by Hornsby, Kim
“Here’s your castle, Goldy,” Quinn teased.
“Indeed it is.” As the car slid to a halt, Nikki mentally shed what still remained of the Goldy persona like last year’s snakeskin. She wasn’t a rock star here. She was simply Nikki Crossland. Back to where she started. The thought of her divorce brought the feelings of triumph and loss. She’d have to get used to this, as well as all the other changes meteoring toward her.
Exiting the car, Nikki reacquainted herself with one of her most cherished scents—the northern Cascade forest. The fresh, tangy scent of the Douglas firs that towered above them made her almost dizzy with euphoria. The sight of hemlocks with their curled tops was heaven, as was all the fauna that struggled to thrive beneath the dense canopy of green.
In the last eighteen months Nikki had endured the exhaust of Tokyo, Paris, London, and every major city between Auckland and Madrid on her world tour. Now she was home. This time of year at the end of summer, the birch trees had a sticky-sweet smell, bringing to mind memories of campfires and fishing on another lake in Oregon thirty years before, with her grandparents. The forest was in her blood.
“Smells like home, Mom.” Quinn spun around, her arms flung out.
Nikki closed her eyes. “God, I love this place.”
“Don’t swear.”
Fishing the house keys from her purse, Nikki grabbed a loosely packed duffle bag from the back seat. Having traveled with several thousand tons of equipment for the past twenty years, she’d gone easy this trip. One bag for toiletries, favorite jeans, a few novels.
“They won’t find you here.” Quinn scanned the forest, and then followed her mother up the back stairs.
“They never have.”
The door stuck, swollen from humidity and a year of disuse. Having to shoulder it open was nothing new. Nikki punched a sequence of numbers into their alarm system, while Elvis shot inside from his quick sweep of the driveway. Rescued from an animal shelter only ten months earlier, Elvis had never been to Louisa Lake. “Looks like he approves.” Nikki laughed as he raced down the hall.
She dropped her keys on the hall table and followed Quinn into the front room—which was more than just timber beams and down-filled couches. Burn had designed the house with an award-winning architect, insisting on alcoves, window seats, interesting angles. Disproving that he was merely a pretty face who played guitar like Jimi Hendrix, Burn had discovered a talent for design. Now it belonged only to Nikki—just one of the things Burn gave up for his freedom.
“Don’t ever sell this house.” Quinn threw open the front doors leading outside to the deck that overlooked Half Moon Bay.
The water sparkled in the noontime sun, like diamonds jiggling on the surface of a mirror. After their wild escape from Los Angeles, and, with only three hours sleep, Nikki’s body began to relax enough to allow the exhaustion to set in. Both she and Quinn stood mesmerized by the stillness of the lake. It was so quiet she could hear the tiny birds rustling in the bushes at the beach. She envied their simple task.
Encircling Quinn with motherly arms, she kissed her daughter’s floral-scented hair and pulled her in close. Ah, Louisa Lake. The world stopped here. The two stayed this way until the sound of a car broke through the silence. Nikki froze. If they could hear a vehicle this clearly, it was beyond the locked gate.
“Goddammit.” Nikki turned and ran into the house with Quinn. “Elvis, come.” She shut the doors, fastened the locks, and hurried to the back bedroom, cursing the fact that their Escalade was not in the garage.
Quinn peeked through the print curtains of the guest room. Seeing her opportunity, Nikki took a moment to check for her handgun in a zippered pocket of her purse. The car had to be Harold or one of the Dickersons but still. The blot of blue got bigger as it advanced.
“Pickup truck. Chevy,” Nikki said.
“Not a rental.” Quinn sounded hopeful.
Tinted windows made it impossible to see how many people were inside the truck or if the driver looked like he might quote Shakespeare.
“Keep going, keep going,” Nikki muttered. The truck drove on to the Dickerson place.
“That’s good.” Quinn let the curtain fall back into place.
“They could be turning around.” Nikki held her breath and remembered what the FBI had said about Shakespeare…
“When we find this guy, he’ll probably be someone who hasn’t got enough money for a plane ticket to follow you anywhere. They usually are.” The agent’s words had been reassuring enough for Nikki to insist on leaving Los Angeles without security people. She’d always considered herself highly intuitive and had a good feeling about being at the lake. If that ever changed, she told herself she would leave. But for the first time since they’d left L.A., Nikki questioned the practicality of that decision.
“Quinn, get the binoculars, will you? He might be parked.” And walking through the woods. They moved to the kitchen for the best view of the Dickerson’s house.
With binoculars pressed against her face, Quinn looked out the kitchen window to scan the road then the log house across the bay. “Nothing.”
Elvis listened and growled, his two bottom teeth sticking out from his under bite. “Elvis, I wish your size matched your attitude.” Nikki patted his head.
“The truck is in the driveway, and I think Dickerson’s back door is open.” Quinn was an expert with binoculars, having been raised with suspicion.
“Someone must have the key to the gate and house.” Either that or they had just picked two locks. The Dickerson’s back door slammed shut. Someone was inside that log house. “Must be a fix-it guy.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand. “All clear. Nothing we can do.”
Soon the fridge was plugged in, taps run, windows thrown open, and food put away. While taking stock of supplies in the pantry, a truck’s noise startled Nikki. She bounded into the guest room to watch the blue Chevy pass Birch House without slowing, the open window showing the silhouette of a man at the wheel. It drove out of sight. Gone.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Nikki headed for her bedroom. “I’m putting on my bathing suit,” she called to Quinn. A silver-framed photo of Nikki and Burn smiled from her bedside table. Taking it in her hands, she remembered they’d been casually hugging, like the friends they’d become, when Quinn yelled, “Say cheese!” In some ways, Burn had never fit in here, more suited to the Los Angeles rock scene with his need for attention.
She slid the photo in the drawer, face down. This was her bedroom now, and her ex-husband had no reason to be here.
Quinn opened and closed drawers in her room across the hall.
“Whatcha doin’, girly?” Nikki asked. God she loved this kid. Quinn was the one person in her world who truly loved her, flaws and all. And no one knew better how flawed Nikki was, especially in the mother department.
“Just looking at my stuff.” Quinn’s bedroom at Birch House was a girl’s museum of collectibles. She had years of feathers, birch-bark drawings, photos, pretty rocks, a hat made from the cattails at the end of the bay, a bird’s nest, a wall full of photos. The only thing missing at the lake had been friends, because of their need for privacy.
“Ready, Mom?” Quinn glided into the master bedroom wearing a checkered bikini made from a square of material the size of a tissue. “You like?” She struck a pose in front of Nikki’s French mirror.
“I like, as long as you don’t wear that in public.” Goldy’s typical work costumes—shiny bundles of asset-covering fabric—put her in a shaky position to criticize Quinn, but she didn’t want her daughter dressing provocatively.
“It’s just for here, Mom.”
“Then I like it.” This was Quinn’s week and Nikki’s mission to make it light-hearted and fun was driven by the fact that her daughter deserved to leave for college without worry pulling at her heart. Without knowledge of Shakespeare or what was about to change all their lives.
In the last months, twenty-six letters had arrived from Shakespeare, all similar. R
ecently they’d been arriving more frequently. The last one said very little.
My Dear Goldy,
Soon I will come to get you, to free you from this life of excess and indecision.
You’ll be frightened at first but I’ll make sure you don’t suffer too much.
When I’m finished, I’ll have you sing for me one last time. Something romantic, sweet and final. Of course you will tremble, beg. That will be delightful. When you hit the last note I will free your soul of my serenade, I will cut your tongue out, leaving you to never sing again. I’m sorry, my love but it is necessary. The drugs will ease your pain. You see? I do love you.
“She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?”
We’ll be each other’s last memory before we leave for the next life, the one where we are together.
This bud of love by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet…
Images of a deranged man with long, thinning gray hair and a scraggly beard always came to mind, dressed in dirty breeches, sitting beside a collection of medieval torture instruments, penning letters. Although they hadn’t identified him yet, Gateman was sure Shakespeare was in the L.A. area. A stationary stalker, they called the ones who didn’t physically follow their prey.
Nikki hoped the FBI was right. This lunatic made her skin crawl with descriptions of the heinous acts he’d perform on her. The image of him wanting to cut her tongue out and inject windshield washing fluid into her veins was something she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she’d tried and his latest words had fallen on her like acid rain, the poison only slightly diluted by the FBI’s involvement.
Although Gateman thought the electrocution attempt was a message from Shakespeare, Goldy wasn’t so sure. It hadn’t been a strong enough current to cause any lasting damage. If someone had planned it, they either didn’t know what they were doing, or hadn’t meant to kill her. She’d suffered a few blisters but there’d been no amnesia, nerve damage, or heart problems. Or funeral.
****
Bedtime came early that night for both. Even though the maintenance man continued to hammer over at Dickerson’s, Nikki began to relax. Putting on an old T-shirt of Burn’s, she threw back the fluffy duvet and slipped into bed. The coolness of the cotton sheets was a long-awaited heaven except that she was without any prospects of filling the empty spot beside her with anyone but a feisty little pug mix.
“Is it lonely without Dad?” Quinn leaned against the door jamb.
“A little.” Nikki patted the bed for her to sit. “I’ll get used to it.” She didn’t want to say that it had been lonelier with a cheating husband lying next to her.
“I feel terrible for you because Dad has a girlfriend and you’re all alone, Mom.” Quinn stretched out on the duvet.
“It’s kind of nice to be alone, for a change.” She stroked her daughter’s arm. How did she end up with such a gorgeous kid? She’d been terrified to be a mother when she found out she was pregnant at twenty-one. “I’m not entirely alone. I’ve got you this week and Elvis for years and years to come.”
“I want you to find someone for yourself. Someone to love.” Quinn curled around Elvis’s small body while Nikki played with her daughter’s long auburn hair.
“I’m sure I will someday.” She moved a lock behind Quinn’s ear, fighting to keep tears from pooling.
“I just want you to make an effort.” Quinn sighed. “Even though you’re here at Birch House, don’t miss Dad.”
“I already put his picture away.” Nikki pointed to the drawer on her bedside table.
Quinn smiled at her mother, kissed her cheek, and left for her own bedroom. “Don’t spend all night watching that guy on the ladder next door,” she teased.
“Sweet dreams, darling girl,” Nikki smiled. The man was probably just a fix-it guy from town. Reporters wouldn’t come this far. They were back in L.A., perplexed about her sudden retirement. It wouldn’t occur to anyone yet that the choice to re-invent herself had been made for Nikki eight weeks earlier, when a tiny life inside her took root and began to grow from a stranger’s seed.
Chapter 3
He was frustrated. Why hadn’t Goldy stayed in Los Angeles where celebrities belonged? It would be so much easier. This remote location changed everything. All the careful planning was a joke now that Goldy was hiding out at Louisa Lake. Hell, he’d have to be on his toes with this one.
Lugging the stepladder back to the garage, he tried to put it away without making a sound. The lights were out at Goldy’s, which meant any noise he made would probably be heard by the two women lying in bed over there. Fuck. The thought of Goldy in bed, only footsteps away from where he stood made his blood quicken. Her long blonde hair, that body, her smile. He’d fantasized about kissing that smile. At the last Goldy concert, he’d fantasized about more than that. Him and thousands of other men in the audience.
If he marched over there right now, let himself in to her house and slipped upstairs to her bedroom, what would she do? The reality was that she’d be terrified. He had to stay away from her. Things were about to go down, and he needed to keep a clear head.
****
As she made her morning cup of tea, Nikki noticed that the Chevy truck was still parked beside the garage at the Dickersons. The maintenance man had stayed the night. His hammering went on until well after ten. Maybe the Dickerson family was getting ready to put the place up for sale. She hoped they didn’t sell it to anyone who actually wanted to use the property. Having an absentee neighbor had been handy when they visited the lake.
Edna’s son, Andy, the DA in Seattle, was in charge of the house now and Nikki punched in his cell number. When she got voice mail, she simply left a message. “It’s Nikki Crossland. Can you call me back on this number? I have some questions about your lake house and who’s over there.” Andy had been trustworthy in the past about the secrecy of the Burnsides showing up at the lake, each year.
Later that day, Andy Dickerson left a short message saying he had a guy over there. “Just ignore him,” he said.
Even though the “guy” was gone, Nikki contacted Sheriff Harold Gaines of the Louisa Lake Police Department, one of the only people she knew in town. “Are the Dickerson’s selling?” Harold had once told her that he knew all the gossip on the lake.
“Not that I know of.”
“I just wondered because there was a maintenance man out here.”
“Probably just that.” It sounded like she’d interrupted his lunch. He was a big guy, with a doting wife and retirement staring him in the face. Nikki imagined him with a tray of food in front of him.
“Can you let me know if you hear anything? And Harold, as always, it’s a secret I’m here, so I’d appreciate you keeping it under that sheriff hat.”
“Roger that.”
****
Labor Day was over, and the lake was once again engulfed in the September hush. Without Quinn, Birch House seemed in desperate need of everything. It would take days to adjust to the deafening silence. They’d had such fun together, just what Nikki envisioned. Their toe nails were Petal Pink, they’d trimmed each other’s hair, written a little song about themselves, suffered together through sunburns, finished the book Little Women, invented three new recipes to put in the Birch House Cookbook, water skied, and walked the loop with Elvis each day. They had even created an account for Nikki on Dating.com that she secretly had no intention of using.
When Quinn slung her duffle bag into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut, Nikki had watched through tears. “It’s a five-hour drive to the coast,” Quinn said. “I know. I’ll be busy writing the movie soundtrack.” Her daughter had always taken a back seat to Goldy’s career and that thought brought a new wave of tears to Nikki’s eyes. “I love you, my sweet Quinny.” Her lips lingered on her daughter’s forehead as she took in the familiar scent. “You are my golden child.”
It wasn’t only Quinn she missed. Walking around the house after
her daughter’s departure, memories of Burn ghosted her. She missed his jokes, his good-heartedness. Everybody loved Burn. Especially women. It had taken Nikki years to turn her love for him into something manageable, eventually finding a place in their lives for his behavior. She hoped the next few months wouldn’t be filled with loneliness, especially over Burn, who probably hadn’t thought twice about her since she’d announced her retirement.
With thoughts aimed at the deck hammock, Nikki took a novel outside. But before she could deposit herself in the swinging bed, something moved over at the Dickersons’ house and she scooted behind the branches of a leafy rhododendron at the deck’s edge. A man stood perfectly still at the side door of the log cabin, staring into the forest.
She grabbed the binoculars from the patio table and crept across the grass, to the cover of a dense clump of trees. The fix-it man now stood where the dock met the beach, his arms folded across his chest, staring across the bay. He looked younger than she’d imagined. Maybe in his late thirties, but from this distance it was hard to tell.
He moved to the shadows of the large cedars along the beach. She couldn’t see his face, wearing what looked like a Mariner baseball cap with sunglasses. An arm lifted to adjust his cap then he turned and, staring directly at her hiding spot, tipped his hat to her.
She buckled back into the bushes. “Oh, God.” Maybe he was only adjusting his hat. Dropping to the grass, Nikki lay in a ball wondering if it was too late to go undetected. Had he seen her peering through the trees? She covered her head with her arms and backed farther into the dense brush.
“Oh God, oh god, oh god. Don’t see me!” Nikki whispered. Elvis barked behind her. “Shhh! Elvis! No barkies,” she hissed.
Jumping circles around her, Elvis begged to play, now that she was on his level.
“No, Elvis. Mommy is sleeping.” Nikki lifted her head from her arms and tried to steal another look across the water.