Dig Deep My Grave

by Cheryl Honigford

  They locked eyes above the churning surface of the lake. Charlie’s jaw was clenched, his mouth a grim line. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He reached out and touched her face. His mouth moved, but Vivian couldn’t hear him over the pounding roar of the raindrops on the lake. She shook her head.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  Go? Go where?

  “Swim to shore! Save yourself!”

  Vivian shook her head. The words stuck in her throat.

  “Go!” he shouted again.

  She shook her head furiously. Wet tendrils of hair slapped her cheeks. She could turn and go now. She could swim to shore. She’d done it a thousand times. She could make it, but she could not take Charlie with her. She wouldn’t leave Charlie to drown. Never. And she couldn’t stay here and watch him drown. This was not happening, she thought. Not like this. This wasn’t some sappy daytime melodrama at the radio station. She would not sacrifice him to save herself. She would not have it.

  She held Charlie’s gaze as she swam toward him. The last of the hull slipped under the water, and Charlie’s head immediately dipped below the surface. No, she thought. No! She reached for him and pulled him into an embrace. She squeezed him to her, kicking madly for the both of them. His head bobbed to the surface, and he gasped. This wouldn’t work. No matter how hard she kicked, she could not keep both of them afloat. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, she saw a flash of white bobbing on the waves.

  Charlie slid under the water again. She reached down for him and caught his sleeve, but he was too heavy and she could not drag him back to the surface. She fought the panic that rose in her throat. Something white flashed in the corner of her eye again. A life preserver! There must have been one under the bench seat of the rowboat that hadn’t been tied down. Charlie resurfaced briefly then, and he coughed and gasped.

  “Stay there!” she screamed. “Keep your face out of the water! Kick! Move your arms like this.” She showed him the motion above the water, but she didn’t know if he could hear her, if he could understand. Thunder boomed in the sky as she spoke. Lightning zigzagged almost directly above them, so close she heard the sizzle of the electricity. If a lightning bolt hit the water, they were done for, life preserver or no life preserver. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She swam furiously for the white ring as the wind and the waves forced it away from her. She lunged and caught it with her fingertips. Thank God. She turned, pushing the preserver in front of her, and saw nothing but the dark, choppy water. Charlie was gone.

  Vivian forced the panic down yet again. She swam back to where she’d seen him last, but it was so hard to tell if she was in the right spot. The rain had not relented. If anything, it had increased in its ferocity. She was very close to panicking entirely. She treaded water where Charlie should be. Her eyes darted frantically over the waves, but there was no sign of him. Then her foot connected with something underwater, something soft and fleshy. Without thinking, she dove. The water was like ink. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She flailed her arms around and connected with him. An arm. She pulled Charlie to the surface with every bit of strength she had. When his mouth broke the surface, he gasped and sputtered, and coughed a warm jet of water right into her face.

  Oh, thank God. Thank God.

  “I have a life preserver,” she shouted into his ear. “Here. Put your arms over it.” She pulled one of his amazingly heavy limbs from the water and heaved it over the ring. He blinked. Then he coughed another torrent of lake water. It streamed from his nose in wild rivulets. His eyes rolled up alarmingly into his head, but he pulled his other arm from the water and threw it over the preserver. He rested his chin on it and closed his eyes.

  He’d been a hairbreadth from death, and he knew it. Maybe he still was, Vivian thought. Lillian had given him one hell of a wallop on the head. He probably had a concussion. She had to get him to shore as soon as possible.

  She leaned over and pressed her lips to his temple, then said into his ear, “Just hold on to me and keep your head above water. I’m going to tow you to shore.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Vivian opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. She stood dripping water onto the wooden floor, unsure of what to do next. She was just glad to be in the house and to be safe, even if she was soaked to the skin and even if they’d let Lillian get away.

  Vivian blessed every minute of time she’d spent swimming as a child. The rain had lightened by the time she had towed Charlie to solid ground, and they had lain on the shoreline, panting. Vivian had watched Charlie intently, pinching him every time his eyelids started to drift shut. He’d perked up on the walk inside, but she’d still have to watch him.

  She reached out and took Charlie’s hand. They exchanged a glance. They’d have to dry off, get changed, do something about what just happened, shouldn’t they? Then again, maybe they shouldn’t do anything at all—just disappear and let Bernard and Freddy clear everything up in a few hours. After all, clearing Charlie’s name did not necessarily depend on pinning everything on Lillian. Not if Bernard went with the gambling debts story as he’d intended to do earlier. In that case, Vivian probably shouldn’t tell anyone about what had just happened with Lillian and the rowboat. Maybe they could sneak upstairs before anyone noticed they were here. Vivian took a step toward the stairs.

  Then Gwen came out of the parlor into the hall and stopped in her tracks.

  “Lands,” Gwen said. “What happened?” She took in Vivian’s bedraggled appearance, and then her eyes darted to Charlie with alarm. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Almost drowning,” he said after a beat.

  “Drowning?” Her eyes shifted from Charlie to Vivian. “What’s going on?”

  Vivian opened her mouth to explain and then closed it again. Where should she begin, and what version of events did Gwen know or should she know? Vivian didn’t want to muddle things for Charlie by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.

  “What’s that, Gwen? Who’s there?” David called from the parlor. He popped his head around the doorframe. “Viv… Charlie?” He stepped fully into the hall. They all stood staring at one another, unsure where to begin. Then David said, “I think you should come in here. There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Me?” Vivian said.

  “Both of you.”

  Uncle Freddy sat in the chair nearest the radio. He turned his head as they entered the room, and he stood and smiled slightly at Vivian. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life—barring seeing Charlie earlier in the evening, that is. She ran to Freddy and kissed him on the check.

  “I told you to come in the morning,” she said.

  He shook his head. “That phone call tied me in knots, Viv. How could I sit in that rooming house a few miles away and not try to help if I could? And I’m glad I did.” He eyed her all over again, a million questions on his face.

  She grasped his hand and squeezed lightly.

  He leaned in and whispered, “Has Charlie been here the whole time?”

  Vivian bit her lip. So Freddy assumed she’d lied to him earlier on the telephone, and why wouldn’t he? She’d done it before.

  “No… I… Well, it’s a long story,” Vivian said.

  Freddy motioned for everyone to sit. Vivian slumped onto the settee facing him, with Charlie next to her. She watched the lake water drip from the hem of her ruined dress onto the parlor rug. Plink. Plink.

  David leaned over to Gwen and said quietly, “Gwen, find these two some towels, would you? Mother will have kittens when she sees this mess.”

  Gwen hurried off.

  “Where is Aunt Adaline?” Vivian asked. “She should probably be here for this. Uncle Bernard too.” She thought of the Agatha Christie novel again. Didn’t her books always end with that funny little detective gathering all of the suspects in one room to explain
his theory of what had happened and to accuse the murderer of the crime?

  “I’m not sure, actually,” David said. “I haven’t seen Mother since you were speaking with her in the kitchen earlier. What the devil happened to the two of you?”

  Vivian exchanged a look with Charlie, and he nodded at her.

  “Lillian,” Vivian said. “She forced us out into the rowboat and then shot it full of holes so she could make her getaway.”

  David turned his head slightly to the side and regarded them out of the corner of one eye. Vivian had seen that look a million times from David. He’d always been gullible, an easy mark for a practical joke. She’d taken advantage of that gullibility as a child. Unfortunately, this time it wasn’t a joke.

  “Lillian?” he said after a moment of silence. The skeptical look faded.

  David had no idea who Lillian really was, and he had no idea he’d been jilted. That’s where they’d have to begin, Vivian thought. She took another deep breath.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” she said.

  He shook his head and set his jaw. Thunder rumbled, but it was far off in the distance. The storm had moved on.

  “David,” she began, shooting a sideways glance at Charlie. “Lillian isn’t who you thought she was.”

  David glanced at everyone, a half smile on his face as if he were ready to say “I knew it!” when Vivian revealed that it had all been an elaborate prank. His smile faded entirely as he gauged their serious expressions. “What do you mean?”

  “I doubt that Lillian Dacre is even her real name.” Vivian paused and cleared her throat. “That is to say, Lillian Dacre is a real person, but I doubt that the woman you called your fiancée was that person.”

  David narrowed his eyes at her. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “Hap and Lillian knew each other.”

  “Of course they did,” he said. “They met at the party on Sunday.”

  “No, they knew each other before…in Spain. Lillian didn’t take the train to Chicago today, David. She was hiding in the boathouse. She’d come back for Hap. She sent us into the lake with a rowboat full of holes while she made her escape.” Vivian gestured down to her wet clothing and the growing puddle at her feet.

  David’s mouth opened and then closed again.

  “Bernard told you that Hap had gambling debts,” she continued. “But he told me that Hap was a spy…part of Franco’s fifth column.”

  “Franco? Viv, none of this makes any sense. I saw Lillian get on that train.” David shook his head. “And Hap was a member of the International Brigades. He was fighting against Franco. He sent us letters…”

  Vivian shook her head. “He was undermining their cause.”

  David stared down at his hands. Vivian could see the emotions flash over his face—confusion, anger, fear. David would be terrible at poker, she thought.

  “But Lillian got on that train,” he said finally. “I saw it pull away.”

  “She fooled you, David. She fooled all of us.”

  He looked up and stared at both of them. His eyes darted over them, taking in their general state all over again. He stared hard at Charlie.

  “Lillian did this to you?”

  “Yes, and clocked me a good one with the butt of her gun,” Charlie said. He touched the tender spot on the back of his head and winced.

  David turned away and stalked toward the door. Vivian thought he might leave, that he might have had enough of their unbelievable accusations about his fiancée. But he turned at the doorway and grasped the frame as if for support. Slowly, he turned to face the room.

  “So Lillian… Do you think she…?” He couldn’t seem to be able to finish the sentence, but Vivian could guess what he was trying to say.

  “I think she probably killed Hap tonight in the boathouse,” she said quietly. Charlie reached over and placed his strong, warm hand atop hers.

  “And she’s gone?” David asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She took my car,” Charlie said. “And my gun.”

  David looked down at the rug, his jaw clenching and unclenching with unspoken feeling. Lillian had only been using him to work her way into Hap’s life. David hadn’t known her at all. He’d seen the girl he wanted Lillian to be and had never bothered to look any further.

  Gwen rushed back into the room, arms outstretched with a pile of towels. She handed Vivian and Charlie each a large bath towel and dropped the rest in a pile at their feet. “Sorry it took me so long. I had to run all the way upstairs to the linen…” Her brow furrowed as she took in the somber mood of those present. “What’s happened?”

  “You really don’t know where your parents are?” Freddy asked.

  “In the guesthouse, I think,” Gwen said. “Trapped by this storm.”

  “The guesthouse?” David said.

  Vivian paused in the middle of drying her hair and lifted the towel from her so that she could meet David’s eyes when she spoke next. “I suspect Bernard and Adaline have been very busy in the past few hours destroying any evidence that might prove Hap Prescott’s continued existence after Sunday afternoon.”

  Vivian watched David’s mouth open in question, but Gwen spoke first.

  “And they’re in the guesthouse because that’s where Hap and Lillian…” Gwen said. Her eyes darted to the floor, and she slapped a hand to her mouth.

  David’s head turned sharply toward his younger sister. “Where Hap and Lillian what?”

  “Well, Constance told me she saw Hap and Lillian together in the guesthouse on Saturday evening. She told me they were having an affair.” She stepped forward and put a hand lightly on her brother’s arm, but he shook it off.

  “An affair? That’s preposterous. Constance never said anything about that to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I assumed you knew,” Gwen said, glancing around at the others in the room in a panic. “That’s why I… Well, that’s why I threw the gun in the lake.”

  “What gun?”

  “The gun I found in the bushes by the summer kitchen. I assumed you’d killed Hap and then tossed the gun in the bushes when your temper wore off.”

  David stared at his younger sister, his mouth agape, and then he shook his head. “Oh, Gwen.”

  “So you didn’t…?”

  “Shoot Hap in a jealous rage? No.”

  Gwen glanced at Vivian, her eyes big. “If David didn’t do it, then…”

  “It was Lillian,” David said before Vivian could open her mouth.

  “Lillian?” Gwen said.

  “She and Hap did know each other, Gwen. From Spain. They may or may not have had an affair, but that’s not the real headliner. She’d been playing me for a fool in order to get closer to the man she really wanted. Lillian, or whoever she really was, was here to convince Hap to spy for Hitler,” David said.

  Gwen stared at her brother, her eyes wide. Vivian nodded at her.

  “Poppycock,” Gwen said finally. “Knock-her-over-with-a-feather Lillian? A German spy?”

  “She as much as admitted it,” Vivian said.

  “Before she shot the rowboat full of holes and nearly drowned us,” Charlie added.

  Gwen took that information in silently, and then she dropped into the nearest armchair. “It’s just… Well, that’s just too unbelievable,” she said. “Lillian?”

  “She was a good actress,” Vivian said. “She had me fooled.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Maybe she was. You know, it’s funny. They looked nothing alike, but her act reminded me quite a bit of Constance. So wan and nervous. So easily excitable. Why, when I saw them together at the garden party, it struck me. How alike they were with their delicate constitutions. Maybe it’s for the best. She wasn’t at all who I would have picked for you, David.”

  David sighed in response. That’s exactly what Vivian
had thought upon meeting the girl. Gwen’s words echoed in her mind: delicate constitutions. She’d seen Constance insert herself between Hap and Gwen at that garden party. She’d seen the look on her face. Annoyance and disappointment. Heavy on the disappointment.

  “…so agitated talking to Hap and me at the garden party that her hands were shaking,” Gwen said.

  “What’s that?” Vivian asked.

  “Shaking, I said,” Gwen repeated. “That happens when Constance is starting one of her spells…tremors of some sort. Any little thing can set her off. It was always hard to predict what. She wasn’t happy with Hap talking to me the way he was, I suppose.”

  Vivian’s stomach turned, and she pressed a hand to it. “And how exactly was he talking to you?”

  “Oh, like an oily Continental. Complimenting my dress. Telling me I had lovely eyes. You know Hap. Knew Hap,” she corrected with an embarrassed wave of her hand. “It was harmless.”

  Vivian looked down at her own hands, her fingertips still pruney from having been in the lake. Vivian had seen Gwen and Hap talking at the garden party, and she’d thought that too, hadn’t she? Hap was up to his old tricks. Had it been harmless? Gwen was so young. The same age Vivian had been when Hap had taken advantage. It was a reflex with him—flirt with the pretty, young girl, see if you can get her to take the bait. How silly Vivian was to think she’d been special to him. There had been others before her and others since.

  Adaline said Hap had a history of hurting people, Vivian thought. And what had Lillian said? That offhand remark about Hap having others on a string? Then she knew. She was certain. Adaline hadn’t sent Hap away that summer to save Vivian or her reputation. She’d sent him away to save Constance, and then she’d sent Constance to that sanitarium in Switzerland that Marshall had mentioned. It hadn’t been nervousness that had Constance’s hands shaking over Hap’s flirtations with her younger sister. It wasn’t just a spell to get attention. It had been agitation, years of frustration and pent-up emotion.