There were four buildings on four sides of a baseball field. The largest building was marked: meeting/dining hall. Two smaller buildings were marked as bunkhouses. One labeled Beavers; the other Badgers. The last building was designated the bathhouse. Nowhere on the diagram did she see anything marked as the boathouse. However behind the bunkhouse marked Beavers was a broken line indicating the trail down to the beach.
She walked along the trail of the deserted camp, admiring the simple design of the log cabin buildings. There were wooden bleachers along two sides of the baseball diamond and a scoreboardat the far end of the field. At the side of the meeting hall there was a group of picnic tables lying sideways so that rainwater wouldn’t collect on the flat surfaces. As she approached the first of the bunkhouses, she saw a trail leading over the hill. It had been freshly covered with red bark mulch.
Walking around, she could see that a great deal of work had been put into making it a pleasant environment. Now it had the air of a ghost town. When she’d had lunch with Olli and Bianca she remembered that he’d had to leave early to help the volunteers who were winterizing the camp.
She paused at the head of the trail to the beach, wondering if this was the way to the boathouse. Looking through the branches of the trees, she could see a building at the edge of the lake. She started down the trail, taking her time on the wet surface. The rain the night before had made the bark slippery.
As she got closer to the shoreline, she got a better look at the building. It wasn’t the boathouse she had seen in Jake’s picture or the one she remembered from her dream. It was a newer building, a small log cabin similar to the buildings in the main camp. Disappointed, she tried to remember what Nate had said about the boathouse.
Hesaid he was familiar with it because it was close to his property. Getting her bearings, Clare walked along the shoreline, heading in the general direction of Nate’s house on the east end of the camp. The woods jutted out and she rounded a corner and spotted the boathouse ahead. Bushes and small trees grew thickly on the side of the building facing the camp to make it almost invisible to a casual observer.
Cutting into the woods on the side away from the lake, she stumbled across fallen branches and high grass until she came out into a clearing and got a full view of the boathouse.
Weather-beaten boards made up the side of the building. High up at the roofline was a small window, which was boarded up. On the far side of the structure was an old wooden walkway that ran along the lakeside of the building.
She stood motionless as she stared at the boathouse. Although in her dreams the building was new, with unshuttered windows, she recognized it immediately.
There was no doubt in Clare’s mind. It was so familiar that she suspected she had been in it several times. Since she had once lived in Nate’s house, it would have been logical that she would follow the same path that Nate had mentioned. She looked around, but she couldn’t see anything that looked like a path. In twenty-five years, the woods had reclaimed it.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. She could picture the woods and the rainstorm. She could see the boathouse clearly. Beyond that her mind refused to go.
The walkway was old and she walked carefully, testing each board before she stepped on it. Several boards were missing and she stepped over the gaps until she reached the door. The door was locked with an old rusted padlock and the window beside it was boarded up.
She pulled on the boards across the window. The one at the bottom gave a little and she applied enough pressure to pull it away from one side. She grabbed the end of the board and wiggled it back and forth but it was firmly attached at the far end. Giving one more downward pull she managed to loosen it enough that about an inch of glass showed between the boards. She pressed her head against the side of the window and peered into the boathouse.
With a sliver of light illuminating the inside, she could only see a small portion of the floor. Odd shapes of objects indicated that it was probably used as a storeroom. One of the small panes of glass was broken and as she breathed in, she caught the musty smell of the stagnant air.
Herheart beat erratically and her body broke out in a cold sweat. She pushed away from the window and fought to control her breathing. It was almost as if she were having a panic attack. She staggered across the old dock until she was back on solid ground again.
In the midst of her fear, one thought came to her. This was the place where her mother had died.
Clare had no idea how she knew that fact, but she did. None of the clippings had ever mentioned where Lily was killed. All that was said was that Lily had been shot somewhere else and that her body had been left on the shore of the lake. Many had suspected she was shot in the house where Nate lived. Clare didn’t believe it. Without knowing why, she was convinced that Lily had been killed in the boathouse.
Clare staggered over to a fallen tree and dropped down on the rough surface. That was the meaning of the dream. That was the reason her memories were blank. She had been in the boathouse and seen her mother killed.
It made perfect sense. She shivered at the thought, unwilling to push her memories further. There were some things she didn’t want to discover.
Anxious to get as far away as possible from the boathouse, she cut back downhill, crashing through the underbrush until she broke through at the shoreline of the lake. Standing at the water’s edge, her chest heaved with the exertion of her panicky flight. She stared out at the sparkling water and let the peace of the scene calm her. Slowly her breathing returned to normal.
She didn’t want to think about the frightening conclusions she had arrived at. She only wanted to get away and not have to think about Lily’s death. She would push everything to the back of her mind again and think about it later.
“I’ve become Scarlett O’Hara,” she muttered. Just saying the words aloud, Clare felt as if she’d returned to a more rational state and was ready to go home.
She walked along the edge of the beach until she reached the trail she’d followed down from the camp. She was halfway up the hill when she heard a shout.
“Clare? Is that you?”
Looking up she could see Bianca standing at the top of the hill, peering down the bank. Embarrassed to be caught snooping, she hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.
“Hello, Bianca. I’m on my way up,” she called as she continued up the trail.
“What on earth are you doing down there?” Bianca’s normally cheerful face was set in disapproval.
“I’m afraid I’ve been trespassing,” Clare admitted. “I stopped at your house but no one answered the bell. I was so interested in the camp after talking to Olli that I wanted to see it for myself.”
“Just look at your clothes, Clare. Did you fall?”
Bianca hurried over as Clare reached the top and brushed at the twigs and leaves that were caught on her T-shirt. There was a long smudge of dirt on her shirt and her socks were covered with flat burrs.
“I took what I thought was a shortcut to get back to the trail,” Clare said, hoping her explanation would suffice. She leaned over to pull some of the burrs off her socks. “Ouch.”
“You must have run into a patch of Swamp Beggar’s Ticks. The seedpods are called stick-tights because they have two barbs that stick to anything they come in contact with. It’s the same premise as Velcro. Fascinating but such a nuisance. “
“I give up. I’ve got them all over my pants legs too.”
Clare stood up, hoping that Bianca would assume her red face was from bending over.
“Just soak your things overnight and they’ll come right out in thewashing machine.”
“Thanks, Bianca. I’ll try that.”
“Isaw a car in the parking lot when I came home and came over to find out who was here. We normally have a chain across the entrance, but we had a plumber here yesterday to fix a leak in the bathhouse. Olli must have forgotten to put the chain back up. He’s going to get a piece of my mind for that. No t
elling who could have driven down here.”
“Ican’t tell you how impressed I am with the camp, Bianca. It must be a great source of pride for both you and Olli.”
“I wish you could see it when the boys are here. Shouting and laughter all day long.” She took Clare’s arm and led her back toward the parking lot. “You shouldn’t be walking in the woods alone, dear. You might have fallen and no one would have known you were here.”
“It was silly of me. I’m used to the parks in Chicago where there is always someone walking or bike riding. My apologies.”
“I just don’t want to worry about you,” Bianca said. “It was good to see you at Erika’s rehearsal on Tuesday. Olli was sorry he didn’t have a chance to say hello to you. He’s so busy. He just had time to pop in to see them dance. Aren’t the children talented?”
“I loved it. It was the first time I’d ever seen clogging.”
“Will you be going to the performance on Friday?”
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it,” Clare said.
Bianca’s car was parked beside Clare’s in the parking lot. Clare took out her keys and pressed the button to unlock her doors. Bianca did the same.
“I noticed you’ve been seeing quite a bit of Nate Hanssen. He is such a charming man. It would be wonderful if he could find someone special in his life. Will you be staying much longer in Grand Rapids?”
Clare refused to take the bait thrown out by the gossipy older woman. Opening the car door, she started the car. “I don’t know how long I’ll stay. I’ve got some more research to do before I can complete my assignments.”
“I forgot about your story on our murder. In case you didn’t findit in your research, we had another murder you know. Much more recent. I believe it was in 1997. It was in the performers’ building down by the Melodie Showboat.”
“Yes, I read about that. I may include some details of that when I do my article,” Clare said. “Thanks for checking on me, Bianca. I didn’t mean to trespass. I was just curious.”
“That’s the mark of a good reporter,” the older woman said, wagging her finger at Clare. “You go ahead, dear. I’ll put the chain upwhen I leave.”
Waving her hand, Clare drove out of the parking lot. In her rearview mirror she could see Bianca standing beside her car, watching. The muscles in Clare’s body were tight with tension. She left the car window down, letting the fresh air wash over her. She was almost back at the cottage before she felt relaxed.
Inside the house, she stripped off her dirty clothes and carefully peeled off her burr-covered socks. She put them in the bathroom sink and filled the basin with water. She changed into a striped jersey, white slacks, and sandals. Back in the main room she checked the answering machine, but there were no messages.
She felt at loose ends with Nate gone for the day. It was surprising how quickly she had become so dependent on his company. Opening the backdoor, she stepped out on the porch. For a while she sat on the porch and stared at the lake, still feeling the aftereffects of her visit to the youth camp. The view did much to calm her.
For lunch she made a sandwich and took it and a glass of milk back out to the porch. She read the newspaper that she’d skipped at breakfast. Finished, she picked up her lunch dishes and went inside. She opened the dishwasher and put the sandwich plate on the lower rack. Picking up her milk glass, she rinsed it under cold water. Turning to put it in the dishwasher, she clipped the edge of the counter and the glass flew out of her hand. It hit the tile floor, shattering, the explosion of glass sounding like a gunshot.
At the sound, her knees buckled and she grabbed the counter to keep from falling, sliding slowly down to the floor. Her vision blurred and she was catapulted into the middle of her dream.
Shewas running through the woods in the middle of a rainstorm. Branches slashed at her face and arms. She could see the object in her hand. It was a gun. Suddenly she was inside the boathouse. She could smell the damp musty odor in the stuffy room. Lightning flashed and she saw the gun again. Thunder crashed overhead and her fingers tightened.
There was an explosion, a flash of lightning, and everything went black.
Clare never lost consciousness although the darkness threatened to overcome her. She sat on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, staring at her hands. Her fingers shook as if she had palsy. She laced them together, squeezing as hard as she could until she could actually feel the pain in her hands.
Knowledge crashed through all the barriers she had built up over the years. Scenes flashed in her mind. She was a child again. Shecould actually see Lily’s face. She could hear Jimmy’s voice. Even Rose appeared in her waking nightmare. And through all the scenes, there was one that was burned into her memory. She was holding the gun in her hands and on the floor in front of her was her mother.
“I shot Lily. Oh God! I killed my mother.”
S
Chapter Twentytwo
“I shot Lily.” Clare spoke the words softly. It was a statement not a question.
“It was an accident,” she said. “I shot my mother.”
That was why the dream recurred over the years. Coming back stronger each time. All along her mind was trying to come to terms with what she had done. First it buried the knowledge so deep she couldn’t remember it. Over the years her dreams combined with reality, forcing its way into a portion of her consciousness. Coming to Grand Rapids had ripped away the barrier between the two worlds until finally she could discover the truth.
She could put whole portions of the dream together. She remembered being frightened for her mother. Her mother was going to the boathouse and she had followed, caught in the woods when it started to rain. She didn’t know where she got it but she was holding a gun. The storm had frightened her and she’d squeezed the trigger and the gun went off.
Clare bent her legs, resting her forehead on her knees. Arms around her legs, she pulled herself into a tight ball and rocked slowly back and forth. The knowledge of the accident was too much to tolerate.
“Clare. Are you home?”
A shouted greeting at the front door brought her back to the present.
“Clare?”
She shivered when she heard Waldo bark. She tried to get up but she didn’t have the strength to move. Suddenly Jake Jorgensen’s face appeared in the front window and he saw her on the floor.
“Are you all right?”
Hedidn’t wait for her response. With a jerk he opened the unlocked door.
“Don’t let Waldo in,” Clare said. “There’s glass all over the floor.”
Jake turned toward the porch. “Sit, Waldo. Stay.”
Clare heard the thud as the dog dropped to the porch floor. Jake walked inside and closed the door. She could hear Waldo whining outside.
“I dropped a glass,” she said by way of explanation.
“Stay right where you are until I get a broom.” He disappeared into the hallway and returned in a moment with a dustpan and broom. “I don’t know if you realize my house and this cottage were built by the same man. It helps knowing the layout.”
While Clare remained seated on the floor, Jake swept up the glass. He moved efficiently back and forth, staring down at the floor to catch any glint from a missed sliver. He refrained from looking directly at Clare until he finished, then he came over and knelt down in front of her.
“Are you cut?”
She shook her head.
“Can you get up?”
Clare nodded, still too caught up in her emotions to talk. He helped her up, not intruding into her personal space. His tanned face was expressionless as he led her over to the couch, standing beside her until she sat down.
The whining outside increased in volume and pitch.
“I brought Waldo over so you could see he was all right,” Jake said, walking over to open the back door.
Waldo sat on the porch, his whole body wriggling as his tail pounded the floor. His tongue hung out as he panted, making him look almost clownish.
Clare was surprised that he didn’t bound to his feet, but rose slowly and limped into the room. She’d forgotten about his foot.
“Poor Waldo. How are you doing, boy?”
He hobbled over to stand in front of her, then lay his head in her lap, big eyes staring up at her. The side of his head had been shaved below his ear and Clare could see the sutures crisscrossing the pink skin.
“Oh, Jake, who could have hurt him like this?”
“Dunno,” came the curt reply. “Not sure we’ll ever know.”
Clare leaned over until her head was touching the top of the dog’s. She stroked the uninjured side of his head with one hand and buried the other in the soft fur on his back. Suddenly she started to cry, quietly at first and then sobs that seemed to well up from deep inside. She held onto the dog, who waited patiently, letting her hold him for strength.
The sound of the kettle whistling broke through her emotional meltdown. She raised her head to see Jake pouring boiling water into two mugs. Tucking a box of Kleenex under his arm, he carried the tea across to the table in front of the sofa. Setting down the mugs, he handed her the box of tissues, then sat down in the chair beside the couch.
Clare gave Waldo a final pat on his back and the dog took his head out of her lap and curled up at her feet. Taking a tissue, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She peeked through her lashes at Jake. Although he lounged back in his chair, one long leg casually crossed, ankle on knee, his body language was anything but relaxed. She could imagine he must be mystified by her fit of hysterics, debating what to say.
“I need to tell you who I am,” she said, “and what I’ve done.”
His body tensed, startled by the abruptness of her words. Before she could speak again, he raised his hand, palm toward her.
Conspiracy of Silence Page 27
