neighbor from two doors up came trekking across the back yards in his bathrobe, a flashlight in one hand. “Is everything okay here?”
“Heather…” Her voice was weak. Mick’s attention turned back to Léa. Her eyes were open, and she was trying to focus on his face. “Where…is Heather?”
He was relieved to hear her talk. “She went inside to call for help.”
“What the hell is going on here, Mick?” The neighbor leaned over them, his gray hair standing up like a thistle pod.
“Is…she okay?” Still holding on, Léa tried to sit up, but then winced and brought a hand to her head.
“Lean against me. The ambulance should get here any minute.”
The neighbor pointed the flashlight into Léa’s face. “I should have figured it was this house.”
She brought a hand up to block the light. Mick shoved the man’s hand away. Immediately, the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. “
Ray, go in front and wait for them. Send them back here.”
As the older man started for the street, Mick turned his attention back to Léa. She was cold, and he rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms. She moved closer against his chest.
“Is…Heather okay?” she asked again.
“She’s fine.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “What happened here, Léa?”
Emergency vehicles came to a screeching halt in front of the house.
“Someone…someone hit me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Before he could ask anything else, the backyard exploded with activity. Mick moved back as a couple of medics took charge. A uniformed officer was talking to the neighbor near the house, and two more were approaching and directing the beams of their flashlights around the back yard. Looking around, he spotted Heather sitting on their back step, holding tightly to Max’s collar. Even from this distance, she looked terrified.
Now that the back yard was starting to fill up, Mick figured he should probably put on something more than his boxer shorts. He glanced at Léa and found her talking to one of the officers as the medics continued to check her out.
He started across the lawn, but one of the uniformed cops approached him. Mick recognized him. He was one of the newer members of the force.
“Mr. Conklin, do you know what happened here?”
“Léa told me someone whacked her on the head.” He glanced again at Heather. “I have to put some clothes on. I’ll be right back.”
