by Diane Hoh
Reed, curling iron in hand, looked up with interest. She was trying to wave her straight hair in a style similar to McCoy’s. If the writer noticed, maybe she’d be flattered. “Whacked-out? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tisha was sitting on her bed, mirror in hand, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. “Don’t you remember the younger sister? You met her. So did I. At a Tri-Delt rush party last fall. Tall, blonde, very serious-looking?”
Reed didn’t remember. When she’d decided not to pledge a sorority, she’d put all those names and faces from Rush Week out of her head.
“Well, she joined the Tri-Delts and made the cheerleading squad and started dating a really cute basketball player. Tony Sheffield. And she had some great part-time job that she liked a lot, I heard.” Tisha waved her mascara brush. “Kind of like you, I guess. The job, I mean. Lindsey was always bragging about how well her baby sister was doing. Then, all of a sudden, about halfway into the semester, the sister quit everything. Left the Tri-Delts, dumped the boyfriend and the job, and left campus. Went back home, I heard. Some dinky little town called Baracca, about two hours from here. And Lindsey quit bragging.”
Reed stared at Tisha. Like Carl, she thought. Karen left campus the same way Carl Nordstrum left. Suddenly. Without any advance notice. As if they hadn’t thought about it ahead of time. Why would two people who were doing so well suddenly throw it all away?
“Why?” she asked Tisha. “I mean, why did Karen leave?”
Tisha shrugged. “Who knows? All Lindsey would say was, Karen went home. That’s it. We all figured she had a nervous breakdown or something. She was doing too much, getting straight A’s, cheerleading, working part-time, dating. She overdid it, and she cracked like an egg.”
Exactly what I said had happened to Carl, Reed thought uneasily.
What were the odds that two people who seemed to be doing very well at Salem would abandon their college careers for no good reason?
Unless … unless they had a good reason. One that no one else knew about.
But what were the odds that those same two people would, at different times, have had the same part-time job?
“You’d better watch out,” Tisha said in a deliberately ominous tone of voice. “You didn’t pledge a sorority and you’re not a cheerleader, but you do have a part-time job you like.” She leered at Reed with an evil grin. “You could be next!”
Reed forced herself to laugh.
That afternoon, she went looking for Lindsey Overmeyer. She needed Karen’s phone number. She wanted to find out what had happened between McCoy and Karen. A quick phone call seemed the best plan. Unless Karen’s older sister didn’t think calling her was a good idea.
Her older sister didn’t. “Call her?” she cried when Reed had explained what she wanted to do. “Why would you want to call her? You don’t even know her, do you?”
“Well, no, but …”
“Leave her alone!” Lindsey cried, her cheeks red with anger. “Just leave her alone! Hasn’t she been through enough?”
“I don’t understand,” Reed said, confused. “What has she been through?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” was the bewildering response. “Then you’ll understand. And don’t say I didn’t warn you, because I did!”
And before Reed could stop her, Lindsey turned and rushed away.
Chapter 11
TIRED OF JUDE’S NAGGING, Reed worked up enough courage on Monday morning to ask Victoria McCoy if she would permit the fan club to visit the house.
The writer paled visibly. “Fan club? What fan club?”
“You know, the group I told you about. The fan club I started on campus. They’re all dying to meet you, and I promised I would ask.”
McCoy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “They want to come here? You expect me to allow strangers to go running through my house, going through my things, taking heaven only knows what?”
“They wouldn’t take anything,” Reed said hotly. She turned away, toward the desk, sorry she’d mentioned the visit. The brass raven stared down at her from the bookshelves, as if he, too, disapproved.
“Well, what do they want from me?” the author asked, following Reed to the desk.
Reed sat in the desk chair and busied herself with a pile of mail. She couldn’t bear to see the look of anger on McCoy’s face. “I told you, they’re fans. They just want to meet you, that’s all.”
“I suppose you’ve been telling them all about me.” The voice was icy. “You come here, to my house, and then you go back to campus and tell them everything I say and do, is that it?”
“No, that’s not it,” Reed said. Her hands were shaking, she was so angry. “We all admire your work. We talk about your work, not about you.”
“Well, of course you do,” McCoy said in a warm, pleasant voice.
Reed looked up.
Victoria McCoy was smiling down at her. “I have an idea,” she said enthusiastically. “Why don’t we invite your little fan club to tea? I’ll have Rain get some cookies. Those lovely square ones with raisins and nuts. Do you think your friends would like those? We’ll have tea, and we’ll talk, and I’ll answer any questions they might have. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Reed was stunned speechless.
“I’m sure there are a million things they’d like to know about a writer’s life,” McCoy continued, leaving the desk to wander around the room as she talked. “My, I haven’t met with fans in such a long time. I was so ill …”
Reed was both delighted and chagrined by the sudden change of heart. The fan club would be thrilled. But it was definitely a strain on the nerves, trying to keep up with McCoy’s moods.
McCoy whirled, smiling brilliantly at Reed. “Oh, we’re going to have such a nice time, aren’t we?”
Forcing a smile of her own, Reed nodded. She would invite the club members. And then she’d keep her fingers crossed that Victoria McCoy didn’t have another sudden change of heart and uninvite them.
When Reed passed on the astonishing news to the members, they were as stunned as she was. She had told them, more than once, that McCoy was a very private person. Now, here they were, being invited to meet with her, at her house. “Wednesday at four,” Reed added. “That’ll work out fine, because we can talk about it later, at our regular meeting.”
“I’m bringing my manuscripts to McCoy’s house,” Jude said. “She’s going to read them, if I have to tie her in a chair.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Debrah surprised Reed by saying vehemently. “This is our first and maybe only chance to meet her. You’re not going to blow it for everyone else by pushing papers in her face. Forget it, Jude.”
Jude gave in when Reed promised to show his material to McCoy the first chance she got.
At the last minute, Reed invited Link to McCoy’s. He wasn’t technically a club member yet, but he had been reading the books. The invitation might be a way to bridge the silence that had been between them, like a stone wall, ever since the party. She’d spent too much time with Rain. But Link was so stubborn, he’d probably say no, just to spite her.
He said yes. He wasn’t as excited as the others, but he nodded and said, “I’ll come. Maybe I’ll find out why you’re so obsessed with her.”
On Wednesday, they were given a brief tour of the house, except for McCoy’s study, and shown pictures of the mansion in California before settling down in the living room around a roaring fire in the fireplace.
“That’s quite a place they’ve got out there,” Jude said in an undertone to Reed as McCoy began pouring tea. “Can you imagine leaving that for this?”
Reed ignored him. Of all people, Jude should understand that this house was the perfect place for McCoy to write her novels.
The house seemed different with people in it. Uncomfortable, Reed thought, as if the noise disturbed it. She wondered if there had been other parties, before the author became ill.
McCoy was pouring tea when she suddenly looked over at
Debrah with great intensity. “Don’t I know you?” she asked abruptly. “When you came in, I thought you looked awfully familiar. Your name is … ?”
“Debrah Kingsley. But we’ve never met.” Abruptly Debrah put down her napkin and paper plate, got up and went to the window to stand with her back to the room.
“I’m sure we’ve met,” the author persisted. “Have you been to one of my book signings here on campus, Ms. Kingsley?”
Everyone looked at Reed questioningly. McCoy hadn’t had a book signing on campus since they’d arrived at Salem. She must have forgotten that.
“Debrah’s just a freshman, like me,” Reed gently told their hostess. “We weren’t lucky enough to be on campus the last time you did a signing.”
“Well, we’ve met somewhere else then,” McCoy said. And although Debrah shook her head no, the author added firmly, “I never forget a face.”
Reed doubted that. Maybe it had been true once, but not now. Besides, if Debrah had ever met the author, she would have shared that meeting with all of them, probably at the top of her lungs.
Debrah remained at the window.
A few minutes later, Rain burst through the front door, stomping fresh snow off his boots. He stopped short when he saw the group, his eyes widening in disbelief. His jaw dropped, and he turned to his mother, saying, “What are they doing here?”
“We were invited,” Reed said hastily, afraid he’d think she had brought the group without permission.
“I know that,” he said, slipping out of his jacket and hurrying over to his mother’s chair. “You wouldn’t do this on your own. But this could be too much for her … so many people. Are you sure she’s ready for this?”
“I’m right here. You can ask me. Of course I am!” Victoria McCoy said calmly, pouring a cup of tea for her son. “Don’t be such a worry-wart, dear. It’s always fun to see my fans. I’ve missed that. Do join us. But first, bring me that photo album from the desk, would you? I want to show them pictures of our trip to Turkey. I’m sure they’ll find it as fascinating as we did.”
Rain went to the desk. When he didn’t return immediately to the group, Victoria McCoy said impatiently, “Rain? Where’s that album?”
Rain answered reluctantly, “It’s not here.”
McCoy turned on Reed, her eyes blazing. “You!” she cried. “You work at that desk! You took it! You’ve stolen from me, like the others.”
Reed gasped. She tried to answer, but she was speechless.
“Reed doesn’t steal,” Link said coldly, standing up.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Rain said, returning to the group. “And McCoy knows that, don’t you, McCoy?” His voice was soothing, soft.
The rage drained from his mother’s face. She looked bewildered. “Yes, I … I didn’t mean she stole anything. I just … the album was there this morning …”
But you don’t lock the doors, Reed thought dazedly, her mind still reeling. And you hide in your office with headphones on … why do you blame your assistants for stealing things when anyone could walk in here and take something?
“I think you’d better go now,” Rain said, herding them all to the door. “I’m sorry. She’s been ill, that’s all, and this was too much of a strain for her.” To Reed, he said, “She’ll be expecting you tomorrow. She’ll forget all about this. You’ll be here, won’t you?”
Reed nodded. “I guess so.” Seeing Rain’s grateful look, she said more firmly, “Of course I will.” McCoy needed her, that was obvious. At least, she needed someone.
Tomorrow, she’d look for the photo album tomorrow. It had probably just been mislaid.
Link argued with her all the way back to campus about returning to the McCoy house. “That woman isn’t getting every channel,” he said at the door to Reed’s room. “It’s not safe working for her.”
“Don’t be silly,” Reed argued, but with less enthusiasm than she would have had that morning. “You heard Rain. She’s been sick from overwork, but she’s getting better. And maybe I did move the album when I worked yesterday.”
But she knew she hadn’t. If there had been a photo album on the desk, she would have sneaked a peek or two while McCoy was in her office. There had been no album. She was sure of it.
“Fine,” Link said brusquely at last. “Do whatever you want.” He didn’t kiss her goodbye.
And he didn’t show up at the meeting that night.
Rain did, and Jude said irritably, “I don’t see how we can discuss McCoy with her son sitting right here.”
“You’re not discussing her,” Rain said easily, “you’re talking about her work. I’m familiar with it, God knows, so I shouldn’t have any problem keeping up with the discussion.” He smiled at Reed. “Just treat me like any other guy.”
But he wasn’t just any other guy. Reed realized, to her surprise, that she agreed with Jude. It was different discussing McCoy’s work with the writer’s son in the room. And weren’t they all being a little more careful about criticizing a particular work of McCoy’s? And weren’t they all wishing Rain would fill them in on personal information about the writer? Which he wasn’t about to do.
Any more than she was about to ask him to leave.
He walked her back to her dorm. Reed felt weird, walking with someone other than Link. Instead of talking about books, as she’d expected, they talked about school, about the parties and dances and fun that Rain had missed by traveling around so much and attending private schools most of his life.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t have any lasting effects from that fall down into the well?” he asked her anxiously. “I mean, it was a long way down.”
“I’m sure,” Reed answered honestly. “I was really lucky. I wish you’d quit feeling bad about it.”
“Okay, if you say so. Anyway, I wanted to tell you, the fan club was a neat idea. McCoy isn’t much of a people person, but she’s always liked talking to people about her work. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that when I saw you guys there. Sorry.”
“No problem … are you going to be a writer, too?”
“Not in this lifetime. I’m going to do something fun, like digging ditches or stringing fence wire across a desert.”
Reed laughed. “Your mother seems to love it.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “To each his own. Me, I couldn’t stand the isolation. I’m a people person. She’s not.”
Reed remembered thinking Rain was shy and reclusive, like McCoy, when she’d first met him. Probably everyone thought that, at first. Now she knew he liked to have fun, just like everyone else she knew.
“I’m glad you joined the club,” she said sincerely.
He grinned. “Even though it’s hard talking about McCoy’s books with me there?”
“We’ll get used to it.”
“Good,” he said as he left her at the door to Lester. “I’d like that. Having you get used to me, I mean.”
Reed’s step was light as she hurried to her room.
The telephone was ringing as she yanked the door open.
Link, Reed flushed guiltily, remembering Rain’s comment about wanting her to get used to him. Link would probably hear something weird in her voice and call her on it.
But when she said hello, no one answered.
She said hello again, more sharply this time.
“Is this Reed Monroe?” a soft, almost inaudible voice asked.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Karen Overmeyer. I’m calling from Baracca. Are you alone?”
Reed’s jaw dropped. Karen Overmeyer? “Yes. Yes, I’m alone.”
“Good.” The voice was so faint, Reed had to strain to hear it. “My sister Lindsey called me. She said you’re working for Victoria McCoy.”
“Yes, I am. I talked to your sister last night.” Reed sank down on the bed, holding the receiver so close to her ear that it hurt. It was the only way she could hear the voice on the other end. “You worked for her, too?”
There was a long sile
nce on the other end. Just as Reed thought the girl had hung up, the breathy voice whispered, “Listen to my sister. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“But I don’t,” Reed said and added urgently, “Tell me.”
Her only answer was a final-sounding click.
And although she quickly called Information in Baracca and then dialed the number she was given, and waited as the phone rang a dozen times or more, there was no answer. Karen Overmeyer had said all she was willing to say.
Chapter 12
WHEN REED ARRIVED AT the McCoy house the following day, she hesitated. Link hadn’t shown up to walk her to the pine grove, and she’d enjoyed being alone. But now, looking up at the door and remembering the call from Karen, her stomach felt as if gremlins were gnawing at her. At the same time, she couldn’t wait to get inside. Strange, conflicting feelings. Shaking her head, Reed hurried into the house.
She was halfway through the first of two thick stacks of fan mail when she heard the noise for the first time. A rustling sound, like crisp October leaves brushing against each other. At first, Reed thought it was Poe, awakening in his cage. But when she got up and walked over to listen, she heard nothing. He was still asleep beneath the covering.
She went back to the desk, but didn’t begin typing again right away. When she had listened for a few moments, head cocked, and heard only silence, she picked up the second pile of fan mail envelopes and began flipping through them, stopping with a frown as she realized that one of the envelopes didn’t have a personal return address label on it like the others.
She pulled the envelope from the pile and studied it. The return address was a business address. “The McIntyre Group,” the label read, followed by a San Diego address.
Someone must have written McCoy a fan letter from their place of business. Maybe on their lunch hour. Or maybe when they were supposed to be working.
Reed slid the letter from its casing and unfolded it.
The heading, centered at the top of the crisp white page, read, “The McIntyre Group” and underneath that, “Quality Medical Care for Those You Love.”
