Chapter 9
Sara sat up straight, disoriented. The screaming was coming from the hall. She jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway; Peaches was already perched in front of Bailey’s door, whining softly. The screaming stopped, replaced by muted sobs. Tentatively, Sara knocked on the door.
“Bailey?”
There was no answer, just disorganized breathing.
“Bailey, can I come in?” Sara didn’t wait for an answer this time and opened the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” The girl’s voice was shaky and did not sound at all okay.
Sara walked up to the bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Bailey’s face was pale, wet streaks trailing down to her chin.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
Bailey nodded, pushing her face into the beat-up teddy bear she was clutching.
Sara’s heart ached for the young girl. Hesitantly, she sat down on Bailey’s bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
It was quiet for a while.
“I saw my mom. In a dream. I saw her—” Bailey started crying again.
Sara placed an arm around Bailey, and to her surprise, the girl melted into her arms. “I dream of her all the time,” Bailey hiccupped, “but when I wake up she’s gone, and I can barely remember her. I forget what her voice was like, her smell…”
Sara held the girl close. “The mind does crazy things. Maybe your dreams are trying to show you memories of your mother.”
“She didn’t do it,” Bailey whispered. “I know she was taking pills for her mood, but— she didn’t do it. I know no one will believe me, but she wouldn’t have...” She gently pulled away from Sara but didn’t break contact.
“Why do you say that?” Sara asked. She struggled to avoid Bailey’s eyes, but was afraid her face would betray her thoughts. She settled her gaze on Peaches, who was lying quietly at the foot of the bed.
“She was sad about the divorce. And angry with Dad, I could tell. But she wouldn’t have killed herself. My mom, she never backed down from a fight. You couldn’t win an argument with her. And besides, she didn’t leave a note. She would have left me a note. I just know it.”
Sara didn’t know what to say. It had to be difficult for the people left behind to come to terms with the suicide of a loved one. Bailey could be in denial—it was part of the grieving process. But if the girl thought her mother had been murdered, who did she suspect? Sara let Bailey calm down a bit before she dared to ask the question. “Um, Bailey, is there anything you know about your mom’s death that you haven’t told anyone? Who—I mean, did she have any enemies?”
Bailey lifted her head up, her doe eyes simmering with anger. “They got nasty letters—Mom and Dad. I wasn’t supposed to know, but I’m not an idiot. It’s not that hard to pick things up. I don’t know who wrote them, though. Some people suggested my dad killed her, but that’s a lie.” This statement was resolute. “My dad would never kill anyone. He’s all about saving lives, finding a cure for cancer and all that. He hates guns. I know there were rumors about the money, but he doesn’t care about that. All he cares about is fame.”
Sara didn’t know Preston that well, but Bailey’s argument wasn’t entirely convincing. For one thing, it was easy not to care about money when you had plenty of it. But when someone threatened to take it away, it became a whole different matter. That said, she didn’t dare refute the girl’s reasoning right now. Bailey’s opening up was a good thing, even if her version of events was likely incorrect. At least Bailey didn’t think her father was a murderer. That would make things a lot more complicated.
In the end, Sara settled for her mom’s cure for sadness. “Do you want to go downstairs?” she suggested. “I can make us some hot chocolate.”
Bailey followed her meekly to the kitchen. Sara stifled a yawn while stirring the hot chocolate. It was five in the morning; Cassie would be here in an hour. She wondered half-heartedly where Nick was. Despite their ruckus, he had yet to show himself.
They sipped their drinks in silence. The girl’s mother became more of an enigma every day, Sara thought. Could Lauren really have been all of these things—mean, depressed, a loving mother, a fighter? Kill herself and then stick around? Or was she mainly getting a glimpse from the eye of the beholder? When Sara looked up, Bailey’s eyes were resting on her.
“Bailey, can I ask you something? Was that hairbrush you took from me yesterday your mother’s? Is that why you were so angry?”
The girl nodded, looking away. After a while, she said, “She used to brush my hair with it. And I would brush hers. Every night. We both had long hair—you saw the picture. I couldn’t stand it afterwards, so…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I know.” Bailey wiped away the chocolate moustache that had formed above her upper lip. “You said you lost both your parents?”
Sara gave a pained half smile. “Yes, in a car accident.”
“What happened?”
Sara shrugged. “They got hit by a truck. I don’t have any siblings. Suddenly there were very few people left in my life.”
Bailey nodded. “Sometimes I feel like I lost both my parents too. Dad’s been different ever since. It’s like he’s avoiding me.”
Sara absently stirred the spoon in her cup. “Everyone grieves differently,” she said eventually. “He’s got to be struggling as well.”
“They were getting a divorce. I don’t think he loved her anymore.”
“He must’ve loved her at some point, though,” Sara said. “Divorce is complicated. Love is complicated. It changes over time, for better or worse—people can grow apart—but you don’t just stop caring for someone.”
Bailey rested her chin in her hand, frowning deeply. “Maybe. I guess I haven’t been easy either.”
“No one expects you to just move on, Bailey. But talking about it will help.”
“Do you talk? About your parents?”
Sara got up and put her empty cup in the sink. “Not as often as I should,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie, she thought, even though “hardly ever” would have been a more accurate answer. Here she was, giving Bailey sound advice that she couldn’t even manage to follow herself. It made her feel just a little hypocritical.
Somewhere in the house a door closed. Cassie had arrived.
Sara sat back down at the table. “Ready for breakfast? We could ask Cassie to make us pancakes?”
The rest of the day passed without further disturbances. Bailey was a touch distracted during her lessons but seemed to be trying. In the afternoon, Sara gave her pupil time off for homework, like she had the day before. She suggested Bailey take some time to go skiing, but the girl showed no interest. This time, Sara didn’t leave the lodge, instead stuck around to keep an eye on things.
Later that day, commotion drew Sara out of her room and downstairs. Loud voices echoed through the hallway and disappeared into the kitchen. When she entered the kitchen, she walked into what felt like a crowd. Besides Cassie, there were Preston, Ruth, and two other people—a man and a woman she hadn’t met before.
The man was in his late forties, but unlike Preston, he seemed to be the accumulation of all things average. Not particularly tall or short, his physique was unimpressive; his shirt was a little too tight, perhaps to highlight his shoulders, but unfortunately it did more to show off his small paunch. His face was one you would forget moments after you had seen it. A beginning bald spot on the back of his head mocked his attempts to conceal it with his salt-and-pepper hair.
Upon seeing Sara, he broke out in a friendly smile and quickly walked toward her with an outstretched hand.
“You must be the nanny taking care of our Bailey! So nice to meet you!”
Sara’s mouth fell open. His voice, a beautifully rich and suave baritone with a faint Southern lilt, did not match the picture. It should have belonged to a hot movie star rather than the man in front of her. She blinked a few times, but the movie star failed to materia
lize.
The man turned to Preston. “You never said she was this lovely. Shame on you!” Turning back to Sara, he continued, “I’m Ryan Dempsey. Pleased to meet you! An old buddy of Preston here, and the CFO of his company.” As if to make sure there were no doubts about his profession, he added quickly. “CFO stands for chief financial officer.” He finally let go of Sara’s hand, which he had been pumping with much enthusiasm.
Preston shook his head at his friend. “Dude, you just got married. Settle down, will you?”
Sara rubbed her mangled hand discreetly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Bailey’s tutor, actually.” She was also aware of what CFO stood for, but decided to let it slide.
“Tutor? Is that what we’re calling it these days? Let me introduce you to my wife. Dawn, come here, honey.”
Dawn trotted over, her stilettos clicking on the floor, and offered Sara a flimsy handshake. She had a pretty face, short bleach-blond hair, and couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Unlike her frumpy husband’s, her wardrobe was nothing if not spectacular; her dangling earrings sparkled with diamonds.
Sara wondered how Ryan had managed to land Dawn and felt slightly guilty for assuming that either their initial encounters had been over the phone, or he had shown her the number on his bank account. But they so fit the cliché, it was hard for Sara to keep her lips from giving in to a suspicious tilt. She quickly filled a glass of water to occupy her mouth.
“Ryan and Dawn are staying the night,” Preston explained.
Sara, now with a better grip on herself, smiled politely. “How wonderful! Bailey will enjoy having company, I’m sure. Do you ski?”
“Yes, of course! We love it, right, Dawn? We come here all the time.”
Dawn nodded happily.
“Speaking of my daughter, where is she?” Preston asked. “Shouldn’t you be working with her?”
“She’s doing homework upstairs.”
“Ah. Would you mind asking her to come down?”
Sara stared at him a second longer than necessary before responding. “Sure, I’ll go get her.”
At that moment, the kitchen door opened, and to Sara’s surprise, Terrence strolled in carrying a box.
“Ah,” Ryan called out, “our supplies. Thank you, my friend.”
A loud growl came from under the table. Terrence froze in his tracks as a dark shadow flew past Sara.
“Peaches, down!” Preston yelled.
The dog skidded to a stop, nose touching Terrence’s trousers, a set of impressive fangs completely bared. Maintaining a menacing growl, she stood like a statue, muscles trembling. She reminded Sara of a strung bow.
“Down, girl,” Preston said. “Come here.”
With a soft whine, Peaches relaxed and skulked back to Preston, not letting Terrence out of her sight.
“I’ll say, that was some welcome.” Terrence still wasn’t moving, eyeing the dog with remarkable coolness and perhaps a hint of awe.
“Don’t ever just walk in—Peaches doesn’t like that,” Preston said dryly.
“No shit.” Terrence placed the box on the counter. “The door was open. Sorry.” Then to Ryan, “Here’s your order.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said.
“You’re welcome—and good to see you.” Terrence wiped some dog drool off his pants with a displeased grunt. After washing his hands, he turned to Sara like nothing had happened, showing his crooked teeth in all their splendor. “Hello, Sara, how are you today?” He gave her a suggestive wink. “Are they treating you well?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Sara said rather curtly. “Excuse me, I have to go get Bailey. See you around, Terrence.”
“Anytime, sweet Sara. You know where to find me,” he called after her.
Yikes. She really wished David were less in love with that man’s sandwiches. Quickly she jogged up the stairs.
Bailey was thrilled that Ryan was there. With an excited “Uncle Ryan!” she burst out of her room, leaving Sara behind. Sara decided to stay upstairs for a while; it wasn’t like they needed her. With a yawn, she returned to her room and nestled into her bed. It would be a while till dinner, and she could pass on the company downstairs—especially if they were going to open the contents of Terrence’s box. She set the alarm on her phone, and thinking of nothing in particular, she drifted off.
She’s at the wedding again. Preston is there, standing at the altar like a nervous schoolboy. The first lavender dresses come into view—at the end of the line, the pretty blonde lets go of her partner. Sara does a double-take. The groomsman—she’s seen him before. Her mouth falls open. Oh my, she thinks, it’s Ryan. But this version of Ryan has a slim waistline and a full head of hair above a face with no jowls.
The bridesmaids are crowding in front of her now to watch the bride. Finally Sara catches a glimpse of a young woman in a strapless white dress. The woman kisses the older man who has led her down the aisle and takes her place beside Preston. As everyone sits down, Sara finally gets a good look. The bride has long, dark curly hair and big doe-like eyes just like Bailey’s. This is the woman from the picture, only younger. A tattoo in the shape of a star is visible on her left upper arm. Sara has seen the tattoo before—it was on the girl in the first dream. The bride takes Preston’s hand, and he kisses it. No longer does he look nervous. There’s no question in Sara’s mind that at this moment, he loves his bride.
The priest clears his throat. He opens his mouth, and out comes the sound of an alarm.
Sara’s head snapped up, ripped from her dream by the sound of her phone’s alarm. Damn, she thought, shutting off the irritating beep. It was just getting good.
Staring at the ceiling, she reviewed the events in the dream. It would fit with the hairbrush if she was dreaming about Bailey’s mother, Lauren. But why was Lauren angry with her? That made no sense.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Bailey’s voice came muffled through the door. “Sara, we’re having dinner. Do you want to join us downstairs?”
Sara’s stomach grumbled softly in response. “Yes, I’ll be right there. Thanks, Bailey.”
She got up. The dreams would have to wait.
Chapter 10
The living room is large and airy, the furniture modern and stylish. The centerpiece is an extravagant chandelier that hangs from the ceiling like a huge spider dangling on its thread. The fireplace to the left is on, set into a wall that has a peculiar relief—large rectangular pieces here and there that stick out an inch or two, forming geometrical shapes and shadows. The windows are dark. Lauren paces around in the room, cell phone in hand, her feet softly padding through a luxurious shag rug. She’s wearing pajamas, comfortable yet elegant dark-blue satin pants and a button-down shirt. She places a call, listens, and then disconnects. She sits down in front of the fire, head on her knees, and takes a deep breath. Minutes pass.
Just as Sara is wondering if anything will happen, the door opens and Preston walks in. “Hi, hon, I’m home. Did you call? I was on the phone, sorry. Anything important?”
Lauren looks up, visibly relieved. “You’re back! I couldn’t reach you—I was worried something happened. Since Nick had the day off…” She gets up.
“What on earth for?” says Preston, amused. “I keep telling you, those threats mean nothing—it’s par for the course. Some people don’t like the company, so what. No need to worry about me. I was just at a boring meeting. Ryan says hi.”
Lauren face tightens. “Ryan?”
“Yes, I told you we had a meeting, didn’t I?”
Lauren seems to swallow something unpleasant. “Yes, you did. Thing is, I called him. Dawn picked up. She said they were getting ready to go out for dinner and he was taking a shower. So it’s a little odd that he would also be at a meeting with you.”
Preston is thrown off. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“Are you lying to me?” Disbelief trembles her voice.
He stands there without answering as an icy silence settles be
tween them.
“Who is she?” A whisper. “Who is she?” Louder this time. Lauren crosses her arms over her chest, guarding herself against the answer.
“Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” Preston asks, having recovered a little.
“Why else would you be sneaking around? Can you explain that to me?”
“I was having a drink with friends. A guy thing. I didn’t want to make you feel left out by not asking you along.” He smiles at her, a reassuring gesture.
“Really?” She walks over and faces him. “Can you give me their phone numbers? I’d like to talk to them.”
Preston shakes his head and turns away. “I don’t want to do this.”
She grabs his shoulder and spins him around. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not cheating.”
Preston relents and looks down at her. He fails the test miserably—even Sara can tell.
Lauren hisses a breath. “Is it Ruth? It’s her, isn’t it? That fawning, miserable assistant of yours.” She straightens her shoulders, her eyes glinting.
“Leave Ruth out of it.” Preston sounds tired. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shakes his head. “It was nothing,” he says softly, eyes downcast. “It meant nothing. No one compares to you. I just needed a break. Your incessant worrying about the threats—it’s taking over our life.”
Sara can almost hear Lauren’s world shattering. The woman stands motionless, tears welling up in her eyes, nails pressing into her palms.
“You needed a break? A break? It’s a marriage, Preston—not a fucking workout! You’re acting like it’s my fault that you’re cheating on me!”
“No, that’s not—of course not. It only happened a few times. I have my needs too, Lauren. I know I shouldn’t have…” Stuck, he shrugs helplessly.
Lauren rubs her forehead. “Please leave. Find a different room to sleep in.”
The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge Page 7