Summer Shadows

by Killarney Traynor

  Julia,

  Hope this finds you well. I heard about your sister – please accept my profound sympathies. I’ve heard that you are job hunting. My firm is currently in need of an assistant research project director and I remembered that you have had training in this field. It would be a starter salary, but with the possibility of advancement. If you are interested, here is the website. Be sure to let me know if you do decide to apply so I can speak with the HR department.

  Hope to see you at one of our dinner parties real soon.

  Yours,

  MP

  Excitement caught in Julia’s throat. Assistant Research Project Director? This could be a huge break for her. She was surprised that Markie had remembered her after all these years. Although they had shared quarters and a few classes, they hadn’t exactly been close. From the start, Markie had been driven on the fast track to success, and Julia was on whatever the other track was. It felt good to know she hadn’t been forgotten.

  Julia followed the link and filled out the application, then she wrote to Markie, thanking her and letting her know that she had applied.

  She felt much better after that. She closed down her email box and opened up a job search site, standing to stretch before scrolling.

  While she worked, she saw the kids hurrying though the shelves towards her. Behind them, the window framed a rapidly darkening afternoon sky. Gathering clouds looked ready to open up at any moment.

  Julia checked her watch. An hour had passed since they entered the store and the kids were probably getting bored.

  She glanced at her screen in indecision. She wanted to apply for a few more positions, but the kids had been patient for a long time. By waiting, she worried that she was stretching them beyond their limits.

  She had yet to make up her mind when Dana plunked herself down in the chair in front of her.

  “I’m tired,” she said.

  Jack and Ron were fast on her heels.

  “Aunt Julia!” Jack said, running over to her and burying his face in her shirt. He acted as though she’d been missing for months. “Aunt Julia!”

  She stroked his head, whispering “Shhh.” She looked up at Ron. He looked tired as he sank into the other chair.

  Outside, thunder rumbled above the soothing new age music and quiet chatter. Rain would come soon. Had they shut the windows before they left the house? Julia tried to remember.

  “Did you have a good time wandering around?” she asked, affectionately rubbing Jack’s head.

  He nodded into her shirt, and Julia adjusted his grip a little to make sure he wasn’t causing any immodesty on her part. It was definitely time to go.

  “Why don’t you three go to the bathroom before we leave? I’ll pack up my laptop and meet you at the front door, all right?”

  Ron nodded wearily and reached for Jack. “Come on, string bean.”

  Jack’s head popped up. “I’m not a string bean!” he protested. “I’m a boy!”

  “Sorry,” Ron grinned as they walked off. “I forgot because you look like a string bean.”

  “No I don’t! I look like a boy.”

  Julia shut down her laptop and drained the last of her now tepid peppermint tea. She slid the computer back into its case, grabbed her purse, and headed for the front doors, searching for her car keys as she went. They had fallen among the things in her purse and she had to dig around a bit.

  By the time she pulled them from the mess, she was standing in front of the author’s table. Business had not been brisk. Stacks of hardcover books were piled up on the table and on the floor the front of it. A large poster with the cover of the book, and a picture of the author in a Hawaiian shirt on it, declared that the novel was “Fascinating”, “Gripping”, and a “Page-Turner” by the critics from newspapers and websites that Julia had never heard of.

  A book stood on its spine in front of her. The cover was a graphic painting of an old, sinister looking house, silhouetted in black against a purplish-blue background. A big bay window in the middle was lit up, showing the figure of a screaming woman, leaning back with one arm up to ward off a knife held by an obscure figure. The title was, Picturesque in Death: A Novel, by A. Glen Bernard.

  The author watched her hopefully out of the corner of his eye. He looked exactly the same as he did on the poster, right down to wearing the same Hawaiian shirt.

  Julia didn’t really want to speak with him. She was sorry that he was so alone at his signing, but she didn’t want to buy the book and she didn’t want to lead him on. But tacky as the cover was, she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. There was something eerily familiar about it, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on…

  “Hello!”

  Darn!

  Mr. A. Glen Bernard flashed what he doubtlessly thought was a winning smile. Now she had to talk to him.

  “Oh, uh, hello,” she said. She adjusted her purse strap and made sure that her car keys were in full view.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Good, thank you. You?”

  “I’m doing great.” He extended a huge hand and enveloped hers in it. “A. Glen Bernard, at your service. And you are…?”

  “Julia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you. You live around here?”

  “Just in for the summer.”

  “Nice, nice. I see you’ve been checking out the book. They did a good job on the cover, didn’t they?” He rubbed his hands together. “It was my suggestion, but it came out much better than I thought it would. Sometimes I think it’s better than the actual book.”

  He laughed too heartily. Julia forced back a wince – if the cover was better than the book and the cover was tacky…

  “I’m sure your writing justifies the cover,” she said.

  Mr. Bernard brightened. “You’ve read it?”

  “Uh, no…”

  “It’s based on a true story,” he said, picking up a book and leaning against the table. He looked like a salesman on a home shopping channel. “Set in the fictional town of Cheltham, New Hampshire. It’s my first published effort.”

  “You must be very proud,” Julia said. There was no sign of the kids. She didn’t look at her watch, but it felt like a lot of time had passed.

  “Oh, I am. I did a lot of research to write this book. It’s based on a story a colleague of mine covered when I was just starting out in the newspaper business. A wealthy young actress, found murdered in her Victorian house, surrounded by the blood spattered posters of her movies. And who did it? Her jealous husband, who was losing his business and money hand over fist? Her co-star and lover? Or his jealous ex-wife?”

  A clap of thunder from outside the building accentuated his statement. Rain began to pound against the windows and a chill ran down Julia’s spine. She stared at the book cover and suddenly knew what was so familiar about it.

  He was chatting away. “Honestly, I didn’t really have to make up much – all the elements were there, just with different names and occupations. I may or may not have changed the ending just to punch it up a bit. Of course, one doesn’t want to embarrass the family or the innocents. As I said earlier, it’s set in the fictional town of Cheltham, but if you live around here, I’m sure you’d recognize it as Franklin right away. You did say you live around here, right?”

  Now, he finally had her interest. “Are you saying that you based this book on the murder of that Franklin artist twenty years ago?”

  Bernard’s face lit up. Pleased, he straightened up and his hand went to his collar to adjust a tie that wasn’t there. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Yes. The husband did it, right?”

  “Ah, but did he?”

  “Sorry?”

  He grinned and tapped the book cover with a heavy hand. “Just because twelve bored men and women find a man guilty
does not make him guilty, ma’am. When I was doing the research on this book, I went over all the court records and the articles written at the time. I talked with some of the witnesses and viewed some of the evidence, a luxury any author can afford when their brother-in-law is in the police force. I have to tell you, I’ve found plenty of room for doubt. Hence,” he lifted the novel, “this book.”

  “You mean, you don’t think the husband did it?”

  “Killed Stephanie Lang? Oh, yes, he did it. No doubt in my mind.”

  Now she was confused. “Well, then…”

  “What I also found, however, was wiggle room, stuff that the defense attorney tried to bring up at the trial. You see, all the evidence did mostly fit to cast Brad Lang as the perpetrator, but there were things that were never accounted for and questions that, if they were asked, the answers were not made public. I asked some of them and none of the answers contradicted my theory that Brad Lang killed his wife for the insurance. But there are still some unanswered questions, some stray pieces of evidence that refuse to be placed into the pattern.”

  He leaned in suddenly, before Julia could react. She smelled pastrami on his breath, and it was all she could do to keep from making a face.

  “I have taken this evidence and forged an entirely new scenario,” he said, in a husky voice better suited for a movie trailer.

  She gazed at him for a minute, then asked, “So you’re saying that there’s reason to doubt that the husband, Brad, actually did the crime, but you still think that he did it. Why?”

  He looked at her, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Yes. I’m curious. You said there was doubt and you seem to have done your homework. So why do you still think Brad did it?”

  “The jury found him guilty.”

  “But you just told me that their finding is not really evidence.” she reminded him gently.

  He flushed. “Well, yeah, obviously. I did follow up on all those loose ends, but when one is an investigator, you learn very quickly that in real life, not everything adds up. If you wait for all the bits and pieces to come together, you’ll drive yourself mental. The best detectives learn what loose ends to pursue and which ones to let go.”

  “So, you agreed with the prosecution, that these ‘loose ends’ were unimportant?”

  “Oh, yes. They were just the minutia of real life. Life doesn’t usually wrap up as neatly as it does in books. Brad Lang is the killer, make no mistake about that. But…” He picked up a copy of the book and held it, wiggling, up next to his head, in an attempt to entice her. “Did Chase Harcourt kill his wife, the lovely actress, Daphne Maxwell-Harcourt? That is the real question.”

  Which I think you’ve already answered, Julia thought. It was hard to believe that this man had been an investigative reporter. His sales pitch showed a drive and polish that would have been the envy of any used car salesman.

  “So, Julia,” he said, flashing his ‘winning’ smile again. “Would you like me to sign you a copy?”

  “Well, I…” Julia looked around and spotted the kids coming her way. She put out a hand to stop Bernard, but saw that he was already writing furiously on the inside of a hardcover book: “To my curious friend, Julia…”

  “We’re ready to go,” Ron said, tugging Jack along behind him.

  “Great,” Julia said, relieved to see them.

  “What are you doing?” Dana asked, staring at the poster.

  “Talking with Mr. Bernard. He’s signing a book for me.”

  Ron glanced at the author. “You’re buying a book?”

  Julia repressed a sigh. “It certainly looks that way.”

  “Ron, doesn’t that look like the haunted house?” Dana said. “Look at it.”

  Ron frowned. “It does. Weird.”

  Bernard turned pink with pleasure. Without looking up from his lengthy dedication, he proclaimed, “It isn’t weird at all. If you live anywhere near Franklin, you’re sure to have heard about the murder in the old Victorian. Here you are, Julia, all signed and dedicated.” He handed it over to her with due ceremony, cautioning, “Hang on to that volume. It may be worth a lot one day.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bernard.” She thought, it won’t be worth even trying to sell it on eBay, thanks to that dedication.

  “You wrote a book about that murder?” Ron asked.

  Julia looked at him sharply. This murder, distasteful as she found it, was gripping enough to shake the boy out of his usual lethargic state and she was surprised. Of course, it must seem exciting to be living near a murder house when you are a youngster. She didn’t particularly like the idea that he was intrigued by such a bloody and violent event, but it was better than his tortured silences and withdrawn grieving. Perhaps it was a sign of healing.

  Bernard was giving them a shorter history of how he started writing the book, and Julia broke in to remind the children that they had to go.

  “Thank you for the book, Mr. Bernard,” she said.

  “Be sure to leave your comments on my website!” he replied happily.

  Julia paid for the book. It was pouring buckets when they left, and they had to run for the car, Julia with Jack in her arms. They were soaked by the time they got in. Julia started the van and looked over to make sure they were all set. Ron was studying the cover of Julia’s unwilling purchase with great curiosity.

  As Julia backed out of the parking space, he said, “Can I read this?”

  Julia was tempted to say yes, just to encourage him, but then she had a moment of misgiving. Normally, books like these had scenes that were inappropriate for kids. She wondered what Amanda and Tim’s policies were on the subject, then decided that she had to make her own decisions based on what she was comfortable living with.

  Which, unfortunately, meant a commitment on her part.

  “If it’s any good, you can have it after I read it,” she said.

  He seemed content with that answer and put the book back into the bag at his feet.

  Dana piped up, “It’s looks creepy. I wouldn’t read it.”

  “You probably shouldn’t be reading books like that for a few years anyway,” Julia answered.

  They drove in silence for a while. Then Dana said, “Can we plant in the rain?”

  Julia looked at the sheets that were coming down. The garden had to be turned over and thoroughly weeded before planting. The mud would be terrific. Julia had furniture to assemble and a few remaining touch-ups on the room upstairs. She really didn’t want to spend the better part of the day cleaning muddy floors and boots.

  “If it’s like this, no, we probably shouldn’t.” She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that Dana’s face fell in disappointment. “You can plant some of them in the pots, though, if you’d like.”

  “Really?”

  “That will be fine. You and Jack can work on that while Ron and I work upstairs. Sound good to you?”

  “Yes!” Dana chirped. “You’ll help me, won’t you, Jack?”

  “Sure!”

  Dana settled back into her seat with a happy sigh. “This is going to be great,” she said.

  Julia, driving home through the darkening streets, felt a sudden and rather exhilarating rush of triumph.

  18

  It was pouring rain when Thursday dawned. Dana spent the morning cleaning the pots that Amelia had given her, dashing in and out of the house as she filled them with rain-drenched soil.

  Julia and Ron worked, attaching chair-rail to Dana’s room, assembling a new bed they’d purchased that morning for Jack, and bringing the beds they’d found in the storage room upstairs for Ron and Dana.

  “Well,” Julia sighed, brushing her hair out of her face and breathing heavily. “It’ll be nice for you to sleep in a real bed again.”

  “Yes,” Ron said eagerly. “It will.”

  Julia and Dana worked in the kitche
n after lunch, planting seeds in the pots while Ron and Jack set up their new room. Dana was talking about school and boys and fashion when the cell phone rang. Julia’s hands were thick with dirt, so Dana answered the call.

  “Oh, hi, Gran!” Dana spoke loudly to be heard over the sound of the rain pounding against the windows and the music coming from upstairs.

  Julia realized that she had forgotten again to have the kids call Miriam Budd.

  Dana chatted for a few minutes, talking about the rooms and the seeds that they were planting. She explained that the boys were upstairs and apparently was told not to disturb them.

  She giggled a few times, saying, “How big was it? Oh my gosh!” and giggled again. She looked over at Julia and said, “Okay. Okay. Yep, she’s right here. We’re planting seeds in pots. Do you want to talk to her? Yes, we had sandwiches for lunch. Tuna. What did you have?”

  It was all Julia could do to keep from making a face. She busied herself with the packets of seeds. After a few more minutes, Dana said goodbye and placed the phone on the counter with a little sigh.

  “Who was that?” Julia asked, careful to keep her tone neutral.

  “It was Gran,” Dana said, getting back on her chair. She took a pot in her hand and looked at the seeds. “She and Gramp are on the ship again. She said that it’s really hot there.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  “She said to say hi to you, but she didn’t want to bother you.”

  “I see. Well, it was nice of her to call. Did she have any other message?”

  “Uhhh… Just to call her tomorrow, to see how we’re doing.”

  “She’s calling us?”

  “No. She wants us to call her.”

  “Naturally.” Julia reminded herself not to draw Dana into the silent feud. Best to leave the childish exchange of half-insults and half-hearted snubbing for the mature adults. “Well, let’s get to planting, shall we? What shall we start with?”