by Jean Andrews
“What do you think?” I asked Levade.
“I think a lot of people killed Frank.”
“He was still your stepbrother. Doesn’t this make you sad?”
“No,” she said in her straightforward, truth-telling style, and I sat quietly thinking about her lack of grief.
A small town that seemed to have given “Frank, who killed his wife” a pass, had left him to walk the streets, and brag about how he’d killed everything in the woods, and caught everything in the lake, had become an amorphous predator, biding its time and hiding in the bulrushes to bring him to justice.
Chapter Twenty-three
“I saw Judith this morning,” Levade said in an upbeat tone that I’d come to learn was cover for her not feeling very upbeat. “She and her mother were packing up. She wished us well, and I got her contact information. She said it’s a small world, and we might know some of the same people.”
That made me smile. Who are those people?
“And here.” Levade handed me a little piece of paper with her cell phone and cabin phone number on it, as if she knew I would soon need it, and for some reason it made me terribly sad. “You asked for it in the hospital. Do you remember?” I nodded that I did. “And in further news,” her tone brightened, “the leaves are starting to turn, and the temperature has dropped. Fall is here.”
I looked outside for the first time in a week, and the world had turned a rich gold, orange, and red. The leaves were glorious. The entire cove was awash in brilliant colors.
“I think that calls for lovemaking,” I said, and she laughed out loud. “You find that request funny?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of it,” she said sweetly.
“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of…but you have to cooperate.” I held out my hand, asking her to come to bed. She lay beside me, and the moment her lips touched mine, my endorphins kicked in. “This has to be carefully choreographed,” I warned her as she slid her hand between my legs.
“You mean like this?” she asked, and I immediately pulsed to her touch.
“Let me see if I understand,” I murmured, and slid my fingers inside her. “Like this?”
She swooned and rocked into me, and me into her, and we kissed one another until we were simply our own pool of desire and moved in the same rhythm, like dancers in the night, and we climaxed simultaneously. I tried to catch my breath. “That’s never happened to me before.” I must have looked amazed.
“I would hope not,” she said, and kissed me even more deeply, after which I fell asleep, not requiring a pain pill.
* * *
A few days later my curiosity had begun to return, a sure sign that I was getting better.
“You’re psychic,” I said. “You told me Frank would try to kill me.”
“I knew he wouldn’t succeed, but I had no idea he would hurt you like this. Particularly since I had proof he killed Dolores. She stopped by the drugstore and gave Casey a tape. Casey didn’t have anyone she could trust, so one night she brought it to me.”
I realized that must have been the night Casey came for a reading at Levade’s cabin and then took something small from her pocket and gave it to her.
Levade seemed to be reading my mind, because she reached into a desk drawer and took out a tiny tape like the kind used in old answering machines. She put the tape into a dusty old recorder and punched play. A woman’s voice said, “If I turn up dead, know that my husband, Frank Tinnerson, killed me. He told me he can shoot me any time he wants, and it’ll be a hunting accident, because the men around here admire him.”
It was surreal to hear the voice of a dead woman whose fears had come to pass.
“I went to Pine City to clear out my mother’s home and take care of what little business she had. Frank wanted some of her things related to his father,” Levade said. “I arranged for us to go at separate times, and I had a neighbor meet him.
“Frank insisted we meet at the coffee shop afterward. That’s where I told him I had the tape, and if he didn’t leave you and me alone, I’d turn it over to the authorities. He sent Tony to ransack my cabin looking for it, but I came home and caught him. Since Tony found nothing, Frank no longer believed the tape existed, so he felt free to come after you to punish me.”
“And when I went down to the lake and left you with Judith?”
“I heard you screaming. Or if I didn’t actually hear you, I heard you in my head. I knew you were in trouble, and we followed immediately. Judith called Sam, and fortunately he was on the lake in his speedboat. We got to you about the same time. He radioed ahead, and an ambulance met us on shore in about fifteen minutes. You’d fought so hard to stay alive, and I was terrified I’d lost you, because you were bleeding so badly.”
Levade wrapped herself around me as if talking about the nightmare made her relive it. I hugged her close, loving her even more…more than anyone I’d ever known.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” I kissed her, and then to avoid tearing up, I focused on the facts. “So you, me, and Judith all rode to shore in Sam’s speedboat.”
“Yes. Once you were in the ambulance, Sam went back out on the lake to get the duck boat to shore. Of course, I didn’t care about the boat. I only cared about you.”
I kissed her warm lips and cuddled her close to me.
“I begged Angelique to save you, and she must have kept your head above water to keep you from drowning, because you were unconscious when we pulled you out,” Levade whispered.
“Do you think Angelique killed Frank?”
“The storm, the town, Angelique, we all killed Frank.” She said nothing more, and I dropped the subject.
Levade’s cell phone buzzed. Ramona was on the line asking about my condition, and Levade put me on the phone.
“Are you well enough to come back to New York and do some book signings for your last release, and we can tease your upcoming one? The press has gotten wind of this whole attack by Frank, and they’re thrilled by the near-murder of the murder-mystery author. I swear people get off on the damndest things, but hey, I’ll take it.”
“I’m doing just fine, thanks, and happy to supply you with a promotional hook, albeit my near-death.” I rolled my eyes at Levade.
“Great. I can book a plane for you, if you could get here this week. A lot going on.”
“Okay. I’ll get back to you right away.” I hung up, not wanting to say more in front of Levade.
“She wants you back in New York.” Levade turned away. “What does all this mean for us?”
“I…we…can’t stay here in winter, anyway. Are you really intending to stay?”
“I live here…mostly.”
I fretted because I knew we were at the juncture other women had traveled with Levade—wanting her to be someone else, move somewhere else.
“The ice on the lake freezes eight feet thick. You can drive a truck across it. Maybe we should wait and come back next year. We could go to New York together, eat in nice restaurants, see a few shows, and you could come to the book signings. We’ll freeze here, and there’s nothing to do really.”
“Nothing but write, read, heal, and make love.” She smiled. When I didn’t respond, she pressed the issue. “Are we making love, or are we in love?” She spoke to me quietly, and I knew a land mine awaited this answer. She was calling me out for my non-response in bed when she’d told me she was in love with me.
“We’re…together.” I couldn’t express what I felt, how much I loved and adored her, what she meant to me, and yet, I couldn’t stay. Staying meant an end to…well, to however my life was. It felt like the death of something. Why had I spent all those years in school and struggling in New York, and honing my craft, and making contacts in the city, if I was going to throw it all away for someone, and then that someone might not like me after a while? I’d been told often enough by lovers that I didn’t “wear well.”
“Just ‘together’?”
“More than together.” I tried
to course-correct.
“For a moment you almost said what you wanted.”
“I want you,” I said.
“I can’t live in New York.”
“Be here next spring, wait for me,” I pleaded.
“Next spring?” She spat the words and looked at me with anger and hurt and disappointment, as if “next spring” had just relegated her to a summer fling. Why did I think I could be without her until spring, and I searched for words to apologize, but she spoke first.
“I don’t wait, Taylor,” she said, and she walked out.
* * *
Levade didn’t come back. I slowly gathered up the clothes she’d brought me from my place, but I finally gave that up. Just the act of moving around the cabin, without her here, was so sad I couldn’t stay another minute. Her energy was so big and pure and loving that her physical absence seemed to suck all the joy out of the place, and I wanted to run. I made it back to my cabin in tears and packed. Then I sat on the porch with the moonlight flooding the lake and drank a glass of wine. I’d forgotten I’d taken a pain pill but decided if the combination killed me, this would be the perfect time.
I fell asleep in the chair and awoke at two in the morning and hobbled off to bed. I dreamed that Angelique appeared, or maybe she actually did—the pill and the alcohol made that hard to determine. She pulled up a chair beside my bed and said, “Rejecting a cosmic gift isn’t good.” I woke up sad and disturbed by the dream. What do you mean “isn’t good”? Not good as in I’ll be struck by lightning, never see her again, die forlorn? Jesus!
* * *
Marney came over at dawn and told me how wonderful it had been to have me here, and how she prayed for me to get well, and how she hated to see me go. “Come back next summer. I’ll be sure not to book the Robertsons during the weeks you’re here.”
“The Robertsons are fine. Nice people,” I said, and she looked confused.
“It’s the woman on the Point, isn’t it? It’s Levade. You two have gotten very close, I can tell. And I don’t think we gave her a fair chance. She’s not crazy, or you wouldn’t be so crazy about her. You could stay a little longer, you know. We’re a couple of months from serious weather.”
“Thanks, Marney,” I gave her a long, genuine hug. “But I have to go.”
“To what?” she said, wiping her eyes as she headed out that door. “Sometimes people don’t even know why they’re coming or going—they just keep moving.”
Marney was smarter than I gave her credit for. In fact, she was a lot smarter than me.
I loaded the car and locked the cabin. Levade was standing beside her Jeep when I went out to get in my SUV. I threw myself at her, hugging her despite all the body pain I still felt.
“I was going to drive over to your cabin to say good-bye. What can I do to get you to—”
She kissed me.
“We’ll see each other again, Taylor. You’re meant to be mine. Angelique saved you for me, and actually you’ve saved me.” Her expression was serious, as if she wanted to say more, but instead, she got in her Jeep and drove away, never looking back.
I thought my heart would break. I sat slumped over the wheel miserable and already lonely. Finally, I pulled myself together, backed out of the drive, and headed down the road, saying good-bye to the majestic pines and the sparkling lakes and loving Levade.
What the fuck was I doing getting involved with her? And what the fuck am I doing leaving her and the damned cat? I dehumanized Sass to avoid the pain of losing him too. And why am I leaving Muskie Lake, in danger of drowning in my own tears?
Chapter Twenty-four
I rang Levade from the Minneapolis airport, and she picked up the cabin phone immediately.
“I made a mistake,” I said quietly. “Already I can’t stand to be away from you.”
“I miss you so much,” she said. “I wish you could have stayed.”
“I want to turn around and come back, but now I’m obligated in New York because Ramona has set up a promotional—”
“There are no mistakes, Taylor. We are all doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing in this moment. I love you.”
“My plane is boarding,” I said.
“Go,” she said sweetly, and she hung up. I ran to catch the plane, slung my duffel into the overhead bin, and slouched in my first-class seat, unable to hold back the tears that flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks and onto my shirt. I took out a mirror to fix my makeup and realized I looked like I’d been on a three-day drunk, so I put on my sunglasses and assumed people would think I was in mourning, which in fact I was.
By the time I landed, my head hurt from the air pressure in the plane, reminding me that I had residual pain from what I’d been through, but my head was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
I rang Levade again to tell her I had arrived in one piece, and she picked up the cabin phone. Standing in the chaos of LaGuardia, I could barely hear her. She said she knew I would be safe, and she was happy for me regarding my book.
“I just wish you were with me,” I said.
“Taylor, you have things to do, and things to understand about yourself. It will be easier if you focus on that now and not on me. I love you so much.” She hung up, clearly no longer expecting “I love you” in return.
* * *
That night I rang her from my apartment that now looked completely alien to me, as if I’d never lived here, as if I were no longer the person who slept in that wrought-iron bed, or stared up at the tall, dusty bookcases, or out at the traffic through the wall of windows. I had no nostalgia for any of the apartment’s kitschiness, no connection to its being my home, and no desire to stay here.
Levade didn’t answer. I called her from taxi cabs and lunch counters and my bed late at night. I called multiple times every day, ringing her cabin phone, then her cell phone. I got nothing. And it stayed that way. She never answered again. In desperation, I called Helen at Muskie Market and Marney in the white cabin, and they both said she was still there. I was relieved that nothing had happened to her, but distraught beyond words that she was blocking me out of her life.
* * *
The book signing was for my last novel, Twelve O’clock, and an excuse to tease my upcoming release. It took place in It’s Only Words, a large, popular bookstore in Soho. I smiled, thanked each person who stood in line to praise my work, then requested a name. “Mandy. M-A-N-D-Y?” I confirmed the spelling and then wrote, “Mandy, the time is now! Enjoy the read.” I signed the book Taylor, then handed it to her.
I was working numb, on autopilot, not from feeling so little, but from feeling so much. I’d cried so long over Levade that I was physically and emotionally spent. We’d had those two phone conversations on the day I flew back to New York, and then, over the past two weeks, she’d stopped answering the phone altogether. I left messages, but she never returned my calls. I teared up thinking about that, and thus the punk sunglasses to hide my bloodhound eyes and make me appear cool rather than heartbroken. Beyond that, I just smiled and signed.
After six hours, the book signing ended, and the last book I signed was for Kay in Muskie, the bartender who had an affair with Frank’s wife. I decided to send it to her on a whim, thinking maybe she’d enjoy it. The bookstore manager, glad the event had gone well, offered to mail it to her. I wrote, “Kay, love will find you. Taylor.”
Several reporters had come in late and wanted to interview me about what happened on Muskie Lake. One young reporter aggressively intercepted me.
“Ms. James, I wanted to find out firsthand what happened to you in Minnesota. Local papers said you were attacked by a man who tried to kill you.” He was obviously new at his job, because his question contained the answer, so I tortured him for that mistake.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes, you were attacked?”
“Yes,” I replied.
An older, more experienced female reporter jumped in. “Can you describe the experience for us, and why y
ou think it happened?”
“The man was deranged. He had given me a guided tour of the lake, and that’s the context in which I knew him. He ambushed me and kidnapped me and tried to beat me to death in his boat and nearly succeeded. Coming that close to death makes you determined to live life more fully. Thanks for your time.” I walked away, directly into Ben, who was standing there waiting for me, as the female reporter shouted a follow-up question. “How do you intend to live more fully?” I ignored her. That was for me, not the entire world, to know.
I focused on Ben. My old reaction, adrenaline shooting through my body and creating a desire to run, had evaporated; nonetheless just seeing his face in such close proximity increased my heart rate. You’re in a public place and you’re mentally stronger than he is now. Relax.
He looked like an older, chubbier meme of himself, wearing a three-piece suit and a big grin.
“So, the famous author returns. Just came by to say congratulations and ask if I could buy you dinner. I’ve had a few years to think about this, and I’ve decided you and I were the best together.”
“I’ve had years to think about it too, Ben. You were a dumb-fuck.” I said the words, remembering how Levade had shocked me when she used that particular expletive on the dipshit deputies at the sheriff’s office. “I put up with you, Ben, which speaks to how disempowered I was. But I’ve changed, and this much I know—I don’t want to have a relationship with you, or anyone like you.” Fatigue had enabled me to speak in a calm, disinterested manner. Something to be said for lack of sleep.
“So sounds like you’re all cocky because you think you’re somebody.”
“Yes, I am somebody. Everybody’s somebody,” I said wearily, recognizing the old pattern, the way he used to build to a raging fight, beginning with him attacking who I thought I was and ending with a barrage of reminders about how I was nothing…nothing without him and his money and his contacts. A knot started gathering in my neck, and I moved my head around to try to loosen it.