Shadow Creek

by Joy Fielding

  “Believe me, I’m as upset as you are about this,” Val could almost hear Evan continue. “I’m doing my best to get out of here as fast as I can.”

  “Of course you are,” Jennifer told him. “I understand. And you’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning?” Jennifer’s voice was wobbly with the threat of tears. “Yes, I know you’ll try your best. I’m just disappointed, that’s all. I really do understand. What? Um … yes, I think she’s still here. Okay, sure. Just a minute. I’ll check. Val?” she called out. “Are you still there?”

  Val quickly reentered the room.

  Jennifer was standing beside the sofa. She held the phone toward her without saying a word.

  “Hello?” Val said softly into the receiver.

  “Hey, you,” came Evan’s automatic response.

  Val listened as Evan explained the situation again, then added, “I just wanted to thank you again for all you’ve done.”

  “No need.”

  “Look. Why don’t you stay the night? You must be exhausted. Don’t argue,” he said as she was about to. “This way, you and your friends can get a good night’s sleep before heading back. You don’t want to have an accident, and I don’t want to be responsible for anything bad happening to you.”

  Too late for that, Val thought.

  “You can enjoy the spa, go shopping, anything you want—my treat.”

  “I can’t …”

  “In all likelihood, I won’t get there till tomorrow afternoon,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Please stay. Consider it part of your birthday gift,” he added enticingly.

  What’s the other part? Val wondered, trying to decipher what, if anything, Evan was really saying.

  “I’ll think about it.” She handed the phone back to Jennifer.

  “What’s happening?” Brianne asked.

  I wish I knew, Val thought. What she said was “Let’s say we go have some dinner.”

  SEVEN

  THE GOOD-LOOKING YOUNG COUPLE seated at the table next to them in the hotel’s casual yet elegant dining room had been arguing almost from the moment they sat down. “You’re being obstinate,” the man was saying, with a perceptible stiffening of his square jaw.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” the woman quickly countered, tugging at her diamond-studded eternity band and pushing her auburn hair away from her flushed cheeks.

  “Don’t tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

  “Then don’t tell me I’m being obstinate.”

  “Newlyweds,” the waiter whispered to Val as he poured her a third glass of wine.

  Val watched the deep red liquid fill her glass. What am I doing? she wondered. Because of her mother’s unfortunate proclivities, she’d never permitted herself more than one glass of wine, never allowed herself the luxury of being even vaguely tipsy. But, hey, these were special circumstances, she decided, signaling the waiter to keep pouring. It was her fortieth birthday in a couple of days and no one in her family seemed to give a damn. Her mother was too drunk, her father too involved with his other family, her sister too estranged, her daughter too self-absorbed. Only her soon-to-be ex-husband, the love of her life, who was only weeks away from no longer being part of that life, had even mentioned it.

  Consider it part of your birthday gift, he’d said.

  What did he mean?

  Thank God for James and Melissa, she thought, banishing thoughts of Evan and smiling at her two best friends. Not only had they remembered her birthday, but they’d unselfishly put their own celebratory plans on hold in order to accommodate her. And for what? For this?

  The unhappy group was now seated at a round table next to the window overlooking Shadow Creek, Lake George in the distance below, tension hanging over their heads like a shroud. It was still light out, darkness perhaps an hour away. Night fell much more abruptly in the mountains than in the city, Val knew, wishing now that she’d followed Jennifer’s example and showered before coming downstairs. At least she should have changed her clothes for dinner. Not that she would have been any competition for the always lovely Jennifer, in her fashionably rumpled white linen slacks and crisp, red-and-white candy-striped shirt.

  What competition? Val wondered, gulping at her wine. The contest was over. Jennifer had already won.

  “Hey, Mom. Go easy on that stuff, okay?”

  “Is something wrong with your salmon?” Val asked in return. Brianne had been pushing at her food the entire meal without eating much of anything.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Would you like to try some of my veal? It’s wonderful.”

  “It’s a baby calf. I think it’s disgusting.”

  “No, actually, it’s delicious.” Val chewed with exaggerated enthusiasm while stealing a glance at everyone else’s plates. Both James and Jennifer had ordered the sushi-grade tuna, while Melissa was finishing up her bowl of pasta primavera. Even the bickering newlyweds at the next table had agreed on fish. Am I the only meat-eater left on the planet? she wondered.

  “I pretty much stopped eating meat when I was eleven,” Jennifer said, as if Val had asked the question out loud. “My mother had to prepare two different meals every night for dinner.”

  Brianne gave her mother a look that said, You see. It’s not such a big deal.

  Just add it to my ever-lengthening list of failings, Val thought, feeling the room spin. She thought she recognized the young woman who’d plowed into her earlier, then given her the finger, sitting several tables away, engrossed in earnest conversation with the young man sitting across from her, although she couldn’t be sure it was her. Hell, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  “Everything—and I do mean everything—was a big deal to my mother,” James was saying. “She hated cooking with a passion. Although, surprisingly, she loved to bake chocolate cake. And I have to admit, it’s still the best chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted.”

  “My mother’s idea of cooking was to open a can,” Melissa said, not to be outdone. “I was twenty-one before I realized there was such a thing as fresh vegetables.”

  “I’ve been thinking of becoming a vegetarian,” Brianne said.

  Who is this girl? Val wondered, staring hard at her daughter and watching as her face divided into two blurry halves. What has she done with Brianne?

  Brianne’s BlackBerry signaled yet another text message coming through.

  “Don’t answer that,” Val warned.

  “What?”

  “Answer it and it goes in the garbage.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  You’re my problem, Val wanted to shout. You and that piece of eye candy sitting next to you. Not to mention, my mother’s a drunk who didn’t remember my birthday, your father is bombarding me with mixed messages, the room is doing cartwheels, and I think there’s a distinct possibility I’m going to throw up. What she said was “I just think it’s rude to text at the dinner table, that’s all.”

  “So, I’ll go into the lobby.” Brianne was already halfway out of her chair.

  “You’ll do no such thing. Sit down. Now.”

  “Oh, for crap’s sake.” Brianne plopped back down in her chair, pursing her lips into an unattractive pout. “When are you guys leaving anyway?”

  “Something tells me your mom’s not in any condition to drive,” Melissa said softly.

  “So you or James can drive,” Brianne volunteered for them.

  “Sorry, kiddo. I’m way too tired to drive back to New York tonight,” Melissa said.

  James nodded his agreement. “Looks like we’ll be spending the night here, pumpkin.”

  “What? No. I’ll be fine in an hour,” Val protested.

  “You won’t be fine,” James said.

  “You’re not driving,” Melissa told her.

  Brianne glared at her mother. “You did this on purpose.”

  Val wondered if Brianne was right. Had she deliberately had too much to drink so that they’d have no choice but to take Evan up on
his offer and spend the night? Or was she more upset about her mother forgetting her birthday than she’d allowed herself to consciously admit? She leaned back in her seat, fighting her growing dizziness.

  “I told you about this trip months ago,” she heard the man at the next table say, and for a minute she thought he might be talking to her.

  “No, David, you didn’t,” his new wife insisted. “This is the first I’m hearing about any trip.”

  “Because you don’t listen.”

  “Don’t tell me I don’t listen.”

  “If you listened, you would have heard me say I was going fishing with Scott and Peter over the Labor Day weekend.”

  “But I already told my parents we’d be coming to the cottage over Labor Day.”

  “You can still go.”

  “Alone?”

  “Your sisters will be there.”

  “Yeah—with their husbands. And kids.”

  “So you’ll have a nice visit.”

  “Thanks a lot. Those kids are a pain in the ass.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m going fishing.”

  “You’re not going fishing.”

  “Yes, I am going fishing.”

  Am not; Am, too, Val recited silently.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, David.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Alicia.”

  And we’re off, Val thought, hearing the imaginary bell that signaled the start of round two.

  “Don’t call me names.”

  “Sorry. Your name isn’t Alicia?”

  “Don’t be a wise-ass. You called me a bitch.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said, don’t be a bitch. There’s a difference.”

  “The hell there is. I’m not talking to you again until you apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For being an asshole.”

  “Now who’s calling who names?”

  “Just calling them as I see them. Asshole.” With that, Alicia jumped to her feet, threw her apricot-colored napkin down on the white linen tablecloth, and stomped out of the dining room.

  Is anybody in this room having a good time? Val wondered, finishing off what was left in her glass.

  “Sorry about that,” David mouthed sheepishly in Jennifer’s direction.

  As if I don’t even exist, Val thought, checking for her reflection in the curve of her coffee spoon.

  “Anybody for dessert?” James asked.

  “WHAT DO YOU mean, you don’t have any rooms?” Val swallowed, trying to contain the hysteria she heard creeping into her voice. Behind her, Jennifer stiffened.

  “I’m very sorry,” the young woman behind the reception counter apologized quickly. She had big brown eyes and a sweet little half smile that made it hard for Val to be angry with her. Her name tag identified her as Kathy. “But we’re filled up right through the end of Labor Day.”

  “Well, that’s just wonderful. What are we supposed to do now?” Val said to no one in particular.

  “I can try some of the other hotels in the area, if you’d like,” Kathy offered at the same time, immediately reaching for the phone.

  “Please.” Val turned toward the others, watching the lobby tilt to the right. “There appears to be a slight glitch.”

  “This happened to me once when I was in Italy,” James said. “I’d made reservations at this fabulous little hotel just outside of Florence a full year ahead of time. Only when we got there, they told us they had no record of my reservation and we’d have to go elsewhere. I was so mad, I haven’t been back to Italy since.”

  “You’re making that up,” Melissa said.

  “Well, yes,” James admitted. “It just seemed like the right time for a supportive anecdote.”

  Val sighed with sudden, overwhelming fatigue. She’d been hoping for a long, hot bath and maybe even a massage. She certainly didn’t feel like driving around searching for a place to stay the night. Not that she was in any condition to drive. Had Brianne been right? Had she done this on purpose?

  What purpose?

  “I’m sorry,” Kathy announced a few minutes later. “I’m not having any luck. It looks as if every hotel in the area is fully booked.”

  Brianne groaned.

  “There might be something by Fort Ticonderoga …”

  “I definitely don’t like the sound of that,” James said.

  Val shook her head. Fort Ticonderoga was at least an hour’s drive away.

  “I’ve tried everywhere …”

  “Could you try one more time?” Jennifer pleaded.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” Val apologized to her daughter when further entreaties failed to turn up any vacancies, “but it’s looking as if …”

  “Don’t say it,” Brianne said.

  “We might have to share a room,” she said anyway.

  “I don’t believe this,” Jennifer muttered.

  “Look. It could be worse,” James said. “There are two queen-size beds plus a living room sofa.”

  “We are not all sleeping together,” Brianne said loudly. “No way. No way.”

  “I think it might be time for another anecdote,” Melissa said to James.

  “There must be another solution,” Jennifer said.

  “I guess we could sleep in the car,” Val offered.

  “Yeah, right,” Brianne scoffed.

  “Okay,” Jennifer said, hugging Brianne to her side. “It’s a suite after all. And it’s just for one night. It’s not the end of the world.”

  James smiled. “Don’t be too sure.”

  “WELL, THIS SHOULD be interesting,” Melissa said, eyeing the two queen-sized beds. “What do we do—draw straws?”

  “This is getting kinkier by the moment,” said James.

  “James, you take the couch,” Val heard Jennifer say, as she focused on the sofa’s cushions in an effort to stop it from swaying. She was desperate to lie down and wasn’t sure how much longer she could remain standing. “Melissa and Val can take the bed over there. Brianne, you can share with me.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Brianne said, unpacking her toiletries and heading toward the bathroom.

  “Don’t be long. There are four other people waiting,” Melissa called after her.

  “And no texting,” Val added.

  Their answer was the sound of a door slamming shut, followed by the sudden torrent of bath water escaping the faucets.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” Melissa said.

  Val watched Jennifer pull a pretty pink negligee out of her suitcase. No way am I getting undressed in front of that woman, she thought, approaching her own canvas bag at the foot of the bed, the bellboy having recently brought their luggage up to the room. No way am I climbing into my ratty old nightshirt while she’s here. No way, no way, no way, she thought in Brianne’s voice.

  Jennifer looked similarly confused, sitting down at the end of her bed and clutching her nightgown to her chest.

  No need to be shy, Val thought. It’s not as if I haven’t seen you naked.

  James flipped on the television. “Oh, no. Look,” he said as smiling pictures of Arlene and Frank Wall, their arms encircling each other’s waists, quickly filled the wide screen across from the beds.

  “Speculation is increasing that the murders of Frank and Arlene Wall might indeed be connected to that of slain hiker Brian Grierson,” the announcer was saying as the picture of the Walls was replaced by a photograph of a gap-toothed young man with wavy brown hair and a bulging backpack slung over his slender shoulders.

  James sank down at the foot of the second bed, Val and Melissa joining him on either side.

  “Police are still refusing to confirm that the two incidents are related, although sources tell us that DNA recovered from the bodies seems to have come from the same source. And while officials continue to deny that the murders of Marie and William Carteris are connected to those of either Brian Grierson or Frank and Arlene Wall, what they can’t deny are the disturbing similarities: all the victi
ms were stabbed and hacked to death; the Carterises and the Walls were both elderly couples who lived in relatively isolated locales; and while Brian Grierson doesn’t fit the profile of the other victims, his stabbed and dismembered body was found not far from the Walls’ cottage, leading investigators to consider that he might have inadvertently stumbled upon the killer. Or killers,” the announcer continued solemnly, “as sources tell us the police are now reasonably certain that more than one person was involved in the brutal slayings.”

  “Lovely.” James clicked off the TV and pushed himself off the end of the bed. “Sleep tight, everybody,” he said as he left the room. “Pleasant dreams.”

  EIGHT

  JENNIFER WAS STARING AT the digital clock on the table between the two beds, the bold, blood-red numbers staring back at her, as if daring her to challenge them: 12:35, they announced. More than half an hour after midnight. Less than fifteen minutes since the last time she’d checked.

  She flipped onto her right side, facing the window and trying to get comfortable, despairing that she’d ever fall asleep. It wasn’t looking good, she decided, feeling Brianne flopping around beside her like a fish out of water. Did the girl never stop moving? She was tempted to grab Brianne’s leg to keep it from twitching, or her fingers to keep them from tapping. She’d never shared a bed with such a restless sleeper before. Brianne was rarely still for more than a few seconds at a time, pulling her sheets this way and that, extending them over her head one minute only to kick them to her feet the next. And what made it even worse was that those few instances of relative calm lulled you into a false sense of security, allowing you to relax and even start to drift off when wham!—she was at it again. As if the girl had a built-in sensor. As if she was doing it on purpose.

  No, Jennifer thought, deciding to be generous. Brianne wasn’t like Val. She wasn’t mean-spirited. She wasn’t bossy and proprietary. She didn’t have an agenda. She was just a teenager. And teenagers were notoriously restless sleepers. Weren’t they? Jennifer shrugged. She could barely remember her teenage years, having stumbled through half of them in pretty much of a fog after her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis.