Doug tensed. “That’s just half an hour from here.”
“Yes. He’s working at a company called Plasti-Source.”
Plasti-Source.
I sent Doug an urgent message with my eyes, and he held up a hand to acknowledge it. “No idea of his address at all, or the friend’s name?”
She sighed. “No. But I will also tell you that our family owns a little cabin in Michigan. I gave Carl the key, in case he ever wanted to spend a weekend out there. It’s only about an hour from you. It’s up in Allegan County—very beautiful.”
“Yes, I’m familiar. Belinda has told me about that place, but we haven’t been there yet. Can you give me the address of that cabin?”
Mrs. Frailey rustled around, perhaps finding an address book. “Of course. And if he’s not there, and you need to rest, you’ll find a key in the blue birdhouse.”
Doug jotted down the information that she recited to him. “You said Carl texted you. Has he done so today?”
“No. And he seems to have his phone off, because I called him this morning, and it went straight to voice-mail. It might be out of battery power, too. He forgets to charge it sometimes.”
“Give me his number, just in case.”
She did so, and Doug jotted it down. “Thank you, Mrs. Frailey.”
Her voice was breathy again, and a bit tremulous. “You will let us know what you find, won’t you?”
“I will.”
“Doug? I want you to know—I just spoke with Belinda two days ago, and she was very, very happy. She said that you were the love of her life.”
Doug’s knuckles whitened on the phone, and his face remained blank. “Thank you, Mrs. Frailey. We’ll call you soon.”
He ended the call and looked at me. Sam, who had come in midway through the call and understood the gist of things, said, “Let’s go.”
Doug turned, surprised. “You guys don’t have to go anywhere.” But his hands were shaking when he put Belinda’s phone in his pocket, and Sam saw it.
“We’re going, and I’m driving,” Sam said. “Lena, call Camilla and tell her what’s up.”
Moments later we were all in my car; Doug sat in front to give directions to Sam, while I sat in the back to offer moral support.
I called Camilla, filled her in, and wished her a nice trip.
“Oh, find Belinda immediately, or I’ll worry the whole time,” she said.
“I’ll contact you as soon as we know.”
I ended the call, but on an impulse I searched for Plasti-Source on my phone’s Google app. “There is another Plasti-Source location in Stafford,” I told the men. “I’m going to see if Carl is working today.”
I pressed the “call” button on the business page for the company, and a woman’s voice answered after two rings. “Good morning, this is Plasti-Source. I’m Jeannine. How may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak with Carl Frailey,” I said. “I understand he is one of your employees.”
She said, “That’s the IT Department. One moment, please.”
Doug was staring at me from the front seat; I held up a finger. The woman’s voice returned. “Carl is not on the schedule again until Monday, I’m afraid. You’ll want to try him at home.”
I thanked her and ended the call. “Not scheduled until Monday,” I said.
Doug nodded. “Which would give him some time to finally visit his sister. What would make him wait for three months before seeking her out?”
“It sounds like Carl marches to the beat of his own drum,” Sam said. “So he’s probably involved in her AWOL status somehow.”
“Maybe,” Doug said. “I actually hope you’re right, Sam. Although I might have to punch Carl in the face, if that’s the case.” We were passing the hulk of the new Plasti-Source plant, black and forbidding against the gray-blue sky. It had the look of a villain’s lair, and Doug glared at it. I was pleased, though, to see that Doug looked a bit less pale and that Sam’s calm logic was helping him regain his usual composure.
Sam flipped on the radio, perhaps hoping for a good distraction, but I had left the dial on a classic rock station, and we heard Paul McCartney’s plaintive voice singing “The Long and Winding Road.” Doug’s shoulders tensed again, and he looked out his window with a restless expression.
Sam swore under his breath and flicked the radio off.
“We had a little argument last night,” Doug said to the trees outside his window. “Nothing earthshaking, but—a disagreement. And now I feel bad about it. About some of the things I . . .” His voice drifted off.
How terrible it would feel, worrying about a person’s welfare while struggling with the memory of words that would have been better left unsaid. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think,” I said. “And I know we’ll find her soon.”
Doug sighed. “A few nights ago, we were having dinner together at my place. I was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup and telling her about my day, and I realized she wasn’t paying attention. She was looking down at something in her lap. I went over to see what was stealing her attention from me. It was a book; she was hiding a book and trying to read it while we were talking.” He was both amused and surprised by the memory. “She apologized but told me it was a really good part. And she looked up at me with those big green eyes and pushed her glasses up on her nose, and I just—I realized I was in love with her.”
“Oh, Doug!” I said.
“I told her last night. But she wouldn’t say it back to me. I think she wants to, but she’s so careful. Everything has to be crystal clear.” He stared out the window again and wiped at his eyes.
Sam touched his arm. “She’s at the cabin, Doug. You have time to talk, to work things out. You’ll get your chance to go to Oktoberfest and a million other things with her. You’re going to feel such relief. Not long now.”
Doug turned to him, eyes wide. “And what makes you so sure?”
Sam shrugged, both hands back on the wheel. “Because I’ve almost lost Lena any number of times, and a few months ago I saw her pulled from the wreckage of her car looking like a broken doll, but I got her back. And before that she and I walked away from that monster house across from Allison’s place, intact, and I learned that you and Cliff would both survive, and that’s when I knew that no troubles could bring me down as long as all of you were alive. That’s what you’ll feel, because we’re all under some weird Blue Lake spell, some mixed curse, that brings us great misfortune, but corresponding great blessings. The same paradox, again and again. Belinda is missing, but your reunion will be the blessing. That’s how it is in this place.”
Doug stared at him for a while, thinking about this. Finally, he said, “It does kind of seem that way, doesn’t it? A pendulum swinging back and forth, for at least a year now.”
“Yeah.” Sam stole a glance at him. “Take heart.”
Even Sam’s voice was a bit nervous, though. Because beyond our shared hope that we would find Belinda at the end of our drive, there was an unspoken fear in the car: that Belinda’s disappearance had nothing to do with her brother, and that some other person was currently getting farther away as we drove into a wild-goose chase.
The Beatles song kept playing in my head as the miles flashed past. “Don’t leave me waiting here . . .”
It was a peak color weekend, as Doug had said, but I don’t think one of us noticed the trees as Sam sped down the interstate, waiting for the sign that said, “Welcome to Michigan.”
3
My parents filled our house with books. I don’t suppose they knew just how influential that choice would be, but I’ll be forever grateful to them for that early gift of literacy. For a paradise of volumes, with story after story at my eager fingertips.
—From the notebooks of Camilla Graham
IT TOOK A while to locate the cabin. I had nervously been
regaling them with some of the plots of Camilla’s novels. “You would love Absent Thee from Felicity. In that one, a woman leaves her family to follow a clue in an old letter, hoping to find out what happened to her father. Kind of a similar theme in For the Love of Jane—a man arranges his own death to protect his family. Actually, you would both probably like Savage Storm the best. That’s about two cops who are pursuing the same criminal. And of course they just so happen to fall in love.”
“I’ll read them all eventually,” Doug said, only half listening.
We were on a dirt road with woods on one side and Lake Michigan on the other; the waves tossed restlessly against an ambivalent sky. Everything looked gray, but the sun was shining, and Doug had to squint to read the numbers on the houses tucked here and there into the trees.
“She said 488,” Doug said. “This place up here has a little wooden placard—I think she told me about that—yes! It says 488, Sam!” His voice was loud in the quiet car, and he couldn’t hold still in his seat. Sam had done a commendable job of calming Doug for the majority of the ride, but after we hit Allegan County, Doug’s anxiety was back. Even from my vantage point behind him, I could see his tension in the stiffness of his shoulders and the routine clamping of his jaw.
“Doug,” I said. “You have to take some deep breaths. Get control over the situation.”
He didn’t take offense; he turned to look at me, his brown eyes studying mine. We had our own sort of connection—not the same as Camilla’s and mine, which Sam called “writer telepathy,” but a kind of sympathy of souls. I had realized it fully back in July when I had hinted to Doug that I knew who was vandalizing certain areas of Blue Lake. He had looked at my face and then figured it out himself. Now he read my message: that he would be a better help to Belinda if he could reclaim his usual calm.
He puffed out a few breaths as Sam pulled into the driveway. “There’s a car here,” Sam said. “That’s good, right?”
Doug had closed his eyes to aid his deep breathing. Now he opened them and said, “I hope so.” His door was open before Sam had even put the car in park. Sam and I were close on Doug’s heels as he moved up a narrow walkway to a little wooden door. I saw the blue birdhouse that Belinda’s mother had mentioned; it sat in the middle of a neglected wildflower garden. If need be I could claim the key for Doug, who rapped loudly on the door.
We stood for a moment. A curtain in the window to the left of the door twitched and was still. A moment later the door opened just wide enough for a young man to thrust his face out of it. I knew at once that this was Belinda’s brother; he had eyes the same color and shape as hers, and he shared what I had thought her distinctively shy expression. Doug seemed to see it, too. “Yeah?” the young man asked, his eyes scanning to study the three of us in turn.
Doug took out his ID. “I’m Detective Heller from the Blue Lake Police Department. I’m looking for Belinda Frailey.”
The young man’s face became expressionless. I realized he was quite young—only twenty-one or -two, and he looked suddenly like a teenager. “She’s not here.”
“Who are you?” Doug asked.
“None of your business,” the boy said. I read something protective in his tone; did he think Doug was here to arrest Belinda?
Doug’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. “It is my business because Belinda Frailey is my business. You want to tell me who you are, or do you want me to call for some backup so we can search the premises?”
“Belinda’s not here. I don’t know anyone named Belinda.” He was clearly lying, and his face looked so miserable that I actually felt sorry for him.
I touched Doug’s arm, pushing slightly, and he moved over with an impatient sound. I stepped forward and smiled at the man in the door. “Carl?” I said. “Your mom told us you might be here. Belinda is our friend. We just want to talk to her.”
Something flickered in his face, and I thought he looked a bit less unhappy. “Talk to her about what? Maybe if she shows up I can tell her,” he said. He scratched at some peach fuzz on his cheek. The door opened a bit more and he became fully visible. He was quite thin; he wore hiking boots, sturdy blue jeans, and a blue flannel shirt.
Doug edged back to his original spot, pushing me into Sam, whose arms wrapped around me. “About her disappearance from Blue Lake. She had an appointment with me this morning, and it’s not like her to break any appointment,” Doug said. He tried to peer past the boy, and the latter instinctively narrowed the opening again.
“If I see her I’ll be sure to tell her.”
Just then Belinda herself came around the corner of the house, holding a handful of colorful leaves. She saw us and her face brightened, then creased into a huge smile. “Doug!” she cried as she ran toward him.
“Oh God, Belinda!” Doug said, closing the distance in two strides, crushing her against his chest and kissing her blond hair. Her leaves fluttered to the ground in a burst of orange, red, and gold. Doug held her away from him for a moment. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you take your phone? I’ve been going nuts.”
“I’m so sorry, hon,” she said, laughing a little as he covered her face with kisses. “It’s a long story. It involves my little brother there, who is in the doghouse, to say the least.”
I spared a glance at Carl, still just a face in the doorway. He scowled, but I read some shame and unhappiness beneath the veneer of anger.
Belinda peered over Doug’s shoulder at Sam and me, still smiling. “It was nice of you guys to come. I know Doug must have appreciated it.”
“I did,” Doug said, finally letting go of Belinda and turning back to us. “They kept me sane while I was worrying over you.” He looked at Carl’s narrow face, red now with some emotion. “I think you need to introduce me to your brother. And then I have a lot of questions.” He was wearing his no-nonsense face, and Sam said, “Uh-oh,” under his breath.
“Let’s go inside,” Belinda said. “Carl, open the door. We’re going to have a little chat at the table. You can share your caramel apples with everyone.”
Carl backed up into the house and opened the door, as instructed. He kicked at the door frame. “I don’t know if I have enough.”
“You do. Go get them,” she said. Carl disappeared, and Belinda shook her head. Even in her apparent disappointment, I saw something very clearly: she loved and even doted on this boy.
Doug and Sam moved into the room, and I grabbed Belinda’s hand. “We were really worried about you,” I said.
To my great surprise, her eyes filled with tears. “I am so—surprised, and—happy—to see you guys. I didn’t know how to contact you. I can’t believe you found me so quickly.”
I stared at her for a minute. Doug was right: her green eyes really were big. “Well, I should think so. Doug is in love with you. You’re one of my best friends. Sam’s, too. We all love you, and we were terrified.”
She moved forward and threw her arms around me. “I love you, too.”
I hugged her tightly, then pulled back to study her face. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Carl was totally irresponsible, but there’s—a backstory to it all. In fact, I’m so glad you guys are here for another reason. Carl has a problem, and I’ve been trying to help him with it. I told him he had to take me home, but while we were here, I just wanted to take a quick walk on the property. It’s been a long time since I drove out. I wanted to bring Doug here soon, but not this way.”
“No, of course not.”
“Anyway, now that you’re here, maybe you can help Carl. Or give me some ideas how to help him. He’s—got himself embroiled in something.”
“Belinda?” Doug called from the cabin.
“Come on,” she said to me. “Help me pick up my leaves—I wanted to make a centerpiece. Then I’ll tell you inside.” Together we retrieved the leaves that had fallen during her reunion wi
th Doug; they were a spectacular mixture of large and small, bright and muted examples of fall color. Belinda led me into a quaint little kitchen, quite simple, yet distinguished with its wood-framed walls and bright white paint. A long farmer’s table dominated the room, and Doug and Sam had already taken seats there. Carl, suddenly transformed into a host, was pouring coffee into large brown mugs, avoiding the gaze of the two men. A quick glance into the next room showed me a small but cozy space, lined from floor to ceiling with books. Belinda’s love of literature had obviously been encouraged by her family. And what a paradise for a child who loved reading!
We set our leaves in the center of the table in a decorative wooden bowl. Belinda sat next to Doug, and I tucked in next to Sam. Belinda said, “Everyone, this is Carl Frailey. He’s a good guy and a great brother, but today he did something really impulsive and pretty self-centered, so I’ve spent part of the morning not speaking to him,” she said.
Carl’s mouth tightened with displeasure, but he put out mugs for Belinda and me and poured coffee into them. He was surprisingly dexterous with his movements; he arranged everything quickly and didn’t spill a drop of liquid.
“Nice to meet you, Carl,” Sam said, offering his hand. Carl shook it, nodding. “How exactly did the two of you end up here this morning?”
Belinda sighed and stroked Doug’s cheek. “Carl showed up at my door. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year, so I was of course very excited and pleased. He gave me a red rose and told me he had missed me.”
Doug was still alternating between glaring at Carl and gazing at Belinda. He spared a glance for Carl now, saying, “Haven’t you been in town for months?”
Carl’s eyebrows rose, and he grew defensive. “Yeah, but I had to get settled. I need to get settled in a place. I wanted to tell Belinda that everything was all set up. But I couldn’t wait anymore, because—well, I had to see her.” He turned abruptly and went into a little pantry area, where he opened a refrigerator and took out a small tray. He came back to the table with the caramel apples Belinda had mentioned, clearly fresh, and fragrant.
Death with a Dark Red Rose Page 3
