by Gun Brooke
Gloria’s daughter, Savannah, had ruled Grantville High School much the same way. She’d held court with her peers in the hallways or the cafeteria, and was the undisputed queen bee among the girls.
Deanna jerked at a sharp sound and stared at the broken pencil that had perforated the sheet of paper before her. The shattered remainder had stabbed the sketchy woman in the heart.
Chapter Two
Faythe drew a deep breath, then several more as she stretched her calf muscles to warm up for her run. She pulled her short ponytail tight and took off along the path that led down to the water.
She kept an even rhythm, paying attention to roots and rocks that might send her flying if she tripped on them. She smiled widely, suddenly feeling free.
What a difference it was to run on honest-to-God forest paths, rather than on a treadmill at the gym. There people always appeared to inspect and judge her, which was certainly one of the downsides of being a household name. And the paparazzi sometimes seemed to live on her doorstep, especially after her interview with the glamorous Hollywood starlet Isabella Talbert. Nobody, especially Faythe, had anticipated the little vixen would reveal such sordid details on an eight a.m. morning show.
What began as a common interview, designed to plug Isabella’s debut movie, had turned into something entirely different when she broke down, sobbing and throwing herself into Faythe’s arms. Isabella confessed to a romance with the director, who was married to a very rich and powerful Hollywood mogul’s daughter. It hadn’t been quite clear if Isabella was crying because he broke up with her, or because she feared his wife would kill Isabella’s budding career. The director was at least thirty years older than Isabella, which the tabloids found titillating, and Isabella quickly developed a crush on a reluctant Faythe, which put her in the limelight too. Faythe kept her distance. She wasn’t interested in having a fling before the telephoto lenses of the paparazzi.
Faythe jogged around a broken section of old wooden fencing and gulped the crisp September air. She should have done this long ago.
Manhattan was not only expensive, but it was never quiet and didn’t have fresh air. One of her colleagues tried to get Faythe to move to the suburbs, but the only thing worse than the noise and the city air was being stuck in traffic several hours a day. She already worked around the clock. No way was she was going to spend the remaining hours among honking, cursing drivers.
Faythe returned to the Isabella mess. Even if she could laugh at it now, more than a year afterward, at the time she’d been ready to shoot the girl. But once the paparazzi found her scent, all potential relationships were suddenly in the public eye. Isabella wasn’t her type.
“I haven’t been out with anyone in so long now, I may not have a type anymore. I probably wouldn’t recognize my type even if I stumbled over her.”
“Excuse me?”
Faythe stopped so quickly at the sound of the pleasant alto voice that she nearly toppled over. She waved her arms to regain her balance and looked up at a tall, black-haired woman propped against a tree by the water. It took her a few moments to recognize her neighbor, the woman she’d seen last evening.
“Oh. Hi.” Faythe glanced around. “I’m not trespassing, am I?”
“Technically, yes.”
“I’m so sorry.” Faythe was confused. “I used to run here years ago when I visited my aunt. It was never a problem.”
“I didn’t say it was. You asked if you were trespassing.”
“I see. So it’s okay?” Faythe kept jogging in place, careful not to get cold.
“Yes.”
“Thanks. I’m Faythe.” She extended a hand.
The woman looked at it, then raised her gaze to meet Faythe’s.
Her eyes were dark blue with black rims, and her long black eyelashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks. Faythe had never seen anyone so pale with such blue-black hair.
“Deanna.” The woman shook Faythe’s hand and quickly let go.
“Nice to meet you, Deanna. Guess we’ll be neighbors this fall.” An unexpected butterfly took up residence just below Faythe’s ribs at the brief touch. Taken aback, she smiled broadly to cover up her reaction.
“So it would seem.” Deanna pushed away from the tree. She sounded completely indifferent. She obviously wasn’t the neighbor you popped over to for coffee or to borrow a cup of sugar. “Be careful running down by the Mahoney place. They’re doing construction work on their dock.”
Faythe had been ready to write Deanna off as being annoyingly aloof when her thoughtful words changed her mind. “Thanks. Which one is the Mahoney place?”
“Fourth house down. You can’t miss it. They have two illuminated plastic flamingoes in their yard.”
“Still?” Faythe laughed, remembering. “I never knew their name, but they had those when I was a kid.” She shook her head and laughed again.Deanna looked as if she meant to say something more, but instead she merely nodded. “Bye.” She strode up the path to her cabin.
The abrupt departure intrigued Faythe. She was good at reading people; it was part of her job as an interviewer. Deanna had undoubtedly begun to relax and immediately regretted it. She hadn’t allowed the hint of amusement to develop into a smile. Instead, Deanna, tall, dark, and mysterious, had slammed down a mask of politeness and made good use of those long denim-clad legs. Deanna’s gray sweater hinted at a very slender body, which Faythe found thoroughly sexy. She looked down her own body, knowing she was far from voluptuous either. Wonder if she appreciates a B-cup? Faythe snorted at herself and resumed her jog. For all she knew, Deanna was as straight as they came and couldn’t care less about Faythe’s breasts.
Faythe completed her run in forty-five minutes, making sure she didn’t fall over the construction workers at the Mahoneys’ dock. The three men whistled appreciatively and she waved at them. She didn’t think they recognized the sweaty jogger as Faythe Hamilton, so-called glamorous TV personality, which was refreshing. She glanced through the trees toward Deanna’s cabin when she passed it, but caught no sign of her, then sprinted the last of the way once she reached Nellie’s property.
* * *
When Faythe jogged past Deanna’s cabin a second time, she told herself she merely wanted to make sure her new neighbor was all right after she passed the construction workers. Faythe seemed to look her way, but she wasn’t sure. She easily pictured Faythe tossing her head back and laughing at the thought of the stupid flamingoes. Her laughter, musical and slightly husky, had tugged at the corners of Deanna’s mouth. She couldn’t remember when she’d smiled last, or laughed so freely. Faythe was a stunningly beautiful woman, but the way her eyes sparkled lingered with Deanna more than her physical beauty. The mere fact that it did linger worried her. She had to ignore this response and focus on what mattered, like she normally did. The townspeople would soon tell Faythe what kind of person Deanna was.
Deanna’s cell phone rang, and she jumped and checked the display.
The words “Miranda’s School” made her frown and she answered quickly. “Deanna Moore speaking.”
“Deanna, this is Irene Costa.”
“Irene! Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Miranda is doing fine. I just wanted to tell you that you can’t visit her this evening.”
Deanna knew what Irene would say. “My mother is visiting when she’s not supposed to.” Squeezing her eyes closed, Deanna tried to suppress the anger that rose inside her. “It’s Saturday.”
“And she normally comes on Sundays. She called the floor and told us she’d be here today instead.”
“It will mess with Miranda’s head. She doesn’t do too well with last-minute changes. Mother knows that.”
“We just have to work around it. Should I tell Miranda you’ll see her tomorrow instead?”
“No, don’t do that. Miranda knows I come on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. If I change days so soon after our mother, she’ll be all screwed up.” Over the last two years Miranda had become completely depend
ent on having set routines on certain weekdays. “Tell her that I will see her on Monday, since Mother is coming today. Perhaps she’ll buy it.”
“Good thinking. She just might. Miranda’s doing so well. It would be a shame for her to have a setback because of this.” Irene’s voice softened. “Why don’t you put your free Saturday evening to good use?” Deanna bristled, but Irene meant well. The middle-aged woman had taken care of Miranda ever since their mother enrolled her at the Tremayne Foundation and School nine years ago, when she was seven.
Irene was in charge of the six students in the section of the boardinghouse where Miranda lived and had been very good to her.
“Has she spoken a lot today?” Deanna directed the subject away from her nonexistent private life.
“Actually, she has. She really loved your picnic in the garden the other day. She’s talked about it a lot and seems to want to do it again.” Deanna had packed a picnic basket and invited Miranda to go outside. Miranda was usually nervous about being outdoors and thrived in a disturbance-free environment, but Irene had made sure they had the lawn to themselves for an hour. Of course, Miranda had acted as if she were seeing the garden for the first time, though, as usual, she rocked and murmured the same unintelligible sounds. She calmed down only when Deanna poured orange juice for them and unpacked the cinnamon buns and other treats, since they always seemed to reach her. Soon she was on her back pointing at the clouds, outlining their shapes with her fingers.
Deanna looked over at her desk. Pinned to the wall were four pencil studies of her sister that she’d done during that precious hour.
In three of them, Miranda was seriously contemplating the clouds, the strands of grass beneath her fingers, and, in the distance, some ducks that had initially startled her with their quacking. In the fourth one, Deanna captured Miranda’s rare, enigmatic smile—a tiny uplift at the corners of her mouth, which was faintly pursed. Deanna had spilt some orange juice on her white shirt, and her low curse had made Miranda’s eyes widen. Then a slow, barely visible, smile appeared. It surfaced rarely, and Deanna had gripped her pencil again, eager to capture it.
Although most people would pull out a camera, Deanna was happy that she was an illustrator, given Miranda’s fear of mechanical devices.
The only pictures of Miranda that showed her smiling were those their parents had taken when Miranda was a baby.
“Deanna?” Irene cleared her throat, pulling Deanna from her reverie.
“Yes, of course. Tell Miranda that we’ll do it again next Saturday.”
“All right. I work the late shift Monday, so I’ll see you then.”
“Right, Irene. Bye.”
Deanna pocketed the cell phone and walked over to her desk, where she studied the half-completed drawing she was working on.
Something was blocking her inspiration. It had been so easy to draw Miranda; the pencil had moved practically on its own during their picnic. Now she sat down on her chair and reached for a new, freshly sharpened one. She had to capture that elusive inspiration. Her deadline for this first draft was in three days.
* * *
“Can I get you anything else?” the woman manning the cash register asked politely. Her nametag said Kitty, and she had adorned the “i” with a little heart instead of a dot.
“No, that’ll be all.” Faythe opened her wallet and handed over her Visa card. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Kitty-with-a-heart charged the seventy-eight some dollars to Faythe’s card and rapped her long fingernails on the conveyor belt while she waited for the transaction to go through. “Tourist?” she asked.
“What? No, not really. I’m going to stay a while.” Faythe began to sack her groceries.
“Oh, really? Where are you staying? The inn?”
“In a relative’s cabin. On the lake, just off Gordon Macy’s Road.”
Kitty-with-a-heart frowned. “In Nellie Hamilton’s house?”
“Yes.” Kitty had figured that out too easily.
“But…” She squinted, then donned a pair of glasses. “You’re Faythe Hamilton!”
For the love of… Faythe nodded, fighting back an acerbic comment. “Yes.”
“And you’re here to stay a bit? Oh, this is fantastic. I love your show. I tape it every day.”
“That’s great.” It seemed appropriate to show some enthusiasm, but Faythe wanted to gather up her groceries and run. “I really must—”
“Oh, you need to take care out there.” Kitty-with-a-heart looked worried now.
“Why’s that?” Faythe had expected requests for autographs for family members or friends, not a warning.
“You’re living right next door to that woman.” Kitty-with-a-heart leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You need to be very careful around her.”
“Who?” Faythe had no idea what Kitty was talking about.
“Deanna Moore. She’s terrible. Can be dangerous, even. Do you have someone living there with you? I mean, like a husband or something?”
Faythe wasn’t about to announce to Kitty or anyone else that she lived alone in Nellie’s cabin. “I’ll be fine.” She grabbed the grocery-filled bags and placed them in the shopping cart. “Have a good day.” Faythe disappeared out of the store before Kitty could ask anything more.What could Deanna have said or done to Kitty-with-a-heart that made such an impact? Dangerous? Faythe placed the grocery bags in the passenger seat. People sure can exaggerate.
Chapter Three
Deanna studied the quick pencil sketches she’d made of a woman in motion. She had stood on her deck watching the morning mist leave the surface of the lake when Faythe Hamilton ran by. Grabbing her sketchbook, Deanna worked for as long as she could glimpse Faythe’s lithe body between the trees. She hadn’t bothered with details yet, wanting only to capture the essence of Faythe with long, sweeping movements.
Now Deanna let her fingertip follow the outline. “You were in such a hurry this morning. Running from something, eh?” Her old habit of talking to herself emerged and she tore out the pages, pinning them to her message board above her work area.
Her latest drawings were mostly of Miranda, and now she had these four sketches of a stranger. But several deadlines were coming up in rapid succession. She had to go outside today and take some pictures of the fiery maple trees, which she needed for a book cover.
After a quick shower, Deanna put on her usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweater, then pulled her hair back in a tight twist. She needed to cut her bangs, she thought absentmindedly as she passed the hallway mirror.
They reached her eyelashes, which made her blink repeatedly at times so she wouldn’t get hair in her eyes.
Deanna draped the camera strap around her neck and went outside.
She locked the door and headed for the lake. Her camera had a good zoom, and the trees on the other side of the lake were beautiful. When she reached the water, she looked for a good place to stand. The old dock was not dependable; she had stepped right through it and nearly broken her left ankle last spring. Deanna pushed through some bushes and raised her camera.
The sun cast a fiery glow on the maples across the lake, and even the three-inch screen on Deanna’s camera showed the magical scene clearly. After snapping about ten pictures, she thought she had what she needed. She had noticed some fallen logs farther to the right through the camera and wanted to make sure she had them. She was browsing through the shots when she spotted something she’d missed before. To the very left in the corner of her display was an object floating on the water and a…hand? Deanna snapped her head back and looked out over the lake.
A wooden rowing boat drifted about twenty-five yards from shore. Deanna blinked, not sure if she saw anyone in it. She raised the camera again and zoomed in, glimpsed golden brown hair, and her new neighbor popped into view.
“What the hell…?” The rowboat looked just like the old wreck that normally lay upside down at Nellie’s. Surely Faythe hadn’t been stupid enough to use it? Another glance through th
e display of her camera confirmed Deanna’s fear.
“Hey! Can you quit taking pictures and get a hold of someone to help me get back to shore?” Faythe sounded more annoyed than afraid. “I’m not taking pictures. I’m assessing your predicament,” Deanna yelled back.
“Well, cut that out and do something. This damn strainer of a boat is taking in water like there’s no tomorrow.” Faythe was obviously trying to keep her feet away from the bottom of the boat, which rocked precariously, and she clutched the edge. One oar was already floating several feet from the boat, and now the other one slipped away with a soft splash. The current was more treacherous than the serene lake betrayed at first glance. The boat was already drifting away from Deanna, and without a second thought, she tore off her sweater and boots, risked running along the dock, and jumped into the water.
The water was cool enough to shock Deanna’s system. Faythe’s surprised cry echoed across the water as Deanna began to swim toward the boat with long strokes.
“Jesus, woman, I meant for you to call someone!”
“No time.” Deanna wasn’t sure Faythe heard her, but kept swimming. The boat was half underwater now, and the hint of panic on Faythe’s face confirmed that she realized she wouldn’t make it to shore.Deanna reached the boat just as its stern gurgled and disappeared.
Faythe lost her balance and slid into the water with a yelp.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s cold.” She clawed at the sinking boat, but Deanna jerked Faythe’s hands off the rotting wood. “No, we need to swim back. Now.” She tugged Faythe with her and to her relief Faythe didn’t panic, but started to swim.
“Deanna…I…my jacket…” Faythe had swum only a few strokes when she stopped. “I can’t move.” She trod water while frantically pulling at her jacket, which was waterlogged and weighing her down.
