Love Lies Bleeding

by Jess McConkey

  “I’ve tried calling Dunlap’s but the line is busy.”

  “I’ll run down there right now and see if I can find out.”

  “Will you keep me in the loop?”

  “Yes.” Anne slammed the receiver down and, grabbing her bag, rushed out the door.

  When she whipped into the parking lot at Dunlap’s, she saw all the cars. Surely someone inside could tell her about Edward’s condition. Jumping out of her car, she ran up the steps and opened the door. She skidded to a halt. Instead of being at the hospital with her son, Esther was sitting on her stool behind the counter as if she were holding court. A couple of local women, friends of Esther’s, stood next to her making comforting sounds while Esther whimpered into a handkerchief.

  All eyes turned to Anne, standing in the doorway. An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Ignoring it, Anne crossed to the counter.

  “Esther,” she began, “I’m so sorry to hear about Edward. How is he?”

  “He’ll live,” Esther barked in a tear-roughened voice. “No thanks to that woman you’re working for.”

  Stunned, Anne took a step back. “What does Samantha Moore have to do with Edward’s car accident?”

  “It’s her fault,” Esther sniffed as she wiped her face. “Living in that cabin, asking him questions about her, bringing back memories best left buried.”

  “Now, Esther,” said one of her friends as she rubbed the woman’s shoulders, “don’t get yourself all riled up again.”

  Anne lifted her hands in a silent question as she looked at Esther’s friends.

  One of them shifted back and forth nervously. “He done it on purpose,” she said in a hushed voice, as if she could keep Esther, sitting next to her, from hearing.

  “That’s right,” Esther said, sliding off her stool and shaking a plump finger at Anne. “He tried to kill himself.” She took a deep breath. “I saw the way she acted at the party. Just like that woman did. Cut out of the same cloth, those two are. Singing the same song she always sang, flirting with men she had no business making up to, just like she did.” She folded her arms over her ample breasts. “He’s been stirred up ever since.”

  “Esther, really,” Anne began in a calm voice, but Esther cut her off.

  “I tell you, that cabin’s cursed. I wish it would’ve burned down years ago,” she yelled at Anne.

  Anne started backing out of the store. Esther was hysterical and not making any sense. But she’d learned what she needed to know—Edward was going to live—she’d have to rely on the grapevine for any information about his condition.

  She pulled out of the parking lot. It was all too much. Sam, Lawrence Moore, Caleb, Esther’s ranting. If she went home, all she’d do would be to pace like a wild thing. She needed to talk. Shooting a look at the dashboard clock, she decided to stop at Greg’s. It wouldn’t be easy admitting that he’d been right about the way she’d been dealing with Caleb, but Greg would help her come up with a way to make peace with him. What’s eating a little crow if it led to reconciling with her son? And Sam—Greg would want to know what had happened with her.

  It wasn’t until she stopped her car in front of his cabin that something Esther had said finally sank in.

  Edward had mentioned the same thing that day in the parking lot, but it hadn’t registered. Sam had sung Blanche’s favorite song at Fritz’s party.

  Chapter Thirty

  A wet nose touching her cheek startled Sam out of a sound sleep. She opened her eyes to see Roxy’s face inches from hers. With a smile, she stretched and patted the dog’s head. She sat up and glanced at the clock. Eleven A.M. At least she’d had some sleep. Once they’d discovered Blanche’s picture, Greg had insisted that they forget about it for a while and get some rest. Sam had curled up on the couch and gone to sleep immediately. Now it all came rushing back. Her father, his threat of a competency hearing, the weird dreams, Blanche—she’d thought that confirming the identity of the woman in her dreams as Blanche would solve everything, but it hadn’t. As Greg pointed out, it only raised more questions.

  She picked up her sketch and stared at it. What really happened to you, Blanche? Did you run off ? Blanche’s smile seemed to mock her.

  Placing the sketch on the coffee table next to Blanche’s photo, Sam folded the blanket she’d used and thought about her father. Instead of worrying about a woman from the past, she had to create a plan to deal with him. She couldn’t stop him from petitioning the courts, but she could plan a defense. She’d ask Greg to recommend an attorney.

  Greg—the way he’d kissed her. He was right—she had more pressing problems to consider. A slow grin tugged at her lips. But it had been very nice.

  The grin vanished when a sudden rap at the door set the dogs barking. Was it the sheriff looking for her? Alarmed, Sam thought about trying to hide, but before she could take any action, Greg walked into the living room.

  He held up a hand. “It’s okay. It’s Anne,” he said, opening the door.

  “Hey,” Anne said, smiling, until her attention drifted beyond Greg and she saw Sam standing in the living room. Her expression changed as her mouth formed an O. Recovering her composure, she brushed past him. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

  “I guess you could say I’ve run away from home,” Sam said in a wry voice.

  Anne sat suddenly in one of the chairs. “Your dad—”

  “Nope,” Sam answered with a shake of her head. “He doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way until I have a chance to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Why didn’t you come to my house?”

  Sam sat on the coffee table facing her. “I heard what my father said to you, Anne, and I don’t want him causing you more trouble.”

  Anne gave a snort. “I’m not afraid of Lawrence Moore.”

  Sam chuckled. “I’m sure you’re not, but I don’t want him making your life miserable.”

  “Oh, I think he already plans to do that,” Anne replied sarcastically.

  Sam gave Anne’s knee a pat. “We won’t let him.”

  Anne’s eyes moved to the albums stacked behind Sam. “What are those?”

  Sam glanced over her shoulder. “We were looking for a photo of Blanche.”

  “And?”

  “And we found one,” Greg said, striding over to the coffee table. “Take a look at this.” He handed Anne both the sketch and Blanche’s photo.

  Anne studied them for a moment then shook her head. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

  “Neither do we, but it proves Sam really was dreaming about Blanche.”

  “Do you think Blanche did cause Edward’s—” Anne slapped her hand over her mouth. Dropping it quickly, she stared up at Greg. “Edward was in another car accident.”

  She told Greg and Sam about her call from Fritz and her visit to Dunlap’s. “One last thing: Esther is blaming you, Sam.”

  Sam jerked. “Why? I barely know Edward.”

  “She said all the talk about Blanche upset him.” She leaned forward. “Here’s something else that I should’ve thought of before—the song you sang at Fritz’s party?”

  “The one I don’t remember?”

  “Yeah, that one.” Anne frowned. “Edward mentioned it first, but I blew it off. Esther said that Blanche sang the same song at parties, too.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  Sam tugged on her bottom lip. “I remember Edward saying something about a song, but he was acting so strange and I was upset.” She looked up at Greg. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, combing his fingers through his hair. “Too many things have happened for it to be a coincidence.” He studied Sam for a moment. “Before you moved into the cabin, had anything like this ever happened to you?”

  Sam hesitated before answering. Right now Greg was on her side, but if she told him the truth, would he still believe her? If she told him about how tenuous her grasp on reality had been after w
aking up from the coma? She decided to take her chances and be honest.

  After she finished telling her tale, Greg studied her carefully. “But what’s been happening to you now is different, right?”

  Seeing that he understood, Sam sighed with relief. “Yes,” she declared. “The dreams that haunted me before were ones tied to the attack . . . Someone was watching me; intruders were in the house; I was being chased . . . I always played the starring role.” She looked off into space. “But in these dreams, I’m an observer.”

  Greg sat on the couch and picked up the sketch. “Do you think there’s anything significant about your drawing of Blanche?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know—I’m grasping at straws—but maybe there’s something about the way she’s dressed, the location, the flowers—”

  Anne stuck out her hand. “Give me that,” she demanded. Taking the sketch, she looked it over for a second. “The flowers,” she said, tapping the picture. “They look like the ones blooming on the bush by the step.”

  “I know that. I recognized them, too. It’s why I wandered outside.”

  Anne’s eyebrows arched. “But do you know Blanche planted that bush?”

  “Who told you that?” Sam asked with a frown.

  “You—when you were rambling. You also said Alice gave her the seeds.”

  “Alice? Alice at the Beauty Barn?”

  “Must be.” Anne slapped her thighs and rose to her feet. “I say we go have a chat with her. What do you think?”

  Sam looked up at her. “To be honest—I don’t see the point. What difference does it make who planted the bush? Or if it was Blanche, where she got the seeds?”

  Greg leaned forward. “Sam, last night you said you wanted to prove that it was Blanche who was haunting your dreams. If Alice can confirm what you told Anne, it’s one more piece of evidence.”

  “Evidence that I’m not crazy,” Sam murmured with her eyes downcast.

  Anne grasped Sam’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Sam stared out the window while Anne parked the car in front of the beauty shop. Signs announcing specials decorated the windows, and beyond them, she saw a beautician working on a client. She didn’t spot Alice’s signature hairstyle.

  “I don’t think she’s here,” Sam told Anne warily.

  “Do you want to wait in the car while I run in and check?”

  “I don’t know—I think my time would be better spent talking to an attorney.”

  “Why are you so reluctant to talk to Alice?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to learn why she was having these dreams. Another part of her was afraid. What if the answers only confirmed that something was seriously wrong with her? What if her dad was right and she should be committed? She couldn’t handle another stint of confinement in a hospital.

  Without waiting for Sam’s answer, Anne hopped out of the car and returned in a few moments. “You were right,” she said, getting in the car. “Alice didn’t come in today—she’s at home.” After starting the car, she pulled out into traffic. “It’s not far. We’ll be there in a minute.”

  True to her word, a short time later, Anne stopped in front of a small ranch-style house. Sam knew instantly that the house belonged to Alice—poodle lawn ornaments were scattered across the yard, and by the door, two Love Lies Bleeding bushes bloomed profusely.

  Reluctantly, Sam got out of the car and followed Anne to the door. Alice answered the knock right away and, not masking her surprise, invited them in.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” she asked, leading them to the back of the house.

  “Um—well—” Sam stammered, not knowing how to begin.

  Anne saved her. “We want to ask you some questions about Blanche Jones,” she said bluntly.

  That’s right, Anne, Sam thought, get directly to the point. Don’t ease into it.

  Alice’s eyes widened. “Blanche? She hasn’t lived around here for years.”

  Anne tugged Sam forward. “You know she’s staying in the old Jones cabin and we’re curious. Someone mentioned you’d been friends.”

  “People don’t like talking about Blanche,” Alice mumbled.

  “Why is that, Alice?” Anne asked.

  “She could be . . .” Alice paused. “Well, difficult.”

  “But you two were friends?” Anne persisted.

  “Yes.” Alice’s attention moved to the kitchen clock. “This isn’t a good time. I don’t want to rush you off, but I have an appointment.” She crossed to the counter and began fussing with some papers that were stuck behind the telephone.

  Sam stepped toward her. “We won’t keep you, but I have to ask you a question. Did Blanche plant the bush growing at the cabin?”

  “That old thing still alive?” Alice asked, obviously without thinking.

  Sam nodded. “You gave her the seeds, didn’t you?”

  Alice shoved the papers into a drawer. “I really have to be going.”

  “I’ve one more question,” Sam said, edging closer. “Was Blanche with Edward the night of his accident?”

  Alice’s hand flew to her throat. “How did you know?” Her head wobbled back and forth in confusion. “I’ve never said a word.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Edward tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Then how—”

  Sam cut her off. “Where’s Blanche now, Alice?”

  “How should I know? I haven’t talked to her in years.”

  She was lying; Sam was sure of it. A terrible suspicion crept through her mind. The bloody corpse in her bed. She knew the truth. She knew why Blanche had been literally haunting her.

  “Blanche never left the lake, did she, Alice?” she demanded.

  Alice tried to dodge around her, but Sam blocked her.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Anne gasped while Alice suddenly crumpled into a nearby chair. She covered her face, her shoulders beginning to shake. Kneeling in front of her, Sam placed her hands on Alice’s legs.

  “What happened, Alice?” she asked gently.

  Alice’s hands fell away from her face and she stared at Sam with her eyes full of tears. “She’s not dead, but she might as well be.”

  Sam sat back on her heels in shock. She’d been so sure.

  “He should’ve just taken a gun and shot her,” Alice continued with passion. “It would’ve been a mercy.”

  Standing, Sam looked down at her. “I don’t understand—”

  Alice surged to her feet. “No? I thought you had all the answers.”

  “Calm down, Alice,” Anne said, rushing over and taking her by the arm. She guided her back to the chair. “Now tell us what happened.”

  All the breath seemed to leave Alice’s body as she dropped to the chair. Lifting her eyes, she looked first at Anne then at Sam. Turning her attention to the window, she stared blindly at the poodles cavorting in the backyard. “My first Pumpkin was her dog, you know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Pumpkin was the one who found her.”

  “Found Blanche?” Sam prodded.

  Alice bobbed her head and sighed. “I suppose it won’t make a difference now . . . he’s dead and they say she soon will be.”

  Sam felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

  “Alice—”

  “Sit down, sit down,” she said. “I can’t keep staring up at you.”

  Sam and Anne both pulled up a chair and quickly sat.

  Watching her two visitors, Alice took a deep breath. “Blanche isn’t dead. She’s in the care facility over in Hankton.”

  “It was you I saw in the parking lot, wasn’t it?” Anne exclaimed.

  “I was afraid you had recognized me. I visit there once a week and have for the last twenty-five years.”

  “Did Blanche have some sort of a breakdown?” Sam asked.

  “No.” Alice’s face tightened with anger. “Ted Brighton beat her half to death.”

&
nbsp; “What!” Sam and Anne cried simultaneously.

  “Think he was too respectable to lift a hand to a woman?” Alice didn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “Well, he wasn’t. Not when Blanche threatened to ruin him if he didn’t divorce Irene and marry her.”

  Anne shot a glance at Sam. “How was Blanche going to do that?”

  “Blanche knew about some of his double-dealings and said she would expose him if he didn’t give her what she wanted.” Alice shook her head sadly. “I told her to be careful, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “So he tried to kill her?”

  “He went to his grave thinking he had. Beat her bloody then stuffed her in a cave where no one would find her.” Alice bit her lip. “I was supposed to meet her, to help her sneak away from Harley, but when she didn’t show up, I went out looking for her. That’s when I heard the racket Pumpkin was making,” she recounted in a flat voice. She shuddered and raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Lordy, I’d never seen anyone so bad off. I don’t know how I ever got her down that hill and to the hospital in Hankton.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the sheriff?”

  “I couldn’t. Blanche was barely conscious when I found her, but she was afraid. All the way to the hospital, she kept begging me to hide her. And in the end, it would’ve been my word against his. Who’d have believed me over Theodore Brighton?”

  “Blanche could’ve testified against him.”

  “Weren’t you listening? I told you he beat her bloody, so bloody her brain was damaged. Then she had a stroke while she was still in the hospital.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Blanche hasn’t been in her right mind for the last twenty-five years and now she’s finally going to die.” She swallowed hard. “She’s been in a coma for the last month and the doctors say it won’t be much longer now.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Anne asked Sam as they sat in the parking lot of the care facility.

  “I’m sure,” Sam replied, nervously picking at her seat belt. “This probably won’t accomplish anything, but I want to see the woman who’s been haunting me face-to-face.” She turned toward Anne, unhooking the seat belt. “Isn’t it ironic that after what I’ve been through, I’m visiting another coma patient?”