Chapter 40
A COUPLE OF DAYS HAVE GONE BY SINCE I TALKED TO NOAH. HE called to tell me that he was going to be out of town for a few days. I feel my anxiety rise with that knowledge. Having Noah nearby helped me to feel more secure with all that’s gone on.
Detective Sanchez called Alex into the police station to talk. Ruth is on pins and needles, and so am I. Ruth paces Spencer House’s front room, peering out the tall windows as if the answer is out there.
“Did you say anything to those detectives, Emma?”
I feel the heat rise to my face. “I don’t know anything, Ruth.
What could I possibly tell them? The detectives haven’t talked to me since we were all together.
” I don’t mention the short conversation I had with Detective Bellman the day they searched Noah’s house.
I just told him about the dirt in Dale’s yard anyway, nothing to do with Alex.
But I know that Noah did talk to them about Carol.
He gave the police copies of his files, and he insinuated to me that he’s on the trail of something.
Ruth turns on me, her dark lipstick slightly smeared, as if she’d applied it with a shaky hand.
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions about the past. Alex hasn’t been concerned.
He figures you have a right to know, but I’m wondering if you said anything that has”—she clears her throat—“inadvertently got the police interested.”
“Like I said, Ruth, I haven’t spoken to them.
” But will I? Do I need to go into town, stop at the police station, and request a meeting with Detective Sanchez?
But what if I’ve got it wrong? And will they be interested in the memories from such a long time ago from a possible three-year-old witness?
I wonder what Noah dug up and whether whatever he handed over to the police caused them to call Alex in.
“This is all Carol Lawson’s fault,” Ruth says. “That girl! She was always trouble. And now, thirty years later, she’s still causing trouble.”
“They’ll figure it out, Ruth. They’ll probably do another dive. She’s probably down there.”
Ruth stands still. “Unless, of course, they find her hiding out in some distant state under another name. That’s probably what happened.”
“Probably.” And I truly hope so.
“Well, I’ve got a cake in the oven.” Ruth looks at her watch. “I need to get back.”
Upstairs, I look around Mary’s room. Feel her presence. And appreciate all she’s done for me even though she had no idea of what was to come. That I’d be back here, in her room. That I would find the photo of my mother and that her doll would jog my memory.
I lift my suitcases onto her bed and start packing.
Dark descends. I plan to leave in the morning, despite what I told Alex. I don’t want to be here any longer. Downstairs, I rustle through the kitchen for something to make for dinner. The front door opens, and I walk out into the foyer. Alex.
He’s looking grim as he slides out of his gray London Fog, and I notice rain has dotted the shoulders as he puts his coat away in the closet.
“Emma,” he says simply, and I can’t quite pick up on the vibe in his voice. Fatigue maybe. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
He rubs his hand across his hair, as if to settle it from the rain. “I need a brandy. Care for a drink?” He rushes past me into the dining room. I follow reluctantly. I know he’s come from the police station, and I was hoping he’d go from there to Boston, so I wouldn’t have to face him.
He pours us each a glass of amber liquid. “Let’s sit in the front room in front of the fire.”
“Okay.”
In the low lamplight, he sets his glass on an end table and heaps wood and kindling into the wide firebox, lights it with a long wooden match, and shoves the wood around with a poker.
The room is deadly quiet except for the crackling of the flames, which light Alex’s face from below, making him look like some otherworldly creature.
I shiver and slink back into the sofa, the carved wood trim at the top hitting the back of my head.
Alex sits heavily in the armchair nearest the flames. He takes a long sip of his brandy before setting his glass back on the table. He rubs his forehead with a massive hand, the light from the flames glinting off his gold wedding band.
“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, Emma,” he says. Rain strikes the windows as if trying to get inside.
“I’m sorry,” is all I manage.
“Not your fault.” His gaze finds my eyes.
“The detectives are determined to find something on us. Whether Simon or now Carol.” He winces.
“For all their bonhomie, the people in this town have always harbored a resentment. We were too insular here at the lake. Too wealthy. Too pompous. In their eyes at least. The thought of bringing us down is a giddy one to the small-minded people here. And I’ve always done my best to be a good citizen.
I’ve donated a lot of money to every cause they’ve had.
New library, town hall. I helped fund the historic downtown restoration. Doesn’t matter.”
“What’s happened?” I ask barely above a whisper.
“I’m not sure. But they’re acting like they’ve got something.” His eyes find mine again. Their normal blue looks black in the dim room. “They’re determined to find traces of Carol here at Spencer House.”
“You already told them that she was here.”
“I did.”
The room falls silent except for the rain and the crackle of the flames in the fireplace. A log shifts and sends sparks into the air. Alex leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees.
“I’ve decided to leave in the morning,” I say. “I’m going up to Portland.” His gaze meets mine. His brow furrows. “Like you said, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. You don’t need me underfoot,” I stammer.
“No. I need you here. We’re family. We need each other.” He stands. I think he’s coming for me, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. But then he pivots toward the other room. “I need a refill. You?”
I glance at my nearly full glass. “No. I’m good.” The grandfather clock in the hall chimes. Eleven times. It’s getting late, but I feel glued to the sofa.
Alex returns, sipping his drink as he walks to the fireplace. He grabs the poker with his free hand and jabs at the logs, sending more sparks glittering up the chimney. The slight smell of woodsmoke hangs in the air. He turns toward me, poker still clutched in his hand.
“What do you remember, Emma, about the day you were here?”
I shift my gaze to the flames. “Just what I said. The house vaguely. The doll.”
Alex stands over me, his lips drawn into a taut line. He says nothing for a moment. Nods, places the poker back on its stand, and walks back to his chair.
“You’ve been talking to Noah,” he says.
“A little. We’ve gotten to be friendly.”
“He’s not family, remember. We like to think of all the original Cheshire Lake people as family, but the Coles have shown themselves to be unreliable in recent years. Out for themselves. Not to be trusted.”
I swallow. “I understand.” I yawn in spite of myself.
“Good. Why don’t you get some sleep? We can talk more in the morning.”
I turn off the light and try to get comfortable in Mary’s bed, but that seems impossible.
I hear the screaming woman, even awake, here in Mary’s room.
But she wasn’t here. She was downstairs, the screams bloodcurdling and echoing up the main staircase and down the hall.
I remember that now. I was in this room, clutching Mary’s doll.
I feel the dark closing in on me and a rustling like the beating of a bird’s wings.
Another memory trying to emerge from my childhood brain?
I pull the blanket up to my chin, then over my eyes as if it could shut out the memories.
I try to remember and also to forget in a twisted mind game, and I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep again.
I listen as the clock downstairs chimes. I’m going to leave in the morning. No matter what Alex says. I can’t stay here until this whole thing is worked out and then, if Alex is the man I hope he is, I’ll come back.