“Hello,” I yelled out and walked around to the north side of the building, where the old entrance to the naval science office and museum had once been.
I found that door not completely closed. I stepped down the three steps to the door and pulled hard. The top came away from the frame, but it appeared to be held in place by something from inside. I yanked harder, but it didn’t give any more.
I tried to look inside and yelled, “Hello, is anyone in there?” but there was no response. Still, I wondered, was there something—or someone—in there? It was almost as if I could sense someone’s presence but not see or hear him or her. I stepped back and gave the door a kick with the heel of my boot. It rattled and shook a bit but didn’t seem to open further. So I kicked it again—what the hell, I thought. Then I gave up, walked back up the steps, and turned back toward the parking lot near the formation blocks. I got about three steps and was stopped in my tracks by a sloppy, overweight Pine Beach police officer doing his best to look tough.
“Sir, what did that door do to you for you to be kicking it like that?” He looked at me with contemptuous, mocking eyes.
“I… ah,” I stumbled, not really knowing what to say. Now I really just wanted to leave.
“Sir, tell me. What is the nature of your business here?”
“Ahhh, no, well, I…” I continued to fumble for words, “I am an alumni of the school, and I was, umm, you know, just reminiscing a little. Checking out the old place. You know?”
The officer looked at me for a long moment but didn’t seem sympathetic to my pathetic story.
“Sir, can I see some ID?”
“Of course.” I reached into my jeans to get my wallet and driver’s license out. After I handed it to him, he looked at it and back at me and smiled.
“You’re Sam Shepard the race car driver, aren’t you?”
I smiled, hoping I’d be able to get a little lenience from the cop now that he recognized me. “Yes, I am.”
“Big fan, Mr. Shepard, but I am going to have to ask you to vacate the premises now—this is private property, and the owners don’t really like folks poking around.”
“Oh, yes, Officer, I understand.” I looked at him, trying to decide if I should tell him about what I’d heard in the old building now that we’d made a connection.
I quickly decided that I’d keep it to myself for now, but I might need this guy later.
I took my license back from the officer. I began to walk toward the formation blocks, and I looked back toward the building. As I turned back toward the blocks, I saw something move and stopped. I glanced back around and looked at the last window before the fire escape stairs. I was sure I saw something move there.
“Officer,” I turned to him, “does anyone come around here at all?”
He drew in a deep breath. “No, not really. Mostly just people like yourself who come back to mull over the good times, ya know what I mean, when they were young and had all those pretty little local girls hanging all over them.”
He added a rich belly laugh and a wink to the last part.
“Oh, hey,” I added, as if I’d just thought of it, “do you know who owns the property now?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment, or at least as thoughtful as he could manage.
“Well, I know its some folks from out of town, but can’t recall the name right offhand. Why you so interested?”
My mind raced for a minute, trying to make up something that sounded plausible.
“I, um, am interested in buying the place, renovating it, you know. Give the old place a nice overhaul and restore it to its former glory,” I lied through my teeth with a huge grin on my face, trying to sell it.
“Oh, I don’t know, you could always go look it up at the library or call a real estate agent—they might know how to contact the owner.” He looked back toward the building and then back to me. I looked past him and there it was again—something moved in that window by the fire escape. Was it a face? Was it blonde hair? It seemed like a blonde woman trying to sneak a look without being seen. Who was she? Probably just some kids messing around, trying to hide from the police. But something told me no, that this was more than that. Of course, it could have just been my mind showing me things that I wanted to see.
“Haven’t had much interest in the old place since it closed. It’d be nice to see it alive again.”
I walked to my car and got in, taking one last look at the campus.
Something is going on here, I thought, and it has something to do with Sandy. But what?
I pulled off the campus and drove through Pine Beach down Riverside
Drive, along the river and into Beachwood, until I got to the Beachwood
Community Center. I pulled into the parking lot of the empty, weatherworn blue building. The doors were still boarded up for the winter but would soon be open full of people getting their beach passes so they could swim, go boating, or just lie on the beach and get a tan.
I got out of the car and shut the door, the sound of the door slamming lost in the lapping of the river against the shore. I was drawn onto the beach by the river. I felt like it was calling my name, beckoning me to come to it. I kicked my shoes off and felt my feet hit the cool sand. I stopped, staring out over the water, seeing the houses on the other side standing in a stoic silence. I bent down and took a handful of the sand and let it slowly run through my fingers. I watched as the wind caught the grains of sand and took them wherever it pleased, though the end result put the sand back where it belonged. A different location, but still on the beach with the rest of the sand. It seemed like a pretty good metaphor for my life: Torn away from what was familiar and comfortable and put back into something that in appearance was very similar, but in actuality very different.
I still didn’t have a firm grasp on how Farragut and the river related to
Sandy and the accident—in fact, I didn’t even have a real clue as to exactly what
had happened. But I did know that they were related, and that Sandy and the
kids’ death was not what it seemed.
Back in my car and free of my morose moment on the beach, I made my
way onto Route 9 and over to the Country Cottage Tea Room. It was almost 11, and as I remembered from when Sandy used to come down here, the tearoom didn’t open until 11. I parked the car in front and went to get out but stopped when I noticed an orange sign taped to the entrance. I quickly got out of the car, and my cell phone started to ring a 215 number—Philadelphia. Who could it be, calling me at this time from Philadelphia?
“Sam here.”
“Sam? Oh, good, I am so glad I got you.” Her voice came through the phone like warm honey.
“Emily? How…” I began as I remember giving her my card with my cell number on it.
“Emily, what’s up?”
“Sam, I wanted to call and make sure you were going to be around this weekend; I thought… maybe…” she trailed off. “Well, maybe I would come down this weekend and we could spend some time together?” she finished with a pound of hope and an ounce of doubt. I was a little flabbergasted and didn’t know how to respond. I was quiet a little too long.
“Oh,” Emily stammered, “I… I didn’t mean to seem so… Oh, I am so embarrassed.”
“Emily, no”, I interjected quickly, “I’m just—I’m in the middle of something right now, and I was surprised to hear from you.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I really just wanted to see you again. Maybe talk a little, you know, while sober this time?”
I laughed a little, but it felt uncomfortable, a bit forced for some reason.
“I can’t promise anything about being sober, but I would love to see you again. I’m sorry for my reaction—I was just a little surprised. I didn’t expect to hear from you. Just come down tomorrow night and we’ll go out and have dinner, maybe check out the boardwalk. It’s the weekend—why not have a good time? What do you think?”
“Really?” she answered with excitem
ent in her voice. “Okay, then I will see you tomorrow around 5? Any chance I can get the Jefferson again?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I chided. “I think I know someone who can arrange it.
Let me make a few calls, and you just show up,” I replied, laughing at the same time. “I’ll see you then.”
“Okay, Sam,” she said, and I could hear the smile on her face. “See you then.” And her voice was gone.
I took a long look at my cell phone and smiled as I put it back in my pocket. I guess I have a date. Things were looking up.
I began walking to the tearoom again to read the orange sign in the window.
“CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE”
Really? This couldn’t be right. I pressed my face to the window to try and see inside. It was dark, and I could see the tables and chairs just like you would expect to see in a tea room. In the back corner was a long oval table that resembled a coffee table with a couch and high-back chairs surrounding it. I looked over at the counter, but no one seemed to be inside. I banged on the glass.
“Hello! Anyone inside?”
No answer. So I pounded on the glass again.
“Hello…” this time much quieter. I didn’t expect a response. There was dust on the tables. The place had been closed for some time.
I walked around the back of the building and stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had my cell phone in my hand and was calling Becky before I knew what I was doing.
“Sloane here.”
“Becky—it’s Sam,” I blurted out breathlessly.
“Hey, Sammy boy,” she replied with mock enthusiasm. “I’m sorry, I just haven’t had a chance to look into the Lincoln thing. I’ll…” I cut her off.
“Becky, I’m staring at it. I am standing behind the Country Cottage Tea
Room, staring at that black Lincoln Town Car.”
“Now, Sam, you can’t go around following people. You could get in trouble and it’s just not very nice, and I know how much you care about other people’s feelings.” She continued in her mocking tone.
“No, Becky, you don’t understand. I came to the tea room and it was just here.”
“Uh, Sam. You are right, I don’t understand. You went out for tea—and don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, so that shouldn’t jeopardize your manhood—and you saw a Lincoln Town Car that was near your inn. I am very confused…”
“No, Becky…” She cut me off.
“Very confused as to why I give a shit, Sam. I will run the plates for you, but that’s it. I shouldn’t even do that, you cheating bastard.” Her voice began to waiver. “This is not a police matter. I’m doing you a favor, so just get off my back and leave those poor old people and their Lincoln alone. And know this,
Sam: I don’t give a shit.” I winced as I heard the receiver clatter before the line went dead. I never realized how much I hurt her. But I couldn’t worry about Becky right now. I was standing behind the tearoom that Sandy used to go to, staring at a car that has been stalking me for the past month. I went to the back door and started banging and yelling.
“Open this door! I know you’re in there—open up!”
Nothing. No sound, no movement, no sign other than the car that anyone was here. I walked over to the car and tried the driver’s side door handle. It was unlocked. I opened the door and looked inside. There was nothing in the car— except, sitting on the black leather of the passenger’s seat, a book.
It was Portrait of a Lady.
I picked up the book and opened it. It had a name in the upper left corner of the book cover. Emily. The name couldn’t mean anything, could it? It had to be a coincidence. There were millions of Emilys in the world. Had to be hundreds just in the area.
This was too much. First the car around the inn, then the book in my office, now the car at the tea room with the book and the name Emily in it. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it was too much to be a simple coincidence.
I rifled around in the back and found nothing there. Now, I knew I had to search the entire car. First, I got out and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Seeing no one, I popped the trunk and starting rifling through the contents. There was an emergency kit, some empty shopping bags, and a suitcase. I looked at the brown Samsonite suitcase for a long moment. Should I open it? Before I completed the thought, I had the suitcase popped open. It seemed empty, except for a single picture at the bottom. I reached in and took the picture, letting the suitcase fall shut.
It was a picture of a group of women sitting around a table. There were two blonde women, three brunettes, and a redhead. They all looked so young, maybe in their mid to late twenties. The picture appeared to be taken from across the room—and I had seen this room before. I dropped the suitcase, walked around the front of the building, and peered into the tea room one more time, searching for it. There it was. The very same oval table in the picture.
And there she was in the picture, sitting at that table. Her head thrown slightly back, one hand to her chest, the other with a cup in it, mouth open in the middle of an animated laugh. She had her blonde hair up on her head in a loose bun with chopsticks through it. She looked so young, younger than I remembered. When was this taken? What the hell was this? I flipped the picture over to look at the back. Written in what looked like dark red ink was the phrase, “find me.” I grabbed the door and began shaking it furiously. Having no idea why I’d bothered with that, I stopped and ran around the back again to go through that car for anything I might have missed, for another clue that would lead me to whatever Sandy was trying to tell me.
Again, I stopped dead in my tracks as I turned the corner.
This time, I left my cell phone in my pocket.
The black Lincoln Town Car was gone.
Back at the inn, things were pretty busy. It was mostly local people coming in and out of the lobby area on their way to the pub. We had a few guests staying at the inn through the week, but the rooms would fill up later tonight when the weekend guests checked in. I was making my way through the lobby and the human traffic when Natalie came up from behind me.
“Sam?” she called loud enough to get my attention, and I stopped.
“Nat, what’s up?”
She looked me up and down and then struck a questioning posture, her dark blue eyes boring into me.
“Sam? Did you just come in from outside?”
“That is the direction I came from. Why?”
“Oh, nothing.” She smiled a little. “Just glad to see that you are up and about before lunch is all.” It was actually after noon, but her point was made.
“Well, that’s nice of you. What’s going on? I was going to my office to check on our weekend reservations.”
“Really?” Her face brightened even more. I guess I was just full of surprises today.
“Yes, really. Emily wants to come back and stay tomorrow night. I was going to see if there was room in the Jefferson.”
“Oh.” Her expression darkened, and she frowned slightly. Then her face suddenly morphed into a crooked smile. “Sorry, Sam,” she started slowly and picked up her pace, “we are booked solid this weekend. There’s some reunion in Point this weekend. I guess Emily will have to stay home.” Her smile betrayed her inner glee about Emily not coming.
“Oh, okay. Well, I guess we’ll have to figure something out. I have to run.
Gotta make some phone calls. See ya later.”
As I walked away toward my office, I heard Natalie mumble, “We?”
I found my way into my office and the disaster I referred to as my desk. It was almost one o’clock and Jack was sitting there staring at me, making me feel guilty for not even looking his way today. Maybe it was because I’m a creature of habit or maybe because I actually needed it; who knows the real reason at this point—I sure didn’t. Still, I opened the bottle and released the warm brown liquid into the dirty rocks glass on my desk. I stared at it for a long minute, not sure why I had poured it. A
nd before I could get too involved in my thought process, I downed the entire glass in one gulp.
Feel the burn.
As I poured another drink, I began to think about what I needed to do next.
What was my next step? How did I decipher this new information? What did the picture mean? And what was going on at the school? I didn’t know, but I was sure they were related. It was too much like someone knew I was going to be there and left those things for me to discover.
I brought the glass to my lips and was about to indulge in another scalding
of my esophagus when the phone rang. I stared at it for a long moment, deciding whether to pick it up or down the Jack first. It rang at me again. I quickly downed the Jack and picked up the receiver.
“Sam Shepard here.”
No response.
“Hello? Anyone there?” But I could tell someone was there—I couldn’t hear them breathing, but I could sense them.
“Hello? I know you are there.” I was getting a little annoyed. The Caller
ID showed Unknown.
“Okay, thanks for calling.” I was about to hang up when I heard the voice.
Weak but familiar, it seemed to scratch its way out of the phone and into my ear.
“You can’t save me.”
My heart stopped and my breathing ceased.
“You can still save them.” She was struggling to get the words out.
“Sandy?”
“Sam, save them.”
And the line went dead. I almost fell out of my chair. I looked at the bottle
of Jack and quickly poured another drink, and downed it. Then I dialed Becky.
“Sloane here,” she answered lazily.
Sands of Time Page 6