Carlene Thompson

by Black for Remembrance (epub)

  "I certainly hope not," Caroline said under her breath, then with a bright smile, "If she does approach you, remember what I said. Don't go anywhere with her. Don't go anywhere with anyone."

  "Mommy, you've told me that a hundred and ten times. I won't."

  "And if anything unusual happens, you run and tell your teacher."

  "Unusual like what?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Just stick close to Miss Cummings."

  Melinda was looking at her as if she were crazy. "Okay," she said impatiently. "Whatever you say. See ya later, alligator."

  If only I could stay with you, Caroline thought as Melinda turned to blow her a kiss, then skipped through the school doors. If only I could protect you twenty-four hours a day. But protect you from what? I have no idea what is threatening us, much less how to ward it off.

  So far she had done the only thing she could at this point by talking to the principal of Melinda's school and asking him to make sure someone kept an eye on the child at all times. "Well now, Mrs. Webb, we always try to do that," he said with an absent, patronizing tone that had abruptly changed when she told him she'd already had one child kidnapped and murdered, and now Melinda seemed to be the focus of another pervert's attentions. "The police are already conducting an investigation," she lied blithely. "I'm sure they'll be concerned with how the school is assisting in this matter."

  "Yes, indeed," he'd said, suddenly earnest. "You can count on us, Mrs. Webb."

  I'm sure I can, she thought. Otherwise you know you can count on some very bad PR.

  After dropping Melinda off she had intended to go straight home, but as she pulled away from the school, she headed south. I'll just drive around for a while to calm my nerves. She told herself this all the way to Longworth Hill, atop of which sat Chris Corday's cabin.

  She had returned to the cabin only once since eighteen years earlier when Chris had taken off for a week with a young art major from the university. There had been others in the year before her, and although Caroline cried and railed, she was determined to stick by the man she loved, a man driven half insane by grief and guilt over Hayley. But her own emotional state was precarious, and when, after a six-day absence, Chris returned to the cabin reeking of alcohol with a stoned nineteen-year-old clinging to his arm, she had simply walked out, climbed in her ancient Fiat, and driven to Lucy's. Later that day, deadly calm although her eyes burned and her head pounded, she had seen a lawyer and started divorce proceedings. Two days later she returned for her things. Chris had not tried to stop her. In fact, as he sat on their old Boston rocker watching her pack, he'd seemed relieved, and she knew that for some reason she didn't understand, he had been trying to force her to leave ever since the body of their child had been found.

  But now as her red Thunderbird smoothly climbed the gravel road her Fiat once found almost impossible, those months after Hayley's death receded in her mind and she remembered most vividly coming here after her wedding in the park. A product of the sixties, she had worn a long, old-fashioned dress of eyelet lace and daisies in her hair. She rolled her eyes at the memory. But Chris had told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and her happiness that day was so great she almost didn't mind that her parents had refused to attend the ceremony, had in fact cut her off for marrying an unemployed artist. Of course, this banishment ended five months later when Caroline discovered she was pregnant. Then they descended with offers for a house in a nice development and a job for Chris in her father's real estate firm. Both had been declined. Chris continued to paint while Caroline worked as a medical secretary for David Webb, who allowed her to stay on the job until two weeks before Hayley's birth, delivered the baby for free, and also continued her salary during her six-week maternity leave. "You know he's in love with you," Chris always told Caroline. "He's steady, affluent probably the kind of guy you should have married instead of me. He's even single, and there aren't any former Mrs. Webbs to clutter things up." When Hayley disappeared, David offered a ten-thousand-dollar reward for her return and two weeks later doubled it to twenty. It was then people said they'd been having an affair, but Chris had never suffered a moment's jealousy. He had always known she was wildly in love with him, that other men really didn't exist for her. And for a while, he had felt the same about her.

  Her throat tightened when the cabin came into view. There it sat, tiny and weathered and unbelievably beautiful. When she shared it with Chris she had kept flowers blooming all around the porch, and it now looked rather forlorn with not even a shrub to soften its crude lines. Still, the lawn was fairly well tended, and wind chimes dangled from the porch roof. New wind chimes, the delicate painted-glass kind she had always hung on the porch. Did Chris replace them every year?

  She pulled up in front of the cabin and shut off the engine, climbing out before she could give herself time to think. If she thought, she might turn around and leave. Before approaching the door, though, she did pause long enough to look up the hill to the very top where the Longworth mansion hulked, rambling and ivy-covered, like an old, furry monster. As usual its lawn was manicured within an inch of its life, and even now Caroline could see the form of a woman wearing a flapping black cape and huge sun hat absorbed in wrapping a wire cage around a rosebush. As if sensing she was being watched, the woman's head jerked up and she looked back at Caroline. Old Millicent Longworth, Caroline thought ruefully. Still fighting the forces of nature as if they were a personal insult. During her younger years she had traveled around Europe and the Orient with her brother, Garrison, visiting museums, becoming a professional collector. She came home the year Caroline and Chris were married, the year her father died and she assumed maintenance of the family home and business while her brother remained in Florence with his new wife. In all the years they had lived side-by-side, though, Caroline had never said more than a few words to Millicent. She had been strange even then.

  Caroline pulled her gaze away from Millicent and climbed the porch steps. A ragged, battle-scarred black cat skittered off the narrow windowsill as her shoes clattered on the raw boards of the porch. "Hi, cat," she said softly, but the animal was already streaking up the hill toward the Longworth house. Dr. Doolittle I'm not, she thought wryly, but then that cat looked as if life had given it good reason to be wary.

  Her rap on the door sounded like a crash of thunder in the quiet morning air. When there was no immediate response, she glanced at her watch. Nine-twenty. Surely Chris would be up by now.

  If he was alone.

  Caroline felt herself blushing and like an embarrassed teenager was turning to flee when the door swung open. Brilliant, if slightly bloodshot, blue eyes gazed into hers for a moment before Chris said, "Caro? Is that you, sweetheart?"

  Sweetheart? Caroline blushed even more and was furious. Chris called half the women in town sweetheart. It meant nothing. "Of course it's me," she said shortly, annoyed with herself and with him. "I can't have changed all that much since you saw me three years ago."

  Chris grinned, deep dimples forming on either side of his mouth. He was forty-nine now, and the years of hard living showed in the lines around his eyes and the faint softening of his jaw. But his ash-blond hair was barely touched by gray, his skin was tanned, his eyes were both devilish and caressing. He was still the most devastatingly sexy man she had ever known.

  "Don't bite my head off, Caroline. You're the only person I know who time never seems to touch." How she had always loved the lazy, whiskey-edged timber of his voice. This was a mistake, she thought. It was one thing to tell Lucy Chris meant nothing to her anymore. It was quite another to face him.

  "I'm just surprised to see you," Chris was going on.

  "Yes, well, I'm surprised to be here." She jammed her hands in the pockets of her white knit parka. "I hadn't intended to come, but I need to talk to you." She glanced at his naked, muscular chest above slim jeans and bare feet, and her eyes shifted away. "If it's convenient, that is. I mean as long as…"

  "There's not a naked
woman panting in my bed?" He smiled, clearly amused by her discomfort. "Well, you're in luck, sweetheart. Even aging studs have to take a night off every now and then."

  "Please stop trying to shock me. And don't call me sweetheart. I hate it."

  The amusement died in Chris's eyes. "I'm sorry. You're right you deserve better. Come in and I'll show you I can still act like a gentleman."

  Caroline didn't know what she had expected to find in the cabin—lava lamps, glass beads, mirrors, fur throws. Instead she found the room she had walked out of all those years before. The same navy-and-red Oriental rug lay on the scuffed pine floor, the same oak hutch displayed Chris's grandmother's bright-blue country crockery, the same white doilies she had crocheted still decorated the arms of a Victorian settee upholstered in yellow brocade. It was all eighteen years older, faded and frayed, but otherwise exactly like the home of their marriage. She could almost see herself sitting on the rocker holding Hayley on her lap.

  "Coffee?"

  Caroline jerked back to the present. "Sure, if it's made."

  "I'm on my second pot. Despite Lucy's tall tales, I do get up early to paint."

  Caroline smiled thinly, remembering how he had always gotten up with the sunrise to begin work, sometimes not even taking a break until noon. "I had a brief encounter with a cat on the porch. Is it yours?"

  He handed her a mug of coffee, black. At least he remembered that much. "Yeah. One night about a year ago I woke up to hear a hell of a cat fight going on in the front yard. I tried to ignore it, but then one of the cats started really shrieking, so I ran out. The other cat was twice her size and had taken off most of her ear and raked out an eye. It was terrible. I woke up the vet although I thought it was useless, but he saved her. Her name's Hecate."

  "Hecate? Isn't that some goddess associated with sorcery?"

  Chris smiled, nodding. "I figured she must have some pretty strong magic going for her to pull through the mauling she took. I just wish I'd gotten to her sooner that night. But not being around when I'm needed is my specialty." He took a sip of coffee, then went over to the settee, leaving the rocker for her.

  Caroline felt slightly stiff-legged with self-consciousness as she took her accustomed place on the rocker. Sitting together in this room drinking-coffee and talking, they could be reenacting a scene from twenty years ago. "I also saw Millicent."

  "Gardening. She's been at it since seven this morning. She's obsessed. Garrison doesn't seem to share her passion."

  "Garrison? Oh, the brother. He was in Italy when we were married."

  "He came back about eight years ago. His wife is dead and his health is bad. Heart, I think. So how's David?"

  "Working too hard. As always."

  "And the kids?"

  "Greg is a sophomore. He's very preoccupied with his friends and basketball, which results in mediocre grades. But he's a wonderful boy. And Melinda—well, she's just the most delightful little girl…"

  She broke off, realizing how tactless she was being, for Chris certainly remembered another delightful little girl. She took a deep breath. "Chris, I've come here to talk to you about Hayley."

  The look of a dying animal flashed in his eyes. "What's there to say, Caro?"

  "I don't want to talk about her kidnapping or her death. I want to tell you what's been going on for the past few days, ever since her birthday."

  A deep crease appeared between Chris's eyebrows as she described everything from the voice in Lucy's storeroom to Melinda's call from her new best friend. "David reminded me of all the people who thought we'd killed Hayley. He thinks maybe it's some nut who's surfaced and decided to harass me because of it. That's why I wondered if you've experienced anything odd."

  "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And Caroline, that angel wasn't broken when I took flowers to the grave the night before Hayley's birthday."

  "Lucy said it was okay when she was there early that morning, too. It must have happened in the afternoon. There's hardly ever anyone around. It would be easy for someone to get away with that kind of destruction, even in daylight."

  "I know. The place has gone to hell." Chris shook his head. "The angel could have been random violence, but the other stuff? No way. And I'm afraid I have trouble buying the idea that after almost twenty years someone has decided to terrorize you over Hayley."

  "That's what I said."

  "What do you think is going on?"

  She lifted her hands. "Oh, Chris, I don't know. Whatever is behind this knows an awful lot about Hayley. Too much."

  "What do you mean, whatever is behind this? What are you suggesting? A ghost?"

  The anger that had throbbed so close to the surface recently flashed through Caroline. She stood up. "Don't make fun of me!"

  "I'm not making fun of you." Chris stood also, putting his hands on her shoulders as he looked down into her eyes. "Do you think I could find amusement in anything having to do with Hayley? I just want to know what you think is happening. An honest answer."

  Caroline relaxed. "I shouldn't have flown off the handle because I can't say the idea of the supernatural didn't cross my mind. That voice in the storeroom was Hayley's. I'd swear to it. At least I think I would. And that's what frightens me. I know that's impossible."

  "Yes, it is, Caroline. Someone is trying to scare you."

  "Who, Chris? Who would do such a thing?"

  "And why aren't they doing it to me? I was responsible for what happened to her. If I hadn't gone off and left her alone in the woods…"

  Bright sunlight played over the lines around Chris's eyes. They used to be laugh lines, Caroline thought with a pang. Now they're crow's feet. "Chris, you were knocked unconscious after you left Hayley. How were you supposed to stop what happened?"

  "I shouldn't have left her alone to go in search of some nonexistent animal caught in a trap." He shuddered. "You know, sometimes I can still hear that scream. It didn't sound human, but it must have been."

  "Of course it was. Someone wanted to lure you away from the clearing. The police went over all this with you. Hayley's kidnapping was planned. If it hadn't happened that night, it would probably have happened another time."

  "Part of me knows that. But a bigger part always says, 'If you were the kind of father that little girl needed, deserved, she'd be alive today.'"

  "That's my parents talking."

  "It's me too, Caroline. She was taken as punishment."

  "Chris, this is silly." But the pain in his voice cut through her, and almost unconsciously she pulled his head down to her shoulder, burying her face in his clean-smelling hair as his body shook with a silent sob. "Chris, don't. Please don't torture yourself any more. It's wrong."

  "Not wrong. Just useless." He took a deep, shuddering breath, then gently pushed her away. Just like always, she thought distantly. He always pushed me away when he needed me most.

  Then guilt swept over her. Why was she so ready to give comfort and love to Chris when she was married to another man, a man who adored and trusted her, a man who would never put her through what Chris had after Hayley's death? What would David think if he saw her here, clinging to Chris?

  Abruptly she stepped backward, forcing herself to look polite, distant, in control. "Well, I just wanted to discuss this with you." She made her voice crisp. "Get your opinion. Keep you apprised."

  Chris looked at her quizzically before a tiny smile flickered across his face. He knows what I'm doing, she thought as she quickly turned to gather up her jacket. He knows I still care and he probably finds it hilarious after all these years. But his smile disappeared as he helped her on with her parka. "I'm glad you told me, Caroline. And I hope you'll let me know if anything else happens."

  "Yes, I will."

  She pulled open the front door and stepped out on the porch where the wind caught her hair and swept it across her face. She reached up to brush it back, but Chris was ahead of her. "I'm glad you didn't cut your hair," he said softly, tucking it behind her ear.

  "I di
d cut it." Caroline's voice shook slightly. "It used to be down to my waist."

  "I know. But you didn't cut it short. It's still beautiful."

  Caroline remembered Chris pulling her silver-backed brush through its gleaming length, and her throat tightened. "Thanks. Thanks for the compliment and for listening. Goodbye."

  He said something but she didn't hear as she rushed for her car, her vision gone blurry with tears.

  Millicent Longworth whacked off a stray piece of wire with her cutters and smiled as she looked at the neat cage she had just constructed. Yes, a job worth doing was worth doing well, she always said. That cage could stand up to anything but a tornado, protecting the rosebush from the brisk winter winds that swept over the hill. Now, she had only fourteen more to build to protect the rest…Suddenly she caught a blur of movement to her right, and her sharp eyes fastened on the black cat peering at her from behind one of her rosebushes. She hated that thing with its missing ear and one accusing green eye. It reminded her of something out of a Poe story her mother had read to her when she was a child.

  She rose and flapped her cape at it, shrilling, "Get away! Get away!" until the cat fled back toward its home. How fitting, she thought. A maimed cat for a sinful man.

  "Millicent!" Garrison Longworth walked slowly across the lawn, slight and stoop-shouldered, wearing brown flannel slacks that hung on him, as if he had recently lost around twenty pounds. Thick, white hair rimmed a shining bald pate, and his periwinkle-blue sweater exactly matched the benign eyes regarding his sister from behind gold-rimmed glasses. "Millicent, who are you talking to?"

  Millicent sighed. She'd thought he was safely occupied with his art books for the entire morning and she could finish her work. "That cat of Corday's. I hate it up here messing around my roses."

  "You always did hate cats. I don't understand it. They were sacred to the Egyptians."

  "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not Egyptian."

  Garrison laughed, as usual enjoying her sarcasm, and she looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and concern.