Death with a Dark Red Rose

by Julia Buckley

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Doug said he needs our help, and he wants us to come to Belinda’s house.”

  “What—? That’s weird. Is he on duty?”

  “I don’t know—wait, yes, I do. Cliff told me last night that he, Cliff, was on duty today because Doug had the day off and was going to take Belinda to Daleville for their Oktoberfest.”

  It was unlike Doug Heller to ask for help, and a gray, miserable feeling started to worm its way into my consciousness. “Okay, let’s go. We can take my new car—it’s closest.” We moved quickly back down the path until we reached the pebbled driveway of Graham House, where Camilla lived. She was outside now, throwing tennis balls for her German shepherds, Heathcliff and Rochester, who cavorted in the fall air like happy lambs. Camilla looked good. She had new glasses that accentuated her delicate bone structure, and she had been taking daily walks with her devoted boyfriend, Adam, leaving her looking fit and contented. She and Adam were about to leave on a short trip in search of togetherness and fall color.

  “Hello,” she said. Then, ever attuned to our feelings, she said, “Something’s up?”

  Sam shrugged. “Doug called and asked us to come to Belinda’s. He sounded a little—out of sorts.”

  The dogs were back; they laid slobbery balls at Camilla’s feet, and she picked them up and threw them again. “Go, by all means. Lena knows I was going to have lunch with Adam on the way out of town, anyway. But please do keep me apprised. You know I’ll worry if you don’t.”

  I think Camilla saw us all as her Blue Lake children—Sam and me, Doug Heller and Belinda, and my best friend, Allison, and her husband, John. We were all around the same age, and we all looked up to Camilla and Adam. If Blue Lake was a kingdom, then they were the king and queen, with their castle at the top of the bluff. “We will, of course,” I said. “And I know we’re back on our writing schedule on Monday, correct? I assume you’ll be back by the weekend and Adam isn’t driving you all the way to Maine or somewhere.” Camilla laughed. “Meanwhile, Sam and I will keep an eye on things here.”

  “Thank you. Yes, back to work on Monday, but for now we can all go play in the leaves. It’s a perfect time to witness some autumnal splendor, isn’t it? I think Adam wants to leave by noon. But I’ll have my phone on, and I want to hear everything.”

  “Yes, all right. Have a great time.” I gave her a quick hug, then ran inside to get my keys and purse, and then Sam and I climbed into my new car—a green Dodge Caravan. My father had approved its safety rating (since my last car had been totaled in an accident) and my insurance company had approved the price. I waved to Camilla as we pulled away; the dogs stood at her feet, staring at me with wide, panting mouths.

  Navigating the pebbly downward road that was lined with trees dressed in yellow and rust-colored leaves, I stole a glance at Sam. “Any guesses what this could be about?”

  He shook his head. “Truly not a clue. Everything seemed fine last night, didn’t it?”

  We had dined with Doug and Belinda the evening before; Sam had barbecued steaks on his back patio and we ate them in his large kitchen. Belinda had been proud of the potato salad she made from scratch, and Doug’s eyes had drifted to her often, just as his hand often found its way into her long blond hair. He smiled at her whenever she addressed him. It had been comforting to see them so happy together.

  We drove down Lake Road, bound for Belinda’s place, and I gazed at the scenery that flitted past in bursts of color. What a sensory experience fall was—the red trees, the fragrant wood smoke, the taste of hot chocolate, the sound of the cold lake water lapping the dock, the feel of soft fleece when I donned a favorite fall jacket. I loved it all.

  I reached for Sam, still looking out the window, and as always, he understood. His warm hand enveloped mine as my gaze lighted on two men walking on the side of the road. Workmen, by the look of them, with sturdy jeans and plaid flannel jackets. One of them held a camera and some tool I didn’t recognize. The taller of the two turned and made eye contact with me as we drove past; his face was particularly unfriendly, almost villainous. But that was one of Camilla’s words, and I was probably half writing the men into some future book.

  They turned suddenly down a dirt path and disappeared into the woods.

  “What are they up to?” I asked.

  Sam made a sound of agreement. “I was just wondering that. I’m using process of elimination. They don’t look like brothers or friends going fishing. No poles, and not much interaction between them.”

  “No, they look official somehow. Blue Lake Township Office?”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why would anyone from the township be out here?”

  “Surveyors, maybe?”

  “Maybe.” Sam’s brows furrowed. “But they didn’t have surveying equipment.”

  I squeezed his hand, then put mine back on the steering wheel. “I guess we should stop looking for mysteries everywhere. We’ve had enough of them.”

  “God, yes. Enough to last a lifetime.”

  “Including this thing with Doug. Why would he want us to come to Belinda’s?”

  “We’ll find out,” he said, as I flipped on my blinker and turned left on One Shoe Road.

  Sam drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Why’s it called One Shoe Road, anyway? And why are all these shoes always lying here? I assume there’s a story behind it.”

  “There is! Camilla told me that years ago a shoe appeared near the stoplight—just one shoe, as sometimes happens, making travelers wonder how it got there. Same with those shoes you see hanging from telephone poles and electric wires and stuff.”

  “Okay, back to the story.”

  “So apparently no one came to remove the shoe—no cleanup crew, no police officer. Maybe everyone thought it was someone else’s job. So finally, locals decided it was funny, and someone put up a handmade sign next to the shoe that said, ‘I’m lonely.’”

  Sam laughed. “Don’t tell me. Mr. Shoe started getting friends.”

  “Yup. A few appeared the same week as the sign, and then more and more, until the story about shoes at the intersection of Lake Road and Longwill, as it was called then, made the local newspaper.”

  “Huh.”

  “It became a part of Blue Lake tradition. People tend to put shoes out there as a rite of passage. Birthdays, graduations, engagements. You have to admit, they’re lined up pretty neatly. I’ve seen tourists ask Marge Bick where they can find Shoe Corner, which I guess is what people call that intersection.”

  “We’re famous. And when exactly did they change the name?”

  “Camilla says it was about ten years ago, and it coincided with the town’s centennial celebration.”

  “Huh. So Blue Lake is more than one hundred years old. I guess that makes sense. Although in the early 1900s Blue Lake was probably three houses and a barn. Hey, look at that.” Sam pointed to a sign near the roadway and I glanced at it. A homemade poster nailed to a stake read, in dark black marker, “Keep Blue Lake Clean! Down with PLASTI-SOURCE!!”

  “Wow,” I said. “What does it say underneath there?”

  “The Blue Lake Ecology Commission.”

  “But there is no such thing, and if there were, I think they’d spring for more expensive signage. Probably just an angry citizen wanting to add some drama to the protest.”

  I was still pondering this as we drew closer to our destination. I knew the way to Belinda’s house well now; I had visited it first at a July Fourth celebration (not a happy evening) but had been back several times since, sometimes in a gathering of couples, sometimes just when Belinda and I wanted to chat. On those latter occasions, my friend Allison occasionally joined us. We all had different work schedules, so our social meetings had to be timed carefully. We did a lot of texting.

  By the time we reached Belinda’s subdivisio
n, the sky had become overcast. I waited until Sam met my gaze. “Why am I nervous?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” He brooded for a moment before he said, “Although it’s very unusual behavior for Doug.”

  I pulled into Belinda’s driveway, covered in yellow leaves that had drifted down from a tulip tree in her front yard. I wondered why the meticulous Belinda hadn’t been out raking them. They were even scattered across the windshield of her car, which sat just in front of the closed garage.

  We got out and went to the door, only to find it ajar. “Doug?” I called, pushing the door open. We entered Belinda’s familiar, airy living room and moved toward the kitchen, where we heard rustling. Doug stood at Belinda’s kitchen island, opening drawers and rifling through the contents. The room was in disarray. Sam looked as surprised as I felt. “Doug?” he said.

  Doug looked up at us, his brown eyes troubled. “Hey—thanks for coming. I need your help.”

  “What’s going on?” I said, setting down my purse and giving him a quick hug.

  “I came here to pick up Belinda. Her car is there, and her door was unlocked.”

  “Maybe she ran a quick errand with a friend?”

  He frowned. “I tried to text her, ask her where she was. That’s when I realized her phone is still here, along with her purse.” He pointed to a little side table, which held those items. “And this.” He went to her counter and held up a single long-stemmed dark red rose, fresh and perfect. “This wasn’t here last night when I dropped her off,” he said. “And if Belinda had bought it, she would have put it in a vase.”

  That was true. We all knew Belinda.

  “So if she’s gone on an errand, she’s doing it without money or identification?” Sam asked.

  “Something’s not right,” Doug said. “Nothing’s been ransacked—I made this mess. The house was perfectly clean when I got here, just with a rose on the counter. But she hasn’t been in touch. We should have been in Daleville now, drinking beer and listening to polka music.” He glanced out at some crimson trees rustling near Belinda’s kitchen window, his eyes creased with concern. Then he looked back at us. “I have a bad feeling.”

  My heart plunged into my stomach. Surely this moment wasn’t real.

  But Doug’s brown eyes were looking into mine, and those eyes held fear. “I know this sounds extreme, but I think someone took Belinda.”

  2

  I have one goal when writing a story—to make it an adventure the reader cannot resist.

  —From the notebooks of Camilla Graham

  I FELT COLD. “You think—someone abducted her?”

  “I’m leaning toward that,” Doug said.

  Sam clamped a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “I don’t think so. No sign of a struggle, so she’s okay.”

  Doug turned to him eagerly. “I hope so. I don’t want to think the worst, but—this looks suspect.”

  I leaned toward him. “Doug, remember when Belinda and Allison and I took that self-defense course, right after the whole Nikon Lazos scare?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Belinda was the best in the class. Really alert, and strong. She mastered all the moves. No one is going to take her by surprise.”

  “Right.” He looked slightly heartened, but pale. “She’s not—officially missing. I’ve only been here about half an hour, and there could still be some logical explanation. I wish she would walk in right now and give it.”

  “What about her family?” I said. “Does she have any in the area?”

  He shook his head. “Her parents are retired; they live in San Diego. She has an older brother named Mark, doing some park ranger job in Alaska, and there’s a younger brother—I forgot his name. I think he lives with the parents. He’s several years younger—still just a kid. That’s all. She’s never mentioned anyone in the area. But I mean—she is renting this house from her parents. I suppose one of them could possibly have a key . . .” He scratched his head in the classic gesture of confusion. “But my instinct is to pursue this as a missing persons case. I don’t want to lose time.”

  Sam moved in, ready to take charge. “First of all, have a seat.” He gently guided Doug onto a stool in front of the kitchen island. “Lena, could you get him some coffee?” He went to the side table and retrieved Belinda’s phone. “Have you ever talked to her parents before?”

  “No,” Doug said. “I mean, not by myself. Sometimes when Belinda’s talking to them she has me say hello.”

  Sam put the phone down in front of him. “Do it now. Call them, introduce yourself, ask if they’ve heard from her, or if any family is in the area.”

  “Right,” Doug said.

  I poured some coffee from a carafe on Belinda’s counter and put the mug in the microwave. “Did you call Cliff? Can’t he put out an APB on her car?”

  Doug shook his head. “That’s her only car, in the driveway.”

  Sam’s voice was calm and comforting. “I’ll call Cliff anyway. Ask him what he would do next. We need all great minds on this.” He took his cell phone into the next room to call his brother.

  The microwave beeped and I took out the coffee; I walked a few steps and set it before Doug, who had entered Belinda’s passcode and was scrolling through messages on Belinda’s phone. He looked up at me with miserable eyes. “I’m scared,” he said.

  “Of course you are. But we’ll find her. I promise we will.”

  He found her parents’ number and pressed Belinda’s speed dial. He put the call on speakerphone and set the phone down so that he and I could both hear. “Hi, sweetheart,” said a woman’s voice. Of course—Belinda’s name would have come up on her caller ID.

  “Hello, is that Mrs. Frailey?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded uncertain and slightly suspicious.

  “My name is Doug Heller—Belinda’s boyfriend. We spoke briefly a few weeks ago when you and Belinda were Skyping.”

  “Oh, of course, Doug! How are you? How is my daughter today?” Her voice was suddenly full of warmth.

  “That’s why I’m calling, actually.” Doug put his face closer to the phone. “We were going to drive to Daleville today for Oktoberfest, but when I got here Belinda was gone. She’s left her purse and her keys and her car, and I can’t figure out where in the world she could be. I just—I guess I wondered if you had any insights, or if you’d heard from her.”

  Belinda’s mother’s voice was concerned, yet comforting. “Well, that’s odd. But our Belinda is such a private person, isn’t she? Maybe she took a walk in the woods and lost track of time? She did that once when we were visiting.”

  A brief glimmer of hope appeared in Doug’s eyes. “That’s a possibility, I guess. We’ll certainly have a look around. Did she happen to mention anything to you? Anything about going somewhere, or—?”

  We could hear Mrs. Frailey talking to someone in the background, seemingly her husband. Then she was back. “Did she possibly go in to work? Maybe a last-minute task she wanted to do?”

  “I would have thought that, too, but again, her car is in the driveway, and her keys are here. She would need them to get into the library, because it’s not open until ten.”

  “Oh, yes—I see. Well, you do have me a bit concerned, Doug. I wonder—” She disappeared into a side conversation again. Her voice mingled with a deeper one, and they seemed to consider and discard several options while Doug’s anxiety grew. He drummed his fingers on Belinda’s counter and chewed at his lip.

  Mrs. Frailey came back. “Doug, do you know—has Carl contacted Belinda at all, since he’s been in town?”

  Doug blinked. “Carl? No, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Carl is Belinda’s brother,” she said.

  “Oh—right. But I thought he lived out there with you?” Doug asked.

  “No, hon. Carl moved back to Indiana about three months ago. H
e grew up out there, you know, where you all are. He was excited to connect with Belinda again, but he said he would get settled first. He wanted to tell her he had a job, to make her proud of him. He—he’s funny that way.”

  “Okay,” Doug said, uncertain.

  “Anyway, I don’t know if Belinda has ever told you about Carl. He’s a dear, and they get along quite well, but Carl has moments when he’s a bit—unpredictable. He’s on medication, actually. But I can’t monitor it from out here. I had his promise that he would take it regularly.”

  Doug’s eyes met mine, and I saw his alarm. “Does he get violent when he goes off his meds?”

  Mrs. Frailey made a distressed sound. “Oh, goodness no. He just—becomes a bit manic. Does extreme things. Once he had a whim about wanting to see Vegas, and he got in the car and drove there. Didn’t even check how much gas was in the car. You see? Another time he wanted cookies, so he started baking them at two in the morning. It’s more about impulse control. Belinda understands; she was always the best at corralling her brother.”

  “Would Carl be likely to bring her a red rose?”

  “Well, I mean—if Carl came to visit, then, yes, I think he would. He loves giving gifts and he always did like to give Belinda flowers, when he could afford it. Carl has looked up to Belinda all his life. And I’m afraid deep down he felt he could never live up to her standards. He’s spent a lot of time trying to sort of win her over. Which he doesn’t need to do, because Belinda loves him,” Mrs. Frailey assured Doug in a breathy voice.

  Doug cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where I might find Carl?”

  “Well—no. He called us when he got out there, said he was staying with a friend and he’d send his address when he got a place of his own. He hasn’t sent that yet, so I assumed that he and the friend were sticking together for the time being. He texts me all the time, so I haven’t had need of the address yet. I think he’s staying in Stafford.”