My red plant book had gone missing for three days. Why would Paul take it? Now, when I went to my room and the ghosts were cackling “Poison,” I felt they were trying to warn me. What if Paul knew of my plan? What if he tried to poison me first?
I had no backup plan, save the journal I would leave behind. I wrote in it furiously every day.
~*~
The Doctor and I sit in silence, content for the moment to watch the fire. My booming ringtone shatters our peace, bringing an amused smile to his face.
“Just a minute.” I pull the phone from my purse, its eerie tones getting louder. “Hello?”
“Hey. Mom said you went out this morning? I thought you’d visited the Grande Dame yesterday. You in town?”
I can’t lie to Thomas—can’t even stretch the truth. “I’m at Doctor Cole’s house, comparing notes on our break-ins.”
Thomas seems surprisingly cool with this. “Hm. Where does he live? Over in Putnam county? Hurricane, is it?”
“No, he lives past Hurricane. Ask your mom if you want to know so bad. I’m sure she knows where he lives. I’m leaving soon, anyway. I want to make stuffed shells for dinner.” Hopefully that mouth-watering tidbit of info will divert him from my sleuthing mission.
“Okay, talk to you tonight.”
I hang up. The Doctor has started pacing in front of the fire. I clear my throat and he looks over.
“Sorry. I had a reason for asking you over, Tess.”
“I know. We needed to talk about the creep who shot at you.”
“Indirectly, yes. But I have something in my possession that at least a couple of people might want to get their hands on. I think it might help you. However, if I give it to you and the wrong person knows it, you’ll be even more of a target. I don’t think I can do that—you’re pregnant. I already have one baby’s blood on my hands—yes, I know that’s how you think of me. It’s how I think of me.” He clenches his jaw. In a low mutter, he says, “The life of the child for the life of the mother.”
Directly above the Doctor’s angst-ridden head hangs a Modigliani painting of a sad, reddish-blonde haired woman. She represents Rose to him, no doubt. Her eyes are black, but instead of looking empty, they’re filled with sorrow and a strange vulnerability. Yes, the Good Doctor appreciates imperfections. What was Rose’s?
He walks to his bookshelf and pulls on a mildewed book on the top shelf. In an empty space in the shelf below, a drawer slides out.
No way. A secret drawer!
The Doctor takes out a yellow legal pad. As he hands it to me, I recognize the writing at once—same as Miranda’s anonymous notes. Presumably this was Rose’s.
He nods. “I see you know who this belonged to.”
“How did you get it?”
“It was sitting right next to Rose’s bed the night she died. I took it, hoping to find some clues as to why she committed suicide. I didn’t want Paul getting it. I’m glad I followed my instincts that night. At this point, I think I've read it over a hundred times. I can guarantee Paul would have burned it.”
I flip through the dry, crinkled pages. “You know I have to take this with me.”
He adjusts his handsome-nerdy glasses. “I understand. You’re putting everything together, trying to protect Miranda. I don’t want her marrying Paul any more than the next person. This was Rose’s journal, so you have to be careful, and you have to be covert. Don’t let anyone know you have this—not even Miranda.”
I don’t make any hasty promises as I put on my bomber jacket and hide the notebook under it. I think the Good Doctor’s just ready to get this thing off his hands, and he’s astute enough to realize I won’t stop until I get it into mine.
He walks me out to the car. I have the urge to hug him goodbye, maybe because he had such a close call. Instead, I remember a question I forgot to ask.
“What did the person look like? Your intruder? You got a look at him, didn’t you?”
The Doctor nods. “One thing I know—it wasn’t a him. It was a woman. She may have been dressed in black, wearing a mask, but I’m a doctor, for goodness’ sakes. I’m not oblivious to anatomy.” He smiles.
I keep reading innuendo into everything the Good Doctor says. Doubtless, I’m seeing something that isn’t there. He’s an older man, wrapped in the memory of his dead lover, and probably oblivious to his effect on females.
Still, he’s so alone. We’re both in some freakish stalker’s sights. I give him a quick hug. The spicy smell lingers in the fibers of his turtleneck. I’m surprised to feel muscles tighten in his arms as he wraps them around me.
What passes between us is indescribable. Comfort. Understanding. Some kind of shared, mutual hurt.
And yet he’s still hiding something. It’s there, beneath his unruffled exterior. It’s behind the words of every sentence he utters. This journal was his cry for help.
Maybe I’m fighting for freedom here—freedom from the ghosts surrounding Rose’s death.
33
~*~
I missed my last chance to get right with God. I didn’t recognize it when I saw it. When was it? Maybe when I was walking in the woods, wrestling with the perfect, chaotic beauty of this state. Maybe when Cliff earnestly implored me to get back to church. Maybe when I realized I’d made the mistake of getting pregnant with the wrong man’s baby.
Instead, I turned away from the living, hoping the empty dead would fill my heart. They rewarded me with nothing but shame. They laughed at my weakness, shouting unspeakable things about my illegitimate child.
I’d cast my lot with the devil. Yet somehow, I was certain he’d help me carry through with my plans.
~*~
As I pull away from the Good Doctor’s house, a parked blue car swerves onto the road behind me. Crazy driver.
I can’t get home to read Rose’s notebook soon enough. But first I have to make good on my plan to get Dunkin’ Donuts. As I pull through, picking up a regular coffee with lots of cream and sugar, the blue car zips into a nearby parking spot. Odd—must be having a donut emergency. Still, no one gets out. The windows are tinted, so I can’t tell who’s in there. I thought that dark tint had been outlawed.
I sip at the hot coffee and slowly pull out. Sure enough, the blue car reverses and follows me.
My first instinct is to drive right back to the safety of the Doctor’s gated home. But another part of me tells me I can lose this loser.
I drive below the speed limit, sipping along and watching. Sure enough, the blue car slows right behind me. Obviously, this person has had no training in basic stealth techniques; otherwise, they would have let at least one car get between us.
I continue at my leisurely pace, contemplating speeding up to 60 in the 45 mile-an-hour zone. That’s the quickest way to get police attention. Then it hits me—police attention is the last thing I need, with a Glock sitting in my pocket and no concealed carry permit. Still, the thought of my forgotten gun comforts me no end. If the stalker drives up close enough, I have the option of pulling out my loaded metal friend.
I toy with my devoted, unidentified follower by turning into random locations: the library, the bank, and finally the gas station. Sure enough, I can’t shake him or her. Probably her, given what the Doctor said.
What if my plan fails? What if she stays on my trail all the way into Buckneck? It’s possible she already knows where I live—she could’ve been our house invader. But I can’t bring some wacko back to Roger and Nikki Jo’s safe haven. Unless I call Roger first and have him load up half the arsenal for our unsuspecting guest.
All this for a journal? It’s the only thing I have worth anything, unless the stalker feels I’m a personal threat. Regardless of the reason, all my poking around into Rose’s death has stirred up a hornet’s nest. When I ran into a hidden hornet nest hanging in the tree this summer, I learned how mean hornets can be. One stung my head, then fell on my hand and stung that twice, for good measure. I felt vindicated when I found it buzzing in the grass and
ground it into a pulp.
Once I get to Buckneck’s Main Street, I pass the law office and think about calling Thomas. I can’t really predict what he’d do, though, and I don’t want to put him in harm’s way. As the blue car edges closer, I decide to bite the bullet. I pull up right in front of the police station and lay on the horn.
It doesn’t take long for a cop to emerge—a tall guy who looks vaguely familiar. Thomas hangs out with cops a lot, and it’s entirely possible this guy knows him. I’m not above hiding behind my hubby’s good name.
I lean out my window, hoping he won’t ask me to get out. “Hi, I’m Tess Spencer. My husband Thomas works at the law office—do you know him?”
The burly, red-faced guy nods. “What can I do ya for, Mrs. S? You got a problem out here?”
“Yes, actually, I do. See that blue car parked there?” I point out my side window, then suck in my breath. Two seconds ago, the car was parked at the curb. Now it’s gone.
The officer shields his eyes and squints. “I don’t see a blue car, Mrs. S. Someone bugging you?”
“Someone trailed me all the way here from Putnam County! It was a little blue car with tinted windows—maybe a Kia?”
“D’you get the license number?”
I sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t.”
“Any reason somebody’d be following you?”
Uh-oh. Now we’ve gone to meddlin’. “None that I could say.”
“Okay, Mrs. S. I can’t do much. You wanna call your husband?”
“No, I won’t bother him at work. I must’ve made a mistake.”
He nods and walks back to the station. I stay parked for about five minutes, waiting to see if the car reappears. It doesn’t. Guess I’ll have to take my chances and go home. I’m getting hungry and I need to make good on my stuffed shell promise to Thomas.
Winding along the familiar one-lane road, I wonder if I should call Dad, just in case. There’s no other car in sight, but that’s no guarantee she’s not behind me somewhere.
How long until I’ll feel safe again? I kick myself for going to the Good Doctor’s house. Hornet’s nest. The minute I tell Dad about a stalker, he’ll move Thomas and me into the big house quicker than we can say “Scat.”
I want to celebrate our second Christmas in our own little cottage. I want to stop fearing for the safety of everyone who means anything to me.
There’s one other option, and I take it. I call Thomas’ cell.
His phone rings and rings. Right before it goes to voicemail, he picks up.
“Yes, what?”
“Sorry to bother you. Are you in the middle of something?” I tap the brake as I steer into one of our 180 degree-curves.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”
Woah. Rude. Suddenly, I feel so tired. “Okay. I’m just on my way home. Thought I’d let you know.” Forget about telling him anything else.
“Okay, thanks for calling.” He hangs up. On me.
I slow, swerving into the Spencer driveway. How dare he? Yes, I married a real gentlemanly prince. Not.
The familiar sight of Petey’s red head at the big house does little to allay my fears. I don’t want Thomas’ kid brother anywhere near some gun-toting trespasser. I feel guilty for letting him dig those traps in the first place.
He runs off the porch to greet me. I roll down my window, letting in a gush of fresh air. “You’ve gotta see the lights in the back, Tess! Mom stuck up lots of the sparkly white ones. They look like stars.”
“Okay, I’ll check them out tonight. I need to get some lights up myself.”
“Aw, don’t worry about it. I think Mom’s got enough up for all of us. You should see our tree this year! Mom said I can’t tell you the theme.” He snickers, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Petey knows how to pique my interest. I shift the car back into drive. “Tell you what, I’m going to get something to eat, then I’ll come up and look at it, okay?”
He grins. Thor tears around the side of the big house, barking at my car. A little slow on the draw, you teeny, completely pointless guard dog.
As I coast around the back of the house, I slow. There’s already a car in my driveway. It’s Thomas’.
34
~*~
One drab, rainy day, I’d tried and tried to light a fire in the outdoor wood-burner, but to no avail. Gusts of wind and spraying rain consistently snuffed out each match I lit. I was cursing at the devilish device when Claire Hogan rounded the side of my house, wearing sturdy brogans and a plastic rain cap. Immediately, I smiled in the most approachable, angelic way possible.
“Rose Campbell, ye don’t have to try and fool me. I know the sound of a desperate woman when I hear one. Here, give me a try.”
She took the matches from my wet hands. She proceeded to rearrange the pine cones and newspaper shreds, then finagled her body to block part of the wind blasts. In just a matter of seconds, she’d gotten the blaze roaring and clamped the metal door shut.
She dusted her hands on her corduroy pants. “There we go. Sometimes it just takes a little more experience, ‘tis all.”
I knew what she was saying in her own disguised way. She wanted to care for my child. And she was right—she did have more experience. Claire Hogan’s kids had turned out better than any other kids in town. We both knew Paul would never allow me to have a baby that wasn’t his.
A fire started in my head and tingled its way down to my toes. I had to fight the impulse to throw myself on Claire and choke her. How dare she be so bold? Surely I should keep my own child. Yet the ghosts’ whispers echoed in my mind, tainting my love for the unborn baby.
I searched her face for reminders of Cliff. The resemblance was muted, but still there. A stronger, non-ghostly voice spoke into my fevered mind. “She’s the one.”
At that moment, I let go of the bond I felt with the child. The only way to save the baby was to save myself, and I had to focus on that. Claire Hogan would have to provide all the love I lacked.
~*~
I coast to a stop behind Thomas’ car and run into the cottage. “Thomas?”
“Up here.”
My stomach cramps as I walk up the stairs. I need some kind of snack—probably something light after all that coffee.
The scene in our room would make a pacifist weep. Thomas’ twelve-gauge lies propped in the chair. He’s wearing his wife-beater T-shirt, loading magazines for his dad’s new Socom 16 semi-automatic rifle. That magnificent, intimidating gun is currently deposited in the middle of our bed. Not once does he look up at me.
It’s not hard to pinpoint the cause of his palpable anger. I lean against the dresser, hoping to quell the latest stomach clench. “You’re worried because I went to the Doctor’s house.”
“You think so, Tess?” He jams the magazine into the magazine well.
“Hey, take it easy. Arming us to the teeth isn’t the answer.”
“You think not? I think it might do a world of good, when my dear wife won’t stop meddling into something that’s none of her problem in the first place.”
When Thomas is really mad, he can’t articulate properly. Quite often, I’ve used his cute quirk to defuse him. Not this time.
I turn around and walk out. I’m getting food before I discuss this.
The clicks and shucks continue in our room. I grab a granola bar and a yogurt and set water boiling in my teapot.
Sitting on the couch, I shout up to him. “You’re going to get in trouble for taking off early all the time.”
He doesn’t answer. I switch on the TV. Then he shouts back.
“How can you watch TV? I had a call from my cop friend, Jimmy. Guess what he told me? My pretty wife laid on the horn today because some lunatic followed her all the way from Putnam County.” He stomps down the stairs, his Sig Sauer exposed in its belt holster. “Please explain to me how you’ve been awarded all this undue interest?”
I retrieve the legal pad from the hall table where I dropped it, ho
lding it like the Olympic torch. “This. Someone’s looking for this. A dead woman’s journal. Now tell me why someone would want a dead woman’s journal bad enough to break into houses and follow pregnant women around. Riddle me that.”
He walks over to inspect it. “I take it you’re still talking about Rose Campbell? Why can’t you just let water flow under the bridge?”
I repress a grin, putting my hands on his shoulders and looking right into his stormy eyes. “I swear I would if I could. But Miranda’s marrying Rose’s husband. I can’t let her ride off into the sunset with a murderer."
“If there was a murder. Anyway, this sounds like a job for Miranda’s own daughter—does she live around here?”
Good thought. Maybe I should contact Charlotte. Thinking back over Miranda’s wedding announcements, I don’t remember addressing a single envelope to her daughter. Charlotte could give me some backup. “I think she lives in the panhandle somewhere.”
“I want you to unhand yourself of this burden, Tess. You’re extricating yourself from this. I want you to return that notebook to Doc Cole—promise me—or I will.”
I sigh. He’s dead-set on this, and maybe he’s right. We’re coming up on Christmas. I couldn’t even shop in a public place if someone’s following me.
He looks around. “By the way, where’s the Glock?”
Blast. How can I distract him? If he finds out…
He peers into my face. His voice roughens. “Tess. I said, ‘Where’s the Glock?’”
Dip me in butter, I’m about to get toasted. If my lawyer honey finds out I’ve been packing heat with no permit, it could be grounds for divorce.
My bomber jacket lies on the arm of the couch. I sidle over that way, sitting down and patting the cushion next to me. He gives me a doubtful look, but joins me.
“Close your eyes.” I use my most seductive voice.
He obliges. I slide the gun out of the pocket and into his hand. “Live and Let Die, my dear.”
As his hand closes around it, the kettle whistles. “I have to make my tea. You want some?”
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