Death with a Dark Red Rose

by Julia Buckley

  Carl donned a serious expression. “I have to stay for a while. My mom and dad have a whole checklist of things to do before we leave the property. Locks and alarms, and making sure things are unplugged and stuff. I need to go through the whole checklist.” It dawned on me, as I made a quick trip to the little country-style bathroom in the corner of the dining room, that Carl seemed like just the person to put in charge of a detailed list.

  When I returned to the kitchen, Belinda was hugging her brother and kissing his cheek. “You come right back after you do that. No side trips. And call me when you get back to Stafford. Now that I know you’re so close, we can meet all the time. Meanwhile, Doug said he’ll look into the whole Luis thing.”

  Carl nodded. “Thanks. I think Luis needs us.”

  We made our way back outside. I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw that Carl was in the doorway, just as he had been when we arrived, and his face was once again inscrutable. I called, “The food was delicious, Carl!” His smile, genuine and boyish, remained on his face as we drove away.

  5

  One learns her personal vocabulary not so much from schooling as from books. Every book we read provides endless lessons in syntax, diction, and style. I would tell young people today who wish to become writers: read great books. You will reap untold rewards, the greatest of which will be a wonderful story.

  —From the notebooks of Camilla Graham

  THE JOURNEY HOME was happy and hilarious; we were all still riding a huge wave of relief. Belinda sat in the backseat, tucked firmly into Doug’s arms, and I sat up front with Sam, laughing at the badinage between Doug and Sam and catching up on my correspondence via text message. I wrote to my father, filling him in on some of the plans for Camilla’s birthday. He and Tabitha weren’t able to make it, as her children were visiting, but they were going to send what he called “a giant bouquet,” to her on the morning of her birthday.

  I had received a new picture of Athena Lazos, the daughter of Sam’s ex-wife. The baby was now a little more than a year old, and she was beautiful. Normally Athena was full of laughter, but this time Victoria had selected a serious photo in which the baby stared at the camera with a pensive expression, her large dark eyes wide and concerned. She had a full head of dark curls, which contrasted dramatically with her red velvet dress. Victoria had written, Athena says hi to Aunt Lena and Uncle Sam, and that you should visit us in New York before the snow comes.

  With a little frisson of horror, I remembered once again the man who had held Victoria against her will, a man she had thought she loved. Nikon Lazos was in jail now, convicted of kidnapping his own child and being an accomplice to murder. I recalled the house in Blue Lake that had become his lair—a pretty, unassuming façade across the street from my friend Allison’s house—in which three of the people now sitting in this car had almost died . . .

  I texted back, That sounds fun. I doubt Athena will remember us, but she is unforgettable. She may have dark hair, Victoria, but she is starting to look like you.

  Victoria sent back an emoji of a bouquet of roses.

  I turned to Sam. “I have received an updated picture of Athena for our vast Athena photo library. Victoria called you ‘Uncle Sam.’”

  Sam pointed at me and said, “Uncle Sam wants you.”

  Doug tore his gaze away from Belinda long enough to say, “Nice. I give that the award for Best Double Entendre of the day.”

  “The day is young,” Sam said.

  I laughed and went back to my phone. I had a photo from Allison showing me an autumn display on her front porch, which included pumpkins with the names of all her friends on them. For us to carve! she had written. I showed this to the people assembled, and they nodded. Belinda said, “Allison is like our Blue Lake cruise director.”

  “She is!” Sam agreed with a laugh.

  I took the risk of calling Adam, since he wasn’t a fan of texting. His phone rang about four times, and then he answered. “Hello?” It was Adam’s voice, but it sounded younger, more vibrant.

  “Adam? It’s Lena. Am I interrupting you?”

  He laughed for no apparent reason. “Oh, I think I can spare some time for my coconspirator. I found a perfect present for Camilla out here in Moore County.”

  “Great! I just wanted to mention that I think I’ll want to start decorating at about nine in the morning on her birthday. But you said that we have the restaurant all day, right?”

  “We do. I’ve notified people of the closing on our website, on the marquee out front, and on a printed slip inside menus. It should be clear to everyone in town.”

  “Okay. I’m getting a little apprehensive. I want everything to go just right. I want Camilla to be pleased.”

  “She will be, dear. She will love it all. No matter how the party goes, she will know the effort we put in, and that’s what she’ll like.”

  With a burst of curiosity, I said, “How are you able to talk so freely? Isn’t she there?”

  He laughed again. “She’s out breathing the fall air. I was just about to join her. I had to call in to the restaurant.”

  “Well, go have fun.”

  “Thank you, Lena. You, too,” he said with his Adam-like civility.

  I ended the call and sent an urgent look around the car. “Something is up with Adam. He sounds weird. Different. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it.”

  Sam pursed his lips. “No more mysteries, please.”

  Doug leaned forward. “We still have one. This guy Luis. I’m actually getting a pretty bad feeling about it. When we get back I’m going to have Cliff get started on some inquiries.”

  Belinda sighed happily. “Yes, I know you’ll get to the bottom of it. Meanwhile, we have the rest of the drive to enjoy ourselves. Who wants to play a word game?”

  “I’ll play whatever game you want,” Doug said, kissing her hair. “I’m so relieved that things ended this way. Lena, Sam, thanks for being my moral support. I dragged you away from whatever you had planned . . .”

  “We were making wedding plans,” I said. “We can take those on the road. But I do have to get back and check on Camilla’s dogs.”

  Sam turned slightly to look at Doug. “You can actually help us out with one plan. Lena and I are talking about a fairly small wedding, and that includes a small wedding party.” I tapped his arm and pointed out the windshield, and he turned back to put his eyes on the road. “I asked Cliff to be my best man, but I wondered if you’d be a groomsman, too. Adam calls us the Three Amigos, and I guess I see us that way, too.”

  Sam was still looking at the road when he finished this speech, so only Belinda and I saw Doug’s reaction, which was surprised, and then gratified. “I would be honored, Sam,” he said.

  I leaned toward them. “And we thought you could stand up with Belinda, if Belinda is willing to be my second bridesmaid. Allison is my maid of honor.”

  Belinda turned pink and pushed up her glasses so that she could wipe at her tear ducts with her pointer finger. “I—yes. I would like it. Thank you, Lena.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled at her, then lifted my hand for a high five, and Sam slapped it. “One important wedding plan made. Bridal party in place.”

  “What about Camilla?” Doug asked.

  I laughed. “Camilla would be horrified at the thought of being called a matron of honor. But Sam and I will find some special way to make her a part of the ceremony.” I turned, settling back into my seat and gazing at the autumn scenery flashing past. The trees were much lovelier now that we weren’t fearful. I took a notebook out of my purse and flipped it open; it was my “Ideas to share with Camilla” page. I wrote, “Heroine’s mood is reflected by the landscape—very Gothic.”

  Sam sent me a smile. “Having authorly inspirations?”

  “Always. So many more than in my grad school days, now that Camilla and I bounce ideas off of e
ach other.”

  “You two have that weird psychic connection,” Doug said. “I swear you could collaborate on one of your books without even talking.”

  I smirked at him over my shoulder. Belinda said, “What are you writing now?”

  “We have to think of a new project. Actually, I had two ideas I wanted to run past Camilla . . .”

  “Well, get going,” Doug said. “I’ve read six Camilla Graham novels now, and at some point I’m going to run out of them. Keep that train on track.”

  I laughed. “You’ve got a lot of good reading ahead of you. Meanwhile, you’ve got your own mystery to solve.”

  Doug’s face grew serious. “Yeah, the more I think about it, the less I like this setup. But beyond going to his house and his workplace, I don’t know what more we can do if the wife’s not reporting him missing.”

  “She’s not, but Carl is,” Belinda said. “So can’t Carl file a report?”

  “We’ll be using that as the basis for our inquiry,” Doug said. “We’ll see how far it goes.”

  I thought about what Carl had said. “Even if you were angry with your husband, wouldn’t you be concerned that he hadn’t been to work or in touch with his friends?”

  “Yeah, it’s weird. Assuming Carl hasn’t misunderstood the situation.” He looked at Belinda. “Is that possible?”

  She shrugged. “Carl is pretty smart. And as you saw, he’s not super social, but he’s loyal to his friends. If he thinks there’s a problem, then there’s a problem.”

  “Huh.” Doug looked out the window as he thought about this.

  I tried to recall the man in our book club. Had it been the same Luis? He had shown up as a new member (the group was always changing), so I didn’t recall much about him except that he had smiled often and that he had worn blue jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt. And—my memory dredged up something else—he had spoken to me. What had he said? The discussion had ended and we were all filing toward the door, and he had commented on my charm bracelet, something Sam had commissioned a local artisan to make for me.

  “That’s so pretty,” the man had said. “Where did you get it? My wife loves stuff like that.”

  I had told him my fiancé had it specially made, and he’d said he’d love to get the name of the jewelry maker. “Maybe a gift like that will get me back in her good graces,” he had said, making it sound like a joke. Was I creating a story around him, or had his eyes really looked sad?

  “I think his marriage was unhappy,” I said to the group in the car.

  “What?” Doug asked, surprised.

  I told them what I remembered. Belinda sat up straight. “I think he said something to me, too. About how he wanted his wife to come to check out the book club with him, but he couldn’t get her out on dates anymore because she was always busy with her job. I think I was a little annoyed, thinking he was trying to turn our book discussion into marriage counseling. The poor guy probably just wanted to talk.” Belinda looked sad. “I never would have given it another thought—it’s funny how you can look backward and suddenly see details you hadn’t seen before.”

  Sam saw that we were all starting to brood. “Hey!” he said loudly. “Did I tell you guys my latest Geronimo story?”

  Geronimo was one of Sam’s two cats. He’d adopted Geronimo and his sister Arabella as stray kittens in July, and now they were in that awkward stage in which their heads and paws were large but their bodies were still catching up. Geronimo was clearly going to be a big animal. Sam’s tales of the cat’s exploits had become famous in our little circle. The stories were mostly true, but sometimes Sam liked to embellish them for humorous reasons.

  “No, tell us!” Belinda said.

  “Well, Geronimo likes to bring presents, especially to Lena. His favorite delivery port is her shoe.”

  Belinda giggled, and I nodded. “It’s true. He hasn’t put a dead mouse in there, thank God, but I’ve gotten all sorts of interesting things, from a Super Ball to an old pine frond from last year’s Christmas tree.”

  Sam said, “Arabella doesn’t get involved in the caper, but she tattles to Lena. She jumps up and swats Lena’s arm, and then jumps down and stands by the shoe. That’s how Lena knows to check.”

  “This morning I found a rubber band,” I said. “He is especially fond of those. I don’t know where he finds them all.”

  Doug laughed. “Everyone in this town has pets. I think Belinda and I need to shop around.”

  I turned in my seat. “Really? Isabelle told me they have some animals for adoption at the vet’s office. That’s where she got her Saint Bernard, right when she got to town. Have you guys met Barkley? He’s just adorable. I see her walking him all the time.” I was warming to the idea of helping Doug and Belinda find a pet.

  Sam said, “What sort of animal do you want?” and Belinda began listing all her possible dream pets while Doug watched her, amused.

  I smiled out the windshield, happy to be with my friends. As we approached Blue Lake, Doug leaned forward. “Sam, take the first exit. That way we’ll have to drive past that Plasti-Source construction. I want to take a look at it.”

  “Oh, blech,” Belinda said.

  “Just for a minute,” Doug insisted.

  Sam took the exit, and for a time we drove past mysterious autumn woods and then some gold, open fields. Then, looming on the horizon like an Imperial Walker, Plasti-Source appeared—or the shell of what was going to become a Plasti-Source facility. It grew larger and uglier as we drove closer; finally we were in front of the framed construction, and Sam pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Two men stood near a sign pounded into the ground near the highway; they looked up as we parked, their faces unfriendly. They bent their heads close together as they said what seemed to be words of farewell, and then they both headed toward their own cars, parked right on the property. Doug hopped out of the car and said, “Excuse me? Can I ask you gentlemen—”

  They ignored him and kept walking.

  Sam stiffened beside me. “Does that guy in the blue flannel shirt look familiar to you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  The men seemed by mutual consent to have decided not to talk to Doug. They got into their vehicles without another glance at any of us; one of them paused briefly, holding up his phone. Was he looking for a signal? Taking a photograph? I wasn’t sure, but a moment later they drove away with such rapidity that their tires spun dirt and dust into the cold air. Doug stared after the departing cars for a moment, then looked at us and shrugged. He walked around, taking some pictures on his own phone. The sign the men had been standing in front of assured us that Plasti-Source was “Built proudly by Anemone Construction.”

  “Anemone,” I said. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Me, either,” said Sam. “You’d think we would have, if they’re a Blue Lake company.”

  “I’m going to look into them,” Belinda said, jotting a little note on a pad.

  “My notes are for Camilla and yours are for Carl,” I said. “We follow our loyalties.”

  Belinda nodded and tucked away her notebook. “Doug’s right. Everything feels weird about this place.”

  Sam sighed. “We might just be projecting that feeling because we don’t want an ugly hulking factory ruining the scenery. Cliff wasn’t kidding. This thing will be a blot on the landscape, and it will block the sky.”

  We sat and looked out the car window while Doug took his photos, texted something, and then finally made a call. He paced around while he talked, looking disheveled and handsome. When he returned to the car, he tucked away his phone and blew into his hands. “It got colder,” he said. “Feels like at least ten degrees, since we left. There must be something blowing in—rain or snow or something.”

  We all felt it now; he had brought the chill into the car when he opened the door, and as Sam pulled back i
nto traffic, we were cold and rather somber, despite the happy ride we had taken with the newly reclaimed Belinda.

  6

  My temptation has always been to make my characters happy, to let them live their lives in peaceful quietude. But I know that readers want them to earn that happiness, and so I must first make my protagonists miserable. Over the years, I’ve put my characters through some devastating events—but in the end I provide them with something delightful. That’s for the characters and the readers alike—the gift of a happy ending.

  —From the notebooks of Camilla Graham

  SAM DROPPED OFF our companions at Belinda’s, and then we returned to Graham House. “Do you want dog duty or dinner duty?” I asked.

  “I need some exercise. I’ll run these guys down the hill and back,” he said, bending to pet the ecstatic Heathcliff and Rochester.

  I picked up Lestrade, who had strolled in to greet us in his more subdued cat way. “Okay. I’ll scrounge around for something to eat and we can keep the animals company for a while. We can even stay overnight here, if you want.”

  “Might be fun.” He sent me a suggestive smile, and my blood felt warmer.

  “Yeah. But first things first. Go take them for a walk; if I’m not here when you get back I’ll be upstairs making some notes.”

  “Got it.” Sam found the dogs’ leashes and clipped them on. “See you in about twenty minutes,” he said.

  They went out onto the porch. The dogs seemed bent on dragging Sam down the road, so he spoke sternly to them and they slowed their pace. They could be gentlemen when reminded. I smiled after them, then went to the kitchen and found a frozen pizza and some spinach that I could toss into a salad. “Easy,” I said. I jogged upstairs and sat at the desk I had come to think of as mine. I ran my hand over its mahogany smoothness and flipped on the little light that someone had long ago installed to illuminate the surface. I opened my laptop, then took out my notebook so that I could transcribe my notes for Camilla. I wrote: