Secrets at Spawning Run

by Sally Roseveare

  The emotions caused by her mother’s death surprised Aurora. Her memories of Margaret when things were normal—when Aurora had felt so loved and doted on—clashed with Aurora’s memories of the suffering from which her mother had just been released. She grieved now, more for herself than for her mother who was finally free of the hell she had been living for several years. And Aurora had come back to the lake for the funeral, to get Margaret’s affairs in order, to mourn, and to face the memories in the house where she grew up.

  A splash jolted Aurora back to the present. She watched the pair of grebes, one with a flapping fish dangling from its mouth, swim up to the dock.

  “That’s a nice catch you’ve got there. A sunfish, right? Bet you’re proud of yourself.”

  Aurora grabbed her camera and focused it on the grebes. Click. She zoomed in on the grebe with the fish. Click. When the second grebe swam up close to its mate, Aurora lay on the dock and aimed the camera. Click. Click.

  “What shots! Real photographic treasures. Some of these will be good enough for Virginia Wildlife or National Geographic. Thanks, guys. That reminds me. I’ll take your necklace back up with me when I go. I’d forgotten about it until now.”

  When King put a paw on her leg, she stood up and turned around. “Yikes! Is that a dead fish you’ve brought me?” King dropped the bloated striper at her feet and wagged his tail. “No thanks, I prefer sticks and branches. Take the fish somewhere else. Please.” King barked. “On second thought, I don’t want you eating it. You stay.” Aurora wrinkled her nose and kicked the fish back into the lake. “That’s the second dead striper I’ve seen in Spawning Run since I’ve been here. Hope there won’t be as many dead ones as there were last year.”

  Aurora was still thinking about the fish when she retrieved the necklace from the shed. She leaned off the dock and sloshed the necklace around in the water to wash off the scum. She sat down in the lounge chair and stared in disbelief. Could this necklace be real? What looked like individual diamonds set in platinum ran the entire length of the necklace. A medallion, approximately four inches in diameter and encrusted with rubies and diamonds, hung from the center.

  “No way these stones are real. If they were, this necklace would be priceless. No one would be so careless as to lose a piece of jewelry this valuable in the lake. If they did, it would make the headlines in the Smith Mountain Eagle. No, it can’t be real or it would be locked up in somebody’s vault. It’s still gorgeous, though, the nicest piece of costume jewelry I’ve ever seen. Would love to know the story behind it.”

  Aurora draped the necklace around her neck and wondered how it got caught on a grebe. She caressed the medallion as she stared out at the dark, blue-green water and across the wide, quiet cove at the tree line two hundred yards away. She couldn’t stop thinking of her dad. Across the cove was where his boat had capsized, where he had drowned.

  Unknown to Aurora, a black fishing boat hid in the shadows of the same tree line. An angry man glared at her through binoculars. “What’s she doing over there?” Jimmy Ray snarled.

  He spat chewing tobacco into the lake and watched as circular ripples surrounded it. A curious fish swam to the sinking wad, then darted away. Jimmy Ray wiped brown dribble from the corner of his mouth onto the sleeve of his camouflage shirt and passed the binoculars to his companion. “The boss said nobody lived in that house no more, said ain’t nobody gonna care how much we use the boathouse.”

  “I know,” said Clyde. “Damn! That looks like our necklace around her neck.”

  “The one Snake dropped in the lake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gimme the damn glasses!” Jimmy Ray snatched the binoculars from Clyde’s hands. He watched Aurora finger the necklace. “We gotta call the boss. Wonder who she is and how long she’ll be here.”

  “I’ll try to find out tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  In his Washington, D.C. penthouse, J. Melton Lampwerth IV adjusted his hand-painted silk tie and flicked a gray hair from the shoulder of his navy, chalk-stripe Italian suit. He snatched up his laptop, stepped into his private penthouse elevator, and pushed the button to the executive parking garage. Last night he’d loaded all the papers his accountant had thrust at him into a brown calfskin briefcase, packed a few clothes in a small suitcase, and quietly taken them to his car undetected. He’d been furious then, and even now his anger had abated only a little.

  “When I’m through, somebody’s head will roll,” he said aloud.

  Lampwerth hadn’t told anyone he was going, not even Jill, his assistant. He’d only decided the night before. Well, he’d call her from the lake on Monday. She’d be wondering why he hadn’t come back to the office after lunch today. This wasn’t like him—he’d never done anything on the spur of the moment before. But he knew he needed solitude to think this dilemma through. Besides, Robert Reeves, Vice President of Lampwerth International, had always made the seclusion of his Smith Mountain Lake home sound inviting. Lampwerth deserved some time away from the office. He would stay at Robert’s lake house for several days. The house was equipped with a fax, and he had his laptop, so he could keep in touch with the office. And when he returned to Washington, he’d have a good idea of how to handle his problem.

  Lampwerth drove into the parking lot of Executive Pet Grooming, parked, and hurried inside. Pictures of champion AKC dogs covered the walls.

  “How are you, Mr. Lampwerth?” asked the receptionist. “I’ll tell them in the back to get Russell for you.”

  “Thanks.” He was glad he’d remembered to pick up his Jack Russell terrier before leaving D.C. If he hadn’t, the groomer would have called his office, then his penthouse, and the search for him would have started three days too soon. Lampwerth recognized the shrill bark coming from the hall. The door opened and in burst Russell, his body wriggling with delight and his groomer in tow.

  “Mr. Lampwerth, good to see you, sir.” Danny was always glad to see big-tipping Mr. Lampwerth. “I bathed and trimmed Russell today, clipped his nails, the whole shebang. As usual, he was a pleasure to work with.”

  Lampwerth paid his bill, tipped Danny, and walked out the door with Russell.

  “In all the time I’ve been grooming Russell, this is the first time Mr. Lampwerth didn’t seem excited to see his dog,” Danny said to the receptionist. They watched Russell relieve himself on the plastic fire hydrant outside the building, then eagerly leap into the front seat of the BMW.

  “I know what you mean. Usually he lets Russell jump in his arms and wash his face with yucky wet kisses. Odd, isn’t it?” said the receptionist.

  In the car, Lampwerth looked down at Russell perched contentedly on the passenger seat. Lampwerth had never planned to love anything, much less a dog. Four years ago Marian had filed for divorce after 30 years of marriage. “You’re not capable of love,” she’d said. “You only married me for my money and social status.” And she was right. Lampwerth’s lawyer insisted he get a dog or cat or some other animal to convince the judge that he was lonely, that he indeed needed someone or something to love. So he bought Russell and the strategy worked. His lawyer estimated that Russell saved him half a million bucks in alimony payments. Lampwerth had planned to keep Russell a while, then give him away, but in the interim the puppy squirmed his way into Lampwerth’s cold heart.

  The silver BMW purred along Interstate 66. Traffic wasn’t nearly as heavy as it was when Lampwerth left Washington, and the heavy rain had now become a drizzle. Lampwerth reached Gainesville and turned off 66 onto 29 South. He was glad he decided to accept Robert’s long-standing offer to stay at the lake house. Lampwerth had been very angry last evening when Louis Beale, the firm’s accountant, had told him someone had been screwing around with the books, even hinted that some funds had been skimmed off the top. And that look on the accountant’s face, almost as if he suspected Lampwerth. Ridiculous. He was President and C.E.O. of Lampwerth International. He would never do anything to hurt his own company, the company
he’d built thirty-five years ago. Everyone knew that.

  He slowed the BMW, turned onto 460 West, and skirted Lynchburg. The rain started again. He turned on his windshield wipers. Thirty-five minutes later he reached his turn onto 122 in Bedford and glanced down at the directions. Good, only about forty minutes left according to Robert’s notes. Lampwerth pressed harder on the accelerator.

  Nearing Smith Mountain Lake, Lampwerth slowed. In the dark and the rain it would be easy to miss his turn off 122, one of the last turns before he reached Spawning Run Road. Robert had assured him there were only a few houses on Spawning Run Road. Most were vacant for one reason or other, and Lampwerth would have complete privacy.

  “Finally,” he said to Russell as the car’s headlights illuminated the address—214 Spawning Run—embedded in one of the stucco columns at the driveway’s entrance. Even he was impressed when he pulled into the circular drive fronting the peach-colored Mediterranean-style stucco house. Looked like Robert Reeves certainly knew how to live. A low-hanging branch thudded hard against the passenger side of the BMW, and Lampwerth made a mental note to check in the morning for scratches on his car. He would also tell Robert to get his damn trees trimmed.

  Getting out of the car, he accidentally bumped the car horn. He jumped—and noted with a shudder the lonesome sound the horn made. He let Russell out to do what dogs do after a long ride in a car, then he pulled the house key out of his pocket, picked up his luggage and laptop, and walked to the front door. He stuck the key in the lock and smiled. He knew Robert would be pleased when he returned from his cruise and discovered that Lampwerth had finally accepted the invitation to stay at the lake. He turned the doorknob and stepped inside the house.

  A heavy blow from behind sent him crashing to the floor. J. Melton Lampwerth IV’s last thought as he lay bleeding on the white marble tile was that Robert Reeves hadn’t done him a favor after all.

  Next door, Aurora dropped her book. Were those gunshots? Ears cocked, King jumped up and growled. “Shh, boy,” she commanded. Obediently, King sat down. For two minutes, woman and dog remained motionless, then Aurora crossed the living room and kitchen and went into the utility room. King padded silently by her side. Without turning on the light, Aurora pulled the window curtain aside and peered out into the night.

  Outside a faint moon played hide-and-seek in the swiftly moving clouds. The wind whistled gently around the eaves of the house. “Storm’s almost over, King. I don’t know if we heard gunshots, thunder, or a car backfiring, but I don’t see or hear anything now. Why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

  Aurora stood on a stool in her parents’ bedroom closet and pulled a locked metal box down from the top shelf. Then she searched in a dresser drawer until she located a key. Unlocking the box, she removed the .38 semi-automatic, checked the safety, and made sure the gun was loaded. Her hand shook. She remembered the last time she’d seen this gun; the police had found it on the telephone table in the living room in January. They’d speculated that the presence of the gun suggested her father had planned to shoot himself but for some unknown reason had drowned himself instead.

  She carried the gun back to her bedroom and placed it in the drawer of her nightstand. King curled up on his dog bed under the large window and looked at Aurora. She petted him gently on his head, then climbed into her bed and tried to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Saturday, April 17

  Aurora was fixing breakfast when the phone rang. “Good morning, my darling Susie-Q. Did I wake you?”

  “No, Sam. I’m tired, but I got up early to see one of the gorgeous lake sunrises that I’ve missed so much, then King and I went for a walk.” She glanced at the clock—7:45. “Actually, I’ve gotten up early both mornings. I’ll probably fall asleep on the dock this afternoon. How are you? I surely do miss you.” She squeezed orange blossom honey into her bowl of oatmeal, then stirred in dried cranberries, raisins and a little skim milk.

  “I miss you, too, honey. It’s no fun here without you. How much longer before you come home to Augusta?”

  “I’m not sure. It’ll take longer than I thought to put Mom’s affairs in order. I need to meet with her lawyer this week, too.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “And I’d hate to take King away from his beloved lake so soon. Wish you could see him, he’s acting like a puppy again. Keeps bringing me stuff from the lake that I don’t want: dead fish, a deflated inner tube, chunks of wood, sticks, pieces of Styrofoam. You wouldn’t believe how much junk is in the water.”

  “I’m glad King’s with you.”

  “King’s better company than a lot of people we know, Sam. Smarter, too.” She spooned some cereal into her mouth.

  “You’re right.” He chuckled.

  “By the way,” Sam said, “Harold Johns called me late last night from Lynchburg. He wants us to join him and his wife for dinner next Saturday night. He’s flying down to Augusta on business for a few days, Melinda is coming with him. Think you can make it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not ready to leave yet. Like I said before, there’s still a lot for me to do here.” She sipped her coffee. “I’ll see what I can do, though. You know I’d love to be with you.”

  She’d never told Sam that Harold Johns gave her the creeps. After all, Sam had to work with the arrogant man occasionally. And Harold’s wife Melinda, well! She was a snobby, rich socialite who’d probably had more facelifts than she could count. “I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow. Any excuse to talk to you.”

  “I really do hope you can come for the weekend, Susie-Q, but I’ll understand if you can’t.

  “How’s the weather there, Aurora? Are you staying warm enough?”

  “I’m plenty warm during the day, but the water’s much too cold for a swim. In the evenings, I light the gas logs, pull an afghan up over me and read.” King whined and nosed Aurora. She patted his head. “Can’t see any sense in turning on the heat. As for the weather, that storm that roared through here has gone. Last night I thought I heard gun shots, but I’m guessing now that it was isolated claps of thunder or a car backfiring.” King whined again. Aurora opened the door and let him out.

  “And Sam, don’t worry about me. Even though I get teary-eyed when I think of Mother—and I do miss her terribly—I know she’s much better off now.” Aurora didn’t want to worry Sam, so she didn’t mention the undercurrent of fear that never left her.

  “I’m relieved to hear that, Susie-Q.

  “What are your plans for the day?”

  “I’m going to finish these thank-you notes to all the nice people who sent flowers and cards. I’ll save the cards they sent me; I’m sure you’d enjoy reading the sweet things they said about Mother. People have been so kind, even though Mother had suffered with Alzheimer’s for several years.” Aurora opened the door when King barked to come back inside.

  “I’d like to read the cards. By the way, did you look at the necklace again?”

  “I did. Sam, it’s hard to believe, but it looks like the diamonds and rubies are real.” She swallowed some orange juice. “I can hardly wait to get your opinion. If it’s genuine, then I’ll report it to the police. But I’d feel like a fool if I made a big deal out of a piece of costume jewelry.”

  “I can understand that. Where’d you put it?”

  “In the junk drawer in the kitchen.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing it. And seeing you, too. Guess I’d better head to the office now, though. I’ll call you tomorrow, Susie-Q. Love you, ‘bye.”

  “Goodbye, Sam. I love you, too.” Aurora stood for several seconds after hanging up the receiver, her fingertips touching the phone.

  By mid-afternoon, Aurora sealed and stamped the final envelope. That’s a relief. Tomorrow I’ll take them to the post office and put them in the mail. Right now I need to get outside. She pushed her chair away from the antique cherry writing desk.

  “King, want to go down to the dock?”

  King b
arked. Aurora laughed. “Let me get my bathing suit on, then we’ll go.” She hurried to the bedroom and put on a green and blue print suit. After picking up a thick yellow towel and her digital camera, she turned on the answering machine. She grabbed two slices of bread from the kitchen cupboard and walked down to the dock with King.

  She put the camera and towel on a chair. Then standing on the edge of the dock, she broke off small pieces of bread and tossed them into the water. Small fish darted out from under the dock and gobbled up the treats. Aurora laughed. “Some things never change, King.” She tossed him a piece. He caught it in midair.

  After throwing the last of the bread to the fish, she walked over to the boathouse and looked up at the canoe hoisted high above the pontoon boat. She knew that with the aid of the intricate system of ropes and pulleys her dad had installed, getting the old Grumman aluminum canoe down would only take a few minutes. She wanted—no, needed—to get out on the water, to prove to herself that the lake itself wasn’t her enemy. However, she still wasn’t ready to go swimming.

  Within fifteen minutes, Aurora was in the canoe. Her camera hung from her neck. She zipped up her life jacket and said, “Okay, King, come.” He stepped carefully into the boat. Aurora dipped her paddle into the water and the canoe glided away from the dock. “We’ll look for the grebes, see if we can find a nest.”

  Thirty minutes later, after no sign of the grebes, Aurora returned to the end of the dock so King could jump out. Not yet ready to get out of the canoe, she pushed away from the dock. She put the paddle down and dangled her hands in the deep, calm water.

  Aurora looked back at the two-story home her dad had designed and built on the hillside. The house’s exterior blended with the surroundings. A wide, covered porch—a veranda, her mother called it—around all four sides of the house allowed first-floor windows to stay open even during a heavy rain. An L-shaped section of screened porch on one corner provided spillover sleeping during the summer. The sunroom, Aurora’s favorite spot to curl up with a good book and a cup of mint tea on a winter day, was furnished with white wicker furniture, the cushions upholstered in a bright green and white fabric.