by Jan Coffey
“Did you have a crush on him?”
“Every girl in town did.”
“Did you?”
“I was the puny little kid next door. Trust me, we were not even in the same universe.”
“Come on. Fess up.” Heather demanded.
“Okay, okay. I did. Are you happy?”
“I thought so.” Heather smiled and turned her attention back to the cabinets.
The recollection of Mick’s kisses this morning flooded Léa’s body with warmth. For the thirty-one years of her life, there hadn’t been a single moment that she remembered feeling as alive and vibrant as she’d felt during those few minutes in his arms. The few dates she’d had in college and since had not even come close.
“Did you and Ted see the thing with your parents coming?”
The question jarred Léa back into reality.
“No. I mean, they had troubles. My father was an alcoholic, but we never imagined anything as horrible as that.” She shook her head. “If we did, we’d have done something—I don’t know what—but something to stop it from happening.”
“I didn’t mean it like it was your fault or anything.” Heather paused in her work. “I only asked because I think sometimes we can see trouble coming. We guess something horrible might happen…will happen.”
Léa leaned against the counter. “Are you thinking about your parents’ breakup?”
“No, actually. I was thinking about Marilyn.”
“What do you mean?”
“I used to baby-sit for the girls, off and on, the year before she was murdered. And I saw things that I just knew were not too good. The girls were constantly neglected. And there were all kinds of strange guys hanging around Marilyn. And a couple of months before she died, there were these angry phone calls from God knows who. It was kind of like waiting for a bomb to go off. But there was nothing I could do about it.”
She watched tears gather in Heather’s eyes.
“You couldn’t.” Léa went to her. “You should never hold yourself responsible for anything like that.”
The teenager’s hands were shaking. The mood change from cheerfulness to sadness had come quick, but Léa could understand why.
Heather turned on the chair and sat down on the counter. “I think it’s so not right that Emily and Hanna had to die because she was such a mess. I couldn’t have cared less if Marilyn had jumped off a bridge or broken her neck, but those girls were…were so innocent. They were only babies. I watched them after school that Friday afternoon. They were so excited about spending the weekend with their dad. She shouldn’t have brought them back to the house that night.”
Léa could not hold back her own tears. The sweet little faces were all around her. The memories. She clutched Heather’s hands tightly in her own.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But…but it was!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I should have told somebody about her. I should have…I don’t know, told Ted or my dad. Someone. She was horrible, and what she was doing…” The words broke down into sobs.
Léa gathered her tightly in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault, Heather. It wasn’t you.”
Heather clutched at Léa, not saying anything, just crying.
As her tears fell, Léa remembered the guilt that had haunted her throughout her own teenage years. She had let herself believe that she could have stopped her parents’ murder.
But that was all behind her now. She was done with it. The wound was clean. Covered. Healing.
Or at least starting to heal.
“I need a cigarette.” Heather croaked, pulling out of the embrace. “I’ll be on the back porch.”
“Can I come and sit with you?”
“Are you going to give me shit for smoking?”
“Probably, but I still want to come.”
Heather wiped away her tears. “Okay.”
~~~~
Robert Evans, the middle-aged owner of the Lion Inn, waited with Mick outside as Rich Weir and two of the police officers the chief had called went through Serengeti cottage.
“Have you ever had a problem with someone breaking into these cottages before?” Mick asked him. Evans had arrived about a minute after the police chief. They were both standing by the wooden picnic table and the open barbecue pit near the front door.
“Not in the nine years that I’ve owned it. I mean, sometimes we catch kids partying by the lake at night. And every now and then some college kids will rent one of these places for the weekend and try to jam about fifty of their friends into two small rooms, but never anything like this. This is pretty bizarre. I can’t understand it at all.”
“Who was the last person to rent this place?” Seeing the hesitation in the man’s face to answer, Mick decided to reword the question. “I meant, when was the last time somebody stayed in this one?”
“I know what you’re asking.” Evans shook his head. “And there’s no reason to hide it. Nobody has stayed in this cottage since Marilyn Hardy’s murder.”
“Why is that?”
“No reason in particular. It’s just been one thing or another. First, the police had it forever. Then we did a little work on it with the intention of letting it out to vacationers. But my lawyer was quick to remind me that Marilyn had signed another two year lease on the place just before she died.” Evans took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. “She was dead. She was paying no rent. But the paperwork, and returning the deposit money, and some other problems with her family…the whole thing just bogged down. It took us six goddamn months to sort it out. Well, by then we’d been approved by Bucks County Historical people for the loan on this renovation job. It wasn’t worth messing around with it.”
“How many people do you think have a key to the place?” Mick asked
“Christ, I don’t know. You know Stonybrook. I don’t think we’ve ever changed the locks on any of these places. There might be a few floating around.”
“How about the last time one of your people checked inside of it?” Mick persisted. “Two months ago, when you and I walked through, everything was kosher.”
Evan’s frown deepened. “Now that you mention it, I’d asked my maintenance guy to check all these cottages out a couple of weeks ago to make sure they were ready for you guys to start the job. He didn’t say anything about any of this. So it had to be since then.”
Mick’s attention was drawn to the door of the cottage as Rich Weir came out.
“So what have I got, Chief?” Evans asked. “Devil worshipers bleeding their pigs in there, or what?”
“No. I’d say nothing so dramatic.” The big man glanced over his shoulder at the door as one of his officer’s walked out. “That’s just paint in the bedroom.”
“Was that paint in the bathroom, too?” Mick asked.
The police chief only glanced briefly at him, directing his comments at the Inn owner. “We took some samples, fingerprints, pictures, things like that. My guess is that some high school kids’ party traveled from one of the private cabins on the lake. I’ll send a couple of my guys around after we are done here. We’ll have a report ready by tomorrow afternoon, if you want to pick up a copy for your insurance company.”
“Did you take a close look at the kitchen counters and the wainscoting, Chief?” Mick asked, finding himself once again growing irritated with Rich’s nonchalant attitude. “You figure a couple of beer bottles left grooves that deep?”
“What a treat, Conklin, seeing you so many times in one weekend.”
“And wouldn’t it be something if all these things were somehow related?” Mick challenged.
“Okay, so what did you do after you hit Léa Hardy with that two-by-four last night? You came out here and pissed on the rug?”
“Well, if you don’t actually get some of this stuff analyzed, I guess you’ll never know if I did it or not.” Mick met the officer’s glare. “But I can tell you one thing, Chief, you can’t pin it on a
Hardy, this time. Between the doctors and the nurses in the emergency room and yours truly, she has plenty of people to serve as her alibi.”
“You know, Conklin, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you these days.” He shook his head and turned to the Inn’s owner. “You’ll have to excuse my French, Mr. Evans. This ornery son of a bitch has been frying my bacon for two days now.”
Mick pulled his cell phone out and strode away. This was the last straw. As of right now, he was officially involved.
~~~~
Marilyn opened the sliding glass door and walked out onto the small landing looking over the dark lake. The air was heavy, a storm brewing in the distance. Flashes of lightning streaked over the distant hills. Flashes of her blossoming plans for revenge raced through her mind. Finally, she was taking every one of them down. And Ted was going down too.
But why was it, then, that she felt so miserable and alone?
“Nobody is coming to see Merl tonight?”
She saw Dusty standing in the shadows of the trees. ”No. No one is coming.”
“Nobody loving Merl tonight?”
“Yes.” She undid the belt and pushed the robe off her shoulders, letting the satin material pool around her feet. “Daddy is.”
Chapter 16
Heather walked back into the living room with two tall glasses of ice tea, and then paused at the sight of Léa curled up and sound sleep in the big leather chair by the window. The paperback she was reading was tucked at an awkward angle under her chin, but the teenager didn’t dare touch her for fear of disturbing her badly needed rest.
Her father had called twice today. The first time, he’d left a message just before noon. The second time, about six, they’d been here, and he’d talked to Heather and Léa. Something about the job at the Lion Inn holding him up. He wanted to check that Léa was staying. And that they would eat dinner.
That was so much like him. Like they were kids or something and needed him to tell them they had to eat or go to sleep, Heather thought with a smile. She put the drinks on the coffee table and picked up a magazine before stretching out on the sofa.
It was a strangest thing to feel this okay for so many hours in the row. It was even weirder not feeling like a smoke. She’d had one cigarette on Léa’s back porch this morning, and that had been it. She hadn’t even thought of it till now, and she still didn’t want one.
They’d talked as much as they’d worked today, but Léa said it was no problem. Even though they hadn’t gotten as much done on her house as she’d planned, she said it was good for both of them. It was kind of a healing thing. That saying goodbye to grief was something they both had to learn how to do.
Heather didn’t care if there was a name for it or not, but she did feel better than she had in a long time.
She found herself smiling again as she looked at the sleeping woman. Léa was twice her age, but Heather felt more comfortable with her than she’d ever felt, even with her friends. And she’d told Léa things about her life—things that made her sad or frustrated or angry—that she would never consider telling her own mother.
The thing was, Léa didn’t lecture her. She didn’t butt in. She didn’t offer to fix things. She listened. And then she’d just sort of encourage Heather to feel and to express whatever feeling she was holding inside. And at the same time, Léa would share stuff about her own past—about the years after leaving Stonybrook.
It was definitely an eye-opener to hear how difficult life could be when you lost both parents. It made Heather think. Even if they were a pain in the butt most of the time, at least she still had both of them.
By the time they’d come back here to call in for some pizza, she believed it when Léa said they’d both helped each other.
The headlights of her father’s truck reflected off the walls for a second as he turned in the driveway. Heather sprang to her feet and followed Max to the back door to greet him.
A big smile broke out on Mick’s face when he walked in through the kitchen door and found her waiting there.
“Hi.”
“Kind of like the old days.” He petted the dog and looked up and smiled again. “I’ve missed them.”
Heather saw the struggle on his tired face. He was not too sure what he was supposed to do. Well, for tonight anyway, she didn’t give a damn what was cool and what wasn’t. She went to him and gave him a big hug.
And then she quickly stepped back before things got too mushy altogether.
“Have you had dinner yet?” she asked quietly.
“I ate something on the road.”
“Dead squirrel?”
“You know I’m partial to fresh road kill.” He grinned and dropped his keys in the drawer. “How about you two?”
“Pizza.”
“Where’s Léa?”
“She passed out in your chair in the front room about an hour ago. Keep it down when you go in there. She was dead tired.”
“I guess she didn’t take it easy today, did she?”
“I tried to distract her as much as I could, but she’s a tough one.” She saw him stretch the muscles in his shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Ice tea? Glass of milk?”
“Uh, sure. I’d love some ice tea.”
He looked at her as if she’d grown two heads as she headed for the fridge. Of course, she couldn’t really blame him. She’d definitely been a megabitch lately.
He took a couple of cookies out of the jar on the counter. “Sorry I got hung up all day. How did things go here?”
“It was pretty okay.” She handed him the glass. “We spent most of the day next door. I helped Léa haul the junk from the upstairs, the downstairs, and the kitchen out onto the driveway. There is some heavy stuff in the basement that I think she’ll need your muscles to move. Also, I think she’s gonna need a Dumpster, or at least the back of your truck, to get rid of this stuff.”
He planted a hip on the corner of the kitchen table. “I can have one of my guys come over and take it all to the dump tomorrow.”
“Also, I know she was sort of worried about returning that rental stuff. It was all supposed to go back by five o’clock this afternoon. But we were working and talking and lost track of time. She left them a message on their answering machine.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t get charged for the extra day.”
This was the kind of helping out she liked. Just like what her father had said this morning. We can help her by just being here.
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know if she’s in any condition to drive. But if she’s going to return that stuff tomorrow—”
“I’ll offer to drive it for her, if she’ll let me.”
Dozens of other things were running through Heather’s mind. Léa needed to see a doctor about the stitches pretty soon. And there was still the…
“She needs a friend more than a protector.”
Her father’s comment drew her attention. “I want to help her.”
“I know you do. You are helping her. But I don’t think she’ll let you take over her life, any more than she’ll let me.”
“Jeez. For a second, shades of Natalie came alive in me.” She shuddered and actually found herself able to smile.
“Well, they say we become our parents.”
“What are you trying to do, scare me?”
“I’m not saying I’m any better, but you do have two parents, you know.”
“And I’m glad I have you.”
Heather felt herself getting flustered at the choked up look on his face.
“I…I think I’ll go to bed, too. I did more work today than I’ve done in ages.” She started for the door but then turned to him. “Do you think she’ll get too stiff sleeping in the chair all night?”
He nodded. “I’ll bring her upstairs.”
Heather didn’t offer to hang around and help. She and Léa had already established a pretty cool friendship. Maybe her father would work on taking his rel
ationship with her to the next level.
Yeah. She could definitely live with that.
~~~~
Mick didn’t know what was it exactly that Léa had said to Heather, but it was like magic. Sure, Heather still had her new look, but beyond that he felt as if he had his old daughter back again.
He owed Léa more than she knew.
It was only 9:30, but he was dead tired, too. He took Max out to do his business for the night. Standing in the dark backyard, Mick glanced at the house next door. Despite all the repairs that still had to be done, the house was starting to look alive.
Mick wondered if Léa even knew that she had the touch.
This acknowledgment, albeit to himself, certainly added a new twist to his life. He was attracted to her. Heck, in spite of everywhere he’d gone and everyone he’d talked to today, Léa had always been on his mind.
She wasn’t like any other woman that he’d dated over the last few years. Maybe ever. Her focus was outward. She was accustomed to giving and not asking—never mind taking. She was independent and relied on no one for help. She didn’t allow people inside her life. No friends. No close acquaintances. He’d read that much in the newspaper article this morning.
He looked up at Heather’s darkened window. Hearing his daughter’s enthusiasm, he could tell that Léa had let her inside those walls.
Maybe Mick had a chance.
The dog responded to his whistle and ran up the back steps ahead of him.
Mick turned off the lights as he went through the house. In the living room, the site of Léa curled up in his favorite chair tugged hard at his heart.
For a long moment, gazing at her now, he didn’t see the desirable woman he was getting to know, but rather the brave young girl he could never stop worrying about when he was younger. He remembered how, when he was about fourteen, he’d found her sitting beside her overturned bike in the park. The gash on her ankle had been deep, but she hadn’t complained at all as he’d walked her all the way up the hill to her house. His father had told him later that night that he’d ended up giving Léa six stitches. Mick’s gaze was drawn to her slim ankle. He could see the faint half-moon scar still there.
