Maybe it was time to start cooking again.
Instead, for lack of a better idea, I cut up an apple and spread peanut butter onto the pieces as I made a mental note of baking and cooking supplies to start stocking up on.
“Wow, what is that smell?” Claire asked behind me. She had her hair tied back and was dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt for work.
“Lavender and lemon tea,” I said.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve never smelled anything like that before. Where did you get it?”
I carried the teapot and apple with peanut butter slices to the table and gestured for her to sit. “Actually, I made it.”
Claire’s mouth dropped open. “You made it? Seriously? I think your talents are being wasted as a server. You ought to be in the kitchen.”
I smiled as I poured her a cup. “Well, it’s not that hard when you grow your own lavender. The lemons are from the store.”
Claire leaned over to inhale the aroma from the cup. “It’s wonderful.”
“I might ask you for a reference, then. I’m thinking about selling it,” I said, pouring some for myself.
Claire glanced up at me, raising her brow. “Is that why you asked me over? To try your tea?”
“Actually no,” I confessed. “But it would be a nice bonus.”
She picked up her cup. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I’d buy from you in a heartbeat. So, what’s up?”
I picked up my own cup, more to draw strength from it rather than to drink. “How easy would it be to fake your own death?”
Claire didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied me from over the rim. “This is about Alan, isn’t it? Did you see him again?”
I squirmed in my chair. “I didn’t see him. I had a dream.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of dream?”
“Two dreams, actually. And they both seemed to imply that Alan wasn’t dead—that I was making false assumptions. That, coupled with thinking I saw Alan the other day, and ...” I let my voice trail off, feeling foolish. I decided not to tell her about what I thought I saw in the yard after the first dream.
“Can you describe them?”
I reached out to take an apple slice, but didn’t eat it. “It’s silly, really.”
Claire’s stare never wavered. “Try me.”
I didn’t want to. I was sure she was going to think I was crazy. I opened my mouth to object again, but then she gave me a little encouraging nod, and suddenly, I was describing all my dreams for her—starting with the one from when I was in the hospital … the first about the house.
Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I had been holding these dreams deep inside me for so long; being able to finally talk about them was such a relief.
“So,” Claire said once I had finished talking. “It seems pretty clear to me I was right.”
I gave her a confused look. “You were right? But you kept telling me Alan is dead.”
She grinned. “We’ll get to that in a moment. I was right that the town was calling you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course. The town. How could I forget?”
Her grin widened before she became more serious. “So, look. No matter what happens next, I think it’s important you remember that the town WILL protect you. I’m serious. You’re not alone anymore.”
I swallowed hard and looked away. Whatever happens next. I didn’t particularly like the sound of that.
“So, you believe me, then? You believe my dreams?”
Claire nodded as she finished chewing a bite of apple. “I’m a big believer in dreams,” she said, wiping the peanut butter off her mouth with a napkin. “I believe we have to listen to the messages they give us.”
I briefly closed my eyes in relief. Someone believed me. “Okay, so what do you think mine are trying to tell me?”
“Well, I think there are two interpretations,” Claire said. “One is that Alan is definitely dead, and your subconscious is trying to process it.”
“But ...” I started to say, but Claire held up her hand to stop me. “Let me finish. I have a point here. So, it’s possible this is just part of the grief and acceptance process. If you think about it, this whole experience was very unexpected and shocking. You didn’t see his body. You were afraid of him. Of course you would be skeptical about what happened being real. Who wouldn’t? And that’s without taking everything else into consideration, like your moving here and starting a brand-new life.”
When she said it like that, it sounded so reasonable, so logical to believe nothing was wrong. Surely, it was all in my head.
But that wasn’t how I felt. Deep inside, I knew there was something wrong. It wasn’t just my brain processing. How could I put words to my bone-deep feeling of wrongness? “I suppose,” I muttered, feeling inadequate with the words, but not knowing what else to say.
She gave me an amused look. “As I said, that’s one interpretation. But there’s a second interpretation, which is that he really is alive.”
I glanced up at her, hardly daring. “So you believe me?”
Now it was her turn to look a little sheepish. “I’ve ... I’ve had my own run-ins with dreams and this town,” she said vaguely.
I sat up a little straighter. “Like what?”
She waved her hand. “Oh, we don’t have to talk about me. This is about you.”
“No, I want to hear it,” I said. “Look, I’ve shared so much of my life. How Alan abused me. These crazy dreams. I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone. And I know almost nothing about you. I’ve never even met your husband.”
She gave me a tiny smile. “You’re not missing much.” She sighed as she started playing with her ponytail. “My grandmother had, well, I guess they would call them ‘psychic powers.’ She would just know things. Things she had no business knowing. Like where to find items that were lost or what was going to happen in the future. They called it a ‘knack.’ My mother,” Claire sighed. “My mother never understood it. She thought my grandma was cursed, maybe even worshipped the devil or something.”
Claire’s voice dropped. “So, you can imagine how freaked out she was when I started doing the same thing.”
I stared at her. “You can see the future?”
She made a face. “It’s not really like that. I see things in my dreams. I’ve also seen ghosts. That’s why I was so reluctant to enter this house. I know it’s haunted. I can feel it. It’s also why ...” she took a deep breath. “It’s also why I didn’t immediately believe you about seeing Alan outside the diner the other day. I didn’t see him. Which doesn’t mean he wasn’t there, but I felt like if there was any ... well, spiritual activity, I would have seen something. Or at least felt something. But I didn’t.”
She broke off and pushed back in her chair, brushing imaginary crumbs off her shirt. “Anyway, none of that is important right now. What’s important is these dreams you’re having. I think we need to take them seriously.”
I gave her a curious look. “Is that why you told me this all might be a product of my subconscious processing?”
Her smile was sad. “My mother dragged me to enough therapists for me to know all about the brain and ... alternative ‘explanations.’ And yes, I will admit, it does bother me that I haven’t sensed any of this. But it’s possible it’s not mine to sense yet, especially since you appear to be getting the messages loud and clear. Maybe I only get them when the person is blocked in some way. But, yes, for the sake of argument, let’s consider the possibility that Alan is alive.”
“Okay,” I said, although now that she told me her own history, I too was feeling less certain about my experiences. If someone who had a family history of having a ‘knack’ had sensed nothing, was it all in my head?
Definitely something I would need to mull over later. “So, if we agree he’s alive, t
hat means he would have faked his death. So, what do you think that would take?”
She stirred her tea. “He was in a car crash, right?”
“Yes.”
“They found his car, I assume?”
“Yes, it had gone off the road.”
“And they recovered a body?”
“Yeah, that’s what Annabelle told me.”
“Did Annabelle see the body?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure. I didn’t ask. When she told me about it, it didn’t sound like she had.”
“Did anyone see the body?”
“I have no idea.”
“So how did they identify it as Alan, then?”
“Ah ... I don’t know. It’s possible someone else went in and identified him. Or they used dental records or fingerprints or something.”
Claire was nodding. “That’s all possible, yes. I guess I would start by finding out how they figured out it was Alan in that car. I mean, just because they found a body doesn’t mean it’s Alan’s.”
I stared at her in growing horror. “Oh my God. Are you saying Alan ... Alan may have put a body in that car?”
Claire gave me an exasperated look. “Charlie, you’re the one talking about Alan faking his death. If it’s not Alan’s body in the car, then it has to be someone else’s, right? And that person probably didn’t willingly agree to be put there.”
My mind was racing. I was feeling both hot and cold at the same time. Alan, a murderer? Was it possible? I saw his face, right before he pushed me, the cruelty in his eyes.
In that moment, he wanted to kill me. I was sure of it.
So, why didn’t I think he was capable doing this?
I dropped my head into my hands. “Oh my God, I almost married him.”
Claire reached out and grasped my hand. She was warm from holding the cup. “Charlie, remember, this is all speculation right now. We don’t know anything. Including whether Alan is a murderer or not. I mean, what if his car was stolen? What if he didn’t have anything to do with that crash at all?”
“Then why wouldn’t he let someone know he’s still alive?” I asked through numb lips. “If this was all a big misunderstanding, and he didn’t plan to fake his death, why hasn’t he called Annabelle yet?”
“Are you so sure he hasn’t?”
“Of course I am,” I said, with more confidence then I felt. “Annabelle would have told me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I was silent. It was true Annabelle had been pretty upset with me during our last conversation. Maybe I shouldn’t assume she would call me with any news, even something as big as this.
Claire glanced at the kitchen clock before draining her cup. “I have to go. I didn’t realize how late it is already. But, to me, the first thing you probably need to do is to determine if Alan is actually dead … that this isn’t some sort of big misunderstanding. Maybe he popped up alive at some point, and no one bothered to tell you. Or, if everyone still thinks he’s dead, find out how they identified his body. How thorough was the investigation? What actually happened to him?”
“This is just ... crazy,” I said. “Am I really going to ask these questions? Normal people don’t do this. They don’t question the cops or investigate themselves.”
She put her cup down and stood up. “‘Normal’ people most certainly do if they suspect someone of a crime. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Ask a few questions and see what happens. If you’re satisfied with the answers, you move on.”
Move on. I wished it were that simple.
“I can do some digging, as well,” she continued, reaching over to grab her purse. “As you know, cops and detectives are always stopping in to May’s for coffee or a meal. If I get a chance, I’ll ask one of them to maybe make a phone call to New York to see what he can dig up.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, getting up to walk her out, feeling a bit like I was sleepwalking.
“You have the day off, right?”
I nodded mechanically, my head still buzzing with everything Claire had said.
“Let’s meet at the Tipsy Cow tonight and share notes. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I said absentmindedly, although my mind was already focused on what I was about to do.
Was it possible that Alan was still alive? Is that what I was about to find out?
Chapter 23
I decided to start by calling Annabelle.
I didn’t want to. My preference would have been to call the police department that investigated Alan’s death.
Except I had no idea which department that was. Was it state? Or was it a local department, a county, or town? And which one?
I had no idea where they found Alan’s car. It could have been either New York or New Jersey. So, where would I even begin to call?
In the end, the smart play was to call someone who would know. Like my sister. She would know at least a starting place, and then I could do the rest.
All that said, I really didn’t want to call her. I eyed the phone as I chewed on my thumbnail. I had already cleaned up the kitchen. There was nothing standing in the way of calling Annabelle.
Except the thought of how upset she likely still was with me.
Was there anyone else who might know something? I paced around the kitchen and thought. There was Brad, Annabelle’s husband, who would find it super weird of me to call him and not Annabelle even if he had any time to talk to me while he was at work. There was Marguerite, who I doubted would have any answers. She was pretty self-absorbed even without being pregnant.
Alan did have a sister, who I had met once, along with his parents. Alan had introduced us over dinner at a nice restaurant. The evening had been fine. Pleasant, even. They had asked me questions about myself and seemed pleased with the answers. It was all very formal and polite. Not terribly welcoming or friendly, although Alan had told me later how well it went and how much they liked me. I had assumed, over time, they would warm up to me.
Obviously, that would never happen now. And needless to say, calling them and saying, “Sorry about your son, but would you mind answering a few questions about his death?” wouldn’t get me very far.
As much as I hated to admit it, Annabelle was my best shot. And the sooner I called her, the sooner I could get the answers I was looking for. How much longer did I want this uncertainty over Alan being dead to go on?
I picked up the phone and dialed her number, listening to it ring and ring. Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe I would have to figure out another way to get the answers I was looking for. Perhaps it WOULD be easier to just start calling police departments on the route to the Palisades ...
“Hello?” Annabelle’s voice was breathless. My heart sank.
“Hey sis,” I tried for a cheery tone. “It’s me.”
“Charlotte?” Her voice went up a notch. “Is that really you? I can’t believe you’re actually calling me after everything you’ve done.”
I closed my eyes. Is that how this was going to be?
“What are you talking about? What did I do?”
“You’re not here,” she said, her voice becoming shriller. “You’re in Podunk, Wisconsin. You chose to stay there rather than come home to be with your family.”
“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” I said. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Well, you did,” she spat. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I said quickly. Oh boy, this was going to be more difficult than I had expected.
“What?” Her voice was sharp, impatient.
This wasn’t how I wanted the conversation to go at all, but I didn’t feel like I had much choice. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Alan’s death ...”
“You what?” she squeaked. “After everything that happened?”
“I don’t ... wh
at are you talking about?”
“Alan died because of you! Do you get that? He never would have been on that road in the first place if you hadn’t gotten yourself so worked up that you actually left the state.”
“I understand ...”
“You don’t understand anything! He is dead because of you. Dead.” She was nearly hyperventilating in the phone. “And for what? Because you wouldn’t listen to him? You wouldn’t take his calls? He was on that road that night because of you.”
Something in me snapped. “Better him than me,” I shouted back.
“What did you say?” Her voice shook with disbelief. “What did you just say to me?”
“He was going to kill me,” I shouted. “He pushed me down those stairs. You know this. You saw me in the hospital room! And you still conspired with him so I would go back to him. He would have eventually killed me. Do you understand?”
“No! He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.” Annabelle started to cry. “He was so sorry. He told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t have misunderstood that. He would never have hurt you. He would have taken care of you. He would have loved you. I wasn’t wrong about that. I wasn’t.”
Annabelle dissolved into noisy tears on the other end of the phone. I breathed deeply as I listened to her cry, trying to get myself under control. Shouting at her wasn’t going to get me the answers I needed.
She hiccupped, her voice thick with tears. “Marguerite lost the baby.”
I squeezed the phone handle, feeling my emotions drain out of me. “Oh no.”
“Yes, and the ... the ... doctor doesn’t think she can get pregnant again.”
I felt sick. “Oh God.”
“It was after she heard the news about Alan that she miscarried. She was so upset.”
I seriously doubted Marguerite was that upset about Alan. She had only met him a couple of times, not like Annabelle who had spent more time with him. “I better call her ...”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she snapped. “You’ve done enough already.”
This was so not going well. “Okay, I won’t call her. But when you see her, can you tell her how sorry I am?”
The Summoning: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 4) Page 19
