“You always do.” Summer grins at her. “I’m your yin—or yang—I’m not sure which one.” She giggles again. “You need to loosen up now and then. Be impulsive.”
“Impulsive?” Lauren groans. “What good can come of that? Impulsive people”—she sits up again to face Summer—“are just people with poor planning skills. And instead of fixing the problem, they invented a word for it and decided to wear it as a badge of honor.”
“Hey, watch it,” Summer says in a sing-song voice. “Look who you’re talking to.”
“I’m aware.”
“Done!” Summer walks back to Lauren. “Here’s your piece of paper and pencil. Don’t be a grump. Just write down three goals for your adult life. Or what you hope to achieve. And then, when we’re old and decrepit, we can look back and smile about how ignorant we were.”
Lauren sighs again but takes the paper and pencil. “I don’t like the idea of putting it on paper. It’s like tempting fate.”
Summer has migrated to one of the beds, the messy one, where she lies on her back, pointing her long, slender legs up in the air and leaning them against the wall. “Are you serious?” She squeals with laughter. “Lauren, you can’t possibly be superstitious! You only believe in mathematical equations!”
“Go ahead and mock me. I’m just saying.” Lauren leans over the paper and starts scribbling.
While Lauren writes, Summer hums a little tune, moving her legs gracefully from the wall and back. Her dress has fallen around her waist, and she flashes her pink thong without embarrassment.
“Done.” Lauren pushes the paper away and rolls her eyes. “What do you want to do with it?”
Summer rolls over and jumps off the bed, straightening her dress. “We could make a pact to help reach each other’s goals. You know–whatever it takes—that sorta stuff.” She looks dead-serious, but then breaks into a smile at seeing Lauren’s expression. “Just kidding. We read them to each other. We’ll save them, and then later, when we’re sentimental, we’ll read them again. It will be fun!” She then pulls a face. “Or not…depending how life turns out.”
Lauren shakes her head. “Nothing surprises me anymore when it comes to you.”
“Oh hush. Admit it, it’s what you like most about me. But I don’t need a pact to know you’ll help me whenever I need it. Besides, we make our own destiny, don’t we?”
Lauren nods. “Amen to that. Let’s have it then. Where’s yours?”
“Here you go.” Summer hands her the paper.
Lauren starts reading. “‘One: find true love and marry him.’” She drops the paper into her lap, her eyes wide open. “Seriously? Summer, true love doesn’t exist. I know Hollywood wants you to think otherwise, but there’s no such thing as happily ever after.”
Summer sticks her chin out. “You just grew up with bad examples. When I marry, it will feel like true love. You can be blasé about it if you want. I don’t have to be.”
Lauren chuckles a little at her friend’s defiance. “‘Two,’” she resumes. “‘Have many children.’” She pauses again. “Why wait? You can start now…”
Summer’s mouth curves into a little devious smile and she wags her finger. “Tsk, tsk, Lauren, mind your tongue. Not out of wedlock, my dear. What would my poor mother say?”
“‘Three: leave this godforsaken state and move to a sunny beach’”—Lauren hiccups with laughter—“‘and bring the pool boy if true love didn’t work out.’”
Summer smiles broadly. “Well, one must have a back-up plan.”
“You’re insane!”
“Absolutely. And proud of it!” Summer extends her arm, demanding Lauren’s paper. “Now hand me yours.”
“It’s not nearly as entertaining as yours,” Lauren confesses, handing it over.
Summer brings the paper closer to her face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this. ‘One: I want to be a boss’?” She looks up at Lauren. “That’s your goal?”
Lauren shrugs. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s boring. You’re already bossy, though, so you’re well on your way. Anyway, let’s move on. ‘Two: become a millionaire before I’m thirty…’ You know money can’t buy happiness, right?” Summer cocks her head. “But it may come in handy when I’m destitute and want that beach property.”
Lauren rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Dream on, Summer.”
“‘Three: retire when I’m forty.’” Summer nods approvingly. “I like that. We can move to the beach together.”
Lauren gets up. “Who knows. That might not be a bad idea.” She hugs her friend affectionately. “You are my better half, after all. My yin. Or was it yang?”
The room fades, but Summer’s laugh doesn’t... It lingers, repeating, like a broken record waiting for someone to find the off switch.
Chapter 17
When Sara woke up, Summer’s laugh was still ringing in her ears. It was a happy, whole-hearted laugh, but she had had enough of it by now. Quickly she turned on her favorite playlist on her phone. As the tunes filled the room, she reflected on her dream. Summer seemed like a free-spirited girl. Her friendship with Lauren was peculiar, in her opinion, but then, people always say opposites attract. The girls were extremely fond of each other, that much was clear. If Sara was honest, she had to admit she felt some jealousy; even now, the little green monster in her chest was extending and retracting its nails ever so slowly. She’d never had a friendship like that. Her own college roommate had been a sullen girl who liked to stay up late watching horror movies. Sara hated horror movies—the irony that she was now dealing with a ticked-off ghost wasn’t lost on her.
At least last night’s dream was better than the one with the gun. “This one was okay, Lauren,” she said softly, though she had no idea whether Lauren could hear her. “I don’t like the one where you get shot. If I keep having that one, I’ll make liberal use of the sleeping pills for as long as it takes.” She really hoped that wouldn’t be necessary—the doctor had told her it wasn’t a good idea to take them for a long period of time. She had enough problems without a sleeping pill addiction.
In truth, she refused to accept that Lauren was the one controlling her dreams. She knew dreaming was a subconscious state; rather than someone taking over her mind, it was possible that she was tapping into some other frequency most people weren’t aware of. That idea was far more appealing to her. Maybe she could figure out how to exert control at some point. What she would give to be able to turn the knob on her dream radio and tune in elsewhere!
She swung her legs out of bed, immediately reminded by the dull pain in her right foot that walking was still tricky business these days. She sighed and grabbed the crutches Preston had placed near her bed, then hobbled over to the bathroom. She couldn’t wait to get out of here.
Later, when David picked her up and she told him what had happened, he was clearly upset. “She tore out your hair? After she almost broke your foot? What kind of woman is she?”
“A highly motivated one, as it turns out. And maybe a little too on the possessive side.” Sara grimaced, trying to get her foot comfortable inside David’s car. “Also, she’s a ghost, so I don’t know how much of the real Lauren is there. In the last dream she seemed like a nice girl, actually.”
“That’s reassuring. Remind me not to die.”
“Sure. Don’t die.” She smiled. “Maybe it’s all me—you know, a bad case of a pathological overactive imagination.”
“I think I’d rather go along with the ghost story. As crazy as that sounds… it sounds less crazy than the other option.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Instead of going to his apartment, David took a different turn.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Jerry and Sharon had a baby girl three days ago. I figured we’d stop by and say hi.”
“Three days ago? Are you sure they want to see us?”
David shrugged. “Jerry said it was okay. I thought we’d bring them a bottle of scotch.”
“I don’t think babies drink booze.”
“Huh? I meant for Jerry and Sharon. I hadn’t thought of the baby.” David looked like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know anything about babies.”
Sara giggled. “You don’t have to. There are newborn outfits—just pick one.”
The pained look on his face said it all.
“Why don’t I take care of that one for you?” she offered, patting him reassuringly on his knee.
Jerry looked tired when he opened the door. He led them into a living room, where an explosion of Legos, toy cars, and books appeared to make any sort of living—for adults, that is—a challenge. “Just wade through it, that’s what we do,” Jerry remarked, leading the way. The kitchen was a little better, and they sat down at the table. When they presented Jerry with the gifts, he seemed more pleased with the bottle of scotch than the pink ruffly outfit, groaning softly as he held it up. “I have to get used to this,” he said. “I’m sure it will look cute on her. She’s a doll. Takes after her mom.”
His two older kids, both boys, were rolling around the yard with a small dog. They were all covered in snow. Jerry pointed at them, saying, “She’ll have two good protectors—or tormentors—either way. I have no clue what to do with a girl, but I guess I’ll learn as I go.” He grinned, then yawned. “Sorry, not getting much sleep lately. My in-laws are coming later today. That should help us some.”
The eldest boy poked his snowy head around the door and begged David to come outside and play with them. To Sara’s surprise, he got up and went to chase the boys around in the yard.
“He’s good with kids, that man,” Jerry said. “The boys love him.”
Sara watched David, suddenly feeling very tender toward him.
“By the way,” Jerry said, “I have some news on your suicide case, if you’re still interested.”
“Yes! I mean—yes, I am. Thanks. What can you tell me?”
Jerry pushed some toys off the table and retrieved a notebook. “Let’s see, she shot herself with a 9mm. Time of death was between ten and eleven p.m. the night of June twenty-fourth. Preston Sinclair was the only one at home when it happened, making him the prime suspect. The daughter was in San Diego visiting her grandparents. The driver had the night off. Preston inherited a lot of money after, since the divorce wasn’t final. His wife was on the board of directors of his company, and she was a large shareholder, so these were definitely ties that the police explored a little further. Now, he claimed he had been working out in the gym, on the other side of the house, on a different floor, with loud music on. Never heard the gunshot. He came up straight from the gym around 11 p.m., found her, and called 9-1-1. He had no powder residue on him, nor blood, whereas she did. There were no signs of an intruder or a struggle. The gun had her prints on it. Her marriage was in shambles, she had a history of depression… and she was drinking the night it happened. When they found her, her blood was all over the divorce papers.”
“No residue. Could he have showered after the gym? Or could he have used gloves? To shoot her?”
“No shower, apparently. Gloves, maybe, but that doesn’t explain why she had gun powder residue on her hands—and there were no signs of a struggle. Except the bottle of wine that was knocked over. Her clothes were soaked.”
“Wasn’t there anything suspicious at all?”
“You seem like you might want there to be,” he said. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Jerry’s gaze was penetrating, and Sara squirmed a little.
“No—I just want to make sure I’m not living with a killer.”
“Okay, well, it’s not totally suspicious, but the gun wasn’t registered. She must have bought it under the table, and her husband wasn’t aware she owned one. She knew how to use it, though; her father had quite a few in his possession and she learned how to shoot as a girl. The blood spatter wasn’t definitive, but the spilled wine might have interfered with the assessment. The bullets had no prints on them, which is a little odd, but she could’ve used gloves to load them.”
“How many bullets did they find?”
Jerry raised an eyebrow. “One. And one canister. There were two bullets missing from the clip, but she could have practiced somewhere, or not had enough bullets left to fill it up. They didn’t find any more ammo in the house.” He shrugged. “What I’m trying to say is, if it looks like a duck and squawks like one…”
“I get it.” Sara chewed her lip, considering any other angles she might be missing. Jerry had not said anything about Preston’s affair. She couldn’t recall reading about it either. Had Preston managed to keep it secret? “Any mention of another person of interest? Or someone named Summer?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Who’s Summer?”
“A close friend of Lauren’s who disappeared a decade ago. Took off and vanished, more or less into thin air. She was married to a friend of Preston’s—Ryan. I recently met him and his new wife.”
“Interesting.” Jerry frowned. “You say this Ryan remarried? Then he must have heard from your Summer.”
“How so?”
“You can’t just remarry someone, Sara. He’d be married to two women. Which is illegal.”
“Oh…” Sara felt a little dumb for not putting two and two together. “You mean he must have asked for a divorce and gotten one, somehow.”
“Bingo.”
“Interesting… I can’t believe that didn’t occur to me.”
“Glad I could help.” He grinned broadly. Then he turned serious again. “The information I gave you—I trust it will stay between us?”
“Of course.”
“What stays between you? Any secrets I should know about?” A panting David came in with the two boys in tow.
“Jerry secretly loves pink ruffles,” Sara said, smiling.
“Hey! Traitor!” Jerry nudged her. “Let me see if the baby is awake. I’ll bring her down.”
After the obligatory compliments and baby snuggles, which Sara quite enjoyed, they left Jerry and his wife to tend to their busy household. Sara’s foot was aching again, so they went back to David’s apartment and he installed her on the couch with an ice pack. They watched a movie together, snuggling, lazily enjoying their day off. After the movie, David disappeared into the kitchen and made a candlelit dinner for two.
“I’m looking forward to you cooking for me for a month,” Sara said innocently as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You’ve obviously been hiding your talent from me.”
“Not really. Pasta is about all I can manage. I don’t know how you’d feel about eating pasta for a whole month.” His eyes twinkled. “But then again, the way this winter is going, I don’t really have to worry about that. I foresee some lovely homemade dinners in my future.”
“Really? I didn’t know you had psychic abilities as well.” She thoughtfully sipped her wine. “Maybe I should bring that crystal ball over to help you out.”
“Speaking of that crystal ball,” David said, helping her back to the couch. “I wonder whether the paperweight had anything to do with your dream.” He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Sara to consider this last remark.
“How so?” Sara asked, not following his train of thought.
“The inscription,” he called from the kitchen. “‘One down, two to go’—maybe Lauren had reached one of her goals, and Summer gave her a celebratory gift.”
“That’s a whole lot better of an explanation than I had imagined. I thought maybe she’d fired someone—or worse. She’s got quite the temper.”
David returned with coffee and a plate of cookies. “Would it be possible?” he said. “I mean, did she reach her goals?” He sat down beside Sara and she leaned against him.
“As far as I know, she reached all of them. I don’t know how old she was for any given milestone, but she was a CEO, I’m pretty positive she was a multi-millionaire, and she retired young. She was very driven.” Sara grabbed a cookie to avoid saying something snarky. Summing up Lauren’s
achievements like that made her own seem inadequate.
“What about Summer?” David asked after a while. “What about her goals?”
“She married Ryan Dempsey. I don’t know if he was her true love, but Bailey sure made it sound like she was his. Obviously, something went sour between them; otherwise she wouldn’t have left him. She wanted kids, but I don’t think they had any. As for number three, Ryan is rich, so there might have been a pool boy to run off with.”
“Doesn’t sound like it ended up the way she envisioned.”
“Does anything?” Sara gave a small shrug and changed the subject. “These cookies are yummy. You could do this every weekend, you know,” she said, nibbling on her third coconut macaroon. “Serve me, I mean.” She glanced up at him and shot him a flirtatious look.
“It’d be my pleasure.”
His stare was so intense, Sara’s breath got stuck somewhere in her throat.
“You know,” he continued, his voice a little hoarse, “Some things do end up just right…” He softly traced the outline of her face with his fingertips. Then he moved away a little and started rubbing her shoulders. “Maybe we should forget about the Sinclairs and their friends this weekend.”
“That sounds lovely…” His hands were taking all the tension out of her body. He was really good at this. If she were a cat, she thought, she’d be purring right now.
“What would you like to do for the rest of this weekend?” he murmured in her ear.
“Keep this up and I won’t be able to refuse anything.”
He chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”
His hands went lower, softly caressing her back. Her sweater was starting to get in the way; without a word, she took it off. Later that evening, the couch was empty, and a trail of clothing led into the bedroom.
As they lay next to each other, Sara couldn’t imagine feeling closer to anyone than she did with David right now. Still in ecstasy from the last few hours, she turned toward him and whispered, “I wish this weekend would last forever.”
David chuckled. “I would like that very much—although it would probably be the end of me. I may need some time to recuperate.” He kissed her tenderly. “Just think of how many more weekends we can spend together. Besides,” he said, pulling her closer, “this weekend’s not over yet.”
The Secrets of Sinclair Lodge Page 12