Half-Moon Lake, page 13
“Are you still in the room at the head of the stairs?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“It’s the door right beside it—to the left. Both rooms used to form a suite. It’s accessible from both directions—from the hallway, as well as from your room.”
I was reaching for a second cinnamon roll, but paused to squint in concentration, reviewing the floor plan in my mind; then shook my head, puzzled. “But there’s not a door to the left of mine, and there’s no door in my room except the closet and the one to my bathroom.”
It was Cass’ turn to squint. “There must be.”
I shook my head with a little more force. “No. There’s not.”
The older woman was very puzzled, which would probably have been more worrisome if my attention hadn’t been divided. The cinnamon rolls were just too distracting. The second one disappeared as quickly as the first. One would think I hadn’t eaten in days! Cass stared into her coffee cup, as if seeking her own answers, and muttered, “Tried to pretend it never happened…had the door covered…can’t believe they covered the door.”
Finally sated, I licked my fingers a second time, then took a sip of coffee before interrupting Cass’ musings. “Um, let me get this straight. Are you trying to tell me that the key I found might unlock a door that’s not even there anymore?”
Cass didn’t speak, not with her voice, anyway. The answer was there, however…shining plainly in her obsidian eyes. Great! My father’s clue was obsolete…a key to a door that didn’t exist. I’d embarked on a journey that was taking the proverbial one step forward and two steps back.
Now what? Maybe another bite of breakfast would help me think better. I reached for a third roll, ignoring my inner-Kate marching back and forth like a union worker on the picket line, waving a sign over her head and chanting, “A moment on the lips—a lifetime on the hips!”
Cass’ coffee mug thunked the table-top, sloshing coffee over its side, but she paid it no attention. She looked startled, her eyes were wide and intense, and she leaned toward me, which made me instantly attentive, waiting to hear whatever had just occurred to the woman.
“The door is still there…covered, but still there. Your father wanted you to find it; that’s why he hid the key where he knew you’d discover it. I suspect Jessa had something to do with it, just because it sounds like something she’d do, but perhaps not. It could also be Patrick’s attempt to capture memories of you and your sister and to keep Jessa out; to keep her from finding the clue he’s hidden for you. In either case, something important is hidden in that room.”
“But how do you know? There had to be people around when this was done. Getting rid of a door—no, two doors—isn’t really something you can do without people sort of…noticing. How would either of them have managed it? And how the heck am I supposed to find it? I don’t even know where it was!”
“Your father was sick for months before he died. The medications he was taking kept him unaware of most things a lot of the time. Jessa could have had the work done during that time, threatened the employees not to speak of it, and he never would’ve known. If it was his doing, well, he certainly had ample opportunities. Jessa and Emory were out of town a lot. Patrick could’ve done it while they were on one of their trips to Europe. Swan Song’s employees are faithful to him…they’ve never liked his third wife or her son. He could count on them to not say a word even if she asked them point-blank.”
I was about to point out that Jessa would’ve been sure to have noticed, but something Cass had said sidetracked me. “Wait a minute. You said, third wife. Don’t you mean second?”
Cass’ jaw clenched, her lips pressed together into a thin, straight line before she answered. “No, your mother was his second wife. His first was Pat’s mother. She died from heart failure, just like your father.”
If I hadn’t been watching, I would’ve missed it. Cass’ expression sharpened, her eyes narrowed. One moment there, and gone in an instant, then her gaze locked with mine. “Your mother was killed in a car accident. She hit a deer and it came through the windshield, killing her on impact. Jessa just happened to be secretary to both wives. The whole town thought it was so thoughtful, such a good thing she was there…doing what needed to be done, comforting you girls as well as the grieving widower…convenient, huh?”
Her last sentence hung in the air between us like dingy laundry on a clothesline. Cass stared at me expectantly, like she was waiting for something.
The pregnant silence caused my inner-Kate to look up from her chaise lounge by the pool where she was reading her copy of Cosmopolitan under the shade of an umbrella. She tilted her sunglasses down, peering over them questioningly before shrugging and going back to her reading. As usual, there’d be no help from her.
What was this all about? What did Cass mean by, “convenient”? Was there a hidden message in her words? I replayed them in my mind—both the spoken words and their implications, but I was clueless.
Cass shook her head. “Never mind. It’s just a feeling, nothing really tangible. Just watch your back. Jessa won’t let a little thing like you stand in her way. She tends to make any opposition disappear. She’s cleared her playing field before… I’m sure she wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. Remember, she’s very sneaky. She’s never been caught.”
“Sneaky? Are you talking about your house?”
Her expression darkened, her lips pressing into a straight line again. It made me think of her son. I’d seen that exact look on his face. “Levi told you about that.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact, but I nodded anyway.
Cass sighed. “Good. It helps you to understand the danger.”
“He also told me he thinks someone else burned your house.”
“My son talks too much. Those developers would like nothing better than for me to keep my thoughts to myself, but they also know it’s an idle wish. Yes, I have the truth, but they have money…a lot of money, and money speaks much louder. I can’t compete with that kind of power—no matter how loudly I squawk or how many articles I write. I know that, and they know that I know it. As far as the county selling that watershed property…it’s done. It can’t be undone, no matter how badly I might wish it otherwise. Now, I’m in a sort of ‘build awareness’ mode. I’m working with the conservancy group to help educate people, to help them realize what’s happening so maybe it won’t happen again. Despite what Levi thinks, I don’t believe those developers would risk dirtying their hands with arson, not even using a third party to do it. Their style is to casually drop a few comments in the right circles about how eccentric—a.k.a.: crazy—I am. I eat kudzu and dandelions, don’t I? My credibility goes down the proverbial toilet because I eat local, so to speak.”
There was no way to refute it. What could I say?
Cass continued, “No, in spite of what Levi thinks, Jessa burned my house. I have no proof, but I know I’m right.”
I eyed the remains of my cinnamon roll, my appetite suddenly gone as I mulled the older woman’s words. My thoughts were interrupted by a burst of laughter, which surprised me. “After everything you’ve just told me, you’re laughing?” I blurted.
Cass nodded, and her black eyes danced.
“What is it?”
“Jessa’s not surprised often. I’d have given almost anything to have been able to see her face when you walked back in. I bet it was priceless.”
I grimaced, remembering. “Uh…she wasn’t thrilled.”
“I wouldn’t imagine that she was.” She chuckled again, before sobering, then spoke in grave tones. “The door is there somewhere, Kate. There’s a hidden keyhole on the wall to the left of your bathroom door. Your job is to find it as quickly as you can. There’s something important in there…something your dad wanted you to know.”
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly then nodded. “Left of the bathroom. Got it.”
“And Kate?”
My eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
“Please, be careful.”
****
“You need a different car,” I grumbled as I ricocheted around in the driver’s seat of my rental on my way back to Swan Song. I felt like one of those little silver balls pinging from side to side in a pinball machine. I was certain I’d need a dentist soon. All this bouncing and banging around was sure to jar a filling loose. The micro-economy vehicle wasn’t cut out for this kind of road. The rutted, gravel driveway would give a four-wheel drive vehicle a run for its money. Why hadn’t my father had it paved? Or at least graded and widened a little? Maybe he just didn’t like visitors and keeping the drive nearly impassable was done on purpose.
I returned home as quickly as I dared, but that wasn’t saying much. I was almost positive I saw a couple of turtles dart past me. Maybe I needed to figure out a way to retrieve my little Outback from Arizona. If I was going to be here a year and had to tackle this kind of terrain on a regular basis, I’d need something with a little more muscle.
My father had been married three times! That’s what Cass had said; new information to mull over. His first two wives had had their lives cut tragically short and the third one was the secretary to them both. It seemed more than just a coincidence. Mostly, because I couldn’t picture Jessa as a secretary to anyone. It’d be easier to imagine her sprouting wings and flying away. She wasn’t one to take orders. The whole thing sounded like a bad soap opera plot. And there was something else that Cass had said…well, it wasn’t so much what she said, but the way she said it. Something about the first wife—Pat’s mother—dying of heart failure, the same as my father. And she’d stressed the words, “same as your father.”
Was she implying foul-play? She’d warned me to watch my back, something about any opposition disappearing, clearing the playing field, and that Jessa had never been caught. Could my stepmother really have had something to do with killing her husband, as well as two other women? My mind rebelled at the possibility, but remembering the expression on Cass’ face when she’d said those words gave me a sinking feeling.
A flash-back from last night’s dream suddenly came to mind: a shadowy figure hiding behind the rhododendron. After what Levi had told me at dinner, I’d unwillingly entertained the idea that the vague outline hidden among the leaves had been Emory, but now there was another angle to consider. What if it hadn’t been Emory? What if someone had wanted it to look like he’d done it? If someone were unhinged enough to kill people, killing a cat would be like next to nothing for them.
I felt sick and wished I hadn’t eaten those wonderful cinnamon rolls. They didn’t feel so “wonderful,” now. I swallowed hard, trying to keep everything where it was. It took all my concentration and it wasn’t easy, especially with my inner-Kate screaming frantically inside my head. I wanted to stuff a fist in her mouth, but needed both hands on the steering wheel. Keeping the car on the road took too much concentration, so the inner screaming continued. Dead! Dead! All of them dead! Number one…Pat’s mother—dead! Number two…your mother—dead! Number three…your father—dead!
Three people? Three murders? Could Jessa really be responsible for three people’s deaths? The idea was terrifying.
Then a thought ripped through my defenses, nearly knocking me breathless. No! It wasn’t possible! It couldn’t be! But the vision wouldn’t go away. Fear congealed around my heart, making it thump unevenly in my chest. The recurrent nightmare, the one with Jessa carrying my dripping sister off into the woods, kept playing in my head…over and over again.
Did Kenna make it four?
****
By the time I got back to the house, I had a splitting headache. Whether it was from the lack of caffeine or living under the influence of constant stress, I wasn’t sure, probably a combination of both. I’d drunk little of the cup of coffee Cass had poured me earlier, so I was sure that was part of the problem. Once our conversation began, the coffee had been forgotten and had grown colder by the minute. I’d never taken more than a sip before I got sidetracked with the yummy cinnamon rolls. I knew myself well enough to know that if I didn’t get my daily two cups of headache-preventer, I’d end up with a doozy, and I was well on my way! I set out to search for the antidote.
When I entered the kitchen, it seemed to be bustling with activity, but how could that be? There was only one other person here. Though, considering the size of that particular person, maybe it was understandable after all. I mentally scrambled for a name, something the “boss” would certainly be expected to know, then smiled in relief. Ah, yes, Beatrix…like Beatrix Potter, although this woman couldn’t be more unlike Ms. Potter if she’d tried. Now, what was the last name? Jackson? Yes, that was it. Beatrix Jackson.
“Good morning, Beatrix.”
The round face flushed scarlet. “Oh, please, Miss, I’ve been BJ so long, I wouldn’t know to answer to the name, Beatrix.”
“Fine. BJ it is. I was wondering if I might trouble you for some coffee—the larger the cup, the better.”
BJ beamed, grabbing an over-sized mug. “Comin’ right up. I try to keep fresh coffee available, at least through the morning hours. There’s nothing like a nice, hot ‘pick-me-up’ about mid-morning.” She set the steaming mug on the counter. “Here you are, honey.”
I despised black coffee, but I took a sip before even adding creamer, an act that showed just how desperate I was to get the “fix” into my caffeine-starved bloodstream. “Mmmm…much better. Maybe now I can show this headache the way out.” I leaned against the counter and stared. I couldn’t help it. BJ was shaped like an old-fashioned Kelvinator refrigerator—short and squatty with rounded shoulders. Her width and her height were probably within inches of being the same measurement. And when she spoke, her body gave a little wiggle from the waist down; almost as if she were pleased as punch to have something to say. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Maybe that’s what those two maids had been giggling about rather than Mrs. Davis’ sniffing.
How had I missed this before? Yes, BJ had stood in the back, but I must’ve been blind not to have noticed! My only plausible explanation was my impatience to get started in my father’s office yesterday morning. Because of that, I’d inadvertently treated the introduction to the staff as a hindrance, something to just get over with so I could get at the “more important” matters. It was embarrassing, really. I hoped no one in the meeting was a mind reader, but my cheeks grew warm when I remembered how my face always mirrored my thoughts.
I sipped my coffee, allowing my face time to get back to its normal color, and watched BJ at work. She had a selection of ingredients laid out on the island’s butcher-block top and was busily dicing and chopping. “What’re you making?”
BJ smiled and gave a little wiggle before she answered. “Oh, I thought it was a nice day for a bit of potato salad to go with the sliced ham and fruit I’ve planned for lunch. It’s going to be so warm today that we don’t want anything really heavy. This will keep it nice and cool. Besides that, Mr. Emory mentioned the possibility of a picnic after he and Miz Eubanks get home from church…this menu will work just fine for that too.”
Church? Jessa and Emory went to church? That was a surprise; they didn’t seem the type. On second thought, there were a lot of different types of churches. I guess it was to match all the different types of people who attended them. That’s where Cass had been heading after our meeting this morning. She’d seemed surprised that I wasn’t going. When I asked why, she’d shared how Kenna and I had gone forward together at VBS the summer we were seven. That piece of news had surprised me more than anything else I’d learned since arriving here. I would’ve thought I’d remember something as important as that. But no matter how hard I’d tried, I couldn’t recall the experience, and wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, yet.
I wondered if Levi attended with his mother, and if I might start joining them. I’d be here for a year, after all. It couldn’t hurt and it might help…a lot. Maybe it would make the vague empty feeling go away. The more I thought about my talk with Cass, the more I was convinced that feeling came from not feeding the spiritual part of myself; the part that had come alive when I got saved. I didn’t know much about it, but I knew enough to realize that if one truly gave one’s heart to Christ, one needed to go to church in order for that spiritual side to grow. That side of me had grown pretty weak with years of neglect. I suppose it was sort of like having both a black and a white dog inside of you; black, being the sinful side and white being the Christian part. It just made sense that the one you fed the most would be the one that grew strongest. It wasn’t that I’d been “feeding” the black dog…no, not at all. I just hadn’t been feeding the white one either.
Pat had never had time for church and I wondered if the reason had anything to do with Jessa. It would have been very difficult to put a lot of credence in something so abstract if you suspected your stepmother of murder and that same stepmom “did church.” I could see how something like that could make a person skeptical of the whole idea of God and church, warp their point of view. The only dealings I’d been allowed to have with church—that I could remember, that is—was attending some youth activities with friends in Arizona. Pat hadn’t allowed anything more than that, even though I’d begged her to start going every Sunday. Looking back, I’d always felt perfectly at home at those outings in spite of Pat’s anti-God attitude. Though I understood it now, it had confused me at the time. I still had a lot of questions churning inside, but they would have to wait for another talk with Cass or Levi.
My mind went back to what BJ had said. Picnic? With whom was Emory planning to picnic? I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know that answer, so I let it pass. “How long have you been at Swan Song, BJ?”
