Sinister Summer

by Colleen Gleason

  By the time she got out of the shower, the smells of something delicious were wafting under the door of the guest room. Her hair was still wet, and she was about to search for a blow dryer—but why bother? He’d already seen her looking like something from the black lagoon.

  And it didn’t matter what she looked like to him. Ethan thought her hair was pretty? Wait till he saw it completely out of control. He’d change his mind quickly enough.

  Not that it mattered what he thought.

  At all.

  She opened the bedroom door to find Cady lying there across the threshold. The black lab sprang to her feet, tongue lolling in excitement, and big, white teeth showing.

  “Get away,” Diana suggested, beckoning with her hand.

  The dog didn’t move, just looked up at her with mournful brown eyes, and stood expectantly, blocking the doorway.

  “Move,” she tried again weakly.

  Cady licked her chops, seeming to relish the size of her vicious canines, and sent a shiver of warning down Diana’s spine.

  “Um…nice doggie,” she said, and was relieved when the dog let her tongue hang out again.

  I’m not moving until you greet me in a proper manner, the lab seemed to say.

  “Oh, all right.” Diana gave in and patted the top of her head clumsily. The fur, a shiny black-brown color, was surprisingly soft—not coarse as she’d expected. Cady still didn’t move, so Diana tried again, this time petting the dog’s forehead. “Watch out,” she said, and finally, heart in her throat, she pushed past the lump of fur.

  To Diana’s relief, nothing happened. Cady didn’t bark or growl or even push back. She just followed her.

  So when Diana came around the corner into the kitchen, Cady was at her heels.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Ethan greeted them. He was now modestly attired in a pair of twill shorts and a dark red t-shirt, and stood at the stove. His hair was dripping over his collar—so he must have done a speedy shower.

  “Scrambled eggs okay with you?” he asked, brandishing a spatula and looking a little hesitant. “I don’t have much else in the fridge.”

  “Sounds great. I’m starving,” she said, sliding onto a bar stool and getting a good look at the kitchen for the first time. It was decorated with bright-colored Mexican tile in blue and yellow, and the space spilled seamlessly into a great room with its high, peaked ceiling. “You can cook.”

  “Well, I know how to crack a couple eggs and I’m really great at sprinkling cheese on them.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  She’d never had a man make breakfast for her before. She’d never even had a man cook for her before. Jonathan’s idea of cooking was calling for takeout and putting it on a plate. Once in a while, he’d even set the table.

  All at once it washed over her like a bucket of cold water: the calm realization that she wouldn’t care in the least if she never saw Jonathan again.

  It was odd, the way her decision came—in such an unexpected way, at this moment over breakfast—and with such vehemence and clarity.

  And freedom. An intense shock of freedom.

  She came back to the present, to the smell of coffee (thank God, coffee!) and frying hotcakes, and settled back in her seat.

  I’m going to break it off. Today.

  She’d call Jonathan when she got back to the house—or what was left of it.

  Oh, God. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears stung them. The house.

  Aunt Jean murdered, and now her beloved house was burned half to the ground.

  “Let’s eat on the deck,” Ethan said, breaking into her thoughts. “This way.” He gestured to a small patio beyond the large, sliding glass doors that overlooked the side yard and beyond.

  “We’ve got things to talk about,” Diana said, her mind suddenly filled with thoughts and questions—and the only person she wanted to run them past, she realized, was Ethan.

  He understood. He wouldn’t look at her any differently if she asked those questions and posited her theories.

  With this realization calming her, Diana picked a mug of coffee. She inhaled the hazelnut scent as if it were ambrosia then picked up some napkins and Ethan’s coffee as well.

  The deck was a stamped concrete square set off the side of the house and was just large enough to comfortably hold a three-legged fire pit and a table with four chairs.

  The way the cedar cabin was situated, the lake was off to the right and could be seen more readily from the front, screened porch. But the view from this direction was just as peaceful: facing the encroaching woods, with an array of birdfeeders dangling from shepherd’s hooks or tree branches in one corner of the yard. As Diana sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs, she saw a downy woodpecker land on one of the feeders with a suet bar, chasing away the chickadees. At a different feeder, a nut-thatch crept down, facefirst, to the trough feeder while a grosbeak fed on the other side.

  “So,” he said, looking at her as he plopped down in front of a plate mounded with eggs and melted cheese. “I’ve got some thoughts.”

  She gave him a brief smile. “As do I.”

  The eggs really hit the spot—she was starving—and Diana almost moaned when she tasted the first forkful. Maybe she actually did, because he looked over at her suddenly, and the expression in his eyes had her flushing and glancing away.

  “So, about last night,” she began, and then, flustered, gave a little laugh. “I mean, about the fire.”

  “When you got home, the cats were outside, you said.”

  “Yes. The front door was open—a fact which would normally have freaked me out, but I’d already seen the flames and smelled the smoke, so that was lower on the list of concerns.”

  “So he set the house on fire, but let out the cats—to make sure they wouldn’t die. And he obviously knew you weren’t there,” Ethan said. “I’m assuming that, at least, since your car must have been gone.”

  “My car was gone.” Diana slipped another bite into her mouth to give her a moment to think before she spoke. “So, yes, it didn’t appear he was trying to murder me as well.”

  He glanced sharply up at her, his mouth tightening; but he didn’t comment. Instead, he began to focus on spearing as many pieces of pancake onto his fork as possible. “Unless it was Jean who let the cats out.”

  She swallowed a fortifying glug of coffee. “I was thinking the same thing. Either Jean let the cats out, or a murderer—someone who would kill a defenseless woman in her own bed—made sure to get them out of the house.” She sipped her coffee. “I suppose either is possible. But I guess I’m leaning toward Aunt Jean.”

  He grinned at her suddenly. “Did you ever think you’d be sitting here, calmly discussing a ghost as if it were as common as a blue jay?”

  She shook her head. “Never in a million years.”

  So how did that make her feel?

  Just as free and weightless as knowing she was breaking up permanently with Jonathan.

  After breakfast, she insisted on cleaning up since he’d cooked.

  “All right then. I’ll go throw the ball for Cady.”

  When she was finished in the kitchen, Diana took a minute to walk through and admire the cabin’s great room and its stately fireplace that burned real wood.

  The room was furnished with a sweeping mocha-colored suede sectional and a separate, matching recliner that was positioned in front of a gigantic television screen. The floor, which was hardwood throughout the house, was protected in this room by a huge dark blue and brown-flecked rug, soft and lush beneath the feet.

  A multi-colored woven blanket hung over the mantel of the broad, stone chimney—the tapestry looked like it was from Mexico or somewhere in South America. He’d said he was in Macchu Picchu; maybe he’d brought it back from there. There were random pieces of art on the walls: some, obviously from home decorating stores, and others that appeared to be originals from places like South America or Asia.

  She was particularly taken by a sepia
-toned photograph of a possibly Buddhist monk climbing the steps of an ancient temple, his robes tossed and blowing in the breeze.

  But what really captured her attention was a photograph of Fiona and another, older woman whom Diana assumed was Claudia—the free-spirit hippie who lived in Costa Rica and made hemp baskets. She saw Ethan’s eyes in his mother’s face, and the shape of his chin.

  Diana had no photos of her own mother in her condo.

  For obvious reasons.

  She joined Ethan outside and sat at the picnic table, watching as man and dog played together. She even clapped a few times when Cady caught the tennis ball neatly in her mouth, then pranced around happily. Once, the lab even brought the ball over and dropped it at her feet.

  Diana couldn’t disappoint her expectant look, and reached to pick it up. She recoiled when she felt its sloppy dampness, but told herself to suck it up, and managed to ignore the wetness long enough to toss it toward the lake.

  It didn’t go nearly as far as when Ethan threw it, but Cady chased after it gleefully.

  “Uh-oh, now you have a friend,” he said when the lab brought it back and dropped it at her feet again.

  Diana acquiesced and threw the ball a few more times, badly, before Ethan took pity on her—and Cady—and fired the tennis ball deep into the woods.

  Finally, though lulled by the idyllic, relaxed setting, she realized it was time to leave. Ethan would have to drive her back to pick up her car—which he agreed to immediately.

  “I need to do some shopping,” she told him, gathering up her handbag as she climbed into the jeep. Cady jumped in the back behind her, pushing her way past, and Diana was proud that she didn’t even flinch. “I need some replacement clothes. And I should check in with Captain Longbow to see…well, to make a report.”

  She stumbled over the idea of asking Ethan to go with her, but rejected it immediately. She didn’t need a man to support her, or to give her courage, and now that she’d decided to cut Jonathan loose, Diana felt even more determined to handle this on her own.

  “You’ll stay here tonight,” Ethan said as he started the engine.

  Diana gave him a startled look. “No, that’s not—”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll stay here tonight. There’s no sense in spending the money on a room here in town—unless you were planning to go back to Chicago tonight.”

  She hadn’t been…but the realization that the option hadn’t even occurred to her made Diana supremely uncomfortable. “I—”

  “You’ll need to stay in town for at least a few days while the investigation is going on anyway,” Ethan said. “Joe Cap or the fire department might have other questions for you.”

  It sounded like a bullshit excuse to her, but Diana found herself unwilling to look too closely at its validity. “Well, all right. Just for a day or two. If you’re certain you don’t mind.”

  He smiled as he pulled up next to her Lexus in front of Jean’s smoldering house. “No. I don’t mind at all.”

  After he left, Diana sat on what was left of the front porch of the farmhouse and dialed Jonathan from her cell phone—which began to ring right away.

  “Diana!” The relief in his voice came through the phone. “How are you?”

  Her heart gave a little bump. This was the first time they’d talked since the other night, when Ethan had answered the phone. Jonathan sounded sincerely happy to hear from her. And unusually tentative.

  She steeled herself into no-nonsense, emotionless mode. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Fine.”

  “Diana, when are you coming home? I miss you. I’m sorry about the other night. I was…well, I was jealous. And I want us to work through this, and we can’t work through this if you’re way up there in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’ll be back in Chicago Sunday night,” she said, gripping the phone tighter. “I’ll stop by to pick up my things around seven.”

  “What?” The soft, empathetic tone changed to one of shock and dismay. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s over, Jonathan.” Even as she said those words, Diana was aware of the unsettled feeling sinking over her, the deepening twist of nausea. What am I doing?

  “Diana,” he said, his voice sharper now. Then he drew in an audible breath and she could tell he was trying to force himself into calmness. “Okay, okay, then, if you want to take a little space, a little time to work things through, I can understand that. I can work with that,” he said. “We can do that.”

  That little bump of nerves in her pulse grew stronger. Maybe that was the way she should approach it. Just move out for a little while, try to work things out. Not just close the door without trying again.

  No. No, that wasn’t what she wanted to do.

  “No, Jonathan,” she said, still in that calm voice she used in court—that voice which delivered only facts and well-thought-out arguments devoid of emotion. “I’m not interested in trying to work things out. It’s over. I’ll bring back the ring on Sunday too.”

  Her palms were clammy and the phone felt heavy and hot against her cheek as she heard her mother’s voice deep in her head: Now what are you going to do? How are you ever going to find someone when you work so much and are so—

  “No,” she said aloud, to silence both Melanie’s imagined voice and his very real, strident one. “No, Jonathan, I really do mean it.”

  “But…Diana. I love you,” he said, his voice soft again. The desperation threaded through it made her start to question herself: he really does care.

  But I don’t. Not any more.

  “Can’t we at least talk about this?” he asked.

  “Not right now,” she said. That was the most she could give him. “Maybe someday in the future. But not now. I have to go, Jonathan—the office is calling.”

  Coward, she told herself over the lie—but she already knew the conversation was just going to devolve into a circular argument that would take far more effort and energy than she wanted to expend.

  After all, she had more pressing things to deal with than the bruised ego of a pompous cardiologist.

  “Good-bye, Jonathan.” She disconnected the call as he was still talking.

  And then she declined the immediate call-back from him.

  Instead, she set the cell phone aside and closed her eyes, leaning against the porch railing. She waited for the fear and emptiness to climb over her, to settle there and gnaw like her mother’s constant nagging.

  But it didn’t come.

  Instead of tears pricking her eyes, or queasiness weighing inside her belly, Diana felt relaxed.

  Freed.

  After a long while—where she did nothing but smell the remnants of the smoldering fire and hear the rustle of breeze through the trees, along with an orchestra of bird song, she opened her eyes and looked out over the small, grassy yard. It was trampled and bore tire tracks from last night’s fire-fighting. There were streaks of black on the lawn, and a few long indentations where the heavy hose had crushed the grass and flowers.

  Now tears stung her eyes. Jean’s lovely house was ruined. Someone wanted desperately to—

  To do what? To destroy something? To find something?

  Why?

  As Diana sat there, mulling over the abrupt turn in her life, smelling the remnants of smoke and smoldering wood in this quiet patch of land, Motto appeared from around the corner of the house.

  To her surprise, the sleek cat approached and butted her head against Diana’s side until she lifted a hand to pet the soft, white fur…following the receptive arch of Motto’s spine all the way up, over, then along the thick, bushy tail.

  “It was the right thing to do,” she said. “To end things with Jonathan. Now maybe I’ll be able to—”

  Diana stopped when she noticed Arty. The more reticent, shyer cat was sitting off to the side, in the direction from which Motto had come. Just sitting in the grass, looking at her—almost expectantly.

  But it was the object in front of the fat cat t
hat caught her attention. That made her pulse spike and her hands go clammy. She bolted to her feet.

  “How?” Diana breathed as she stared down at the mahogany card box. It sat undisturbed in the grass, pretty as you please, right next to the cat. “How in the hell did this get out here?”

  She looked back toward the house, which was a study in chiaroscuro between the white clapboard, the gray shutters and porch, and the sooty, scorched remains of the back half.

  Aunt Jean.

  She saved the cats and her cards.

  Half laughing, half crying, Diana picked up the box. Only then did she see the single card sitting there in the sunshine beneath Arty’s paw.

  Diana went cold. Then hot.

  The meaning of the image was unmistakable: a skeleton wearing black armor, riding slowly on a dark horse. Death carried a flag with a rose depicted on it, and a man, woman, and child collapsed before him.

  Death.

  The Death card portends the end or cessation of something: a phase, a journey.

  A relationship.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So somehow Jean’s box of Tarot cards escaped not only the fire, but also the water they were spraying all over the place?” Cherry Wilder said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “For hours?”

  They were at Trib’s, a whole group of them somehow having snagged the single large booth that seated ten—and on a Saturday night during high tourist season!

  The generous table was tucked near the back behind a divider made from long, narrow, wavy pieces of wood and metal that acted like an industrial style beaded curtain. Cedar, maple, bronze, copper, and brushed sheet metal shivered and danced from the ceiling, each piece suspended on a slender, elegant chain.

  Ethan long suspected the proprietor had installed the mega-sized booth as a combination failsafe (to keep the Tuesday Ladies—especially Maxine and her cane—from taking over his restaurant) and personal sanctuary—a place he could join local friends when he needed a break from being celebrity chef and restaurateur for the tourists.

  “And the cats,” Maxine added flatly. She had a tall, dark beer in front of her and sat at the end of the booth, likely for easy access to employ her cane. “Don’t forget Jean saved the cats. Don’t surprise me none, though.”