“I helped you bury him,” he responded very quietly, “so I damn well do remember.”
* * * *
It wasn’t like Jon had a lot of options.
George really looked terrible, his face scratched from the tumble down those stairs, his sallow complexion almost pallid, but he was fresh out of the cardiac unit so that wasn’t surprising. He didn’t need this, but it was happening anyway and it seemed that Jon should at least warn him.
“Alicia said he had a vivid scar that she could see even in the dark, across his cheek.” He pushed aside his plate. “Dark hair…the rest of it fit, too, and if I hadn’t seen him the other night, I would maybe not jump to this conclusion, but she also said he didn’t look natural.” Jon ran his hand through his hair and exhaled raggedly. “He doesn’t. Take my word on it.”
That hideous face in the window…he understood why Alicia had screamed. The minute he’d fired that gun at the window in the cabin he wondered if he’d been mistaken. There had been hope that maybe he had, even if he found a corpse outside…but there was nothing.
A strange look spread over George’s face. “I had my heart attack right after I was looking through your mother’s obituary. Those two events can’t be connected, can they?”
Larimer had murdered his mother. Jon had killed the man in the ultimate act of retribution. He still wasn’t sorry, but the fall out was costly…
“Can’t they? How do I know? Do I think that’s a coincidence? Unlikely. What were you doing looking through her obituary?”
“Jesus, Jon, what do you think? Suddenly you turn up and the past came back. I’m an accessory after the fact at the very least. I have to admit you seem a little stressed. Maybe even unstable. I’ve never known how much of it was real anyway. You swore it was, your mother was dead, Larimer was dead…I went along because there was nothing I could do about either one of those things.”
Jon looked at the man who had once been his best friend and might still be and weighed his words. “He was a murderer.”
“So you’ve always said. Shit, Jon, I was really looking forward to this cheeseburger.” George pushed it away, his face drawn. “You do realize you’ve had a very stressful change in your life. You saw someone who reminded you of another stressful event and I can take one look at you and know you are sleep-deprived, which has a very profound effect on the human brain. Hallucinations are very much a symptom.”
No one was sorrier than he was he had this story to tell. He wasn’t all that interested in this conversation either. “Is Alicia hallucinating too? I said nothing to her about my previous experience, so don’t try and tell me that she had a sympathetic sighting as well.”
“That one I can’t explain, then, except maybe she just had a peeping Tom. Guys like her. Hell, if I had the energy, I wouldn’t mind looking in her window for the chance to see her naked. I’d probably have another heart attack.” George dropped his head and closed his eyes briefly. “Jon, I know you realize this because you’ve asked me about it, but the disappearances still didn’t stop after Larimer was dead and buried and now apparently there’s someone else. What the hell is going on here?”
“Someone left me a headstone.”
George was appropriately mystified at that declaration. “What?”
“Headstone. Gravestone, whatever you want to call it. They left it outside my cabin.”
He digested that instead of his meal. Jon really did feel some remorse for ruining his cheeseburger experience but he was probably doing him a favor. The doctor’s advice was spot on. George was slowing killing himself one beer and burger at a time.
“Whose?”
“Therein lies the question. I can’t make it out, it is so weathered, much less why I now seem to be the dubious recipient of the unwanted gift.”
“Dubious recipient? You can stop the wordy crap. If someone desecrated a cemetery as a joke, that’s not a funny one.”
He couldn’t agree more. “George, can you ask Troy if anything like that has been reported? Leave my name out of it, please.”
His friend snorted. “Like I need to be told that. To my cousin, I mention you as little as possible. I’ll ask, but it sounds like he’s pretty busy right now.”
Jon hesitated, but then said slowly, “This Larimer thing…do you really think I’m imagining it all? I’ve never been much to believe in the paranormal, so the idea seems ludicrous to me too.”
“I find it interesting that you are willing to entertain the idea you are imagining it. It doesn’t surprise me that it has occurred to you. In the world of logic, that you are having some interesting experiences since you returned home makes perfect sense. Unresolved issues brought you back here, and your mind is grappling to make sense of something that didn’t make sense before, and still doesn’t to you now. Do I think Larimer haunts you? In a literal sense, no. In a psychological one, yes.”
Jon wished he could argue that point, but he wasn’t sure either.
“You have chosen to stay in a cabin in the woods, by yourself, so if you see ghosties, I’m not surprised.” George crooked a finger at the waitress and pointed at his empty beer bottle. Then he voiced what was probably the obvious. “Have you thought about seeing someone? I know a psychiatrist in the Twins who has a satellite office here that’s open once a week. He’s good.”
When he was an executive at a Fortune 500 corporation, Jon had rejected the idea of therapy outright, because if anyone found out, he knew he couldn’t technically be fired, but it wouldn’t help him professionally. He couldn’t even imagine trying to explain it to Connie either. Now he was free of that encumbrance, so maybe it was not a bad idea.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Might be what you need.”
The observation grated a little. “I can tell you one thing I’m not imagining. Who left me the gravestone?”
The same waitress who’d waited on them their last visit plopped down another beer, whisked away the empty bottle, eyed Jon’s still full drink, and winked at him suggestively before she walked away. He would have been amused since she had to be fifteen years older than he was, but he wasn’t in that kind of mood.
“How would I know?”
“Troy?”
Decisively George shook his head. “He doesn’t have that much imagination. I’m sure he knows the place you rented since this is his county, but he just wouldn’t do that sort of thing.”
Jon would dispute that, but he actually agreed. “Shot in the dark.”
There had been. He left that part out. And the lack of the boat, or any blood amid the broken glass, or a body. If it was Troy, he could deal with it.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter 10
When you go into the void, there is no sunrise.
Just a downward spiral into a black hell.
That’s metaphorical of course, as nothing is straightforward, but I honestly have no idea if hell is black or blazing red. I imagine we each create our own and then live in it.
Mine might be gray and cloudy, like a Minnesota winter.
Come to think of it, it isn’t hot, but just damn cold.
Alicia managed to get through work, but she wasn’t quite sure how. Flash to the check list. She’d slept with Jon Palmer and seen that awful face staring in the window.
If all that wasn’t a fabrication of her subconscious, nothing was.
The surreal aftermath of both had her gripped in a world between elation and a fear so vivid that she knew she couldn’t stay at her house alone. She was afraid to even go back there. Jon had left early, declining anything more than a cup of coffee, saying he needed to go to the cabin and shower and change his clothes before he picked up George Walda from the hospital.
As for talking about what had happened, he hadn’t seemed all that interested. There had been no suggestion he would call her; he hadn’t even asked for her number. Yes, last night was a perfect example that he knew where to find her and he now knew where she lived, but it stung he didn’t
even display a hint of interest in seeing her again.
Though, she had to admit, he’d seemed pretty preoccupied. In retrospect, she had the impression he hadn’t been all that surprised over being invited into her bed or the window incident either. She must have been sending some pretty strong signals that if he was interested, she was willing to get naked, and the creepy intruder didn’t make him happy, but he wasn’t surprised.
The bell jingled and Alicia jumped, but that had been happening all day.
Slender, graceful figure, smooth, honey-colored shoulder-length hair…Amy Walda. It figured, Alicia thought in resignation. Just her luck, but it had been three days since she’d last been in and that was about on schedule. The sheriff’s wife went to the shelf that held her favorite whiskey, selected a bottle and brought it to the counter.
“Alicia.” Her voice was unnaturally cool.
So Troy had told her. Alicia suspected that would happen anyway since there was a very good reason why Jon and Amy Walda’s husband didn’t like each other.
She rang up the purchase and slipped it into a paper bag. “How are you today?”
“Concerned about you. Troy said he answered a call at your place.”
Amy wore a soft blue top and a jean skirt, light pink gloss on her lips, and looked feminine and lovely. Alicia wished now she’d not just put on her usual jeans and a casual T-shirt. She said, “Yes, so weird. I won’t ever forget to close the drapes again.”
“At least you weren’t alone.” The bag crackled as Amy picked it up.
Oh, definitely she knew. That wasn’t subtle.
“I agree.” Alicia could sympathize that Jon represented the past, but the past wasn’t necessarily as great as a person remembered it. A relationship with him came with some interesting baggage and she seriously doubted she and Jon, meaning her, even had a relationship. “I kind of wish Troy hadn’t said anything to you about that.”
The pink lips curved, but Amy’s knuckles were white around the neck of the bottle. “You’ve always been so open and real. I hope you have come to the realization that Jon is anything but that. You’re never going to know him, and I would guess if you asked his ex-wife, she would agree with me. But enjoy the ride anyway. From what I remember, it was pretty good.”
When she walked out, Alicia rubbed her temple. Her head was throbbing, she’d been unable to eat all day, and that encounter hadn’t helped. Amy wasn’t crude and that last comment flirted with it.
As soon as the next clerk arrived, a surly man named Manfred who spent most of his shift standing outside smoking one unfiltered cigarette after another but was unfailingly reliable and as far as anyone could tell, didn’t steal, Alicia grabbed her purse from the backroom and drove to see her best friend in the world.
Her mother was in the garden since it was, ironically enough, a gorgeous day that Alicia would normally have enjoyed. The sky was an arc of pure blue and the breeze was cool and clean, and her mother was weeding between the mums that blazed in a row of various colors, wearing an old flannel plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and her favorite hat.
By way of greeting Alicia said, “I’d tease you about that decrepit old hat, but I don’t exactly have the supermodel look going today, either.”
“Honey.” Her mother got up and dusted off her hands before she offered a hug. “You look beautiful all the time. I didn’t know you were coming over. Staying for dinner, I hope?”
“I might even stay the night,” Alicia responded wanly.
Her mother looked concerned at once. “Let’s go in and have a cup of coffee and you can tell me what’s wrong.”
The kitchen was homey and brought back welcome memories of childhood as she sat at the old table that had been in her family for several generations now, listening to the comforting sound of her mother filling the carafe and starting the coffee pot like she had so many times before. She declined an offer of a lemon muffin, her mother’s specialty and Alicia’s favorite—this was not how she wanted to lose weight—and explained briefly about the open windows and the man who looked into her bedroom, omitting Jon’s presence. There were some things you tell your mother, and some better left unsaid in her opinion.
However, she did want to talk about him, just not explain she’d slept with him. It was Black Lake so they might hear about it anyway thanks to the police report, but not from her.
“That’s frightening.” Her mother did look horrified. “This is such a safe little town but maybe the sheriff is right and you should look into an alarm system. Your father and I worry about you living alone and always have. If it’s too expensive, we’ll help out.”
Her parents were constantly offering her money, but really, she was in her thirties and though occasionally she needed a loan like when the transmission went out on her car, she always paid them back and hated to borrow it in the first place. Besides, for some reason, she didn’t think an alarm system would have deterred whoever was able to get into her house and open all the windows without forcing a lock.
Do you believe in malevolence…
“On a bright note, I had a very nice date. We’d been out for coffee before but he took me to dinner last night. We went to The Chalet.”
Her mother lit up, visions of grandchildren, no doubt, dancing through her head. It was no secret her parents both wished she’d marry again, but make a better choice.
“That’s a bright note. Tell me about him. What does he do?”
That was a tough one right there. What did he do? “He used to be an executive for a big company, but I get the impression that city life got to him.” Alicia wrapped her hand around her warm cup. “Jon Palmer has moved back here.”
“Oh.” Her mother sounded nonplussed. She must have remembered she was still wearing her hat because she took it off and hung it on the back of her chair. Her graying hair retained the shape which was endearingly comical. “I certainly remember him. I knew his mother, so terrible when all that happened…That’s interesting. How is he?”
Intense, troubled, restless, charming as ever…great in bed…
“He’s fine. Recently divorced, so I think he needed a change.” Fresh air moved through the screen, the door open in tribute to Indian summer. “I always had kind of a crush on him, anyway.”
“I know. I’m your mother, remember. We pay attention to those things, especially when we have teenage daughters.” Her mother’s smile glimmered. “He was smart, athletic, all those good things. A nice boy.”
She wanted to laugh as she imagined Jon’s reaction to that description. First of all, she could testify he wasn’t a boy.
He was a man plagued by at least one dark secret and she wondered now if she wasn’t in a game where no one had informed her of the rules.
* * * *
The cabin was pretty in the sunshine, even with the gutters hanging crookedly and the peeling paint.
Home sweet home.
Jon entered warily, his key still hanging in the lock as he pushed the door open. It was quiet inside, no sign of disturbance, the glass of water he’d left still sitting on the counter. He took in a long breath.
Reliving the past wasn’t an easy journey.
Or maybe it was for some people, but not for him.
There were things you could change and things you couldn’t. He went in and checked out the bedroom, even under the bed. All clear.
He had to wonder if Larimer would pay him a visit later. He’d certainly made a point with those open windows.
I can get to you anytime…
Clear message.
He poured out the water in the sink and instead dribbled two fingers of scotch into the glass and thought about Alicia as he dropped into the old chair which creaked in protest at his weight. It was late afternoon. Fuck. It would be dark soon…was she better off with him or without him? Without him she was alone, but with him she was right in the face of danger.
And maybe he was the danger.
He tipped back his glass and contemplated Larime
r Hanson.
If anyone would cling to his existence on this earth, that man might. Their initial introduction, several years after Jon’s father had died, hadn’t been perfect, but no boy his age wanted to meet the man who had a sexual interest in his mother. He’d been suspicious and Larimer had found it remotely amusing in a superior way. In the end, his mother had married the man despite Jon’s open dislike.
End of story.
He wished. He’d even given her away at the wedding, the caring son. That part was so true he felt sick at heart remembering that day. She’d begged him to participate and he didn’t want to, but he’d done it. What choice did he have?
Then she died.
He honestly could not remember much about that day. That bothered him, but was probably his mind giving him protection against an event he was better off not recalling. He remembered the ladder and the rope…
A single leaf floated down and stuck to the railing, brilliantly gold. One good hard rain would strip the trees…
He heard it again. Faint laughter, high-pitched, as if there were children playing nearby. It was accompanied by splashing and when he stood up and stared through the screen, he could see ripples in the water. It was far too cold to swim and he could attest none of the other cabins were occupied.
His phone rang, the modern sound incongruous to the surreal moment. Jon glanced at the number and saw it was George, but his attention was still riveted on the moving water as he answered the call. “Hello.”
“I talked to Troy. He said nothing has been reported and he was curious as hell as to why I would ask. I told him one of the nurses said something to me about finding an old headstone on the side of the road.”
The water had stilled and there was nothing now but the rustle of the light breeze. The black water reflected his mood accurately. “A distinguished professor would lie?”
“Hell yes. My integrity is practically non-existent.” He laughed, but it was mirthless. “There are some older cemeteries that are no longer maintained, and of course, a lot of the old farms around here have family plots. It could have come from anywhere.”
A Cold, Fine Evil Page 8