Henry sighed and shook his head. “That was part of it, for sure, but he understood that Spruce Lake isn’t Lake Placid. We like our quiet way of life. But, Tim is like your father. Stubborn. I’m sure he doesn’t want to postpone. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
His eyes were on a man approaching their table. He was about Henry’s age, but taller and with more hair—all of it silver. His pale blue eyes were magnified behind thick glasses, and he shook Henry’s hand warmly. “Henry Callahan, how are you? And Emma?”
“I’m well, thank you. Emma has her good days and bad days.”
Henry introduced the group to Reverend Carl Browne.
“Adam,” Browne said, “it’s been good seeing you in church. Maybe you can bring your brother once or twice.”
Adam smiled sheepishly. “I try.”
“I was sorry to hear about the fire. I hope there wasn’t too much damage.”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Did I see Jon come in a few minutes ago?” Browne asked.
“I didn’t see him,” Henry said, looking around. His eyes came to rest on a man coming out of the kitchen. Presumably Jon, he was speaking with a wiry man with skin darker than a moonless night. The black man wore a well-washed white smock and chef’s hat. After a brief conversation, he went back to the kitchen and Jon Callahan waved to their group.
Henry’s nephew, current owner of the Lock & Barrel, was in his midforties. He stood straight, though was no taller than Lucy’s five feet seven inches. Physically trim with conservatively cut dark, graying hair, he wore pressed jeans, a turtleneck, and a sweater. His watch looked expensive, but Lucy supposed it could have been a knockoff. She didn’t pay much attention to fashion.
Lucy didn’t know whether Henry was simply tired or wasn’t thrilled to see his nephew. But as Jon stepped up to the table, shaking hands like a politician, Henry smiled. “Hello, Jon.”
“Uncle Henry, you should have told me you were coming by! I would have had dinner with you.”
“I took your aunt on a drive today,” Henry said. “It was such a lovely spring day, but she’s a bit worn out and went to bed early. I thought I’d take advantage of the longer days to stop by for a drink, pick up some supplies.”
“I can bring you anything you need; all you have to do is ask.”
“You do more than enough, Jon. Have you met Adam’s friends?”
After introductions, Henry said, “I should go and check on my wife. She still gets around all right, but I don’t want her becoming disoriented in the dark.”
He said his good-byes and left. Lucy exchanged a glance with Sean. He silently agreed that the conversation was unusually brief, as if Henry didn’t want to stay around talking to either his nephew or Browne.
“Would you like to sit?” Adam asked them.
“Just for a minute,” Jon said. “It’s Thursday night and I came in to run payroll. Not a big staff, but it takes time.”
“I’m going to hit the road, too,” said Browne. “Nice to meet you folks. If you’re around this weekend, please stop by the church. Don’t matter what faith, just a short little sermon and a nice little choir. Ten a.m.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. “That sounds lovely.”
The minister left and Jon pulled up a chair from a neighboring table. “I’m sorry about the trouble you’ve been having on your property,” he told Adam.
Adam nodded. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”
“You probably know everyone in town,” Sean added quickly. “Anyone unusually upset about the resort plans?”
“Everyone has an opinion. Mostly, we don’t want change, even if it might be a good thing. But I don’t know who’s behind the vandalism, Adam. I wish I did, sorry.”
Jon paused, then added, “Maybe if you just held off a year or so, let people in town get to know Tim, get reacquainted with you, you can start fresh.”
Lucy was instantly suspicious. That was almost the exact same thing Henry Callahan had said.
But maybe since Henry and Jon were related, they talked often, and since right now the resort was number one on everyone’s minds, if they had come to the conclusion that postponing the resort was a good idea, they both could have espoused the viewpoint as if it were their own. It was a plausible theory, though Lucy wasn’t certain their response wasn’t somehow orchestrated.
Sean said, “Jon has a point.”
Lucy and Adam both looked at him. His face was blank, or rather, Lucy thought, intentionally blank. He had a plan.
“I’m not waiting,” Adam said, stubborn. “The police will find out who did this.” He turned to Jon. “The Spruce Lake Resort will help revitalize the town. Bring it back to the way it was when my dad was a kid.”
“Have you thought that maybe people here like the quiet life?” Sean asked.
“Jobless and depressed?” Adam countered. “I don’t think so.”
“We’re doing fine,” Jon said. “Look, Adam, I’m not wholly opposed to the idea of bringing in tourists. Right now just isn’t a good time. You and Tim settle in, take your time, and then I’ll be there helping you. But right now, people are skeptical and, to be honest, scared of change.”
“That fear doesn’t justify burning down our property!” Adam said.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Jon said calmly. “I have an idea. Do you want to hear it?”
Adam frowned and said nothing. Sean said, “Sure. I’ll pass it on to Tim.”
“It’s really simple.” Jon smiled and looked from Sean to Lucy and back. “Tell Tim if he slows down, I’ll meet with him in a couple weeks, he can lay all his plans out for me, and I’ll help him sell the idea to the people of Spruce Lake. I think what they’re really scared about is how fast this is all happening. Joe only died last spring.”
“Fourteen months ago,” Adam said.
“And in a town like this, it feels like weeks, not months.” Jon rose and shook everyone’s hand. “I’m happy to come out to talk to you all.”
Sean said, “I’ll talk to Tim.”
“Good. By the way, how do you know him?” Jon asked.
“From the city,” Sean said.
“Right. New York.”
“Boston,” Sean corrected.
Lucy watched Jon Callahan leave. “He was trying to trip us up, see if we really know the Hendricksons,” Lucy said. “He knew Tim lived in Boston.”
“The question is why?” Sean asked.
“Jon Callahan?” Adam shook his head. “Henry was my dad’s closest friend. They’ve been neighbors their entire life.”
“Henry isn’t his nephew,” Sean stated plainly. “Henry said something that has me thinking this is a bigger situation than a couple good old boys not wanting tourists in their town. Who would be hurt if the resort opens? It’s a different way of looking at the same problem, but it was how Henry said it. Someone will lose big if you open. And Henry Callahan knows—or suspects—who that is. The fact that his nephew was pushing you to postpone the opening is a big, fat red flag.”
“At this point,” Lucy said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town was in on it.”
ELEVEN
Lucy was dreaming one of those dreams where initially you have the illusion of control. In the dream, it was dusk, the sun sinking into the foothills. Each day began in birth and ended in death. Why was she so melancholy? This was a dream! She could make it a happy one.
She smiled as Sean walked up the leaf-strewn, gravel road toward her, the sun no longer setting but high overhead. She was so warm. He kissed her. She sighed and closed her eyes, her body leaning against his. Sean was always hot, her personal electric blanket.
“Lucy.”
She opened her eyes and it was sunset again, this time the sun gone along with Sean, the sky rapidly darkening. Dead leaves skittered across the dirt and an icy wind stung her bare arms. She looked down at the raised bumps and wondered why she would have gone out in this thin blouse without a sweater.
But this was a dream, she reminded herself; she could give herself a sweater. Something warm, thick, and soft. She had to find Sean.
She squeezed her eyes shut and huddled in the sweater, the wind nearly blowing her over. She had to find Sean before it was too late. What did that mean? Too late for what?
Fear clawed at her, just beyond reach. Foreboding gripped her chest, her heart racing, and she knew deep down where she rarely looked that all good things must end.
“Lucy!” a distant voice called.
She opened her eyes and for a moment she thought she was awake and wondered why she was outside. It was dark, the air cold and still, a full moon casting odd, blue-gray shadows over the mountainside. The trees. The ground. The dark, bottomless hole …
“Lucy, help!” It was Sean!
“Where are you?” He was deep in the pit. But the pit wasn’t a hole, it was a tunnel. She ran in, chasing his voice, as the tunnel spiraled down, steeper and steeper. She was Alice chasing the white rabbit, only there was no light, no hope, and time had already run out. The blackness surrounding her had taste and texture, like the crypt at the morgue, thick and tangible, suffocating her. She ran, her hands skimming wet rock walls, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. She began to tumble down, faster and faster, a scream trapped in her throat until …
She was kneeling next to Sean as he lay at the bottom of the mine shaft. “You’re okay,” she said.
Light surrounded Sean as he smiled at her. “Hey, Princess, I know you love me.”
“How?”
But he just smiled and reached up, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling, bluer than blue, bluer than was natural. This was the dream she wanted. Sweet and warm and full of love. She wanted to lose herself with Sean, forget everything but this moment in time. His hand rubbed her neck, her hair looping in his fingers, and he brought her lips to his. Sean’s patience, his greedy but steady kisses, his powerful fingers, replaced her fear with desire. And maybe it wasn’t the words of love, but the actions that mattered. Sean had shown her something she never thought she’d have. Never thought she was capable of receiving … or giving.
The sound of water, like a winter stream, began softly, steady drips, as they kissed. As Lucy relaxed, the running water intensified, pounding around her like a waterfall. Lucy broke the kiss. The light was gone and the fear returned tenfold. Sean screamed from far away, and when she searched with her hands where he had been, all she saw was blood.
Water flooded the mine and she swam toward Sean’s cries of pain, her body thrown against rocks, cuts stinging. She couldn’t breathe. Water poured into her mouth and she was drowning …
… until she was spit out into the pit of the mine, where she’d found the dead woman. So cold. So silent.
“Sean,” she whispered. “Where are you?”
On the ledge, the dead woman was back. Lucy crawled over to the body and kneeled in front of it. A flower bloomed in the corpse’s hands.
A scream came from deep in the mine, echoing through the rock chamber. Lucy shook her head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get rid of the sound.
“Lucy,” Sean whispered.
She smiled, and turned to him.
Sean lay where the dead woman had been. His eyes stared at her, but they saw nothing, drained of color. He grabbed her left hand and put it on his chest. It was wet, slick and messy and bright red.
“No no no no!”
In her other hand was a gun.
Sean had been trying to gently wake Lucy as soon as he realized she was caught in a nightmare. Night terror was more appropriate, as sweat covered her body and she thrashed in her sleep.
“Lucy, wake up, please.” He tried to control his own panic because he didn’t want her to hear him so worried. Her hands were ice cold and she was shaking, a faint whimper coming from her chest that had Sean on edge. He’d never witnessed one of her nightmares lasting this long or deep.
He pulled her from the bed, hoping the motion would jerk her awake.
“Lucy, it’s Sean. Look at me!” He shook her limp body. She stiffened and threw her head back, her dark eyes open, glazed and filled with pain.
A sob caught in his chest, and he held Lucy tightly against him. Her heart raced as fast as his, as if they’d both just run a marathon. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face pressed against his chest, her body still shaking violently.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
Sean had never been so scared as when he couldn’t wake up Lucy, knowing she was suffering. Knowing he couldn’t stop her pain. He wanted to hit something. The people who hurt Lucy all those years ago were dead. If they weren’t, he’d kill them himself. The urge toward violence was unlike him. But he couldn’t think, not where Lucy’s pain was concerned, and he ached keeping his feelings bottled up. She’d told him that her nightmares had all but disappeared in the seven years since her attack, until a few months ago when her rapist had been found dead only miles from her house.
“I—I—I—” Lucy’s teeth were chattering and she couldn’t form her sentence. Sean sat on the bed with her, grabbed the down comforter from the floor, and wrapped it around her.
“Shh,” he whispered. He’d let her talk if she wanted, though hearing her speak of her attack would shred him inside. He braced himself.
“You were dead.” Tears streamed down her face.
“What?” It wasn’t the same recurrent nightmare she’d been having? He was relieved, but uncertain. He cleared his throat. “I’m right here, sweetness.”
She pressed her clammy forehead against his chest, his T-shirt fisted in her hands. “I need you.” Raw emotion clouded her voice.
Sean rocked her. He hated that he felt better knowing her bad dream wasn’t about the attack. He pushed aside his anger and focused on Lucy’s heart. Because that’s exactly what this was about—her, him, them. Though she’d handled his fall down the mine shaft professionally, he’d known she was worried about more than his injuries. That she’d had something to do helped her deal with the fear of losing him, but in sleep her defenses were down. All the barriers she’d put up to protect herself, gone.
“I need you, too, Princess.”
She shook her head. “Not the same.”
“Yes, it is the same.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you.” Lucy held back a cry, and he pulled her closer. “Don’t be scared of my feelings.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
“I know.” She wouldn’t admit she loved him. She didn’t want to need him. He knew she did, but it would take time and patience for her to accept it. He’d never been patient about anything in life, until he met Lucy. She had spent years learning to be alone, to protect her heart and her mind and her body. He’d been methodically working his way beneath her barriers because he needed her to lower her shields—at least when she was with him.
“How? How do you always know?”
He shrugged and kissed her. “I just do. I know you were scared yesterday when I was at the bottom of the mine shaft. I know that you didn’t want to give voice to your first thought that I was dead. Finding the woman’s body made you think, what if you hadn’t found me? What if I died down there?”
“Don’t—” She swallowed a cry.
Lucy still didn’t want to think about that, and Sean’s rhetorical question had her picturing the bullet in his chest, just like the nightmare she was still trembling from.
Sean said, “Luce, you’re the strongest woman I know.”
She didn’t feel strong, not now. “It’s not the dead that get to me.” Lucy struggled to find words that wouldn’t make her sound childish. “I killed you, Sean. In my dream, I was holding the gun.”
Lucy had killed two men, but it was the first—one of her attackers, seven years ago—that had her constantly questioning her morals and ethics.
She’d shot Adam Scott in cold blood, six bullets to the chest. And she didn’t regret it, not for one second of her life. What terrified he
r was the lack of guilt—no remorse, no doubt that if she had it to do over again, she would still have shot him. Revenge? Justice? Or was this lack of remorse akin to sociopathy? What if she was walking the line between the good guys and the bad? How could she tell the difference?
What was she capable of? How far would she go for justice?
She’d let the FBI report conclude it was justifiable homicide based on extreme emotional distress. Scott had shown her rape live on the Internet while thousands of sick perverts watched, believing she had been a consensual partner playing the part of a victim. She would never forget the lie she hadn’t corrected:
Ms. Kincaid believed that Scott had killed her brother, Dr. Dillon Kincaid, in the moments before she arrived at Dr. Kincaid’s house and saw Scott at the scene.
Scott had not pointed a gun at her. She had known Dillon was safe; she’d seen him. She’d taken her father’s gun with the sole purpose of killing Adam Scott.
Lucy had been forced to talk to shrinks about her rape and the shooting. And she had played the stalwart victim. Only, she didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much deception. Maybe all of it was an act. She’d finally told her parents that she wasn’t talking to one more psychiatrist or rape counselor or priest. The tightrope she’d walked during the months before she moved cross-country to attend Georgetown University had been unbearable because she didn’t feel at all like herself. It was as if her entire life was happening to someone else, and she was observing it as a bystander. The more she looked at herself from the outside, the more distance she had from her own emotions. And she liked becoming focused, cool, and unemotional. It wasn’t happening to her; she was merely an observer. She had never broken down, not then, and didn’t want to now. Moving to D.C. had given her the space she needed to distance herself from her own thoughts and sensitivities. Until now.
All these complex and foreign emotions about Sean were dangerous. After seven years of keeping her feelings under tight lock and key, she was out of control. What if the fates made her pay for her actions? Justified killing or not, understandable or not, Adam Scott’s murder had been premeditated and calculated. And wouldn’t it be just the perfect sick cosmic joke to take away the one person who had so easily picked the lock that had guarded her thoughts, feelings and—ultimately—her sanity?
If I Should Die Page 8