Don't Tell ds-2

by Элизабет Чандлер

  Nora’s trap. She must have been nearby, waiting until I was at the other end of the greenhouse to lock the door. But she was supposed to have been with Aunt Jule. Again I considered the possibility of another person being responsible for my mother’s death and the things that had been happening to me. Nora’s crazy behavior would provide a convenient cover, and it would be easy enough to mimic her. Who knew about the boathouse incident? Nick and Frank, Holly and Aunt Jule — and anyone in the town whom they might have told.

  I tried to illuminate the area beyond the door, but the flashlight’s reflection off the glass surface made it impossible to see more than a foot beyond the greenhouse.

  I clicked it off and stepped back from the door, retreating farther and farther into the rows of plants, hoping that as I became less visible, I would detect some movement outside.

  Something touched my neck. I pulled away from a bench of plants and clumsily banged into the one across from it. It was my own sweat trickling down, nothing else. The heat was oppressive. A dull headache throbbed behind my eyes.

  I wanted to sleep.

  The obvious way to escape was to break the glass, but I was reluctant to. The large square panes were old and might be irreplacable. I decided to rest there till Holly or Aunt Jule woke up and found me. I sat on the damp brick floor, longing to put my head down, but something kept nagging at me. The missing fuses, the sealed fan. I pulled myself to my feet again and waves of dizziness broke over me. I felt sick, as if I had inhaled fumes, but I could smell nothing but the rich earthiness of the greenhouse.

  Lack of ventilation, space heaters, sleepiness, no smellmy muddled mind kept groping for the pattern it sensed but couldn’t identify. Sleepiness, no smell — carbon monoxide!

  The gas could be generated by heating units. It was odorless. And it could kill.

  I had to break a window. I remembered that there was a hand shovel by the trellises, but I was closer to the front of the greenhouse, and the path to the back seemed long to me now, wavering in front of my eyes like a distant patch of road on a hot day. The flashlight, that would work.

  I had left it on the ground when I’d sat down. I leaned over to pick it up and pitched forward. It took all of my strength to straighten up. I discovered I couldn’t look down — just moving my head made me dizzy. Crouching slowly, grasping the end of a plant bench with one hand, I felt with my other for the flashlight.

  My fingers curled around its plastic barrel. I pulled myself up and moved uncertainly toward the front of the greenhouse, like an old woman feeling her way along the pews of a church. The open area by the entrance would allow me to take aim at the glass from a safe distance.

  I stopped where the benches ended, about six feet from the front wall, and hurled the flashlight toward a pane. But my body had become as sloppy as my mind from the poisonous gas. The flashlight glanced off the metal frame without making a crack in the glass.

  Unable to walk without support, I got down on my knees and crawled to the flashlight. I knew I’d get cut, smashing the glass at close range; the best I could do was turn my face away. Kneeling close to the window, holding the flashlight like a hammer, I banged against the glass relentlessly.

  Shards fell like a shower of prickly leaves, stinging my arms. I knocked the two-foot square out cleanly, then dropped the flashlight on the grass. Standing up, thrusting my head through the opening, I gulped my first breath of fresh air and felt the cold breeze on my sweaty skin. Then I blacked out.

  * * *

  “Lauren? Lauren?”

  I opened my eyes and quickly shut them again, drawing back from the bright light shining in my face. It clicked off.

  “Lauren, can you hear me?” Nick asked.

  A long dog tongue licked my face. Reaching up, I put my arms around Rocky and sat up slowly. I felt sick and scared.

  I wished Nick would hold me and be as gentle as he was with Nora, but I wouldn’t ask for his comfort. I buried my face in the dog’s fur.

  “Your arms are cut,” Nick said. “I want to check them.”

  Without looking at him, I held out one, then the other, and felt him probing the skin.

  “Nothing deep,” he told me, “mostly scratches. Still, you should soak in a tub to make sure all the glass is out,” he added, his voice sounding almost clinical. “What happened? Why did you break the window?”

  “Someone was trying to kill me.”

  “What?”

  I petted Rocky until I felt in control. “I was out walking,” I said, “and saw a light on in the greenhouse, the flashlight you’re holding. I went inside. It was hot and stuffy. I couldn’t ventilate the place. The fuses were pulled, the fan sealed, the vent crank broken. Space heaters had been left on.

  When I tried to leave, I found the door locked, locked from the outside.”

  I gazed up at Nick’s face, waiting to see the flicker of realization. Behind him, the house lights came on. Nick glanced over his shoulder, then back at me.

  “Don’t you understand?” I said, but I could see by his face that he didn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that someone in Wisteria was a murderer.

  “Understand what?”

  “Nick, someone tried to kill me — to poison me with carbon monoxide!”

  Another light went on downstairs, and three figures came out on the porch.

  “What’s going on?” Holly shouted to us. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Nick called back to her.

  Fine, I thought wryly. Aloud I asked, “Why are you here, Nick? Did they call you?”

  “Someone did,” he said.

  “Nick, is Lauren out there?” Holly asked. “She’s not in her room.”

  “She’s here, she’s fine,” Nick replied. In a quieter voice he said to me, “After I got home someone telephoned my house three times and hung up. The Caller ID listed Jule’s number. I thought Nora might be upset and trying to reach me.”

  “She was upset,” I told him, “and sleeping in Aunt Jule’s room tonight — at least, she was supposed to be.” I saw Holly hurrying toward us, followed by Aunt Jule and Nora.

  “So why did you come to the greenhouse?”

  He hesitated. “It made sense to check here first. Nora spends a lot of time here.”

  I gazed at him doubtfully.

  “And I saw the flashlight on,” Nick added.

  “When I used it to break the window, it was off.”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied.

  “I know so.”

  Nick glanced away. “You’re too groggy to remember anything clearly.”

  Holly stopped a few feet away, noticing the broken pane in the greenhouse wall and the pile of glass shimmering in the grass. Her jaw dropped. Nick stood up quickly and went to her, but I was still too dizzy to move.

  Aunt Jule caught up. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Lauren, are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nick?” Aunt Jule said, turning to him. “What happened?”

  He repeated his story about the phone calls, then recounted what I had told him. Aunt Jule and Holly glanced back at Nora, who was peering at me from behind them.

  “Lauren seems to be all right,” Nick concluded. “I saw the glass shattering, then her head come through. I lifted her all the way out. She wasn’t unconscious for long. And the cuts are superficial.”

  Aunt Jule leaned down and reached for my hands, stretching out my arms to study them. “I don’t understand.

  What was the point of all this?” she asked.

  “To kill me,” I answered bluntly. “To poison me with carbon monoxide.”

  She let go and took a step back. Holly looked incredulous, but then her face grew thoughtful. If there was anyone I could make understand, it was she.

  “I don’t believe it,” Aunt Jule said. “This is the nonsense Frank planted in your head after your accident. Who would want to kill you?”

  “I don’t remember,” Nora said softly.

 
“The same person who killed my mother,” I answered Aunt Jule.

  “Don’t tell,” said Nora.

  Aunt Jule ignored her. “No one killed Sondra, Lauren. It was an accident.”

  “I used to think so.” Holding on to Rocky, I rose to my feet

  “So why are you all here? Who got you out of bed?”

  Aunt Jule glanced at Holly.

  “Nora woke us,” Holly admitted. “She said something was happening outside.”

  “How did Nora know that?”

  “She always has difficulty sleeping,” Aunt Jule replied defensively.

  “Yes, she had difficulty the night my mother died,” I said. “I went to see Dr. Parker tonight.”

  Holly looked surprised. “Is that where you went? Oh, Lauren, you should have told me. I didn’t realize you were that upset.”

  “We talked about the knots,” I continued.

  Holly glanced at Nick, and he put his arm around her.

  Aunt Jule and Nora listened, both of their faces pale.

  “Dr. Parker said the knot-tying could be poltergeist activity.”

  “What?” Holly exclaimed.

  “He said that most of the time the phenomenon is caused by an adolescent, someone who is very upset. It’s a way of dealing with intense, suppressed emotions. Often it’s not even conscious. The person doesn’t know he or she is responsible.”

  Holly frowned and shook her head slightly.

  “My mother’s things were tied in knots just before she died. Tonight, my things were.”

  “Lauren,” Holly said, “I think you need to talk to someone else. Coming back to Wisteria has been a lot harder on you than any of us thought it would be. We need to find you another counselor, one who is more—”

  “It’s real! It’s happening!” I exploded. “Accept it!”

  “It’s real, it’s happening,” Nora echoed.

  The others gazed at Nora, then me with the same concerned, tolerant expression. I would have been angered by their patronizing looks, but I didn’t believe they were thinking what their faces showed. I didn’t trust any of them.

  Not Nora, not Aunt Jule, not Nick, not Holly. They knew things they weren’t telling me. Maybe they had agreed among themselves not to tell me.

  “I promise you,” I said, “I’m going to find out what happened to my mother and what is happening to me.”

  “All right,” Holly answered softly, soothingly.

  “Nick, I want to keep Rocky tonight.”

  “If it makes you feel safer,” he replied with a shrug.

  “It does,” I said, starting toward the house. “Rocky doesn’t pretend like the rest of you.”

  sixteen

  I finally got some sleep Tuesday night, lying with my back against Rocky’s, listening to his dog snores. Early the next morning I went outside with him. While he swam, I fell asleep again on the grassy bank. Holly awakened me.

  “This doesn’t look good,” she said, smiling, “one of my party guests asleep on the lawn the morning after.”

  I sat up. “What time is it?”

  “About nine-fifteen. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. My headache’s gone and I’m not nauseated anymore.”

  She nodded. “I opened the greenhouse door and turned on the fans to air the place out. Did you realize there’s a big exhaust fan at the back of the greenhouse? Of course,” she added quickly, as if afraid she’d hurt my feelings, “it might not have helped last night.”

  “The exhaust fan was sealed,” I told her, “as it is in winter.”

  “No, it’s automated now. The flaps open when you turn on the fan.”

  “So you replaced the fuses?”

  “The fuses?” she repeated. “I just hit the switch.”

  “Holly, there wasn’t any electric power in the greenhouse last night. I couldn’t turn on the fans or the light.”

  She bit her lip, then said quietly, “Sometimes, when people get frightened, they think they’re doing something, but they’re not thinking clearly so they’re not doing it right.”

  “I was doing it right.”

  She didn’t want to argue with me. “Well, maybe. Let’s get some breakfast.”

  “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

  “Come on, Lauren, you’ll feel better if you eat something.”

  I gave in and called Rocky. Nick’s wet and fragrant dog made it as far as the hall entrance to the house. “Please, not on an empty stomach,” Holly pleaded.

  I brought Rocky’s breakfast out to the porch, some of last night’s meat and a piece of toast, though the toast was supposed to have been mine. Heading inside to make more, I entered through the dining room door and stopped in my tracks.

  Aunt Jule’s work lamp had been knocked over, its white globe broken, the fragments scattered on the table. In the basket next to it a dozen colorful embroidery threads were tied together in fantastic knots. I debated whether to call to the others. No, Aunt Jule might accuse me again of seeking attention. Let her find it and see how it felt when this strange phenomenon was directed at her.

  I started toward the kitchen, then backtracked — there was something amiss in what I had just seen. While the lamp’s cord was pulled from the socket, it wasn’t knotted. The cord of my bedroom lamp had been yanked from the wall plate and knotted. The lamp broken the day I arrived had also had a knotted cord. Perhaps it was the process of making the knot, the psychokinetic force used to tie the cords, that caused the lamps to tip over, and similarly, the force exerted to knot the swing’s rope that caused it to snap. But there was no knot in this cord. It was as if someone had added the lamp to the scenario, overlooking that one detail. Maybe someone was mimicking Nora.

  But who — who would have a reason to hide behind her behavior and wait for a chance to kill me? The question I had asked myself at the bank two days ago flickered in my mind again, and this time I couldn’t snuff it out. What was the nature of the relationship between my mother and Aunt Jule? Had it gone bad at the end?

  My mother had died the summer she’d written the new will, which left everything to me, with that one provision. Aunt Jule had asked me here, knowing I was nine months away from my eighteenth birthday and that she would inherit the money if I died before then. But I couldn’t believe that my own godmother would hurt me.

  I wasn’t naive. Life in Washington had taught me how the desire for money destroyed the values of all kinds of people.

  But while I could almost imagine that Aunt Jule only pretended affection for me — perhaps it wouldn’t be hard, visiting me twice a year and seeing me now for just a few days — I couldn’t believe that she would allow her own daughter to be blamed.

  Still, some curious puzzle pieces fit. Perhaps Aunt Jule had been refusing to get help for Nora because she knew she would need her as a cover. If Nora were accused of murder, she would be helped rather than harmed, getting the psychiatric care she needed and eventually released. In the end Nora would share in the wealth she had “earned.” Aunt Jule had always had a knack for quietly getting what she needed.

  Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I continued on to the kitchen. My godmother entered a few moments after me.

  “Good morning, girls.”

  “ ’Morning,” we both murmured.

  “How did you sleep, Lauren?”

  “Okay,” I answered.

  “And you, Holly?”

  She pulled her head out of the newspaper. “Not bad.”

  “Well,” Aunt Jule said, “Today’s a new—” A long, plaintive whimper came from the next room. Holly quickly put down the paper.

  “I didn’t do it!” Nora cried. “I didn’t!”

  “Here we go again,” Holly muttered as the three of us hurried into the dining room.

  I watched Aunt Jule’s face, searching for some sign that she already knew what was there. Both she and Holly noticed the lamp first, then the knotted embroidery silk.

  Holly suddenly turned to me. “You don’t seem very surpr
ised, Lauren. Did you know this was here?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I saw it when I came in.”

  Holly frowned, silent for a moment. “I want to believe you. I really want to believe you’re not playing pranks, but I just don’t know what to think.”

  “I didn’t do it!” I insisted.

  “I didn’t do it,” Nora echoed.

  “Then who did?” Aunt Jule asked, setting the lamp base upright.

  Nora edged toward me. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell.”

  “Oh, shut up!” Holly said.

  Aunt Jule fingered the knots, her lips pressed together.

  “If someone tells, will Sondra wake up?” Nora asked. “I won’t tell.”

  Holly whirled around and Nora winced.

  “I hate this, Mom!” Holly exclaimed. “Can’t you see that Nora needs help? She’s making life miserable for all of us.”

  Aunt Jule stared coolly at Holly.

  “Nora, you are so messed up!” Holly said. “You are really sick.”

  “Holly!” Aunt Jule chided.

  “You’re out of control, Nora,” Holly went on, pacing back and forth, combing her hair with her fingers. “You need to be locked up! You belong in a lunatic—” Suddenly Holly stopped, the color draining from her face.

  She yanked on her hair, then she reached back with her other hand. I saw her swallow hard. I thought at first that it was her hands flexing her hair, picking it up off her neck. I watched with disbelief as a long strand of black hair twisted itself into a knot Then another, and another.

  Holly clutched at her hair, her eyes widening with fear.

  She leaned over and shook her head, pulling on her hair, as if she were being swarmed by bees.

  “Make it stop, Nora!” Holly screamed. “Make it stop!”

  Aunt Jule stood paralyzed. Nora looked terrified.

  I know what this is, I told myself; there is nothing to be afraid of. I reached for the frightened Holly, trying to steady her, then caught her hair in my hands and held it till the bizarre storm of energy had passed.