Death in Dark Blue

by Julia Buckley

  Sam went to the door to shake Elliott’s hand. “Not now. But when the time comes, and if you’re still around, then yes—I’d like to tell you some things about the search for Victoria. Or at least Doug might. Right now only he knows it all, and that’s as it should be.”

  Elliott nodded. “Fair enough. You all enjoy the party. Sam, I am stealing some cookies for the road, so don’t let that lady setting things out slap my hand.”

  Sam laughed and waved, waited until Elliott had disappeared down the hall, and then turned to us. “How much do you think he heard?”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t there until the last moment. I was sort of watching the door,” I said. “But I’m so paranoid, I have visions of him putting a bug in your house. Maybe Doug should search for one before he leaves.”

  “You are paranoid,” Sam said, but he sounded worried.

  “You’re both paranoid,” Doug said. “It’s not like you sit in here by yourself talking out loud about Victoria. Even if you talk to Lena, there’s not much you can do but speculate.”

  “True. But did he touch anything in here?” I asked.

  They laughed. Then Belinda held up a finger. “I keep thinking back to the baby. I can’t imagine that this rich, rich man would make his wife or girlfriend have a child all by herself, without medical attention. Which means someone out there delivered that child. That’s what we should find, isn’t it?”

  • • •

  SAM’S GUESTS LEFT on a wave of good feeling that had him smiling, but tired. “It’s exhausting, throwing a party,” he said to the few of us who were left: Camilla, Adam, Doug, Belinda, and me.

  “Let us help you clean up, Sam,” Camilla said.

  “You already did. The place looks okay, and I have someone coming in to vacuum and dust in the morning. I’ll be fine.”

  “It was a terrific gathering,” Adam said. “Lots of great people in the community—even a couple I hadn’t met yet. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You’ll always be invited because Camilla will always be invited,” Sam said. “And you two seem inseparable these days.”

  “We’re going steady,” Camilla joked, and Adam put a courtly arm around her waist. “But now I have to go home and write. Lena, I know you’ll want to stay here and help Sam, so perhaps the two of us can work on that next chapter in the morning?”

  “Absolutely. Thanks, Camilla.”

  Sam walked her and Adam to the door, then returned with a bottle of wine. “Anyone want to drink this last one? Or Doug, maybe you and Belinda would like to take it?”

  Doug took out his phone and scrolled through some texts. “I think I have to take Belinda home and go in to work for a while.” Belinda looked disappointed, and he said, “Not that long a while.”

  “Anything new?” I asked, because hope, the thing with feathers, was perching in my soul. How right Emily Dickinson was about so many things.

  “Not really. Just Caden Brand, wanting to bend my ear.”

  This irritated Sam. “Trying to implicate me again? Be sure you ask him who will get all of his sister’s money, along with her inheritance, when their father dies. And ask why he happened to be in Indianapolis the day before Taylor died. Oh, and Lena and I learned that someone was yelling at Taylor on the night before her fall.”

  Doug nodded. “Yeah, Janey told us that. We don’t have an eye witness account, but it looks like it could have been Brand. And I might just detain him on all this information.”

  “Arrest him?” I asked.

  “Nope. No evidence. But detain, yes. Maybe make him miserable for a while. I’ve had just about enough of that man.”

  This satisfied Sam. The two men shook hands, and Sam gave Belinda a casual hug, and then they, too, headed for the door.

  Finally Sam’s big house was empty of everyone except him and me. “That was a nice party,” I said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Thanks for helping me plan it, Lena my love.”

  “Should we go sit on your couch and put up our feet?”

  “Yes.”

  We strolled to his living room, which seemed oddly silent now without a crowd, and Sam stoked the fire. Then he dropped onto his brown leather couch and pulled me into his lap. I rested my head on his and looked at the flames. “I heard Marge Bick tell someone that she never suspected you of anything.”

  “She remembers incorrectly.”

  I laughed and played with his collar. “What would you like to do? Watch a movie?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. I have an appointment.”

  I turned to look into his face. “Aw, Sam, I was hoping we could spend the evening together. Camilla just gave me permission to sleep over, didn’t you hear her?”

  He shook his head, looking rueful. “I made a promise earlier, at the party, and I really have to keep it.”

  “What promise?”

  “I told my girlfriend I would make out with her in every room of my house.”

  Laughter bubbled out of me, along with some very real excitement. “Oh, that appointment. I’m okay with that. How about if we start right here?”

  “That will work,” Sam said. “And how about if we keep track of our progress by leaving a souvenir in every room?”

  “A souvenir? Like a coin, or one of your nice books?”

  Sam’s mouth was on my neck, and his hand slid to the collar of my blouse. “I was thinking clothing, Lena,” he said against my skin.

  I giggled like a fool, then broke away. “Give me one minute. My Diet Coke went through me, and I need to run to the washroom.” I got up and began to hurry toward the door, then heard glass shattering behind me. I thought perhaps Sam had dropped his wine glass, but I turned to see him lunging at me, his eyes wide.

  “Get down, down, Lena! That was gunfire.”

  15

  The good and the bad, she thought one night as she gazed up into dark heaven. The starlight shone down upon them both, and in that ambiguous illumination one might be mistaken for the other.

  —From Death on the Danube

  SAM’S HOUSE WAS illuminated by red and blue lights, eerie in the night and the snowy landscape. The strobe effect made the home’s interior seem like a strange disco, and I found it discomfiting.

  The police had secured the scene and searched thoroughly; Doug stood before us, looking concerned. “We know where the shooter was standing, but whoever it was is gone. We tracked the footprints to the road, where he got into a car and took off.”

  Sam was pacing. “The question is, who were they trying to shoot? Were they aiming at Lena, or was it just a coincidence that they shot when she stood up?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. You had a lot of supporters in your house tonight, but you still have some detractors in town. One of them could have just taken a pot shot at the Sam West house. It could have been a drunken teenager on a dare. I’m not saying we’re not taking this seriously. We take shooters very seriously, Sam. But give us time to figure out intent.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m not buying it. Whoever it was waited until my guests were gone, waited until it was just Lena and me. That smacks of intention,” Sam said.

  “Or it could be coincidence. You can’t let emotion get in the way here,” Doug said. “I know you’re worried, but we have to let logic rule. Let us do our job. We’ll keep you both safe, don’t worry about that. And I’ll find out who did this—that is a guarantee.”

  This didn’t please Sam. “Excuse us if we’re emotional. Someone shot a bullet through the window and almost hit Lena. A distinct possibility is that it happened when the guests left because it was one of the guests,” Sam said.

  Doug put a hand on his arm. “We’ve got a good impression of the footprint and the tire print. We got the bullet out of your wall. I think we’ll have this guy pretty darn soon, and then we can get a lot of
questions answered. I also had a message to call my contact at the CIA, but I rushed back here. Maybe they’ve made some progress, and everything will fall together this very night.”

  I pointed at Doug. “You are really good at talking people down from the heights of anxiety.”

  “Just doin’ my job,” Doug said, tipping a pretend hat. Even Sam laughed.

  “Okay, fine. Go find this person. Meanwhile, should I take Lena to a hotel or somewhere?”

  “No place safer than right here. I’ve got people on your place and on Camilla’s, just in case. No one’s getting in or out without being swarmed by cops. Oh, and just a heads up. We will make a brief statement to the press with a warning that they’d better stay the hell away from you both.”

  We thanked Doug and he went back outside; Sam took my hand. “Doug thinks I overreacted.”

  “Of course you didn’t overreact. Someone shot at us, Sam!” My hands were still shaking slightly.

  “Yes. And in that moment, I just thought, you would really take Lena, too? I guess I was talking to God. It was terrifying, the thought of losing you.”

  “You won’t lose me. Doug promised us we’d be safe. And it looks like you’re stuck with me tonight, because I am not walking home in the dark.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Equal parts fear and anger. And the anger is starting to win.”

  Sam hugged me against him. “Not to be ungrateful, but when do you think all these guys will be gone? We never finished our business.”

  “Business? That’s an interesting euphemism.”

  His blue eyes twinkled at me. “For what will prove to be an interesting activity. And a good way to distract us from our thoughts.”

  I laughed and ruffled his hair. Even in the midst of uncertainty and imminent threat, Sam West made me feel good.

  That night I peered out of Sam’s bedroom window and saw the dark shapes of police cars on the gravel road, and a little distant light that seemed to be in Camilla Graham’s house. Both images were comforting, and I wasn’t even afraid as I climbed into the large flannel-sheeted bed and watched the fairy-light snowfall outside. The snow looked cold but lovely, and Sam’s arms were warm, providing the final bit of security that I required.

  • • •

  I WOKE UP feeling far happier than one might expect in a woman who had been traumatized by gunfire. Sam was gone, but I could hear him puttering in his kitchen below. I lay in his bed for a few minutes, reminiscing about some of the “business” we had accomplished after the police had left for good. Sam appeared in the doorway.

  “Hello. I caught you smiling. Are you thinking about me?”

  “Yes, you vain man. Do I smell waffles?”

  “Yes, you pampered woman.”

  We gazed at each other for a while, thinking our thoughts. I finally stretched and said, “Can a person become addicted to a bed?”

  “It’s understandable. I’m far fonder of it now that you’ve spent two nights in it.”

  “Mmm. Do I have time for a shower?”

  “Only if I don’t join you in it.”

  “That’s a real catch-22,” I said, letting my eyes move slowly over him.

  “Uh-oh! Do I smell something burning?” he said, and ran back down the stairs.

  “Darn,” I said to the ceiling. I got up and took a quick shower, then dressed and found Sam in his bright kitchen.

  Sam placed a plate of waffles in front of me, which I began to eat without ceremony. I really was pampered. “Have you talked with any cops this morning?”

  “It was a quiet night—no activity, no calls from anyone in town.”

  “Huh.”

  He waited until I met his gaze. “It could drive us crazy, wondering about that bullet. Wondering when the next one might come.”

  I nodded and sighed a quavering sigh.

  “So we might want to assume that it was a random thing. A one-time pot shot to harass the guy the townspeople love to hate.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that. I think I might want to lie low for a while.”

  “Whatever you’d like. But I think we’re better off feeling angry than afraid.”

  I sighed again.

  He poured me some coffee, then sat down across from me with his own plate. “We’re in the papers again. Adam Rayburn dropped these off this morning.” He plopped some newspapers down on the table. The headline of the Blue Lake Piper read “Gunman Fires into Sam West’s House.” The New York Times headline said “Unknown Gunman Fires on West’s Indiana Home.”

  “Suddenly you’re the victim.”

  “Interesting, huh? For a real treat, check out Ted Strayer’s blog.”

  “Oh, no. I need more waffles for this one.” I shoved a bite into my mouth and enjoyed it for a moment before facing the inevitable. Sam’s laptop was still open on the table, so I Googled Strayer’s name and found his latest posting, titled “The Sam West Saga Continues—With Gunfire.”

  “He’s a real word artist,” I said, my voice dry.

  “It gets better. He may as well be writing a hard boiled mystery—it’s full of guns and dames and hard men.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I may be exaggerating. But believe me, so does he.”

  “And the guy gets paid for that gutter journalism.”

  “Eat up. What do you think about calling that librarian today? Or asking Belinda to do it?”

  I nodded. “God, anything to get some information. I’ll text Belinda right now to ask for Janet’s number.” I shoved another piece of waffle in my mouth and smiled at Sam while I dug for my phone. I sent a quick text to Belinda and then returned to my food.

  Five minutes later the phone buzzed and I had Baskin’s number, along with a note from Belinda that said, “Let me know what’s going on!”

  I powered through my food and said, “I am truly spoiled. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I like watching you eat. A cross between delicate gentlewoman and starving orphan.”

  I giggled. “Who should call—you or me?”

  “You. No woman wants to get a call from a strange man. She’ll remember you.”

  “Okay. Let me go in the next room so that I won’t be distracted.”

  “I’ll miss you,” he said.

  I ignored his last comment and jogged into Sam’s sunny living room to make my call on his landline. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d say, but I hoped I could summon up some charm despite the awkward situation.

  “Hello?” A voice said. It seemed familiar.

  “Is this Janet?”

  “Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Janet, my name is Lena London. I met you at the library back when—”

  “I remember, Lena. You and Belinda are working on a research project, right?”

  “Uh, yes. Anyway, I was going to ask you a question at the library, but they told me you took a sort of leave of absence. Is everything okay?”

  There was a moment of silence, in which Janet Baskin must have wondered why a virtual stranger was asking after her welfare. That had been a wrong move.

  When she did speak, her voice was smooth and slightly amused. “Everything’s fine. I took off because my mom had knee replacement surgery, and I had to drive out to her place and stay with her a couple of days until another caregiver could tag in.”

  “Oh, well—that’s good to know.”

  “Yeah. So what can I do for you, Lena? You said this was about the library?”

  “No, not exactly. That’s just where I would have gone to ask you this. Actually it’s about the other day. I happened to see you over by the Red Cottage Guest House.”

  There was another silence. Then, “Yes. I saw you, too.”

  “The thing is—Sam West and I have been working closely with the police in hopes
of solving Taylor Brand’s murder.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “And we happened to notice that you seemed . . . uncomfortable when we saw you.”

  “I see. Are the police going to come and talk to me about this?”

  It was an odd question to ask. “They don’t even know that we saw you. We didn’t think it was significant, but then we thought about it, and we wondered what you were reacting to. It might be important.”

  “I did tell the police, back when they found the body, that I have a friend staying at the Red Cottage, and I happened to be there visiting when the Brand woman was there. And I told them about some yelling I heard on the night before she died.”

  “Okay.” I hadn’t known that Janet Baskin was one of the sources of this information, but of course all the residents of the cottages would have heard loud yelling. “But is that what made you uncomfortable?”

  “No. I also told the cops that the next day I saw her talking to a guy in the morning—I don’t know if it was the same guy—but they seemed to be having a disagreement. In retrospect it seems kind of sinister.”

  “And who was this man?”

  “I didn’t know. I still don’t know. Except that I saw him talking to you when you were at the cottages.”

  “Caden Brand?”

  “If you say so. I don’t know the man from Adam, but it made me uncomfortable because I had wondered about him, and if he was the last person to see her alive.”

  “Janet, you need to go back to the police. This is crucial information!”

  “Uh. The thing is—if they want me to make some kind of statement—I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Listen, Lena. I was visiting an old friend at the cottages. An old girlfriend, to be honest. And I have a current girlfriend. You see my dilemma. I don’t want to be very visible in this whole thing. If you can just pass on the information that would be great.”

  I filled my mouth with air and then blew it out, noisily, while I thought about this. “I can pass the information on to Doug Heller, but I can’t promise that he won’t have additional questions.”