“Sorry. Everybody’s sad and tired and probably wanting to forget about the funeral. You want to go in with me and get something to eat?”
She shook her head. “No. I ate all afternoon.” She hugged the puppy against her chest, and I decided she wanted me to go away, not talk, so I went on into the house.
I didn’t see anyone, though it felt as if there were people there, somewhere. I fixed another plate of food, found a slice of lemon cake with a whipped cream filling and frosting, and wandered outside again.
I ate sitting on the dock, then slid off into the shallow water. I anchored my paper plate with a rock, to be disposed of later, and headed for the path along the shoreline, moving away from all the other cottages. I needed to think.
I didn’t feel anyone stalking me through the woods as I walked the familiar path. Brody had walked this way somewhere around the time that Zoe was killed. He’d left distinctive footprints.
I glanced down at my own trail, bare feet in the damp sand. Whoever had killed Zoe probably hadn’t committed the perfect crime. He’d almost certainly left clues somewhere, if I could find them, recognize them.
But how could I find them or interpret them, after all this time had passed?
I didn’t know where the shot came from. Not from the water, there was no boat or canoe out on the lake, but it could have been fired from anywhere in the woods.
It startled me, and I jerked around, knowing instinctively it was a rifle shot. I put out a hand to a tree to steady myself, and then I saw the raw groove in the bark of the birch tree, only inches above my head.
Disbelieving, yet with my heart thudding a denial of my disbelief, I realized that someone had just shot at me and barely missed my head.
chapter thirteen
Except for the roar of blood in my ears and the pounding of my heart, I couldn’t hear a thing.
Instinctively, as soon as it registered how close I’d come to having a bullet in my brain, I slid down the trunk of the tree and crouched close to the ground. I looked all around, seeing nothing, nobody.
The lake was placid, undisturbed. There was no one on the beach either in front of me or behind me. And in the woods it was already dusk, hard to see any detail.
There had to be someone in the woods.
Yet no twig snapped, no breeze stirred the leaves or the pine boughs. Nothing moved within my line of vision.
Watch your step, Jack had warned. Don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t get caught snooping.
Had I already given myself away to a killer? Anybody who saw the list of suspects I’d left on the Judge’s desk—which could mean anyone who lived in the house or anyone who went into the Judge’s office on Saturday—could have figured out I was trying to determine who might have killed Zoe. Today, everyone at the lake had gone to the funeral, and as far as I knew, most of them had come back to our house later. I’d left my list in my bedroom upstairs in the cottage. With me over at the cove, anyone might have snooped and found it.
I looked at the furrow plowed through the birch bark over my head, trying to figure out the trajectory of the bullet that had come so close to me. Yes, it had to have been fired from somewhere in the woods.
I was lucky it hadn’t been a more accurate shot.
Or perhaps it hadn’t been intended to kill me, only to scare me.
Well, it had done that all right. One of my legs was beginning to cramp and I wanted to stand up, but what if the rifleman was waiting for me to do that so he could try again?
I didn’t dare move. I felt as if someone waited back in the shadows, as if eyes watched me, awaiting another chance with the rifle.
Finally, I had to at least shift my weight, so I could massage out the cramp in my leg. I stayed close to the ground and nothing happened. Still I waited for what seemed a very long time.
Gradually my heartbeat slowed, my breathing became more normal. And the conviction that I was being watched slowly went away.
Could I trust that feeling? Enough to stand up and run for home?
I’d have to, unless I stayed here all night. Besides, logic told me that whoever was out there wouldn’t hang around for long after the shot had been fired, for fear he’d get caught.
Yet when I finally gathered the courage to move, and raced back toward the cottage as fast as I could go, I found that nobody there had heard the shot.
Mom and Dad came down the stairs a moment after I burst into the house. Misty and Ginny and Randy were there, with my little sister, Freddy, and they’d turned on some music.
Just as I reached them, the Judge came out of his study and said rather irritably, “Turn that thing down, will you, please? They can probably hear it a mile away.”
Aunt Mavis came from the back of the house. “Ginny, for heaven’s sake, that’s hardly appropriate for a house of mourning. Turn it off. It sounds so . . . disrespectful.”
“Oh, I don’t mind if they leave it on, if they’ll lower the volume,” the Judge said. “I doubt if they meant any disrespect. Molly . . . Molly always enjoyed their music.”
With that he turned and went back into his study, closing the door.
By this time Randy had reached for the control and subdued the pulsating rhythm.
I was out of breath from running. I looked around at their faces, realizing immediately that no one had been aware that I’d been scared half to death by a rifle shot.
“Someone was shooting, out in the woods toward the bottom of the lake,” I said.
Dad dropped into an easy chair and reached for the paper. “I hope he’s being careful, whoever it was. It’s not a good place to do target shooting.”
“I’m getting hungry,” Mom said. “Anybody else want anything to eat?”
There was a general movement toward the kitchen. How could they all be so calm, as if nothing had happened? As Ginny moved past me, I touched her arm.
“How long have you guys been here in the living room?”
Her expression was blank. “I don’t know. Half an hour or so. Randy’s folks went over to Traverse, and they said we couldn’t stay there alone, so we came here.”
My mouth was dry. “Was the Judge here the whole time? In his office? Or did he come in after you guys got here?”
She shrugged. “I guess he was here the whole time. I didn’t see him until he just came out and told us to turn the music down. You coming with us to get something to eat?”
“No. I’m not hungry,” I said truthfully.
And then, just before she got out of range, I asked, “Did you turn on the music loud as soon as you got here? Like, half an hour ago?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing,” I said, my mouth dryer than ever.
Was there a chance that the Judge had managed to come into the house just before I got there, and gone into his study after he’d hidden the rifle somewhere? Because otherwise, if the music had been loud all along, wouldn’t he have come out sooner and told them to turn it down?
Yet if he’d entered his study after all the kids got there, someone would have seen him. And if he was in the study the whole time, he couldn’t possibly have been out in the woods, shooting at me.
I couldn’t believe what I was thinking.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when I walked past the side of the house facing the lake, that I noticed the study window. It was situated directly over the reel with the garden hose on it.
My heart began to race again. Could someone have climbed in—or out—of that window, stepping on the reel to reach the ground or the window?
I stared at it, not quite able to see into the study because I was too low down.
It was possible. The Judge could have closed himself into the room (with witnesses as to when he went in, maybe?) and gone out the window, picked up the rifle from wherever he’d previously hidden it, and stalked me from the shelter of the trees. The pines were full, especially at the bottoms, and he could have moved without showing himself to me.
An
d if he’d then returned to the house, giving up on getting another crack at me—not daring to linger out there for fear someone would discover he was gone—he could have stepped up onto the hose reel, then in through the window, and come out as soon as he was sure I’d returned, making everyone think he’d been there all the time.
I felt sick and scared, and prayed I was wrong. Who would ever believe me if I told them I suspected such a terrible thing?
Wouldn’t even Mom and Dad think I had an overactive imagination? That there was no evidence that the Judge was guilty of anything? Dad had taken it for granted when I said someone was shooting; that it had been done carelessly, not with malice.
I wanted to tell him, but if I did it would be out in the open. He would talk to the Judge. And then for sure the Judge would know that I suspected him.
And what next? Either he would then take steps to quash any suspicions, or he’d be terribly hurt. He wouldn’t want to be my grandfather anymore, wouldn’t invite us back to the lake, buy us presents, or offer to pay anybody’s college costs.
I couldn’t tell Dad. But I had to tell Jack.
I turned away from the study window and headed toward the Shuriks’ cabin where disappointment increased the ache I already had in my chest. There was nobody there. Jack and Lina were both working.
Now what? There was nothing to do but wait.
On the way home again I tried to think of how to gather enough evidence to convince Dad I wasn’t crazy. Or to convince me that I was, which would be even better. I’d rather be crazy than accept as true the terrible things I’d been thinking.
I didn’t expect to find everybody clustered around Dad’s car as he put a couple of suitcases into the trunk.
Mom turned around and saw me. “Cici, thank goodness you finally showed up. Where have you been?”
“I went over to talk to . . . Lina. But she wasn’t home,” I said. “Is Dad leaving already?”
“I’m going with him, just for a few days,” Mom said, and panic exploded through me. “Don’t worry, I won’t take you and Freddy away from the lake. I’ll fly back up to Traverse City, probably by the weekend.”
She couldn’t have seen the stricken look I know was on my face. Without conscious thought I glanced at the Judge, who handed Dad Mom’s overnight case. He gave me a smile, then patted Freddy on the head.
“No sense in ruining your vacation,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of company here until Vivian comes back. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
He looked directly at me when he spoke, and my heart, which had been racing, seemed almost to stop. Was there something sinister in his expression, or was it only my guilty suspicions that caused me to think so?
I blinked, and he was simply the Judge: kindly, but expecting everyone to meet his standards. I felt as if I couldn’t get quite enough air.
I tried to find words to stop both my parents from leaving, but nothing came out straight.
“I don’t want . . . I didn’t know you were going to . . . We could drive back with you,” I said desperately.
“Oh, honey, we wouldn’t think of it. Your friends are here, after all. And there’s no point in paying for three airline tickets to come back.”
She was already getting into the car, and I looked at Dad. “Please, if you go home I can’t . . .” Talk to you, I thought, but how could I make any kind of explanation with the Judge standing right there?
“Sorry I can’t stay longer, punkin,” Dad said, and came around the car to give me a hug. I wanted him to see in my face that I was disturbed, but he crushed me against him so that he couldn’t see my eyes. There was no way I could send a silent message. He released me and hugged Freddy, too, and then, while I was struggling with the fear of being left without him, he got into the car and turned on the engine.
“Dad—wait!” I said, consternation in my voice.
But he didn’t hear it, and when I tried to run around to his side of the car, I felt a hand on my arm, stopping me.
“Let them go, Cici. They’re later now than they intended to be. They waited for you to show up.”
The Judge’s touch immobilized me, struck me dumb. Already it was too late. The car was moving, and I felt like a fly with a collector’s pin stuck through it, still alive, but waiting to die.
The firm grip on my arm loosened, and the Judge turned toward the house. “There’s the telephone. I hope Mrs. Graden will pick it up. I can’t move as fast as I used to.”
A phone call. That reminded me. “There was a call for you, the day Molly died,” I blurted. “A man who didn’t give his name.”
He stopped, and inside the house the ringing ceased. “Oh? What did he want? Did he leave a number?”
“No. But he said, ‘I think you forgot something, Judge. I won’t wait.’ That was all.”
It had seemed odd at the time. Now, though nothing in the Judge’s face changed, it was sinister. What had the caller meant, that he ‘wouldn’t wait’? What had he intended to do if he had to wait? What was he waiting for?
The Judge made a scoffing sound. “Another crackpot, maybe.” He looked to where the housekeeper stood in the doorway. “Is that for me, Mrs. Graden?”
Freddy and Misty were already drifting away. Ilona had come out carrying a book, and she went back up onto the porch to continue reading. My aunts followed the Judge, and I was left alone.
I’d never minded being alone before, but this was different.
I rubbed my arms and my hands were icy cold.
I wished I knew if the Judge had seen that list I’d made of possible suspects in Zoe’s murder, or if someone else had seen it and mentioned it to him.
I cursed myself now that I hadn’t talked to Dad, risking being thought an idiot if my suspicions were wrong. At least, if something happened to me, he would have known where to start looking for a culprit.
I stood, dazed, watching the younger kids gathering on the beach and the dock beyond the house. How could I, Cici Linden, be standing here contemplating being murdered, the same as Zoe?
chapter fourteen
Don’t get caught snooping, Jack had said.
Had I been caught? If someone had shot at me on purpose, it just about had to be because I was getting too close to the truth somewhere, didn’t it?
Why had I let Mom and Dad drive away before I had a chance to talk to them? Why hadn’t I cried, or fainted, or done any stupid thing to make them stay long enough for me to tell them how scared I was, especially since that shot had come within inches of my head?
I considered talking to one of my aunts, but immediately rejected that idea. Neither of them would give much credit to my story, not once I told them I thought the Judge might be a killer. They’d have brought in the men in the white coats with the straitjackets.
It wouldn’t be any better with anyone else at the lake. They were all closer friends with the Judge than I was, and they’d all known him for years. Forced to choose between my story—with a complete lack of evidence—and the Judge’s, I didn’t have to wonder who they’d believe.
I didn’t know if I dared to walk through the woods or along the beach or anywhere. I didn’t even know if I was safe in my own room. There was no lock on the door.
Ginny had already gone off with Randy to do whatever they did. Only the little kids were still around, playing on the dock and in the water.
I headed for them, hoping the Judge—or whoever it was—wouldn’t do anything to me while there were witnesses.
If I hadn’t been so nervous it would have been a boring morning, but just about the time I decided I’d have to go inside and get some lunch, even if it meant facing the Judge across the table, I saw Jack coming along the shore.
I slid off the dock, putting a splinter into my behind, but hardly caring. I walked quickly to meet him.
“Hi, Cici.” He was wearing jeans and an old blue T-shirt. “The boss is sending me over to Greenway to pick up some parts. You want to ride along?”
Did I! Rel
ief made me weak. “I haven’t had any lunch, but I’ll skip it,” I decided.
“It’s okay. I haven’t had anything to eat, either. We’ll grab a burger.” He grinned. “My treat.”
There was something about the way the grin immediately faded that made me suspect there was an underlying seriousness about his invitation, but I was too full of my own situation to consider it yet.
“I was hoping to see you yesterday, but you weren’t home. Jack, somebody shot at me.”
He had started to retrace his steps, but now he stopped. “Tell me,” he said, so I did.
“Show me,” he said when I’d finished. “We’ll take the extra time out of my lunch break.”
So we went along the beach until we reached the spot where I’d hunkered down for so long, wondering if any movement would bring another attempt to kill me.
Jack studied the track the bullet had carved through the birch bark. “Show me where you were when he fired.”
With an uneasy glance into the woods, I moved into position.
Jack silently evaluated me and the scarred tree. “It was a warning shot, I think. Anybody around here who shoots a rifle has better aim than this. I mean, it was above your head, not at your chest or stomach, which is where I’d have aimed if I were trying to kill somebody. And the shooter couldn’t have been too far back into the woods, or he’d never have managed to get a bullet between the trees. So he didn’t intend to kill you, just scare you.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me forgive him,” I said. It was all too easy to imagine that bullet striking me instead of the tree. “Who here at the lake has a rifle?”
“Just about everybody. Brody and I each have one. Fergus, the Judge, Powells, Atterboms, the Cyreks.” Jack shrugged, then touched my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
He had his boss’s car. For the first ten minutes he didn’t say anything, so I didn’t either; I guess he had conditioned me as a fishing buddy to keep still unless he wanted to talk.
I’d never ridden with Jack driving before. I liked the way he handled the car, liked the look of his tanned hands on the wheel, and I glanced at his profile from time to time.
Twisted Summer Page 11