by Adrianne Lee
“Mrs. Farraday, don’t.” Spencer pleaded, his voice and good manners strained.
Lily ran the tip of one long nail across his lower lip. “Mrs. Farraday? No need to be so formal, dear. No one is going to hear us…or is that what you’re afraid of? That we’ll get caught here? You always were more shy than your brother. Well, I know a very private place. No one will disturb us there—because no one but me knows it exists.”
“What?”
She tapped the empty wine glass against his chest. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Lily won’t leave the house. Well, to get my secret place it isn’t necessary to go outside. You don’t believe me, do you?” She laughed and looped her arm through his. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t want to go anywhere with you, Lily.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t care about you in that way.”
Releasing Spencer, she stepped back and raked her eyes over him, then arched one brow and peered at him tauntingly. “Are you trying to tell me you prefer—ahem—your own gender?”
“No,” Spencer roared. “I prefer April.”
For five whole seconds her mother stared at him, clearly taken aback. Then she burst into laughter. “April! She’s just a baby. A man like you needs a woman.”
“April is worth the wait.”
“You’re making a big mistake, darling.” Her words sounded more slurred than before, but the threat in them was distinct enough. “Reconsider—or I might have to tell August I caught you playing nasty with little April.”
As though her feet were part of the concrete floor, April stood frozen in place, unable to look away, unable to block out the horrid words.
Spencer glared at Lily. “August wouldn’t believe you.”
“Don’t underestimate my influence with him. If the notion struck me, I could convince him to send you, your brother, and your phony southern belle of a mother back to whatever Texas rock you all climbed out from under.” She moved against his chest again. “But I could be talked out of forgetting the subject ever came up…”
“No.” Spencer set Lily away from him.
Lily bristled, swinging the wine goblet through the air. It hit against the banister. The lip of the glass broke. The sound reached April before a jagged chunk of crystal landed near her feet, but her attention remained riveted on the scene being played out on the landing above her.
“You’ll be sorry…” A vicious smile curved Lily’s famous mouth. She glanced at the now dangerously notched rim of the wine goblet. She tossed her head haughtily and narrowed her eyes as though she were acting out a role and the weapon in her hand were a prop, not something that could inflict real pain, real death. For a heartbeat, she waved it menacingly at Spencer. Then shrieking like a wounded cat, she lunged at him.
Spencer threw his arms up to protect himself and pushed her away.
Surprise wiped the smile from Lily’s face. She reeled backward, struck the railing, but failed to grasp it. She pitched out over the stairs. Spencer grabbed for her and missed. Lily screamed. And screamed.
As April watched in horrified shock, her mother started to tumble toward her. The wine glass fell. Crashed. Lily’s body banged against the wood railing, thumped against the risers, as April ran forward and Spencer ran down. But neither reached her in time to stop the rough landing on the concrete floor.
April fell to her knees beside her mother. Lily was still alive, but even at fourteen April could tell she was hurt badly. Her eyes were glazed, and she seemed to be holding her neck at an odd angle.
Terrified, April clutched her mother’s hand and glanced up at Spencer. He was staring dumbfounded at Lily. His face was dead white. “I…I didn’t mean to….”
She nodded. “Go get Daddy. Hurry.”
Without another word, Spencer had raced up the stairs like the devil himself were after him.
April blinked. The inkiness of the cavern surrounded her, pulling her from the past with a jolt. For a long while, she stayed huddled against the ground, listening. At length, she realized the frightened bats had roosted elsewhere, as evidenced by the heavy silence.
Slowly she lowered her hands and opened her eyes. Several seconds passed and the squeeze of fear that always came when she faced total darkness failed to take hold. Soon she realized she was not afraid and knew the answer was simple. There were no more secrets hiding in the shadowy depths.
She shifted to a more comfortable position, leaned against the wall and closed her weary eyes. Discovering she hadn’t killed Lily had left her feeling oddly empty and strangely satisfied. Yet, oddly, a scrap of guilt still burrowed in her conscience. Why? Because she was the catalyst for the fight between Spencer and her mother which had led to the fall? Probably. She could live with that, but if she couldn’t have Spencer, what good was knowing the truth?
Hot tears fell across April’s chilled cheeks and fear, worse than any created by the darkness, attached itself to her heart. For April was certain she finally understood Spencer’s repeated rejections, the fleeting twinge of guilt in his haunted gray eyes. Undoubtedly, he was reminded of his part in Lily’s accident every time he looked at April. And he always would be.
She hugged her knees, lamenting into the black silence, “Oh, Spence, even with my memory back—Lily is going to keep us apart forever.”
Chapter Twenty
The person who had pushed April from the cliff considered those gathered in August Farraday’s den. Men, women, and child, all were present, dressed for outdoors. But until the fog and the darkness subsided, no one was going anywhere. A sense of agitated gloom hovered over the group like a thunder cloud. It was apparent they thought they already knew the dismal outcome of the search that lay ahead and dreaded its inevitability. Yet each appeared anxious to get on with it.
Fools. So they’d found an earring. Well, soon they’d find her body. But the truth…they would never find that. It was as dead as April.
The person smiled inwardly, welcoming the impending search, no longer afraid of discovery. At some point during the sleepless night, the serenity had finally come. Probably with the acceptance that eliminating April had not only been necessary, but had brought the events of twelve years ago full circle.
And finding her and burying her would deliver the final release.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the background, a radio station played static-laced elevator music as those gathered in the den awaited a weather report. Helga served coffee and sweet rolls. Spencer accepted a cup of the strong black liquid, but refused the pastry, knowing he’d never choke food past the lump in his throat. It didn’t even smell good.
Gulping down the coffee, he stalked to the window and stared at the smothering fog. July nudged his side. He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him in an awkward, comforting hug. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say. With half an ear, he listened to August’s phone conversation with the Coast Guard, feeling like a motorless sailboat stalled in the dead seas, waiting for a wind that wasn’t going to come.
Hearing him say goodbye, Spencer turned around in time to see August shakily set the receiver in its cradle. A solemn resignation defined the elderly man’s slumped form. After a long moment, he lifted his head. Tears stood in his dark blue eyes. “I…I told them to concentrate on the south shoreline.”
No on said anything. Spencer’s eyes met August’s and he knew their thoughts were on a similar plane. It was twelve years, almost to the day, and now they would find April as they had found Lily.
Spencer’s stomach hurt. The hot coffee exacerbated the pain. He released July, strode to the fireplace, and deposited the cup on the mantle. Grabbing up the poker, he prodded the dying flame. It hissed, then revived with a crackle and a spark. He added another log.
With his back to the growing heat, he sank to the raised hearth and surreptitiously studied the faces of those so familiar to him. Which one—Thane, Karl, August, Helga, March, o
r Cynthia—was the consummate actor? Which one, professing fear and worry for April, might actually have been capable of shoving her from the cliff? For he was now convinced that was what must have happened. The only other alternative was that April had jumped, and her doctor insisted she wasn’t suicidal. He’d been convinced enough to call in the Sheriff, but he was practical enough to realize he might never be able to prove foul play.
Maybe if he understood the motive behind this hideous crime, he’d know which one to blame. Somehow, he felt it had to do with Lily. Was it because April looked so much like her mother?
He glanced at his own mother through hooded eyes, hating that he suspected her. But, for all her claimed concern, he kept recalling her resentment and jealousy of Lily. Did she look upon April as a constant reminder of the actress August had once loved? Even so, could she hate enough to kill? The very idea made his skin crawl. Yet… Before Lily, he hadn’t thought himself capable of such thoughts either.
The old guilt soured his weak stomach. It was generous of Thane to insist Lily’s fall had been an accident, but had it been? Although he’d never said it aloud, no matter how hard he tried, Spencer couldn’t deny he’d despised Lily for the things she’d been saying and trying to do, couldn’t deny he’d shoved her, and couldn’t erase the vision of her sprawled on the cement floor with her neck broken, her eyes glassy.
August’s tremoring voice sliced through this black introspection. “The man said there’s a storm due in and the headwinds have already reached Friday Harbor. The fog should start lifting by noon.”
“Noon!” Spencer leaped to his feet, dropping the poker with a clatter. “Hell, it’s six-thirty. I’m not gonna cool my heels for another five and a half hours.”
“You’re not going to have to, man,” Karl pronounced from his position at the French doors. “Listen.”
Except for the fire, the room fell silent. Then Cynthia whispered, “Wind.”
Spencer strained to hear it. A weak breeze. It wheezed against the ancient structure, erratically at first, panting into the blinding mists with the strength of a breathless jogger. But it gained force rapidly. Even before holes of visibility appeared in the dense fog, everyone had donned their respective coats.
Like a small army marching to certain defeat, they left the house. Spencer hadn’t bothered to suggest anybody stay behind; it was evident no one wanted to wait in the house.
Random patches of fog lingered, wavered in the wind, swirled and dissipated, chilling the air with frigid dampness. Overhead, the sky was as sullen and gray as the group moving to the cliff.
The binoculars around Spencer’s neck banged against his chest with every step he took. Soon, the cold penetrated his clothing and stung his unshaven face. Ignoring it, he clung tighter to July’s hand. He still couldn’t believe she had come out here alone, in the dark, against strict orders to stay indoors.
Children had the oddest sense of indestructibility. She had no real idea how dangerously high these cliffs were, no concept of erosion. If something looked solid, it was. God, they might have lost her, too, he reflected, shivering at the thought. “Are you cold, twerp?”
“Nope.” She strode ahead with all the aplomb of her seven years. The group followed at a solemn clip.
Nearing their destination, Spencer was struck by an unwelcome memory. This weather, like a bad omen, was unerringly similar to the dark stormy day that had been Lily’s last. Sweat dampened his chilled flesh. Of all the details he couldn’t bury about that dreadful day, why had one he’d completely forgotten come to haunt him now? He had no answer, only gut wrenching dread.
Five feet from the precipice, he signaled for everyone to halt. Squatting, he asked July, “Where was the earring?”
She scanned the cliff in both directions, seemed to visually measure the distance from the house, then shrugged at Spencer. “I think it was right there.” Her finger was aimed at a disturbed section of ground directly in front of them, but her face was twisted in confusion. “I left Barbie to mark the spot. Where is she?”
The doll was missing as surely as April. Spencer wanted to rush to the ledge, but made himself deal with July first. He gave her a hug, then set her away from him. “You’ve been a big help. I want you to stay back with Mom now. Okay?”
Her lower lip trembled, but July nodded and retreated into her mother’s waiting arms. Tension hung in the air as thick as the fog that had kept them from this moment throughout the night. The women stood back. The men proceeded to the precipice.
“Spread out,” August instructed. He knelt and inched close to the edge. The others duplicated his moves. “Watch your footing. It looks to be eroded along here.”
As if to stress this, a clod of soil beneath Walter O’Brien’s shoe fell away, unbalancing him. He swore and scooted backward.
“Careful…” August warned.
Like a marine in a battle zone, Spencer dropped to his belly. The leather strap of the binoculars dug into his nape, the glasses themselves jabbed against his chest. He pulled them free and snaked forward on ground that felt something like spongy sandpaper. Pebbles rattled down the bluff.
Taking a deep breath, he stretched his neck over the lip of the cliff. His eyes slammed shut. He was terrified to look, more terrified not to. Wet earth and brine invaded his nostrils as the roar of the surf reached up and hammered against his ears. How often in his life had these smells and sounds lent him comfort? Not now. For the first time, these natural phenomena failed to ease his distress.
Bracing himself, he lifted his eyelids and scanned the rocky shore below. He saw rocks and water and two wheeling gulls, but no human body. Breath exited his burning lungs with a sputter.
Karl was to his right, and Spencer now noticed that a bushy fir tree seemed to completely block his view of the shore. He started to assure Karl there was no sign of April when the man turned puzzled blue eyes to him and pointed to the fir. “Whaddaya make of this?”
He’d spoken so softly Spencer doubted anyone else had overheard. Belly-crawling closer to Karl, he trained the binoculars on the tree. Its branches had fresh breaks and a few of its roots were partially dislodged as though something—or someone—had tugged or clung hard enough to the tree to cause this damage. April. With his heart contracting he glanced at Karl and could tell he had come to the same conclusion.
Fear battered Spencer’s soul as he slowly played the field glasses across the roiling waters below.
From his position just beyond Karl, Thane shouted, “Hey, that looks like a ledge down there. And there’s something white on it.”
“Barbie!” July shouted.
The ground shook with running feet.
Spencer felt his heart leap.
Heard his mother yell, “July, no!”
He whirled around in time to see the child sprinting toward Thane.
As Spencer scrambled to his feet, Karl lunged for her and missed. She darted too close to the bluff. Rocks rumbled downward. Horrified gasps rent the windy air, and everyone seemed to move at once.
A split second later, a wild-eyed Cynthia grasped the child by the shoulders and hauled her away from the bluff. “July Margaret Farraday, don’t you ever do that again!” she reprimanded with a quavering, breathless voice that parroted the terrified murmurs of all present.
Now everyone hastened to Thane. Spencer reached him first. His heartbeat was as quick as July had been a moment before. He dropped to the ground and again stretched out on his stomach. “Karl, Thane, grab my legs. I want a better look at that ledge.”
He lifted the binoculars and peered through them, concentrating on the face of the cliff. What little light there was originated at his back and altered the true character of the rocky wall. Shadows adopted false depths, and the last vestiges of the blanketing fog darted like teasing fan dancers, blurring and obstructing the thing he most wanted to see. He shifted positions several times.
Gripping the metal tighter, he attempted to stifle the frustration needling him, but only
managed to pain the tender flesh circling his eyes. He was about to give up when a break in the cloud cover released a shaft of light. At last. He craned his neck for a better look. There, in the center of the round magnified lens, he spotted the doll.
“It’s Barbie, all right,” he told the men. “And she’s definitely on a shelf of some kind.” After endless hours of desolation, Spencer felt a stirring of hope. April was not there, but this ledge would have supported her.
August squatted beside his shoulder. “Do you think it’s an entrance to one of the tunnels?”
He sat up and shakily handed the glasses to his stepfather. “You tell me.”
August wasted no time joining him on the ground, employing the binoculars.
Spencer felt a panic like claustrophobia. The wind wasn’t strong enough to steal his breath, and yet, he found it difficult to fill his lungs. Perhaps, he rationalized, the odd sensation arose from the close proximity of the group; everyone seemed to be huddled around August and him like sheep waiting to be shorn.
“Yes, by God!” August’s shout startled him. “It is one of the original entrances to the caverns. And look…!” He grasped Spencer tightly around the neck, stuffed the binoculars into his palm, and pointed to the ledge. “Right next to the doll. Is that what I think it is?”
Spencer held the field glasses in a death grip and perused the area around the doll. Suddenly, a glint of light winked at him. He blinked. His hand stilled. He could barely believe his eyes—it looked like… A shuddery laugh escaped as he lowered the glasses and turned a hope-filled gaze toward his stepfather.
“Is it…?”
“I’d swear…”
“Do you think it means…?”
For a moment all Spencer could do was nod. Then standing, he dragged his stepfather up with him. “Pray it does, August. Pray it does.”
“For heaven’s sake, will the two of you tell us what you’ve found?”