“You would know her voice, if anyone did,” Christy said.
“She won’t let me come close or touch her. But this time it seemed as though she’d run away from something and was scared she’d be caught. I had the feeling that she was awfully frightened. I want to help her, but I don’t know how. I tried to ask Victor about this, but he’s acting strange and he doesn’t want to talk about her at all.”
“Thank you for telling me, Donny. I wish I could really help you.”
“I heard Nona tell my father about the way you knew ahead of time that Oliver was dead, and you knew where to look. So why can’t you find Deirdre? I mean really find her, so I can be with my mother again.”
He came so close that Christy caught his outdoor odor—a small-boy-in-from-playing odor. But Donny was not like any small boy she’d ever known, and she didn’t dare hug him casually. He always seemed to stand apart on his own—independent, yet touchingly in need. When she saw Hayden tonight she must talk to him about his son.
She tried to explain. “Those times when I’ve held something of your mother’s, I never received any pictures that would lead me to her.”
What she had received was the strong feeling of death, but that was something she couldn’t tell Donny. Not until she was sure.
The boy went toward the sliding doors, picking up the cat, who perched willingly on his shoulder. Donny nuzzled her, and Sinh began to purr like any ordinary cat.
“Once my mother said that if she died she’d like to come back inside Sinh. Do you think she could do that, Christy?”
That conceit had already occurred to her. However, Donny didn’t really expect an answer.
He went on softly. “Sometimes I think she really is dead, and it’s only her spirit that comes and talks to me.” He slipped through the doors and disappeared, the cat clinging to his shoulder.
Christy closed the door upon the twilight of early summer and the uproar of crickets and tree frogs, wishing more than anything else that the mystery surrounding Deirdre could be resolved. But visions seldom came to her in words—only in pictures, and whenever she tried to concentrate on Deirdre, the glimpses that appeared were quickly erased by mists, leaving her with a sense of confusion.
Before she went upstairs to meet Hayden, she took out the drawing Nona had done of him—boy and rabbit—and folded it into her purse. She had saved it from that morning on Wintergreen, not quite sure why. Perhaps merely because it paralleled in Hayden her own childhood experience, and she wondered if she dared show it to him.
Nona was busy in the kitchen when Christy went upstairs, and Lili lent her presence, if not her help, at the kitchen table—something she always did gracefully. On this visit Christy had grown closer to her mother, and she was grateful for the new understanding between them. Lili would always remain elusive, but for the first time Christy recognized that her mother was there for her in a time of need. But now she was growing restless and ready to return to her own busy life. It was time for her daughter to let her go. Oliver’s death had sent Lili into several sessions with Josef, but he had been philosophical and non-specific about the whole event. In fact, he seemed to regard the matter with a certain distaste. To Josef, death had little significance, though he regretted the rather messy ways in which earth mortals died.
When Hayden arrived, his mood seemed quiet and subdued. Christy had seen little of him since Oliver’s death, and he’d never talked to her about it. She’d have liked the chance to open up with him, and perhaps tonight . . .
However, when they were in his Jeep following the winding mountain road to Nellysford he had little to say, and Christy grew uncomfortable, wondering why they were doing this and what he intended.
The Stoney Creek Cafe was popular locally, not only being the nearest restaurant around, but because it was attractive with its decorations of pottery and baskets, and with friendly service and good food. They sat in a booth where they could talk privately, and since they were early, the rooms were quiet.
When they’d ordered, Hayden seemed to make an effort—as though the subject he wanted to talk about was distasteful but necessary.
“Nona told me, Christy, about how you and Eve and Victor found Oliver. She said you’d had one of those experiences when you knew exactly where to look. Can you tell me about it?”
She had wanted to talk to him, yet now that he was probing so earnestly, she felt unsure.
“Nona’s already told you. So what do you want to know?”
He sought for words. “I don’t mean just about what happened—though it must have been pretty bad. I mean—how did you feel? How did the picture come to you?”
“Eve gave me a lighter of Oliver’s and the moment I took it in my hand I knew he was dead—in water. It was there in my mind—though not clear in detail, since I thought it must be a pond of some sort, not a bathtub. As for how I felt—if you mean literally—my head hurt and I was nauseated. That often happens. The pressure isn’t released until I follow through and go wherever I am led. I have no choice if I want the pain to stop. I never know ahead of time exactly where I’m going. I’m somehow pulled in a certain direction, as though I followed a compass inside me until I come to whatever is to be found.”
Hayden listened gravely, and she wished she had more to offer—both to him and to Donny.
He puzzled aloud. “Yet, though both your mother and you feel that Deirdre is dead, your compass doesn’t work to find her. I wonder why not?”
She shook her head unhappily. He was there across the table, and they were separated by a gulf. “I don’t know. Whenever I try to focus on Deirdre, there’s so much confusion, something so frightening, that I never find a clear direction I can take.”
He seemed less impatient now, more thoughtful. “I’ve been wondering if I could do this myself, Christy. Victor thinks I have it in myself to find the way. But I have no idea how to coax it out of hiding—if it’s there at all.”
“Sometimes meditation can help,” Christy said. “Going down into the quiet inside of us—letting everything else go. Then, sometimes, pictures come—for me, at least.”
“Those are only words. They don’t tell me how. Though I’m ready to try anything.”
“That sounds desperate—and desperation never works.”
He shrugged and let the matter go.
A waitress brought fresh green salads and a lazy Susan of assorted dressings. When she’d gone, Christy told him of Donny’s visit and the boy’s continued conviction that his mother was alive and that he’d met and talked to her.
“I think he wants to tell you,” she finished, “but he’s afraid you won’t believe him. This time he said something strange—that Deirdre had told him she knew who put the snake in Oliver’s bath, but she wouldn’t tell him who it was.”
“My God! I wonder if that’s possible, and she really is alive? I’ll talk to him tonight.”
“Only if you can do it gently. I don’t think he really knows anything, but it might be a relief for him to talk to you.”
“I’ve lost touch with my son,” Hayden said sadly. “Maybe I should never have doubted him. Once, late at night, when I was downstairs, I had the feeling that Deirdre was on the deck watching me through the windows. But when I went outside no one was there. Afterward, I wondered if I’d fallen asleep on the couch and it was only a dream. I’ve had some strange dreams lately. Christy, you told me about your recurrent dream. Have you had it again?”
“Yes. And I’ve seen places similar to the one I’ve dreamed about. I’m always going down that red path with high walls on either side. I can hear footsteps and I know someone is following me. Yet lately, I don’t know whether it’s the follower I’m afraid of, or some hazy figure that waits for me ahead. I only know that I wake up terrified.”
Absently, she touched the earrings Lili had given her, and Hayden noted the gesture.
“Amethyst,” he said. “I can remember that my mother wore amethyst a lot. She told me that it was for protection against evil.”
It was reassuring that he could speak to her like this, not dismissing his mother’s belief. After a moment he went on.
“I had a dream recently that seems to have some of the same elements as yours. I was walking through woods toward that rocky cliff from which Rose fell. I seemed to know that something terrible was happening there—something that would destroy whatever happiness might still be left for me in the future. You were there. Somehow you were a part of it. You were with someone that I thought was Deirdre. Either your death or hers was about to happen. It was as if you were trying to save each other, and I had the overpowering sensation of being too late. Then I woke up and couldn’t even be sure what it was I’d feared so terribly. Can you make anything of this?”
She was silent, sensing the man even more than his words. When she didn’t see him for days, she thought about him, and watched for any glimpse she might have of him. Yet now that she was with him, she must be constantly on guard against her own feelings. Chemistry! But only for her and not for him. Because there was still Deirdre—whom he loved and did not love, but from whom he would never be released until he knew what had happened to her. And perhaps not then.
“I can’t make anything of anything,” she told him wearily.
“I know. That’s the way I feel most of the time. There have been two deaths, probably three, in this small community in a short period of time. Two supposedly accidental, and one unresolved. Don’t you sense anything at all about this, Christy?”
She answered almost without volition, automatically, surprising herself. “I believe someone pushed Rose Vaughn so that she fell to her death. I don’t know what happened to Deirdre. I only know that I felt a terrible sense of evil, of wicked intent, when I held her scarf in my hands. And I know that murder was the cause of Oliver’s death. That came to me clearly before we found him. Someone put that copperhead into his tub and he died of fright.” She had said nothing new, yet the words had poured out of her as though they must.
When her hands began to shake, she set down her fork, able to eat nothing more. Hayden reached across the table and took both her hands in his own warm ones.
“I’m sorry, Christy. I shouldn’t have done this to you. You never asked for any of this. But I don’t know where to turn or what to do. The sheriff’s satisfied and won’t look any further. But there is something loose among us. That’s true, isn’t it?”
She drew her hands away gently because if he went on holding them she might start to cry. Senselessly—because she was sorry for herself, and there was no point in that indulgence. She wanted so much more from him than what he considered a comforting gesture.
“Why don’t you try to solve this yourself, Hayden?” she asked directly.
Quick irritation sounded in his voice. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Let your father’s side of you go—all that anger that comes too quickly and only defeats what you truly want. Go back into the feelings your mother left you. Nona told me about that summer she spent in New Jersey. The summer your mother died—when Nona first got to know you as a boy, and met your father.” And your rabbit died, she thought, but didn’t speak the words.
By this time their meal had been more or less eaten, the table cleared and coffee brought. Hayden stirred his coffee inattentively.
“Nona shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he said, still irritated.
Because it was so personal, hurtful, private? Probably all of that, yet he needed to talk and let out some of that old turmoil and pain. He needed to share feelings so long held back, whether he could accept that or not. Christy took the folded drawing from her purse and spread it open between them on the table.
“Nona sketched this up at Wintergreen after everyone else was gone. Sometimes she does these automatic drawings—letting whatever wants to appear come out on paper. I asked her to see if she could find Deirdre that way. Instead she did this of you. She told me about the rabbit, and how you knew ahead of time that it had died. The same thing happened to me when I was little. I had a pet poodle I loved a lot—and it was killed by a car. When it happened, I knew—and that was when my mother realized that I had her gift. If that’s what I’m supposed to call it. Perhaps you do have this too, even though Nona said your father was set against it. Victor says that such a gift needs to be exercised. Nona’s discouragement may have kept mine from being as useful as it might be. As your father’s did with you. But it’s there inside us, Hayden, and I don’t think we can help by suppressing it. If we both let down our guard and let it come, perhaps we’ll find out about Deirdre.”
He listened without interrupting and without his usual impatience, staring at the drawing of the boy and the dead rabbit. Christy watched his face as she talked, and for once all his defenses were down. His expression had changed from quick anger, until by the time she’d finished he looked almost like the young boy in the drawing—lost and lonely and sorrowful.
“I don’t know where to begin,” he repeated. “I don’t know how.”
“Maybe you start by praying a little. Ask for help. It’s there. Ask what you can do. And I’ll do the same. We both need to stop fighting this.”
“It’s not your problem,” he told her. “You’d be better off going away. You’re there in that dream I had, and you’re in danger—as you are in your dream.”
So absorbed were they that they didn’t see Nona until she stood beside their table. “Thank God I found you!” she cried. “Lili’s outside and she’s frantic. Josef wants to talk to you right away!”
I’m not sure what to do—though I’m in no immediate danger of discovery. I didn’t intend for him to die. I knew Oliver was afraid of snakes, and when I dropped that dead one into his bathwater, I thought I’d give him a good scare. Then he wouldn’t do what he threatened, because he’d be afraid of me—of what I might do next. I had to keep him under control. But he went into a heart attack and died before I could rescue him.
Luckily, the police never got the whole picture. Though copperheads hate water, it all seemed too obvious for any serious investigation. Snakes sometimes get into houses, and no one knows how. If others are suspicious, they’re not talking. Though that worries me. What if they’re plotting something? Oliver always did his best to keep me posted—now I must work in the dark. There are matters to take care of before I can leave safely.
Of course the Wintergreen affair was a fizzle. Theatrical but pointless. Josef isn’t a very good alter ego for Lili to use. He’s pompous and hates to be clear. Oliver thought it all nonsense, yet because of me he was getting frightened.
Now I must find those drawings before anyone else sees them. I wonder if I dare repeat my performance with Donny and ask him for them? The mimicry is almost perfect—he hasn’t caught on to me yet. I’ve managed to convince him that if he comes too close I’ll disappear.
One thing went very wrong, Deirdre got away from me for a short time, and she talked to Donny. Not that it really matters, because no one will believe a little boy. Still, I must be on guard, so that it doesn’t happen again.
I must also hunt for the book that Oliver showed me that time, and then hid from me. He had it marked up with notes in the margin, and it was supposed to worry me. He even said he might mail it anonymously to Hayden. He really thought he could hold that over my head. A stupid man, Oliver, though I thought him so beautiful at first—so fascinating. It’s just as well that he’s gone. I was mistaken about him from the first.
Once the drawings and the book are out of the way, I can take the next step. I’ve given Christy enough rope. None of these psychics are effective. Deirdre believed in all that, but I don’t. Josef is as phony as the rest. And Deirdre is where she can’t get away from me again.
Sooner or later I must be rid of her entirely. She�
�s more dangerous to me than Christy. The problem is—how? She must be disposed of without leaving a trace, so the mystery of her disappearance will never be solved. But that’s not easy—though I can’t leave this place until it is done.
14
The strip of stores that edged the shopping center in Nellysford was divided at one point by an alley that had been made into a small park. Low wooden benches invited, and new plantings made it an attractive spot. The entire shopping area was well lighted, and tonight a big moon sailed overhead, silvering the dark hills beyond the highway.
Liliana Dukas sat on a bench, waiting for them. For once she hadn’t dressed for the occasion, but had come in slacks and an embroidered Filipino blouse under an open cardigan. The evening was cool and clear and this space seemed set apart from shops and shoppers. No one else was using it at the moment, and Nona led the way to where Lili waited.
She looked up and smiled at her sister. “Good! You found them, Nona. Josef knew you would. Do sit down, all of you, and I’ll try to reach him.”
Christy sat opposite her mother, and Hayden slid along the bench beside Christy. Nona seemed uncomfortable and unable to sit still. She walked up and down beside the benches, her tension evident.
Once more Lili went through her ritual of prayer and request for help. Then she sat very still with her hands folded in front of her. The silence grew endlessly long. Christy watched cars turning in and out of the parking spaces nearby, yet they seemed to occupy a different, faraway world. Only this small circle waiting for Josef seemed real. Though when his voice came through Lili, Christy jumped in spite of herself. Hayden put a quieting hand on her arm and they listened intently.
“You have embarked on an earthly search,” Josef proclaimed. “It is necessary to find that for which you search as quickly as possible. Much harm has already been done, and one of you is in grave danger.”
Josef’s voice faded out, and Nona spoke for all of them, since Lili, in a sense, was elsewhere.
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