“Of course,” Vivian said.
“Good. I’ll have the housekeeper switch everything as soon as possible. Thank you.”
As Vivian turned to go, Constance rose from the bed and stood at the bureau, speaking again softly.
“What was that, Constance?”
Constance looked up, startled. “What?”
“Did you say something?”
“Oh. No. Nothing, Vivian. Thank you.”
Vivian nodded, taking a last look around the room. Constance had spoken. It had sounded like she’d said There aren’t any ghosts in Paris. Vivian shivered. Yes, there were certainly ghosts here. Not the literal ghosts of the dearly departed, and certainly not the ghost of the recently murdered Hap. But the air fairly prickled with unresolved feelings and emotions: resentment, longing, hatred, fear. She could feel them in all corners, could feel them closing in and constricting the air.
Vivian wished she could just run off to Paris. Avoid the ghosts—her own and everyone else’s. But they were all around her, and she had to sort her way through them to get to the truth.
• • •
Over the course of the afternoon, it became clear that the entire family was stonewalling her. They were all content to believe that Charlie had murdered Hap in cold blood. She wasn’t any closer to solving anything, and now Charlie was being hunted. Everyone in Wisconsin would know his face, as soon as they opened their newspapers.
She walked down the hall to the next bedroom. It was the one she’d always stayed in as a child. She opened the door and peered inside. It had been redecorated since she’d been here last—brightened, a new floral wallpaper installed. The window was open slightly, the breeze rustling the gauzy white curtains. She made her way to that window and gazed out upon the deep-blue expanse of lake. A sailboat floated past, and closer to shore, two figures lounged on the wooden raft, their bare, tanned legs intertwined. Gwen and Marshall.
Gwen, Vivian thought. Gwen had said she felt responsible for bringing Hap to the party. She was further responsible for the animosity that had cropped up among family members, and for getting Charlie accused of murder. She really had set everything in motion, hadn’t she? Vivian could use that kernel of guilt to ask Gwen to help her. Gwen might be able to get the guest list for the garden party. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.
In order to do any of this, Vivian needed to get Gwen alone, and what better place than out in the middle of the lake where no one could interrupt or overhear? Vivian had left her bags in the car, but maybe she’d left something here from that summer eight years ago that would do the trick. Her eyes fell on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Everything else had changed, but this trunk remained the same. She lifted the lid and began rifling through it. After a few moments, she triumphantly held up a shapeless piece of faded red-and-white wool. It was saggy and belted and hopelessly out of fashion, but there was no time to waste.
She dressed in record time and snuck back downstairs. But by the time she reached the dock, there was no sign of either Gwen or Marshall. The raft where she’d spied them not ten minutes ago was now an empty square of white in the distance. She held a hand up to her eyes and scanned the water. There were no heads bobbing, no splashing. Vivian sighed. She’d missed her chance—for the moment anyway.
She looked down at the faded suit she wore. It was a little tight around the hips. She’d changed a bit in the past eight years, but not much. It would probably hold up to a swim, and maybe a swim could help her think. She glanced back at the silent house and then dove in.
The water was just as Vivian remembered, slightly chill and faintly earthy tasting. She swam hard for the wooden dock about one hundred yards out. It took longer than she expected. When she got there, she pulled herself onto the sun-warmed boards and sat panting. She was out of shape. She stretched her arms overhead and looked off toward the shore.
This raft was anchored halfway between Oakhaven and the neighboring estate, which was now owned by the Wentworths. They hadn’t lived here during the summers of Vivian’s childhood. At that time, the sprawling property had been owned by a man named Mills, flush with railroad money. He was an older unmarried man, if she recalled correctly, with no children Vivian’s age—and certainly no virile young men with which to share morning ablutions.
Vivian doubted morning swims was all Gwen shared with Marshall, and she didn’t blame her. Oh, to be seventeen and carefree again, she thought, lying back on the warm, wooden boards of the raft. Though at seventeen, Vivian had been far from carefree. She closed her eyes and bathed in the summer sunshine for a moment. The drone of the cicadas was soothing white noise that lulled her into drowsiness. She had almost drifted off when the skin on her arms prickled. She was being watched.
Opening her eyes, Vivian sat up, resting her weight on one elbow. She scanned the shoreline as nonchalantly as she could. A few mallards floated on the water nearby. One dove, flipping neatly upside down, and she watched his tail feathers waving in the open air, his webbed feet kicking.
Vivian squinted to see further down the shore. The lakeshore path wound its way along the edge of the water just beyond a grove of trees. There was a flash of white among the dark tree trunks. Yes, it was a person. But perhaps just a passerby. The lakeshore path was open to the public, after all.
But the sense of being watched didn’t abate. The hairs stood up on the back of her arms. The flash of white grew larger. Someone was coming toward her out of the trees. Charlie?
No, it was a smaller figure. A woman, perhaps, but the face was in shadow.
Then there was a shout from down the shore. “Vivian! Vivian!”
Vivian turned away from the figure, shielding her eyes with her hand.
Gwen stood on the dock, waving her arms over her head to get Vivian’s attention. When Vivian turned back to the spot in the trees, the woman had disappeared. She sighed.
“Yes?” she called back to Gwen.
“Telephone! Long distance!”
Vivian gave an exaggerated shrug, lifting her shoulders high. She was one hundred yards from shore. Surely Gwen didn’t expect her to swim back at this moment to take a phone call. She cupped her hands on either side of her mouth and yelled, “Take a message, I’ll call them back!”
Gwen shook her head and waved her arms frantically. “Swim back!”
Vivian pushed herself to her feet and dove into the water, staggering onto the shore a few minutes later. Gwen held a towel open for her.
“Surely, whoever it is hasn’t held on the line this whole time,” Vivian said.
“They have. It sounds serious.”
“Who is it?”
“A friend of yours. Imogene, I think she said her name was.”
Imogene? Vivian wrapped the towel around her shoulders and hurried to the house, dripping. The receiver lay on the hall table.
Vivian’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. She took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. Before she could even say hello, Imogene had already started talking. Her voice was a whisper. “I need to warn you. Mr. Langley is extremely upset with you.”
“Mr. Langley is upset,” Vivian repeated. It took a moment for the words to register. Mr. Langley. The station. The trip to California. Vivian’s stomach dropped. She’d never called anyone at the station. She’d never explained anything to anyone, not even Graham. She’d been too preoccupied with Charlie since getting that telegram.
“Yes, about your aborting the trip to California without telling him. He’s been fuming in his office for fifteen minutes. Then he finally calmed down long enough to tell me to get you on the line. So I did. You have to tell me all about this as soon as you can. Oh no, here he comes…” Imogene switched to her professional, nasally secretary voice. “Hold for Mr. Langley please.”
“Vivian.” Mr. Langley’s voice was gruff and tremulous with barely controlled anger.
>
“Yes, Mr. Langley, let me explain. There’s been a family emergency.”
“That’s what Graham told me. Said it was serious enough that you rushed off the train at Kansas City.”
Thank heaven for Graham, she thought. He had at least deflected some of the fallout. “My mother…” she heard herself say. She had no idea what tripe was about to come out of her mouth, but thankfully Langley interrupted.
“I’m not interested in the details, but I’m not happy with you not calling and explaining the situation yourself, young lady.”
Vivian cringed. Young lady. So it would be the disapproving-father routine.
“Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that. Things have been a whirlwind, and I guess it slipped my mind.”
“I don’t know what’s really happening in your life, but be sure you’re on that train Friday evening,” he said. “If you aren’t, well, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep Mr. Marshfield interested in your sponsorship of his company’s products. And you can kiss any ideas about having anything to do with any movie version of The Darkness Knows goodbye.”
“Yes, I’ll be on the Friday train. I promise,” she said automatically, and before she could qualify that statement, Mr. Langley had hung up. She replaced the receiver and stood staring down at the telephone. Today was Wednesday. She’d just promised to be on the train Friday evening. There was almost no way this would turn out the way she wanted. She was sure of that.
Her hands shook as she pulled the towel tighter around her. She heard the click of the radio in the den, the static noise of someone moving the dial between stations. Gwen? She hurried down the hall and peered around the open doorway. Not Gwen, but a man with his back to her. The man straightened as he found a radio program he could tolerate, and the sun glinted off his coppery-blond hair. David. She was in no mood to speak with anyone right now. She stepped backward out of sight, but not in time.
“Viv? Is that you?”
She stepped back into the doorway. David held a pipe in one hand, stuffing tobacco into it with the other.
“Everything all right?” he said. “I couldn’t help but overhear your telephone conversation.”
“It’s fine,” Vivian said, watching as David folded the cover of a matchbook back and pulled a match from the pack. He pulled it across, but the match glanced off without lighting. He frowned and repeated the process with a new match. “Since when have you smoked a pipe?”
David glanced up and touched the match to the tobacco, inhaling several times until it lit. Then he exhaled and stared at her through the cloud of smoke.
“Since Father said it would improve my image in the boardroom,” he said with a shrug of one shoulder. He shook the match out, and then it slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the rug. “Damn,” he said, snatching it up quickly and rubbing at the sooty mark it left.
Vivian pulled the towel tighter around her. The parlor was bathed in sunshine, but the air felt dour. The whole house felt like it was under a pall. A newsman chattered from the radio about impressions from the king and queen’s visit. Vivian listened for a moment, thinking of her mother. Julia Witchell was in Washington now but would be returning soon. Adaline’s threat to contact her must have been just that, because if she had, Vivian would have heard from her mother by now. Thank God for small favors, she thought.
“You’ve delivered Lillian to the station?”
“Yes,” he said, frowning. “I tried to get her to change her mind, but she was set on going back.”
“Do you know where Gwen’s gone?” Vivian asked.
“Off with that neighbor boy somewhere, I assume.” David sat in the armchair closest to the radio.
“And Aunt Adaline? Uncle Bernard?”
“Off somewhere as well. Everyone seems in a big hurry to get away today. Except me and you.” David leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed them at the ankles. “Why are you here, Viv?”
He sounded offhand, but Vivian knew it wasn’t a casual question. She weighed the pros and cons of telling the truth. She’d already told Adaline and Bernard what she was after. Why bother lying to David?
“I’m going to find out who killed Hap,” she said.
David lowered his chin and studied her. “I’m sorry to say that most everyone in this house—hell, everyone in Lake Geneva—believes Charlie killed Hap.”
“Do you believe that?”
David puffed on the pipe without answering.
Vivian felt her face grow warm with indignation. “Well, I don’t believe it,” she said. “And I’m going to prove it.”
“You are? Little old you?” He pointed the pipe at her and then smiled slightly. “Still full of piss and vinegar, aren’t you? I always liked that about you. You were always willing to fight—literally—even as a little tyke.”
Vivian said nothing.
“I can’t imagine my parents are too pleased about what you’re up to.”
“They aren’t,” she said. “They’ve told me as much. Charlie’s guilty, and I’m wasting my time coming to the defense of someone like him.”
David’s smile faded. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, then held his hands up in a placating gesture when he saw her bristle. “I just mean that you shouldn’t have come back here.” He paused and removed the pipe from his lips as if he wanted to say something else, but then changed his mind.
“Then you’ll be happy to know that I’m not staying.”
Vivian turned on her heel to go, but David’s quiet voice stopped her in her tracks.
“I don’t hold anything against you for what Charlie may have done, you know,” he said. “I don’t think any of us do, despite what my parents may have told you. I don’t want to run you off, Viv. This is my home too, and I say you can at least stay the night. I think Gwen would back me up on that.”
“But Adaline…and everyone else?”
“I’ll handle everyone else,” he said gravely. Then a smile curved the corners of his mouth. “And if I were the guilty party in this affair, Viv, I’d sure as hell want someone like you in my corner.”
Chapter Seventeen
Vivian went looking for Freddy, but he wasn’t at the boarding house in town. The landlady said he’d gone into the city for the day and that he may not be back until morning. Vivian was loath to return to the strained atmosphere at Oakhaven, so she had a hamburger and sat on the beach for hours, throwing rocks into the water and thinking things through. There had to be something she was missing.
The only suspects at this point were members of her own family, and it was ludicrous to think that any of them could have run Hap through with a pair of scissors in the middle of a garden party. Poison or shooting a person from a distance was one thing, but stabbing? That kind of visceral killing took an abundance of passion, and none of her relatives seemed to have a passionate bone in their bodies—barring Gwen and Adaline. But surely neither of them was strong enough or foolish enough to stab a man with a pair of scissors. Maybe if that man had been a stranger and had threatened them bodily in some way, but Hap? A man Gwen had grown up with and Adaline had known over half his life?
The one person with a clear motive was Charlie, of course, but the jealousy angle just didn’t ring true for Vivian. He’d shown jealousy in the past, but never like this. He may have knocked Hap’s lights out with a right cross, but he would never have stabbed him in the stomach.
Beyond all of that, the thought Vivian’s mind kept returning to was how odd everyone was acting since she’d returned. None of them behaved like people who’d just had a death in the family. No, not just a death, she amended. A murder. A murder of a family member under their own roof, no less. There were no signs of mourning, and not so much as a sniffle or a somber turn of phrase from any of them—not even Gwen, and she was the softest of the lot. Why? The only answer was one that Vivian couldn�
��t accept. They were all implicated somehow, and if they all hung together, she’d never get to the bottom of things and clear Charlie.
Vivian drove back to the house after dark and snuck in through the back door. There was light in the front parlor and music from the radio. She’d agreed to stay the night, mostly to spite Adaline and Bernard, but now, tiptoeing up the creaky back stairs, she wasn’t so sure she’d made the right choice. She knew that no one in the family would confront her directly. No, they would give her the infamous Lang cold shoulder, icy politeness until she couldn’t stand it anymore and left of her own accord. They were all hiding something and using Charlie as a smoke screen. She knew she was only allowed to stay because it would seem suspicious if they put her out.
She paused at the hidden door to the game room. A faint yellow light shone through the cracks in the door, but she didn’t hear any movement from inside.
Vivian opened the door to her bedroom and realized only after she did that it was no longer her room, since she had agreed to switch with Constance. The curtains were open in the darkened room, and Vivian could clearly see Constance’s form outlined on the bed in the moonlight. Her brow was smoothed in sleep. Vivian paused long enough to hear the wheezing of a deep, drugged snore.
As Vivian closed the door again, her eyes fell on the dinner tray on the side table. It had not been touched. God willing, Constance would sleep through to tomorrow morning and regain some of her coherence in the process.
Vivian went to the room next door and entered. Her blue suitcase and matching hatbox sat near the bureau. She sat down at the vanity and removed her earrings. Constance’s bottles and potions were gone, the vanity top bare. Vivian placed the earrings on the eyelet covering and sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long moment. She wasn’t any closer to clearing Charlie’s name, and things weren’t looking good. Her thoughts drifted to Mr. Langley. If she didn’t fix this and get back to her duties at WCHI, she’d lose her job too.
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