He caught me staring at him and the tempting feast he was preparing. “Hungry?” he asked as he cracked open some eggs.
“I have to confess, I’m starving.”
“Good. By the way, electricity is back on. We have hot water too. Why don’t you freshen up down the hall? I’ll be ready with our breakfast by the time you’re finished. Sound good?”
“If that aroma is any indication of the taste, I won’t be long.”
We spent a leisurely hour over breakfast, talking and enjoying the food. I found him charming and engaging. Something new had been thrown into the mix. I hadn’t expected to encounter a possible ally in all of this mess. Possible, though, was about as far as I was able to commit at the moment, because he, too, was still a mystery that I needed to solve.
Why did he choose me, of all people, to rescue? I couldn’t have been the only one stranded in the area. Why hadn’t I seen him in town in the last several months, and why was I encountering him now? As much as I was enjoying our conversation, I had priorities and really needed to get back home to try to take the time to figure it all out before I got in any deeper.
In due course, I broached the subject of my return home.
“I really should be getting back to try and clean up my house. I need to make a couple of phone calls. This time around, though, I would definitely appreciate a ride back.”
It had been an enjoyable morning, but life went on, and mine in particular was calling me to take care of a lot of lingering unfinished business. Before long, I found myself saying goodbye, then reluctantly securing my front door behind me, as another memorable episode of my life drove off on my no-longer-icy driveway.
I considered what an interesting addition to my book he’d be, and wondered exactly who and what he might know? I started straightening up the mess inside, but didn’t get very far. I had to get to my computer and add a few interesting side notes of my personal observations from that morning and the night before.
Chapter 14
Friend Or Foe?
Our conversation the night before had progressed slowly and a little awkwardly at first, but eventually we found some common ground in the fact that both of us were starting over. I had actually enjoyed myself, more than I had in a long time. Still I couldn’t let that lull me into forgetting about being watchful and cautious.
On the surface, after this last encounter, Clay seemed harmless enough, but what did I really know about him? Okay, so he saved me from freezing to death. But could that be because I was more useful to him alive than dead? How could I be sure he wasn’t the one writing those creepy letters?
Naturally, I was curious about his background. He’d said last night that he inherited his place from his aunt. She raised him from a young age after his parents perished in a plane crash. He was living and working in the city when she passed, so he hadn’t seen her for quite a while. He admitted his visits dwindled somewhat over the years because he was caught up in a heavy workload and time-consuming travel demands. No excuse, he commented, just thoughtless and now regrettable. I appreciated his honesty, and he certainly seemed sincere.
He claimed he was thunderstruck by the condition of her house when he rushed back for her funeral, and shocked by how run-down the property appeared. It was only then he realized the actual amount of time that had elapsed since his last visit. He had thought the phone calls were sufficient because she never complained or asked for anything. She loved hearing from him, so his conscience dealt with a misguided impression of how he thought things were. When he finally returned home, too late, he was forced to confront the convenience of his ignorance.
For many years, I had dealt with my own misguided impression of how I thought things were. It was too convenient to ignore Stephen’s obsessive behavior and last night I had let his influence slip away for a while. I began to feel hopeful for something more, and was pleasantly surprised by our enjoyable interaction. Even so, since Stephen passed away -- correction, since Stephen was murdered, an underlying wariness pierced all my thoughts and conversations. I couldn’t forget that, no matter where I was or to whom I spoke. So at this point, I had to treat Clay no differently from the others.
Clay did reveal something interesting: He owned one of the bookstores in town. I never saw him in there, only other employees, though I was probably not paying close attention. Not that I had dropped in much, maybe a few times. Who would have thought he had such interests? He certainly didn’t seem like the bookstore type. Nevertheless, my suspicious nature automatically kicked in. Was he being truthful about his past?
I could easily check that out and the bookstore ownership. There was just something out of character niggling at the back of my mind. I was thinking with a clear mind by morning, and not through the fog of wine. Even though I felt comfortable with him, could he really be trusted? What else might I find out about him? How long has he been living here? I didn’t recollect him offering that tidbit of information. It had to be in the last few months, at least that’s what I assumed after seeing the condition of the outside of his house on my hike. Did he buy the bookstore or inherit it from his aunt? What a convenient way to work himself into town life, maybe too convenient. I thought I would talk to Jack and ask him if he knew Clay.
What was I thinking? Jack seemed to know everyone well. If that were true, then maybe I would learn a thing or two. Nevertheless, I felt there was something I was missing and it was right there in front of me. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet. I was still feeling my way through this, but quickly learning to let my intuition guide me. It might be interesting to see if I could push a few boundaries of my own.
Suspicion still lingered on the edge as I cracked a smile. Funny, now that I thought it over, Clay never did mention what city he had been working in and what his former employment was. That was my fault; too much wine and too tired to think straight.
He conveniently smoothed right over those two small details, didn’t he?
Chapter 15
Rules Were Made To Be Broken
I wasn’t about to follow what was expected of me, because those parameters kept changing on a daily basis. I was having a hard time keeping up with them anyway. Mistakenly, I had felt so sure of my life, only to have that false sense of security pulled right out from under me.
I was so far off the mark with Stephen, assuming there was always trust between us. Thinking back now, I wondered why I didn’t start asking questions long before. Where did he go on those business trips? Who were his friends–so many of whom he refused to introduce me to?
I was so convinced I had Clay figured out, but once again, I might be mistaken. Should I believe him? Could I count on him? Did he also have a personal agenda? No matter what happened, I had to maintain an objective balance.
At the same time, I was developing a certain level of trust with Jack and Martha. Could I eventually add Clay to that list? I had always been mundane and predictable. Even Stephen had accused me of that on occasion. But no longer, Now, I was fueled by confidence and anger. I felt I had to make decisions and take risks I never would have considered previously, not just to find out the truth about Stephen, but quite possibly to save myself as well.
For the first time, I felt compelled to look at my life in a whole different way. I no longer needed or wanted anyone ever again to make a personal decision regarding my future or telling me how I should live my life. For the time being, I would walk my own path and be true to myself. I would make my own mistakes.
I knew there were no rules to take me through this emotional minefield I was traveling on. But it didn’t matter, for according to the new Book of Samantha rules were made to be broken.
Chapter 16
Where Do I Go From Here?
Before long, I was forced to acknowledge the fact that everyone who associated with Stephen and me was mainly there for Stephen’s sake. That fact offended my feeling of self-worth. Without it, what was I? It was a rude awakening to finally recognize I had lived in
his shadow, with no real friends other than his. He must have manipulated my life from the very beginning and, caught up in a haze of passion, I had done nothing to prevent it. I was too busy hiding among the pages of my books. But maybe I could finally change all that.
Now I could see through clearer eyes, and not through the smokescreen of his lies, deceptions, and excuses. Looking back, I had to ask myself, was I really happy living my life through him? Why did I ignore my unhappiness, my misgivings? Why didn’t I question his secretive nature? Was I postponing the inevitable, conveniently taking the coward’s way out, knowing someday I would be forced to face the unavoidable alternative? Did I live a false life with him because I was afraid of living a genuine one without him?
Didn’t he see what was happening to him, to us? Why did I ignore the truth? Did I look the other way just to avoid more arguments? Years went by and he became more stressed and short-tempered, but I figured it went with his job. Maybe, I was wrong and needed to take a closer look at the time leading up to his death. Maybe I was missing a different perspective. His.
The reason for his death was the question, along with my future because it now involved me. There had to be some connection I was missing. Why did I come back here, thinking I could find answers in this small town, the town where his family came every year while he was growing up? Why did he choose to build a house here for the two of us and want to maintain a link here? Was he still involved with someone and for what purpose? Legal? Illegal? I had to find out more information about his past, but quickly realized it was probably hopeless. He had been orphaned at an early age and grew up with foster parents, who were now dead. When Stephen first died, I’d tried to find out more, but couldn’t. The social system–privacy issues–whenever I got close to something, I’d arrive at a dead end.
Stephen had told me he had no siblings and no other family, period. I did an online search for relatives and came up empty-handed. I made phone calls and got nowhere. I even looked up variations of his last name, thinking he might have changed it, but I came up empty.
There were no photo albums from his past, not even mementos. He said that an apartment fire had occurred and he lost everything. He never wanted to talk about his past, saying it was too painful for him. What was a loving wife to do? I dropped it.
According to my anonymous notes, whatever had been going on was connected to numbers. What kind? Some way, somehow, it all came back to a key. What key? I was making myself crazy with these questions swirling through me day and night, but they needed to be asked.
I was feeling my way, uncertain, unsafe–making my own mistakes. I was learning how to go about getting what I wanted for a change.
Yes, I still felt vulnerable, but I was gradually changing, adapting, and growing stronger.
I decided to trust Jack to tell me some things. He had known Stephen practically all his life.
There was nothing suspicious in me asking him about my husband, was there?
Chapter 17
Just The Facts Please
Coffee at the diner was an ideal location to meet with Jack. I glanced around at the people in the various booths while I waited for him. I recognized a few of the other customers, but they were mere acquaintances. Even after living there for several months, I was still considered an outsider.
I hoped our meeting wouldn’t engender too much gossip. There was plenty of speculation going on about me as it was and I wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Still, everyone knew Jack had built our house for us and although Mike might have been the foreman, Jack was the boss. Jack not only sold us the property, but also owned the construction company. So one more meeting over coffee was not out of the ordinary. There were always kinks to work out in a new house anyway, and besides, everyone knew Jack watched over me protectively. Almost everyone else kept their distance. Why, I wondered? Was it respect or fear? That was anybody’s guess. In any case, I was still questioning the motives of everyone I knew, including Jack’s, but tried to seem busy and reserved.
My eyes zeroed in on him as soon as he entered. What did I really know about this man, other than some kind of relationship with Stephen in the past? They had known each other from way before I ever came along. I took a lot for granted on my husband’s word alone, never questioning anything. Why would I? I believed Stephen implicitly. Now, here I was, finally asking those questions I should have asked so long ago.
Stephen had claimed Jack was like a father figure to him, convincingly, too, I might add. Considering the circumstances I was currently involved in, maybe both of us had an agenda. During those months of transition, I had absolutely no one else to turn to. Could it possibly be I was too blinded by emotion and perceived Jack’s motives as nothing more than compassion for a young grieving widow?
He came over and sat down. “Hi, Samantha. Your call, inviting me for a cup of coffee sure was a welcome break from my busy schedule.”
“Hi, Jack, glad you could make it. How is Barbara doing?”
“Just fine. I think she was secretly delighted to get rid of me for the morning though. That’s what’s so hard about working out of my house. We sometimes get sick of seeing each other.”
I knew the two of them lived together and he was exaggerating. They both wanted companionship and living separately made no sense because their spouses were both deceased. With his office located there, she pretty much saw him all the time.
We laughed, knowing how famous he was for his temper, and that probably was the real reason she was glad he was gone for a while. Though I had never been witness to it, I heard all the rumors about his notorious temper from Martha. Plus, Mike had informed me on a number of occasions that after a while people learned to back off when Jack got angry and let him cool down on his own.
After we settled in with our coffee, I casually asked, “I was wondering if you could tell me a little background about Stephen, you know, those years before I met him.”
His eyes immediately fixed on mine. “What exactly did you want to know?”
I took a breath and jumped right in. “I always felt some confusion about his past that never made sense to me,” I began, slowly. “I don’t know much about his background. He was always so vague and aloof whenever I tried to pursue the subject. Maybe you could tell me when and how you first met Stephen.”
I wasn’t positive, but thought I noticed a shift in his usually easy-going expression.
“Well,” Jack began, “I met Stephen and his foster parents one summer, my goodness, quite a few years ago.”
Surprised to hear their relationship went back that far, I remarked, “I knew very little about his foster parents. Stephen always tried to avoid the subject and I’ve always wondered why.”
Jack smiled. “He did have his boundaries, didn’t he? Let’s see, they used to stay in one of the summer cottages I owned and rented on Mirror Lake. They were nice enough people, but didn’t know the first thing about keeping a restless boy from getting bored in the summer. I can tell you, I took a liking to Stephen right away. He was quiet, smart and eager to learn.”
“Learn what?” I asked, curiously.
“Oh, every time he saw me, he kept expressing interest in the building business and with his foster parent’s permission, I eventually let him help out on the site, you know, doing odd jobs. To tell you the truth, I think they were relieved to get rid of him for a few hours each day. They didn’t know what to do with the kid. It was sad. Pretty soon, he stayed longer and longer until finally, I started to drive him back at the end of each day, instead of them picking him up. They were happy with the arrangement and knew from the locals I could be trusted. He seemed a lonely kid who just needed some guidance.”
“How old was he when you first met him?” I asked.
“Oh, I guess he was in his late teens. But what amazed me was what a whiz he was with figures. He had a photographic memory, could add columns of numbers in seconds, and a high IQ. I was sure of it. The Blackburns had no
clue. Then, at the end of one summer, there was a tragic accident. They were killed on the road at night driving up the mountain when they were coming back to town. Rumor had it from an eyewitness; a large truck was on the way down and passed around that hairpin bend in the road. You know that dangerous one. It was foggy and they must have mistakenly overcompensated in the fog and ended up in the gorge, down maybe a thousand feet below, crashing among the water and boulders. They never had a chance.”
Why didn’t Stephen ever tell me any of this?
“It must have been horrible.”
“It was. Stephan was left homeless in an instant. He was so upset he tried to runaway. I grabbed a hold of him and tried to talk some sense into him. He asked if I would hire him in my construction company. I can tell you that would have been a waste, knowing that boy’s smarts, but I hated to see him leave. I thought about it and made him an offer. I didn’t have any children of my own and Stephen was like the son I always wanted, but never had. I told him I would pay for his college if he went into accounting. He had a gift with numbers and I wanted to help him out. I felt sorry for him. He had no one and I knew I could well afford it. Besides, I had a catch. If he accepted, then after graduation, he would come and work for me for five years to pay me back. No strings attached after that and eventually, he finally accepted.”
“Did he stay the five years?” I asked.
“No. He stayed seven, and then left for the city for a more social life. I really couldn’t blame him. I was sorry to see him go though, as I valued those years we spent together a lot.”
The Puzzle Page 6