by Lexi Eddings
A chorus of howls and shrieks came from inside the construction of hay and cornstalks. Someone set off a string of firecrackers about fifty yards from the entrance, and the Rotarians who were collecting the required canned goods left their post to chase after the punk with the fuse. As soon as the entrance was unguarded, a full dozen high school kids ran in to join the group already inside the maze, without dropping a donation into the bins.
Mike shook his head. “That’s something I would’ve done. Stupid kids.”
“Makes you feel a little old though, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess. Or maybe just a little wiser. If those fireworks had gone wrong, a spark could have sent up the whole maze. But when I was their age, I never thought about what might happen either.”
More howling came from the maze, followed by squeals of laughter.
“Maybe we should just walk along the lakeshore,” Heather suggested. He nodded and put an arm around her waist as they changed direction. It felt so good to be beside him.
Almost as if it’s meant to be.
“This doesn’t bother you?” he finally said as they neared the softly lapping water.
Heather didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. They’d stopped only a few yards from where Jessica had driven her car into Lake Jewel. “It used to. At first, I couldn’t bear to even look at the lake. But after a while . . . well, time passes, summer, winter, snow and rain. It’s not like the grief is ever completely washed away, but the ache I used to feel when I’m around the lake has faded.”
She sat on a rock outcropping and let her legs swing over the edge. There was still a good two-foot drop to the water below her feet.
“Now when I come down to the lake, I remember the good times when Jess and I would go swimming. Or when Dad would rent a pontoon for the day and we’d lie out in the sun and get brown as berries.”
“I remember that.”
“You do?”
“I always noticed you, Heather.”
“When you weren’t calling me Stilts.”
“That was noticing you too, in a goofy kid sort of way.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Not very well.” He settled on the rock beside her. “But speaking of work, several members of my team from New York are thinking about making a permanent move here.”
“Really?” Heather had seen some of Michael’s developers in town, stopping in at the Green Apple and other businesses around the Square. The girl with spiky purple hair who was his personal assistant was especially hard to miss.
“Yeah. The design group has been working out at the Ouachita Inn for the past couple of weeks and some of them really like the area,” Michael said.
“Well, I’ll be.”
“Mostly the ones who have kids. Once they get the feel of grass under their feet, it’s hard to go back to concrete,” Mike said. “But there are a few singles who said they’d like to give small-town life a try, too.”
“That’s surprising.”
“A city can be exciting, but it can also be a challenge if you’re looking to make some real connections. You can get lost in a crowd, and my people are saying they’ve never met so many friendly folks as they have here.”
“Are you planning to move the whole company?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got some die-hard New Yorkers on the payroll who don’t think there’s any civilization to speak of between there and LA.”
“They might be right.”
“Here’s to being a hairy barbarian!” Michael grinned and hoisted an imaginary mug. “Anyway, I can’t afford to lose that talent pool, so we’ll keep the office in New York. Besides, I like the buzz of the city, too, sometimes, so I’ll divide my time. The Ouachita Inn will become our satellite campus. If it works for Google to have multiple locations, it’ll work for MoreCommas.”
“Does that mean you’ll be here for good?”
“If you want me to be.” His baritone rumbled over her, caressing her with its chocolaty smoothness as he put his arms around her. She went all gooey inside. “Heather, I need to tell you something important.”
She looked up at him. The moonlight reflecting off the lake divided his handsome face into light and shadow. Bright and dark—that was Michael Evans to a T. But even the dark places in him called to her.
He’s going to tell me he loves me.
Heather felt the unspoken words dancing in the air around them. She tipped her face up to him, inviting him to kiss her. She’d been daydreaming about kissing Michael during her whole shift at the hospital, sometimes having to give herself a little shake to focus back on the moment. She owed it to her patients to be fully engaged, but Mike kept invading her head and her heart. He made it awfully hard to concentrate when all the time she was longing for him to kiss her.
He didn’t disappoint.
It was like their souls mingled in that kiss, all tangled up so that even once it ended, they each carried a bit of the other still inside them. The lump in her chest turned to aching sweetness as she looked up at him.
Michael might have a sketchy past, but he was good inside. She was sure of it. And even if he was a little bad, well, that sort of gave her license to be bad, too. No matter how naughty she was feeling, she could count on him to be naughtier. It was a weird twist on a safety net, but it worked for her.
Heather pulled his head down and kissed him. She wished it would go on forever.
I could invite him back to my place.
Maybe this time Lacy wouldn’t interrupt with a wedding emergency. Maybe tonight would be about her and Michael. Maybe they’d finally know each other, deeply, truly.
And when morning’s sun glinted off Lake Jewel, the world would be a different place, because she wouldn’t be alone anymore. She’d wake with Michael beside her.
When their lips parted, he didn’t pull away. Still close, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“I was there that night,” he said softly.
“What night?” Wait a minute. Where’s that ‘I love you’ I was expecting? “What are you talking about?”
“The night your sister died. I was there.”
Chapter 26
LOST AND FOUND
Lost: Grandpappy Bugtussle’s urn. Sort of looks like a old coffee can, ’cuz that’s what it is. We done took him out to the corn maze for Halloween on account of how he used to love seeing the kids dressed up in bed sheets and raisin’ holy heck. Reckon one of us, ain’t sayin’ who but we’re thinkin’ it was Aaron since he’s still a mite puny after his bout with appendicitis, leastways, he musta set Grandpappy down on a hay bale somewheres. Anyhoo, we’d dearly like to have him back. Great-Grandmammy and Uncle Oliver’s cans look mighty lonesome on the mantel without him. Call 555-0169 and ask for Junior. Reward offered for safe return: One of Darlene’s blue ribbon-winnin’ pumpkin pies.
—The Coldwater Gazette classifieds
The sweetness in Heather’s chest melted away, and her heart began to race in a hitching rhythm. “What do you mean you were there that night?”
“Just what he says. He’s coming clean about that much anyway, him being at the scene and all,” came a voice from the shadows. “But anything else he has to say about your sister’s unfortunate death will no doubt be a bunch of self-serving lies.”
A woman in oversized spectacles and seriously high heels stepped from behind a nearby arbutus tree and marched toward them.
Heather scrambled to her feet, and Michael rose with her. This person had been spying on them. Her growing uneasiness over whatever Mike was trying to tell her was quickly swamped by this new violation.
“Who are you?” Heather demanded.
“Hey, I know you.” Mike cocked his head at the newcomer. “You’re Stiletto Girl.”
If the woman had been gifted with super powers, her malevolent glare would have reduced Michael to a pile of smoldering ash. But since she couldn’t immolate him with a look, she turned from him with a sniff. “That�
��s Dr. Judith Hildebrand to you, and who I am is the investigative producer of a new reality show about the dirty little secrets of the rich and infamous.” She arched a brow at Michael and then looked back at Heather. “I intend to see justice done for your sister, Jessica, by exposing the truth about her death.”
The hitching jitters in Heather’s chest settled into a heavy lump instead.
“Come on, Heather.” Mike grasped her elbow and would have pulled her away, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait!” Heather’s nursing training kicked in. Gather information. Assess. Then act. “How do you know this person?”
“Stiletto Girl was part of a reality show I got roped into years ago when I first landed in New York,” Michael said. “It was a stupid thing that didn’t go anywhere. I never even heard that it aired.”
“My name is Dr. Hildebrand, not Stiletto Girl. And for your information, the show did air, but the network didn’t give us the right time slot so we didn’t find our audience quickly enough,” the woman said to Mike in clipped tones before directing her piercing gaze back to Heather. “That reality show is where I first encountered Michael Evans. And that’s where I discovered he had a deep, dark secret he didn’t want to come out. A secret I have now uncovered.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and held out a thumb drive. “He was starting to tell you about the night your sister died. Listen to his excuses if you wish, but if you want to know the truth, watch this.”
Mike reached for it, but Hildebrand snatched it back. “It’s not for you. It’s for her. And in case you’re wondering, I’ve got plenty more where this one came from. Several are on their way to my producer friends, who will love the idea of tarring the newest dot-com golden boy with a scandal surrounding the death of poor Jessica Walker. There’s no stopping this story, so you might as well admit it, Evans. You were in the whole sordid mess up to your eyeballs.” Then Dr. Hildebrand smiled—a truly ghastly expression. “Of course, if you want to tell viewers your side, I’ll be happy to shoot a rebuttal interview to add to the package.”
Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t protest. He didn’t deny. He just took a step back. Heather didn’t move at all. It was as if she’d made the mistake of looking behind her to the past, and it had turned her into a pillar of salt.
“You’re probably beyond the statute of limitations for the infractions that occurred, so you likely aren’t looking at jail time,” Dr. Hildebrand said to Mike with a curled-lip expression that screamed disappointment. “But just think about what this news will do to your IPO.”
She held out the thumb drive to Heather again, stretching a little farther toward her. “Take it. If you care about your sister at all, it’ll be hard watching, but you’ll thank me in the end.”
Somehow, Heather held out her palm, and Dr. Hildebrand dropped the thumb drive into it. Without another word, the woman Mike called “Stiletto Girl” turned and stomped off. The night went still as a frozen pond. Even the kids in the maze at the far end of the lakeshore had quieted down.
Then the stillness was interrupted by the sound of a stumble and fall in the dark, followed by a muttered curse.
“I can’t frickin’ believe it! I broke another heel! Is there nothing to walk on but rocks and dirt and cobblestone in this God-forsaken town?”
After that, Dr. Hildebrand disappeared into the night and silence descended again. Wind soughed through the treetops, sending the last of the fall leaves to the ground in a dusty flurry. Still, Heather couldn’t bring herself to move, much less say anything. Her thoughts chased each other around as if they were kids in the maze.
“Well,” Michael finally said. “I guess we’d better go watch whatever’s on that thumb drive.”
“No.” Heather’s fingers closed over the little device. Michael had already admitted he was there that night. All this time, he knew more about her sister’s death than anyone, and he hadn’t said a word. It was as deep a betrayal as she could imagine. Tears pressed against her eyes. “We aren’t going anywhere together. I need to watch it alone.”
* * *
Heather lengthened her stride as she hurried back to her apartment. Michael followed, keeping pace easily, but she ignored him. She took the iron steps that led up to her place two at a time.
“Heather, will you slow down and let me explain?” he said as he stomped up the metal stairs behind her, making the whole staircase ring.
“You had plenty of time to do that.” She unlocked her door quickly, zipped inside, slammed it in his face, and flipped the deadbolt. Then, ignoring his loud knock, she pulled out her laptop and booted it. With trembling fingers, she plugged in the thumb drive, and a jerky video appeared on the screen.
The sun was shining as the camera panned the shore of Lake Jewel, pausing for a moment on the park gazebo and the rock outcropping Heather and Mike had recently been sitting on. Then the videographer did a slow three-sixty, sliding the lens past the big Victorian houses that ringed the park. Pointing heavenward, the Methodist church steeple rose above nearby rooftops. Dr. Hildebrand’s cheap video equipment managed to pick up the carillon clanging out a fragment of a hymn. Finally, the hill leading up to the Town Square and Heather’s place came into view. From that angle, her wrought-iron deck and staircase resembled the architecture in New Orleans’s French Quarter.
“Coldwater Cove, a sleepy little town filled with pleasant-seeming people and charming homes. Looks peaceful enough, doesn’t it? What evil could happen here?” came Dr. Hildebrand’s ominous voice-over. “But don’t let the picket fences and church bells fool you. All is not as it appears. An evil secret lurks beneath layers of Americana and apple-pie goodness.”
Hildebrand’s tone was so melodramatic, if she hadn’t told Heather the video held the secret to Jessica’s death, she would have pulled it out of her computer. Instead, when her sister’s senior picture appeared on the screen, she was determined to watch the whole thing.
Dr. Hildebrand spent a couple of minutes summarizing Jessica’s childhood and teen years. Heather recognized pictures that had appeared in the Coldwater Gazette and in their school yearbooks—winning a gymnastics competition here, singing in the all-state choir there.
As if a life can be reduced to a few sound bites.
Then the disembodied voice of Dr. Hildebrand read the article that had appeared in the paper after Jess’s death.
Verbatim.
Hildebrand’s bug-eyed face filled the screen, her expression taut with condescension.
“This so-called article is a sorry whitewash of the true story. Jessica Walker didn’t inexplicably lose control of her vehicle. Nor was she alone in the car. My investigation starts where inept police work and lackadaisical reporting in the local paper end. After much digging, I discovered an eyewitness who was never interviewed at the time of the incident.”
The woman’s face faded and was replaced by an out-of-focus image of Mrs. Chisholm in her wheelchair. Heather recognized the lace doilies and fussy furniture surrounding her and knew the interview was being conducted in the old lady’s parlor.
“No, the sheriff never sent a deputy around to ask me if I saw a thing,” Mrs. Chisholm said. “Nobody from the paper came by either. And me with a big picture window looking out on the whole lake. Not a one of them thought to ask.”
“Did you call in with information?”
“Heavens, no. Why should I get involved? I make it a policy to mind my own business. No loose lips in this house . . . but since you asked, here’s what happened.” The old woman leaned so far forward, it was a wonder she didn’t topple out of her chair. “I remember it was a warm night, so my windows were open. I was already in bed, where all good Christians should be after midnight, don’t you know? Honestly, can anything good ever happen in the wee hours of the morning? Why, I remember a time when—”
“Mrs. Chisholm,” Dr. Hildebrand interrupted. “You were going to tell me about what you saw on the night Jessica
Walker died.”
“Oh, yes. Where was I? Ah! I heard a car race by—really roaring, you understand—speeding toward the park. They left the roads and tore up the grass. The next day there were marks all over in the sod where the tires—”
“Mrs. Chisholm, back to that night, please.”
The old lady arched a wiry brow. Heather recognized it as the expression that asked Who’s telling this story, you or me? but Mrs. Chisholm went on. She rarely had such an attentive audience and was intent on making the most of it.
“Anyway, then I heard screaming and sort of a crashing sound, but not like the car had hit anything solid. I guess that’s because the water isn’t solid, is it?”
“What did you see?” Dr. Hildebrand asked.
“Well, not much right then on account of my being still in bed,” she said sourly, as if Dr. Hildebrand were a not-quite-bright child. “And it took me a few minutes to get up and into the wheelchair all by myself. That lazy niece of mine sleeps like the dead, so after the evening news she’s no help at all. What with me taking her in and all you’d think she’d be more—”
“Mrs. Chisholm,” Dr. Hildebrand interrupted in a weary tone, “if you could just stick to the events of that night. Please.”
“Only since you said ‘please.’ You’d be surprised how many young folk forget the value of simple good manners.” The old lady gave an injured sniff. “Anyway, by the time I wheeled myself into the parlor and looked out on the lake, the car had already sunk.”
Heather bit her lip. Unshed tears made her vision waver, but she couldn’t look away.
“Was there someone in the water?”
Mrs. Chisholm nodded. “There was a full moon that night so I saw him clearly. Splashing and sputtering around and then kicking his heels into the air to dive back down. But then I heard sirens and figured someone must have dialed 911. The kid in the lake must have heard them, too, because the next time he came up, he slogged out of the water and ran off into the night just as the deputies arrived.”