Half-Moon Lake, page 12
“I didn’t think they could sell watershed property. That’s kind of the whole reason behind it being a watershed, right?”
It was his turn to snort. “You’re just like my mother. That’s exactly Cass’ argument.”
“But—”
His hand went up to ward off my questions. “You’ve heard the phrase, money talks, right? Well, evidently this is one of those times when a pile of money changed the rules. Believe me, my mother did everything but script it across the heavens with a sky-writer. She even waved the news under the nose of a local television station hoping to entice them enough that they’d put one of their investigative reporters on Mr. Big-bucks’ trail. She felt like the citizens of the county needed to know that their elected officials were selling off everyone’s clean water for the future. Normally, TV would be the best route to take, but not in this case. She ran smack-dab into a brick wall.”
“Brick wall?”
“Yeah, by that I mean the ‘higher-ups’ ordered the station to leave it alone. I believe their exact words were ‘keep it on the down-low.’ ”
“That should be illegal.”
“Legalities don’t seem to matter when there’s this much money involved, but that didn’t stop Cass. She turned to a more grass-roots effort to get the word out. She’s written letters to the editor of our local paper until they’re probably sick of her, and when she figured out they weren’t going to publish them, she started writing ‘anonymous’ articles for some pretty in-your-face type publications. When that didn’t work, she tried ‘fiction.’ Her argument is that sometimes the only way to tell the truth is to call it a novel.”
“Did that work?”
He shook his head. “Hardly. None of the bookstores she contacted would carry her books. Not even on consignment. Cass puts blame in the lap of the bad guys. She believes she was black-listed.”
“Can they do that?”
His expression gave me my answer. “Anyway…after that, she joined forces with our local land conservancy group in hopes that a larger voice would have more of an impact against these land-hungry developers who see dollar signs when they look at our beautiful mountains.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like you’re pretty passionate about the cause too.”
“Yeah, I guess I am. At first, I thought Cass should just leave it alone. After all, it was a little embarrassing. It wasn’t really her business and besides, nothing she could do would change anything, so why bother? But then I thought…having that kind of attitude was one of the reasons why we were dealing with the issue in the first place. The longer I watched what they were doing to my mother and our mountains, the madder I got. Maybe Cass’ energy and passion about the issue has rubbed off on me. After all, we have the same Native American blood running through our veins. In any case, what bothers me even more than the ‘clean-water-for-the-future’ issue is that when the county officials originally decided to create that watershed, they basically forced the original landowners to sell. You know…the eminent domain argument? They didn’t even have the decency to give them a fair market price for the property. Sound familiar? It’s the same song and dance that seems to be a trademark of our government, especially in its dealings with Native Americans, not just the Cherokee, but all tribes of Indians.”
I had to agree. Throughout our history, Native Americans have gotten shafted time and time again, but in this case, if what Levi was telling me was true, the white man had gotten the bad end of the deal. I took another bite, but Levi didn’t notice. He was too wrapped up in his story.
“This time,” he continued, “it was settlers who happened to choose the wrong plot of land to farm. After using, probably illegal, strong-arm tactics to force those farmers from their land—citing the need for clean water, of course—they have the audacity to sell part of that land to a developer so some rich guy can have his mountain-top mega-home, complete with incredible long range views and ready access to a golf course? In case you can’t tell, it really rubs me the wrong way.”
I stared at him with wide eyes. “Wow, Levi! Don’t hold back; tell me how you really feel, and by all means, don’t sugar-coat it.”
He took a sip of tea before shrugging and giving me a rueful smile. “Sorry, I can’t help thinking that maybe Mom’s house fire was their way of telling her to keep her mouth shut and since we could never prove anything, they got away with it.” He shrugged. “I have to admit, it makes me a little nervous about my house since I’m sure they know she’s living with me until hers gets re-built.”
“How would they know that?”
He snorted. “Half-Moon Lake is a small town, Katie. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. I know I can’t change my mother. Cass is Cass. As far as she’s concerned, she believes Jessa started the fire, so there’s no reason for her to give up on her cause.”
“Why does she think Jessa did it?”
“That’s just it…she won’t tell me. Says she’s protecting me by keeping it to herself; that if I don’t know the details, I won’t be in any danger, but her logic doesn’t make any sense with her living in my house! If she’s in danger, I’m in danger.”
I mulled the information over as I chewed another bite of calzone. A chat with Cass was a must. If I hadn’t been sure of that before, I was now, and the sooner, the better. Swallowing, I reached for my glass of tea and took a sip. Okay, time to get back to our former topic. “So, what’s up with you and Emory?”
His smile turned grim. “Right…well, there’s always been a certain degree of competition between us…you know the alpha male thing between guys. But with Emory, it was always something more. He tended to go beyond friendly competition, escalating into the cruel zone.”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean, cruel?”
“It would be easier if you actually remembered this stuff rather than having to take my word for it. I’m afraid it’s going to sound like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. Or that I’m just trying to paint him as the bad guy so that I’ll look extra good.”
Believe me…you don’t need any help with that. “Oh, stop stalling and just tell me!”
He sighed. “Okay, okay. You were always Emory’s favorite.” He held up his hand to ward off my question. “I know, I know. You and Kenna were identical twins. Most people couldn’t even tell you apart, but the fact remains that he didn’t like Kenna. He never tried to hide it, so everyone was very aware of it. He also made it clear that he didn’t want any competition for your affection, not even from your twin sister. He was always doing little things to hurt Kenna. At first it was just verbal abuse, but then it became physical. I specifically remember the time when he gave Kenna an Indian burn on her arm so bad, it brought the blood to the surface and stayed purple for over a week.” His eyes narrowed for a moment; then he smirked. “I gave him a black eye for that one. Got grounded for a month, but it was worth it.”
I gasped. “Why would he do such a thing?”
His dark eyes never left mine. “Katie, he knew that you were closer to Kenna than anyone else, that you loved her more than you loved anybody. He tried to use that knowledge as a bargaining tool. I wish you could remember. He wanted you to kiss him and threatened to hurt Kenna if you didn’t.”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
His expression looked tortured. “His plan backfired. You were furious with him and didn’t speak to him for nearly a month.”
A wisp of a memory floated through my mind, but when I tried to grasp it, it disappeared. It was like trying to hold smoke.
“Then there was the incident with your doll.”
“My doll?”
He nodded. “He waited until he thought you’d gotten over the Kenna incident. It was your favorite doll and he knew it. He thought it would give him the leverage he wanted.” He laughed without humor and shook his head. “You still wouldn’t give him that kiss. And when you found your doll in a pile of dismembered arms and legs, you were heartbroken. Cass bought you another doll, but it wasn’t the same.”
I pushed my plate away. I’d lost my appetite. The calzone—as delicious as it was—had no appeal. “What else?”
“I think I’ll skip the cat story. It doesn’t make for appropriate dinner conversation.”
I started to argue, but thought the better of it. “Good idea.” I tried to stay calm, but his stories had left me shaken, and I was having a hard time keeping my face arranged normally.
He reached for my hand again and when he felt how ice-cold it was, gathered both of them, tucking them between his large, warm ones, lightly rubbing them. “He never seemed to get in trouble for what he did. According to Cass, Jessa took care of smoothing things over for him. She thinks Jessa is the one who’s dangerous.” He shrugged. “We don’t always see eye-to-eye.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say so I just stared at him, sure that my eyes were about as big as the bread plate.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Katie, but I know how you are. You’ve always tended to jump into things, with both feet, never bothering to think them through, and more often than not, ending up in trouble. I was usually nearby and able to come to your rescue, but now… Katie, you need this warning. You might be right about your dad wanting you to solve this mystery; you probably are. I don’t know what happened fifteen years ago that made Patty take you away from here, but I know your dad loved you and he’d want you to know why he did what he did. Just remember…I’m not out there at Swan Song, so I can’t leap to your rescue like I used to. It’s up to you to pay attention and be careful. You think you can do that for me?”
My mind was racing. What had I done? Pat had traded in her own identity and future when she’d taken me and run away from Half-Moon Lake. My sister’s only goal had been to get me out of the proverbial frying pan. By returning to Half-Moon Lake, had I forfeited all of Pat’s efforts? Had I placed myself right back in the middle of the very fire we’d escaped?
I was sure my voice would crack with fear if I tried speaking, so I just nodded.
My inner-Kate couldn’t leave this alone. She loved to play the devil’s advocate, to stir things up. Perhaps there’s more to this rivalry than Levi is telling you. Maybe the whole scenario is nothing more than a case of left-over childhood jealousy between him and Emory. It just looks warped and exaggerated now, being viewed through the lens of time. That has to be it. Anything else is too unthinkable.
On a different level of consciousness, that argument was a life preserver. I could picture myself swimming frantically through a churning sea of doubt and fear toward that small Styrofoam ring. Upon reaching it, I clung desperately, fingers digging into the words, U.S.S. Swan Song, that were stamped in an arc on its surface. All I had to do now was hold on and I’d be safe, but would I…?
Chapter Eight
My nightmare was totally different this time. There were no butterflies, no school bus, no vines…really, the only thing it had in common with my usual dream was the terror.
There was plenty of that.
The biggest and most obvious difference between this dream and my usual one was this time, Kenna was alive. That, in itself, was disconcerting. I hadn’t even known I’d had a twin sister until two days ago and now I was dreaming about her? Granted, Kenna had always been in the other nightmare too, but I had never realized that. I’d thought I was viewing myself as a child.
It was winter again. I could see bare-branched trees behind the house. Kenna and I were searching for something—something very important to the both of us—calling and calling, peering behind bushes, peeking over walls, parting dried out flower beds. The longer we searched, the more frantic we became.
That’s when we spotted the blood.
It was just a drop or two at first, but it quickly became a very visible trail. We followed it with growing horror on our identical faces. Where would it lead? Though afraid, we couldn’t stop ourselves from tracing that crimson line to its source.
When the trail ended, we found what we’d been looking for…our beloved kitty, Boots. He was hanging by his tail, his stomach split open. All his insides lay in a bloody pile under him. The sight caused us both to gag and vomit, tears streamed down our little faces. Our arms wrapped around each other in our misery as we tried, in vain, to help the other through the horror and grief, to hold each other up.
Looking over Kenna’s shoulder into the thick rhododendron bushes that didn’t shed their leaves, even in winter, I spied the outline of a figure. I couldn’t tell who it was, but I could hear the laughter.
When I woke up I was nearly hyperventilating. It took several minutes and all of my concentration to get my breathing under control; then several more minutes convincing myself that it was just a dream.
But was it?
Had I just re-lived something that had actually happened? Levi had mentioned the cat story not being appropriate dinner conversation. If what I’d just dreamed was what had really happened, then his comment was a huge understatement.
It also meant my mental life preserver was unreliable.
I sat up in bed, pushing my hair out of my face and stared toward the lace-covered windows. The sky was blushing pink, telling me it was time to get up. The sooner I got out of bed, the sooner I could put that dream behind me. I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on it; there was work to be done. I began a mental to-do list. Getting the mess cleaned off my father’s desk was number one.
But as my mind was cataloging numbers two, three and four, Cass’ face swam into view. After last night’s conversation with Levi, talking to Cass zoomed past all other chores to the very top of the list. I’d try to catch her as soon as she opened her store. Hopefully, there’d be no customers to interrupt. There were some things I needed to know and Cass was the only one with the answers.
Jumping out of bed, I hurried to the bathroom to get ready.
****
Main Street was a ghost town. From the looks of it, Sunday mornings in Half-Moon Lake started a little slower, or maybe everyone was at home, getting ready for church. This was the Bible belt, after all. I swung into the same parking space I’d used the last time I’d visited and turned the ignition off. There was one other car parked a few spaces down. Maybe it belonged to Cass. I could hope, couldn’t I?
I didn’t allow myself to dawdle in the garden courtyard like last time, but marched directly to the front porch. A sign by the door indicated it was closed on Sundays, but when I peeked through the window, there was Cass, arranging a vase of fresh flowers behind the counter. Tapping gently on the glass, I gave a friendly smile and wave when the other woman glanced up.
She saw me; I know she did, but she seemed uncertain, as if she were considering a quick dash to the back of the store. Those black eyes stared at me for a long moment before she finally moved toward the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
“Good morning, Cass,” I practically sang the words. Nervousness made me over-enthusiastic. “I was hoping you’d be here early. I need to talk to you without the interruption of customers. Would now be a good time?” I gave her a hopeful smile.
Without a word, Cass moved out of the way. I took that as an invitation to enter. There was another click and the door was re-locked, then Cass moved past me toward the back of the store.
As I followed, I watched the swing of the silver-streaked hair, and felt a little uncomfortable in the silence. Was Cass angry that I’d barged in unannounced? Should I have called first? No, she probably wouldn’t have answered. It was better this way. With no chance of customers interrupting, I hoped I could get answers to some of my most nagging questions.
Cass led the way into a kitchenette. There was a tiny drop-leafed table with only one leaf out. The flat side was against the wall. Two cane-bottomed chairs were tucked under the rounded edge. A smaller vase of fresh flowers adorned the table, as well as a crystal cake stand that held a stack of homemade cinnamon rolls. After grabbing two coffee mugs off a rack, Cass poured us both a steaming cupful. I had to laugh when I read the words screen printed on the side of my mug—GRITS…Girls Raised In The South.
“Cute.” I indicated the words on my cup.
No response.
Sighing inwardly, I stirred creamer into my coffee, racking my brain for something to kick-start a dialogue. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. I’d never get my questions answered if I was the one doing all the talking. How could I get Cass to speak?
Cass removed the top of the cake stand and the delicious combination of yeast bread and cinnamon wafted over me. My nose twitched appreciatively, and my stomach gave a loud growl, embarrassing me to death. I’d left the house without eating anything and I was starved. After a timid smile, I chose one of the heavenly-scented creations.
“Ask.”
The single word was spoken so softly, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it at first. Startled, my eyes darted up, hoping to see some indication one way or the other. The ebony stare told me nothing. It was all the invitation I was going to get.
“I’m discovering that my mind isn’t the only place holding secrets. I’m sure you know much more about my family and what happened fifteen years ago, but you seem to not want to tell me. Perhaps you can tell me something about this.” I drew the key from my pocket and placed it on the table. “I was digging around in my father’s office and I found it. I’m sure it opens something pretty important since it was so well hidden. I don’t suppose you have any idea what it goes to, what it might open?”
While waiting for an answer, I took a quick bite of the cinnamon bun and nearly groaned. Oh…it was still warm and literally melted in my mouth. A hint of a smile flirted around the corners of Cass’ thin lips as she watched me. I hurriedly took another bite, this time unable to contain the moan of pure delight. Mmmmmm…
“Have you tried the playroom?”
I was so wrapped up in my near-carnal enjoyment of the freshly-baked delicacy that I barely caught the low-toned question, unable to answer until I savored the last bite. “What playroom?” I asked as I licked the glaze from my fingers. I’d had a tour of the house the morning I was introduced to the servants. There hadn’t been a playroom. “I don’t remember seeing one. Maybe it was renovated and changed into some other kind of room. Where exactly was it?”
