After an eternity she reached her house. She’d passed no one.
She nudged into her garage before the door stopped rolling up. Shut off the engine.
Paige flung herself through the house, cleaning up after the deed. Tearing off her wet clothes, throwing them onto the bathroom floor along with the sheet and gloves. In her pajamas, she turned on the back deck light and trotted out to make sure she’d covered the hot tub. Checked briefly for any remaining bits of Edna San on the deck — a hair, a wayward piece of fabric. After a shower she would have to sweep the deck clean. She even remembered to run back into the garage, pick up the trowel and put it away. All these tasks she performed with her mind on hold, pushing her enervated body beyond its limits.
By the time she dragged herself into the kitchen for some much needed water, it was nearly five o’clock. Suddenly, as if a plug within her had disintegrated, her adrenaline and strength drained away. Paige sagged against the counter, knees weakening. Chills came, tearing into her body with a predator’s fury. Wrapping trembling fingers around the lip of the sink, she found the stubbornness to stay on her feet.
Paige shook.
Twice she threw up in the sink.
Finally she stopped quivering. Paige straightened slowly. Whatever would become of her now? How could she live with this secret, with the constant fear of its discovery? She raised dull eyes to the window, the view of the lake that had once seemed so beautiful. No more. Parting the night sky were the pointing fingers of an accusing violet dawn.
Not until she was in the shower, scrubbing away the odor of Edna San, did Paige realize she’d left her flashlight at the lake.
PART TWO: Hunted
SIXTEEN
Paige swept the garage, her body numb with the mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. Around seven o’clock she’d tried to sleep for thirty minutes but ended up tossing and turning, realizing all the cleaning she had yet to do. Her final deed of the dawn certainly hadn’t helped her relax. Horrified at her stupidity, she’d leapt out of the shower, thrown on clothes, and driven back to the mocking water to retrieve the flashlight, praying the whole way that no one would pass her on Lakeshore.
Two cars had. She had no idea who the drivers were. And now she refused to think about it. What was done was done.
She’d put the heavy flashlight away in the garage’s metal cabinet.
Frowning, Paige concentrated on her work. Plenty remained to be cleaned, and by nine fifteen at the very latest she needed to be getting ready for work. She also had to eat some breakfast. Not that food had any appeal on this terrible morning, but she couldn’t afford to faint behind the Simple Pleasures counter.
Right now every bit of dust on the garage floor, every piece of lint, had to be swept into a bin and thrown away in the forest. If the worst happened and someone did come here looking for clues of Edna, they would find none.
Paige leaned the broom against the wall. She’d swept from the back door to the car and now needed to move the Explorer to the driveway. She hit the button and the front door slid open. The morning greeted her with a pine-scented breeze, the twittering of birds.
Another beautiful day in peaceful Kanner Lake.
She tipped back her head and closed her eyes. With the sunny sky and clear air, she wished she could convince herself that last night had been a nightmare. Terrifying and vivid but nothing more.
Not a chance. Even now the talons of its memory sank into her skin.
She climbed into the Explorer, all its windows down, and sniffed experimentally. The lingering smell was nearly gone. Earlier when she’d vacuumed the car, Paige had been aghast at the clinging odor — a nauseating combination of hot tub chemicals, wet silk, sodden perfume, and something akin to rotting vegetables. She’d rolled down all the windows in a hurry, praying the smell hadn’t seeped into the damp carpet in back. The leather on the driver’s seat had been toweled off, but the hatchback area would have to dry on its own. In the arid Idaho air, it shouldn’t take long.
With the Explorer in the driveway, she returned to her sweeping. She could leave no sign of the path Edna’s corpse had forged when she dragged it across the garage. And no piece of dirt tracked out from the crawl space. Paige clutched the broom handle hard, arms swinging. Her shoulders already ached from the work she’d performed last night. But she gave the discomfort little heed.
How long before they discovered Edna was missing?
Paige knew Edna had a live-in assistant — the gray-haired woman who drove her around town in the black Mercedes with tinted windows. Who shopped for her in the grocery store, took her clothes to the cleaners. Paige had never talked to this woman and knew little of Edna’s habits other than the whispers she’d heard. Would the assistant think Edna had merely taken a walk in the woods? Or driven somewhere by herself — if her car was gone?
One thing Paige had learned during her month in Kanner Lake — Edna San was legendary in the area. Perhaps some liked the woman, but most citizens resented her mean-spiritedness and arrogance. Edna San seemed to think the small town was hers to run, apparently since Hollywood had worshiped her for so many years.
Whenever the news of her disappearance hit, Kanner Lake would be abuzz. And word would quickly spread. Reporters would descend — no stopping that.
Paige just had to lie low. Keep her face off camera. That shouldn’t be hard. Who was she anyway but a new girl in town, the quiet and considerate helper in Simple Pleasures?
By eight forty-five Paige was satisfied that the garage floor lay clean.
Half an hour left to finish her tasks.
FIFTEEN
At seven thirty Vince Edwards pulled himself from bed with a sigh. Nancy had left for work over two hours ago. He hadn’t woken to tell her good-bye. Vince’s muscles were still tight and he barely felt rested. But the sun shone through his window and his inner clock ticked. He would find no more sleep this morning.
His headache lingered.
He planned to work around the house on this day off. Everyone in town knew tomorrow was the anniversary of Tim’s death, and Vince didn’t want to face their empathy, the sorrow in their eyes.
In the shower he dropped a new bar of soap, and the thwap against tile triggered the bomb in his head for the millionth time.
He raked up the soap, stuck it back into its silver holder. Hot water pound-pounded his body but could not wash away the pictures of Tim in his mind.
By rote he dressed. Khaki pants, a tucked-in brown golf shirt. Vince studied his face in the fading fog of the bathroom mirror, wondering how he could look so old at forty-five. He had a strong Roman nose, a wide jaw. A smile that once was quick. Women used to think him handsome. Now look at him. Lines around his eyes, down each side of his mouth. An expression of weariness and pain.
He reached into the medicine cabinet for two aspirin.
In his kitchen of country blue, Vince fried two eggs and three pieces of bacon. He pulled out a wooden chair from the table, its legs sputtering over the white tile. The salty, rich smell of his breakfast drifted up as he set down his meal and sank into his seat.
He’d taken three bites when the phone rang.
Vince glanced at it, chewing. He rose from his chair, reached toward the countertop for the phone. “Vince here.”
“Hi, Chief. Sorry to bother you at home, but I’ve got something you’ll want to know about.”
Frank West’s voice — the fresh-faced young police officer who would’ve reported for his shift at six a.m.
Vince set down his fork, dubious of the thinly veiled excitement in Frank’s tone. The kid was solid enough, but he was only six months on the job and had a tendency toward the dramatic. Probably had something to do with those paperback crime novels he always read. “Okay, shoot.”
“Edna San is missing.”
Vince blinked. “Define ‘missing.’ ”
“Missing, as in not where she’s supposed to be. Which is at home.”
“Who reported it?”
; “Dispatch called a few minutes ago. Ms. San’s assistant — you know that woman who’s always driving her around? — was the one who phoned 911. Her name’s Francesca Galvin. I just called her to get the story. Thought I should know a few details before I bothered you.”
“Good thinking. Yeah, I know Francesca.” Vince eyed his eggs. “What’d you find out?” He picked up his fork, slid a large bite into his mouth.
“Okay. She lives on Ms. San’s property in a guest cottage. According to her, Ms. San takes breakfast in bed at seven o’clock — every morning. But today Ms. Galvin walked over to find an empty house. The burglar alarm wasn’t on and some back door was unlocked. Things she said Ms. San would never allow. The master bedroom door was open. All Ms. San’s stuff seemed to be there, even her purse. And her car’s in the garage. But the bed hasn’t been slept in.”
Vince swallowed, not overly concerned. Edna San would likely turn up soon. Most missing people did. And this woman certainly had a mind of her own. “All right. Who’s on duty this morning with you — Jim?”
With a population of seventeen hundred, Kanner Lake employed only five officers, including Vince. The four men under him worked ten-hour shifts, four days a week.
“Yeah. You want to meet me at the San estate, or you want him to go with me?”
No way could he stay home on this one, Vince thought. Movie Queen was just a little too famous. He didn’t want any pointing fingers accusing that he’d taken Frank’s call too lightly. Besides, if something really had happened to her, he’d feel terrible for not checking into it sooner. “No, I’d better get out there with you.”
“Okay.” Frank hesitated. “Chief, I think this might really be something. Ms. Galvin insisted this is highly unlike Ms. San. Said the woman just wouldn’t go anywhere on her own, especially on foot.”
Vince considered that. Edna San had managed to make numerous enemies in town before she even moved to Kanner Lake. With the sheer force of her reputation she’d managed to convince old, half-senile Wally Keller to part with a prime twenty acres of land long owned by his family. Poor man had wept buckets since then, claiming she’d snookered him in a weak moment. Everyone in town felt sorry for Wally, decrying that the price she’d paid was a fraction of what she should have offered — and could well afford.
Vince glanced at the sunflower clock on the kitchen wall — a present he’d surprised Nancy with years ago. She’d gotten teary-eyed at the gesture. It was almost eight o’clock. “Well, Frank, we’ll check it out. I’ll meet you at the San estate at eight fifteen. I’ll bring a tape recorder. You bring your notebook and the camera.”
Vince was used to running out of the house at a moment’s notice. In short shrift he wolfed down his remaining breakfast, brushed his teeth, and changed into his uniform. He gathered his tape recorder and cell phone, locked up the house, and slid into his black-and-white police car. Soon, he hoped, Edna San would show up — and he could beat it back home.
He headed down Spram Street, where he and Nancy had lived for the past twenty years. They’d raised their daughter, Heather, in that home. And Tim.
Vince focused on the road, trying to push away the pictures in his mind. Tim as a little towhead, batting his first ball . . . Tim riding his first bike . . . On the lake with his dad, catching his first fish. Poor kid had gotten a terrible sunburn, and Nancy had been furious at Vince. Tim didn’t care — he’d proudly displayed his three small fish, crimson face split with a grin . . . Tim grown up, strapping and ready to take on the world. “Dad, I’ve enlisted. It’s the right thing to do . . .” Catching the bus to report for duty . . . Hugging his dad for what would be the last time . . .
The familiar hot laser seared Vince’s gut.
Three quarters of a mile from his house he passed Main Street, home of downtown Kanner Lake — all four blocks of it. He headed toward Lakeshore Road and turned east. On his right the top end of the lake sparkled under morning sun, calm before the Jet Skiers and boaters churned its waves. Vince passed the city beach, also quiet at this early hour. Tourists would occupy it soon enough, venturing from the many B and Bs throughout town and around the lake. The temperature was supposed to reach eighty-nine today, and the air was already warm. Vince drove with his front windows down. Evergreen trees slid by. The northern Idaho smell of timber — sort of sweet, with a tang to it — drifted into the car.
He rounded the top of the lake and headed south. After about eight more minutes of driving, he reached Edna San’s estate.
The ostentatious gate had been enough to rile many a Kanner Lake citizen. And surely not a local existed who hadn’t driven out here to ogle the thing. It was made of heavy wrought iron, ornate enough for an English castle. A smoothly paved driveway, lined on either side with multicolored flowers, disappeared into the woods beyond the gate. Every inch of the surrounding forest floor was cleaned of dead branches and debris. A natural habitat, yes, but one pristine enough for Disneyland.
Red warning signs — Idaho Prime Security System — were affixed on either side of the gate. Another sign read Caution! Guard Dog on Duty. Vince glanced down the driveway but saw no dog. He hoped Francesca Galvin had thought to chain up the animal.
He climbed out of his car. Next to the gate he spotted a small bell. He pushed it.
“Yes?” A disembodied female voice sounded from a small speaker.
“It’s Chief Edwards.”
“Oh, good.”
The gate swung open.
Seconds later Vince was easing down the perfectly poured driveway into the actress’s private domain.
SEVENTEEN
Vince rounded the last bend of Edna San’s driveway — and her magnificent house swept into view.
Wow.
His imaginings of this place hadn’t done it justice. Under huge trees, perfectly groomed green lawns were edged with lush flowers of every color. The massive house of beige wood and stone rose two stories, with a pillared porch running its entire length. Arched, mullioned windows. To the right of the house Vince caught a glimpse of the backyard and the sparkling lake some one hundred yards beyond. To the left and in the trees some distance away, he spotted a small house made of similar stone.
Frank West’s car was parked in the circular driveway. No doubt the kid was inside, trying his best to look professional as he ogled the place. Vince parked behind the vehicle and got out of his car, carrying his tape recorder. Mounting the three curved flagstone steps, he trod across the porch and rang the bell. Westminster chimes pealed in rich tones.
He winced. The sounds reminded him of the music at Tim’s funeral. That horrible day, with the closed casket. The folding of the flag. Nancy’s sobs.
From inside the house came footsteps. The huge carved door pulled back to reveal Francesca Galvin, looking as worn and worried as Vince had ever seen her. Francesca was a small, wiry woman in perhaps her midsixties, with the quick, efficient movements of a bird building a nest. Vince had talked to her on various occasions as she shopped or ran errands for Edna San. With her focused, no-nonsense attitude, the gray-haired assistant always appeared in calm control of any situation. But not so this morning.
“Come in, come in.” She beckoned him with a fluttering hand, her forehead etched. The minute he stepped over the threshold, she shut the door with a leery glance outside, as if he were chased by phantoms. He glanced around, noting the gleaming tile floor of the entryway, a curving staircase to the left, formal living room to the right —
“Hi, Chief.” Frank West appeared through a door directly ahead, walking straight-backed and with an air of solemn efficiency. He carried a notebook with a pen stuck in its spiral binding, camera slung over his shoulder. One hand rested on his hip, close to his gun. His serious expression mixed focused intent with an almost boyish anticipation.
“Morning, Frank.”
The kid ran a hand through his short-cropped brown hair.
“I was just looking around the kitchen. Ms. Galvin” — he nodded toward Francesca — �
�informed me that the keys to Ms. San’s Benz are always kept in a certain drawer, and they’re there. And the car’s in the garage.”
Francesca ran her tongue over her lips, thrust her right hand to the base of her neck. Tangible anxiety emanated from her, nudging her other hand to pull at the fabric of her tan slacks. Vince nodded to her. “I know you’ve been over some things already, but I need to hear it from the beginning. Where’s a good place for us to sit?”
“Yes.” Francesca’s nervous fingers roamed to her blouse. “Come this way. We’ll talk at the dining room table.”
Vince and Frank exchanged a glance as she scurried ahead of them, leading the way. In a missing person’s case, the last one to see the person was always the first suspect. Vince had been picking up Francesca’s nonverbal cues since she opened the door. The woman was clearly uneasy. Could be no more than concern for her employer. Could be more.
Vince’s head pounded. He hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.
Francesca led them down a short, wide hall off the kitchen and into the formal dining room. A gleaming cherrywood table rested beneath a crystal chandelier, and a matching hutch displayed china and finely fluted goblets. Vince hesitated at the table, afraid his tape recorder would scratch it.
“Wait, please.” Francesca pulled a blue silk placemat from a drawer of the hutch and laid it on the table. “Here.” She shot him a tight smile.
“Thanks.” He placed the tape recorder on the mat and pulled out a chair. Frank sat at the end of the table, leaving Francesca to sit opposite Vince.
“Don’t let this bother you.” Vince pointed to the machine.
“It’s just routine. This way we won’t miss anything you say. It’s a backup to Officer West’s notes.”
Francesca placed her elbows on the table, hands clasped, and nodded.
Violet Dawn Page 6