“But you never did?”
“No. I was a kid, and I was grieving, and I didn’t know how I might look into something so vague. And then after a while I just put it away.”
We both thought about that for a moment. Sam stared up at the ceiling. “Then last night I was looking at you while you slept, and thinking about what you said about Wendy, and it all just came flowing back. What he said to me on the phone, the sound of his voice, Wendy talking nonstop in the background, my mom occasionally calling things out that she wanted him to tell me. All the chaos of home.”
My eyes felt warm. “Sam. You’ve been like Odysseus. Away from home and loved ones for so long . . .”
“And you are my Penelope,” he said.
“Tell me what your father said.”
“Weeks later I tried to remember. I wrote down as much as I could recall in a little notebook. I’ve always kept it, but after a while it just seemed like scribbled nonsense. Now I feel like I’ve come full circle, and I’m back to wondering about it.”
“Is the notebook here?”
“Look in the top drawer of that nightstand next to you.”
I moved to the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of an ornately carved mahogany nightstand. A small leather notebook sat inside, along with a scattering of papers and a few official-looking envelopes. “I think I found it.” I rolled back toward Sam and handed him the book.
“Yeah, this is it.” He flipped through it and showed me a page half filled with scrawled statements, written by Sam at eighteen. I felt a moment of ridiculous sentiment, picturing him as a boy.
I leaned against him, and we read it together.
“When we get back, we need to talk about some family stuff.”
I asked him if it was bad family stuff, and he said no, just complicated.
“Sometimes life hands you the unexpected.”
I told him he sounded like a fortune cookie, and he said the older he got, the more he felt like one.
I asked him what had suddenly brought this up, and he said “Your mother received a letter.”
I told him now I was getting worried, and he laughed, and said, “No, no—nothing like that. We’ll talk when we get back. It will probably make you happy.”
Sam’s writing ended there. I turned to look at him. “Family stuff?”
“Yeah. Does that seem like a significant exchange?”
I sat up straight. “Of course it does! He had news, and it was important enough that he didn’t want to tell you over the phone—he wanted to wait for a face-to-face meeting!”
Sam looked encouraged. “That’s what I had thought at the time. That maybe Wendy already knew, but that my dad wanted to tell me in person. Dad and Mom both.”
“He says it’s unexpected, and that the news came in a letter. Did you find the letter?”
He shook his head. “The executor never knew anything about it, and it wasn’t in the house. I’m thinking—maybe it was on them. Probably in my mom’s purse.”
I had a sudden idea. “Sam—you know what a genius Belinda Frailey is. Can I show this to her?”
Sam West thought about this, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I guess I feel like I want to keep it private. I haven’t shared it with anyone until you. And you earned it.”
My face warmed, and I attempted to make light of it. “Do you mean with my sexual prowess?”
One side of his mouth lifted in lazy amusement. “You know what I mean. I owe you everything, including my confidences.”
“Sam.” I climbed on him and kissed him all over his face until he laughed, and then he kissed me back, and then neither of us was laughing, and when I next thought to look at the clock it was an hour later. I realized a bit sadly that I would have to get out of Sam’s bed, but only because I was hungry.
• • •
WE SAT TOGETHER over breakfast and planned Sam’s party. We made an invitation list, which grew to an impressive fifty people. We thought about food options and decided to ask if Camilla would let us borrow Rhonda on the day of the event, with the idea that Sam would hire whatever assistants she needed. Sam had excellent taste in food and wine, and he even thought about what music he might want to play in the background of the festivities.
“This will be a fun night,” I said. “Just what everyone needs after all the tension around here. And the reporters just make it worse.”
“They are horrible,” he agreed, biting into a piece of toast. “But hopefully we can make them go away soon. I’ve considered getting a Doberman, or a dire wolf, or something terrifying that I can put on a leash.”
“Borrow Camilla’s hounds. I was deathly afraid of them on the first day I got here.”
“That’s how I first saw you. Walking those two giant beasts and looking too small to control them.” He smiled at the memory.
I finished my eggs and wrote the last of my notes for Sam’s party, then pushed the pad over to him. “Okay, that’s what we came up with. Now I have to return to Camilla’s and do some work. Much as I would like to stay.” I touched his hand. “You made me feel like a princess, but my coach is about to turn back into a pumpkin.”
“Then I’ll keep one of your shoes,” he said, his voice light.
We were both very aware of something in the room—something serious that we weren’t ready to confront.
I got up, put my dish in Sam’s sink, and returned to kiss his head. “I must go. You look very sexy in your robe, but duty calls. I’ll be back later, maybe.” I went to the door, turning back only once to smile at him. He waved, his eyes warm and locked on mine, and then I made myself turn away and head to his front door, where my coat hung on a little wooden tree. I bundled up, walked out, and saw a burst of light one second before a voice yelled, “Lena! Did you spend the night at Sam’s house?”
“Lena, are you in love with Sam West?”
“Are there any leads in Taylor Brand’s death?”
“Lena! Where’s Sam this morning?”
“Miss London, did Sam tell you anything about Victoria?”
“What does Camilla Graham think of your relationship with Sam West?”
“Lena!”
“Lena!”
“Lena!”
The reporters had made it past the barricade at the foot of the hill, and our quiet bluff was under attack. A quick glance at my car showed me that they essentially had it surrounded, but there was a small opening to the right of Sam’s driveway, and I instinctively ran there. I could pick up the car later.
Hands jammed in my pockets, I pushed through the small crowd working hard to keep my face blank. After a while I was able to tune out their questions, but their voices followed me as I walked, then jogged, up the bluff toward Camilla’s.
Her door was open when I got there, and she was standing in it. She waved me in, and I ran up the stairs and past her. I heard her say a few cold words to the reporters who had bothered to follow me instead of clinging like burrs to Sam’s house.
I took off my coat and hung it up, then tried to smooth my hair and gather my thoughts. Camilla came back in, but her stern expression was gone, and she was smiling at me.
“Did you have a nice evening?”
I sniffed. “You’re teasing me.”
“Not at all. I’m happy for you and Sam. What a wonderful couple you are.”
“And what about you? How was your date?”
“It was lovely. Adam took me to a restaurant and pub in the basement of a charming little inn. We actually stayed there last night. We returned early this morning.”
“Oh.” This was a surprise, but it explained why Camilla had been so nervous the evening before. Perhaps she and Adam, too, had reached a new stage in their relationship.
I think we were both blushing as we contemplated each other across the room. The
n I started laughing, and Camilla joined in. I dropped onto the couch; she walked over to sit next to me, and we laughed some more, until the giggles left us. She patted my arm. “I do hope the reporters didn’t bother you.”
“I can handle them. Sam had to put up with far worse. That’s all I have to tell myself.”
“You admire Sam.”
I turned to look into her wise brown eyes. “I’m in love with him, Camilla.”
She nodded.
“I feel like one of the heroines in your books. Young and sort of silly in contrast to this older, beautiful, tragic man. He’s not that much older, but this whole experience has aged him, somehow.”
“There’s nothing silly about you. You are remarkable, and Sam knows it.”
“Do you love Adam?”
She looked down at her hands. “It’s still very new, but I’m coming to depend upon him a great deal. I miss him when he’s not there, and I find him so impossibly sweet, it almost brings me to tears sometimes. I must be half mad in my old age.”
“You’re not mad, and you’re not old,” I said.
“I will say I feel younger with him. I’m not sure how he does it, but he always has that effect on me.”
“Well. How unexpected. I come to Blue Lake to work with you, and a few months later we’re both embroiled in romances.”
“I suppose if this were a book we were writing, it would be inevitable.”
“True. Oh, Sam’s going to have a party; he wants to be more sociable. He feels a bit less reclusive now that people are being kinder to him.”
“Good. The boy needs to live a little. Being with you is the best start.”
“Speaking of books, did you get to look at my notes?”
“Yes. We should talk about those today because I have some ideas to run past you. I hate to ask you this, because those reporters are horrible, but would you consider going to town and picking up something from my editor at the post office?”
“Sure. But I’ll drive, I think. It’s easier to ignore them when I’m in a car.”
“Maybe we can ask Sam to step outside for his mail or something, get them all looking at him, and then you can sneak past in your vehicle.”
“It’s worth a try. Now I know how celebrities feel. If I never see a reporter again, I’d be fine with it.”
She nodded. “I agree. Although Jake Elliott was a lifesaver. He changed perceptions about Sam, and his article made Grace Palmer reach out to us.”
“And has that brought us any news?” I asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” said Camilla. Her dogs loped in and rested their faces on our laps, as though comforting us.
• • •
BICK’S HARDWARE WAS having a sale on firewood, and there was a line at the front of the store. I moved past the flannel-clad patrons and went to the back of the store, where Marge Bick presided over the stamps, letters, and packages in the ancient and tiny post office. “Hey, Marge,” I said.
“Hello, Lena.” Her eyes were sharp as an eagle’s as she looked me over. “You look pretty as can be. Did you get a new hairstyle?”
“No. Everything’s the same.” It wasn’t, but I didn’t intend to give Marge the satisfaction of knowing that she had correctly identified the glow of love. I had seen it in Sam West’s bathroom mirror early that morning. “Camilla wonders if her agent sent her a package from New York? She needs it desperately.”
“I know I saw something. Hang on one sec; let me run to the back.”
She disappeared briefly, leaving a trace of perfume that smelled like the past. I turned to study the store and saw two men speaking in the kitchen utensils aisle, their voices quiet, their heads close together. They looked almost like conspirators. One of them glanced up and I saw, to my displeasure, that it was Ted Strayer. I narrowed my eyes, and then the other man followed Strayer’s gaze and made eye contact with me. It was Jake Elliott. I stared, my mouth open, disappointed and almost angry to see the two of them together. Elliott walked toward me, but Strayer walked away and began a conversation with a woman at the end of the aisle; I recognized her as a bartender from the Big Bar on Kelter Street. Her name was Carly or Carrie or something. My eyes flicked away from Strayer’s hated face and back to Jake Elliott.
“Hello, Jake,” I said. I didn’t smile.
“Lena. Did you read the story?”
“Of course. We all read it. It was a terrific piece—thank you very much.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“I guess I don’t like the company you keep.”
Elliott shrugged. “I just ran into him. We were sharing some intel, I guess you’d say.”
“Why are you still in town?”
He looked surprised; then he laughed. “You are surprisingly strict, Miss London.”
“It seems to me that you were granted a story by Sam West, and that he quite generously let you into his life and his confidence. What more could you possibly want in this frigid place?”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Lena.” He stretched and stifled a yawn. “The word is that something is about to happen in the Victoria West investigation. For that reason alone I need to hang on for a few more days. I would be a fool to miss out on what will clearly be the story of the year.”
“And who is giving you this ‘intel’? If it’s Ted Strayer, then my respect for you will shrivel and die.”
Elliott nodded. “Ted Strayer has heard some things to that effect, but he’s not the only one. Reporters, over the years, build up a sort of second sense. They can feel it when a story is imminent. Then they flock to it.”
“Like birds of prey.”
“Hey, you know that I would do justice to the story. What does a person have to do to earn a smile from you?” His own smile was flirtatious.
“A person would have to cut ties with Ted Strayer. Why isn’t he still in jail, anyway?”
Elliott’s face went blank. “He was in jail?”
“Doug arrested him yesterday for obstructing justice. He had evidence which had belonged to Taylor Brand, yet somehow he failed to mention that to the police.”
“What evidence?” Now he looked a bit pale.
“I can’t go into that. You’ll have to ask Doug Heller. It’s in his hands now.”
He sighed. “Fine. I will do that.” He gave me an assessing look. “You’re looking good, Lena.”
“Thanks.” I turned slightly to see that Marge Bick had returned, and was avidly listening to our conversation. “Did you find it, Marge?”
“Oh, yes. Right here, along with a few letters for the both of you.”
“Great. What do I owe you?”
I took the mail, well aware that Jake Elliott continued to stand there, apparently waiting for me. I did not want Marge, the town gossip, to get the wrong idea. “Marge, have you met Jake Elliott? He wrote that big piece about Sam in yesterday’s paper.”
“Oh, did you? We all read it. It was the talk of the town yesterday, I can tell you. Mr. West certainly has a new reputation.”
Elliott nodded, looking distracted. Marge honed in on him. “So are you from around here?”
“I live in Boston,” he said.
“My, my. We get people here from all over the U.S.” Marge looked pleased about this, as though she were a cruise director. “From other countries, too. Some of those reporters out there at the barricade are speaking other languages.”
I hadn’t noticed this; I looked at Elliott for confirmation, and he shrugged. I said good-bye to Marge and started walking toward the front. Elliott followed me. He was wearing the same navy pea coat that made him look like a sailor on shore leave.
“What are you doing now?” Elliott asked. “Would you like to join me for a drink?”
We were walking through the front door of Bick’s and passing the giant grizzly bear statue that told us
Bick’s was best. I had stowed the mail in my messenger bag, and now I turned to him with my hands on my hips. “Are you hitting on me?”
Elliott smirked. “No, I’m not hitting on you. I wouldn’t have the courage. But I am looking for companionship, and you amuse me. To be honest, this is a boring town.”
I had only been in Blue Lake for a few months, but this statement made me feel defensive. “It’s not boring, it’s quiet. And we like it that way.”
“It’s priceless, the way you get that stern teacher look. Your disapproval couldn’t be more obvious.”
“Good,” I said, and began to walk again.
Elliott walked alongside me, undeterred. “Lena. Can I ask you one question? Do you have any idea where Victoria West is right now? Or any information about Taylor Brand?”
I stopped and looked at him in surprise. “Why would I? Are you saying you think Sam knows something? Because he doesn’t. He’s as much in the dark as anyone.” I sensed a presence behind us, and I turned to find Ted Strayer smiling at us.
“Hey, kids. Are you saying anything I should know?”
“No,” I said. “Stay away from me.”
“Come on, Lena. Give me a break. How about you give me a nice little one-on-one, the way you did for Jake here? You would be the star of my blog.”
I turned to glare at him; he was about to raise his camera, but Jake Elliott put a hand on his shoulder and said, “The lady said no, Strayer.”
“Not to the second question, she didn’t,” Strayer said, persistent as a virus.
“No,” I said again. “You’ll have to get your clicks without me.”
Strayer, as usual, was unflappable. He smiled. “I do, Lena. Every day. That’s why I stick around here, don’t you know that? Ask your friend Jake here. Blue Lake has been a gold mine. No one’s going anywhere.”
I stomped away from him and unlocked my car, where I stowed my bag. Elliott waved at me and wished me a good day.
Even after I drove away I could hear Strayer’s voice in my head, taunting me with his popularity. No matter how much good Jake Elliott’s article had done, there would always be people who liked sensational news, whether it was true or not. And Ted Strayer was one of many who would feed that insatiable desire for garbage.
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