Copper Lake Confidential (20 page)

When no call or giggle came in response, Stephen, Brent and Anne headed for the door, following Macy in. Scooter sat at the back door, his attention on the yard it barred him from, and whined again, fur bristling.

“Clary! Let’s go, sweetie. We’re all hungry.”

“You two check upstairs,” Brent ordered. “Anne and I will look down here.”

Macy took the stairs faster than even Stephen’s long legs could manage. At the top she went right, to the master suite, and he turned left. The girl’s name echoed through the house, and something awful—primal fear, he thought—soured his gut. She’d been standing at the French doors, looking out after Anne. She’d given him and Brent the thumbs-up, then took off around the family room with Scooter, and now Scooter was standing at the door, staring into the backyard.

Not just standing there, he thought, recalling the dog’s stiff posture and his hair on end.
Alerted
there
.
Scooter saw or felt or sensed something wrong outside.

He was leaving Clary’s room with long strides just as a scream came from down the hall, a piercing cry, and commotion sounded in the corridor. Macy, face contorted in pain, raced from her own room and tore down the stairs, whimpering, “Oh, God, no, no!” Lungs constricting, he ran after her.

She skidded around the corner at the bottom of the stairs, banging her shoulder against the wall, losing one of her flip-flops. She didn’t notice but ran to the back of the house. Brent appeared from Mark’s office, face going stark at his sister’s panic, and Anne came running from the utility room. “Macy, what—”

It seemed to hit the rest of them at once: the swimming pool. Dear God.

They raced together out the door and toward the pool, Brent jumping a row of shrubs to reach it first. He stopped abruptly, breaths heaving, and looked from the pool to Macy. Her cry peaked, and she clapped both hands over her mouth to stop the keening.

The surface of the pool was smooth, serene as ever. Nothing more than a leaf disrupted it; nothing but the intricate tiles down the sides and across the bottom showed through the water.

They stood silent, one horrible moment turning into relief. Then, remembering that the child was still missing, Stephen turned to scan the yard. “Clary! Where are you, Li’l Bit?”

A sweet face popped up over the back of a wooden chair in front of the fountain, in the far corner of the yard. “Here I am. Are we ready to go eat yet?”

Brent trotted toward her. So did Anne. Stephen stayed where he was, near Macy, who stared at the quiet pool. Her expression was still horrified. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and a look of such anguish twisted her features. “I thought...” Her weak whisper trailed off. “I saw...”

“What, Macy?” When she showed absolutely no response, he stepped closer, cupped his hands to her cheeks, forced her to look at him. “What did you see?”

Her eyes were sad and haunted, haunting. “I saw Clary. My baby. In the pool. I saw her, Stephen.” Her hands gripped his wrists so tightly that her nails left impressions. “I didn’t imagine it, Stephen!” she said in an urgent whisper. “I
saw
her! I saw...
something.
”

He didn’t try to reassure her, to dissuade her. He just pulled her snugly against him, his arms wrapped around her as if simple proximity could protect her, make her feel safe, keep her safe. He held her and smoothed her hair and whispered, “It’s okay. She’s okay. She’s safe, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

His body absorbed her trembling with an ache. After a long moment, she raised her head, her face no more than an inch from his. “Stephen...am I crazy? Again?”

“No.” He put as much conviction into the syllable as he could. He’d seen the terror. She’d truly believed her daughter was in the pool. He was no expert at psychology, but even he knew that visual hallucinations weren’t typical of a diagnosis of depression and anxiety. She was stressed, no doubt about that. Misplacing things, sure. But seeing things that weren’t there?

Though she’d thought that the day she’d seen movement in the guesthouse.

Nails clicked as Scooter trotted to them then rubbed against Stephen’s leg with a whine. Stephen lowered one hand to rub his head, quieted him with a low word, wondering. Had Scooter been at the back door simply because Clary went out and didn’t take him with her? That would be enough to make him pout, maybe enough to make him whine. But to make him bristle? Go on alert?

Had he sensed danger for Clary, alone in the yard with the pool when she should have been with her people? Had he seen someone else in the yard? Had
he
seen something in the pool?

“Mama, are we gonna go eat?” Clary asked from her position on Brent’s shoulders as he and Anne approached.

The shudder that rocketed through Macy convinced Stephen that all she wanted was to curl up somewhere safe with her daughter. She couldn’t miss the innocence on Clary’s face or the concern on Brent’s and Anne’s. Serious concern, serious worry about her mental status. But she drew a deep breath and, with an impressive sense of normalcy, she said, “Sure, baby. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yay!” Clary clapped her hands over Brent’s head. “Let’s go!”

Chapter 12

M
acy was so mortified with herself that she couldn’t bring herself to care—yet—if everyone else thought she was crazy. She knew what she had seen: a small body, dressed in purple and pink, floating facedown in the pool. Her daughter, wearing the same colors, nowhere in the house. The terror that had practically brought her to her knees. The incredible sensation of having her heart ripped from her chest. The inability to move fast enough, to pray hard enough, to reach her soon enough.

That empty pool was the best thing she’d ever seen—and among the most frightening. The looks on Brent’s and Anne’s faces had solidified the ice inside her. They thought she was losing her mind.

She
thought she was losing her mind.

But Stephen had answered her with such certainty.
No.
He had faith in her.

Or at least did an excellent job of pretending. Either way, it meant a lot to her.

They locked up the house again, leaving Scooter wandering. “He’ll be on your bed by the time we back out of the driveway,” Stephen said, apparently trying to defuse the tension with a totally normal comment. “Want me to go up and close the door?”

“He’s welcome on the bed or anywhere else.”

“Dr. Stephen, Mama said I could have a dog or a baby sister or a baby brother,” Clary said excitedly. “Can you help get me one?”

Macy’s cheeks warmed, though her embarrassment faded when Brent and Anne both laughed. When she dared a look at Stephen, he was grinning. Primly she said, “You asked for a sister or a brother,
then
decided you’d rather have a puppy. Remember?”

Her daughter tilted her head to one side, not quite understanding why Macy was pointing out the difference. “Yeah. So can Dr. Stephen help me get one? Like Scooter, only littler?”

“I can do that, Li’l Bit. As soon as your mom says it’s okay.”

“Yay! If it’s a boy, I’m gonna name him Roscoe and if it’s a girl, she’s gonna be Bertha.”

Roscoe? Bertha?
Stephen mouthed to Macy, and she shrugged. Who knew where she’d heard the names?

They split up, Macy, Stephen and Clary in her van, Brent and Anne in their truck. Stephen drove, since her hands were still unsteady. She spent most of the trip clenching them tightly in her lap, remembering. Wondering.

“Mace.”

She glanced his way at the sound of his quiet voice, feeling a faint old comfort in the name. Her friends used to call her Mace, but Mark hadn’t liked it. Said it sounded like something sprinkled on a holiday drink.

She’d given up the nickname for him.

“Why would anyone want you to think you’re seeing things?”

Warmth flowed through her and melted the last bit of icy terror inside her. He did have faith in her—more than she had in herself. “I don’t know.”

“Who benefits from not having you around?”

“Nobody.” Her fingers twisted painfully together. “Why do you believe me?”

He stopped at a red light and met her gaze. She could get lost in those hazel eyes of his. “You couldn’t have faked that scream, that emotion. And Scooter. Something out there had his attention.”

She smiled weakly. His faith in her was strong, but his faith in his dog was absolute.

“What happens to Clary if you’re in the hospital again?”

“Brent would have custody, but she’d probably stay with Mom and Dad, just like before.”

“Who controls the money?”

“Brent. Just like before.”

“And if you—” Stephen swallowed audibly. “If you die?”

God couldn’t let that happen to Clary, could he? Losing both parents before she was in preschool? Her own swallow was pretty loud. “Brent would have custody of Clary and control of the estate. But he would never...”

“No,” he agreed. “He would never.”

Brent loved her. Adored her. Her entire family did. They were closer than any other family she knew. Her time in the hospital had been as hard on them as her. Besides, if Brent had wanted control of her money, he’d had it for months.

As far as she knew, she didn’t have any enemies. Well, there was Louise Wetherby, who was so accustomed to getting what she wanted. Could she want Fair Winds enough to terrorize Macy to get it?

And Lorna Howard. Mark’s mother had been deeply disappointed in her for believing the authorities’ tales about him. Could she have decided she didn’t want her only grandchild or her son’s fortune under the control of a woman who didn’t honor his memory? Who’d never protested his innocence?

Macy couldn’t believe either of them would do such a thing. She was sure they were capable, but not even Louise or Lorna would stoop to such levels.

She couldn’t believe
anyone
in her life would do such a thing.

“Maybe it’s Mark’s ghost,” she said with a sound somewhere between laughter and choking. “Maybe I’m being haunted for not standing up for him.”

Stephen gave her a look.

“Fair Winds is haunted. Everyone who’s spent time there knows it. Maybe our house is haunted, too. Maybe Mark’s angry with me, so his ghost is punishing me.”

As they turned into Tia Maria’s parking lot, Clary piped up from the backseat. “Ghosts are just on TV and in books. They’re not real. Grandma said so.”

Macy took a deep breath to get a grip on her emotions. “And Grandma’s always right, isn’t she, sweetie?”

Lunch was a subdued affair. Brent and Anne both ordered margaritas, an attitude of relief as they drank them, and Macy ate too much queso and guacamole. Only Stephen and Clary acted their usual selves, teasing, talking, telling silly jokes. He was very good with her daughter. Mark had loved Clary, but he hadn’t been much of a hands-on father. That might have changed for the better as she grew older, but Macy suspected it wouldn’t have.

Besides, what did love mean when it came from a serial killer? If he didn’t value other people’s lives, could he have truly loved anyone but himself?

Rubbing her temples, she wished she’d ordered a margarita, too. Maybe a pitcher.

After lunch, they delivered the boxes to the library, then Brent and Anne stopped to pick up more cartons while she and Stephen and Clary drove home. He and Clary went searching for Scooter, and Macy walked through the house and out onto the patio.

The pool still looked calm, undisturbed. Water dotted the flagstone around it from the sprinklers that had come on while they were gone. Had it been wet the last time she’d stood here? She couldn’t remember. She hadn’t thought to check, hadn’t been able to focus on anything except that clear expanse of water where her daughter wasn’t floating. The rescue hook was in its usual place. Everything was identical to her gruesome vision, except, dear God, for the body.

“What did you see?”

Startled, she stiffened, and it took a moment to relax even after Brent had slid his arm around her shoulders. “I would swear on my life it was Clary, floating facedown, not moving.”

“Thank God it wasn’t.”

“But it looked like her. Brown hair, pink and purple clothes.” The image was clear in her mind. It would never completely fade.

“I know this is hard for you.”

She stiffened again as she tilted her head to study him. His expression was so serious, so grim—a look she’d seen practically every day she was in the hospital. He’d driven the two hours from Charleston so often he’d joked he could do it in his sleep; he’d sat with her, held her, told her every little thing Clary had done or said. He’d been her anchor.

And now he thought she was hallucinating.

“I’m taking my medication, Brent. I’m keeping busy. I’m not losing control.” She would have held out one hand to show him she was steady as a rock, but she knew it would betray her. As her mind had? “I’m not imagining things.”

Except for the intruder in the guesthouse. The contract magically moving itself from the living room to the office. The cologne bottle doing the same upstairs. Now the body in the pool.

“The important thing is Clary’s all right. We’ll be done here soon. You can leave town in a few more days, and you can put all this behind you.”

Frustration welled inside her. If she was breaking down again, leaving wouldn’t cure it. But she wasn’t breaking down. She
knew
what she’d seen. The terror couldn’t have been any more real, the image couldn’t have been any more real.... Except it wasn’t real at all.

If she couldn’t believe what she’d seen, could she be sure of anything else? Could she be sure she didn’t have any enemies who would try to drive her mad? Could she truly trust her family? Could she know for a fact that Mark’s ghost wasn’t haunting her? Could she trust Stephen?

“Unless,” Brent went on, “you’ve changed your mind about leaving.” He nodded toward the house, and through the glass doors she saw Stephen swinging Clary in a circle in the empty dining space. They were both laughing and Scooter, chasing after her sneakered feet, barked in accompaniment.

Something like peace settled over her. She had questions about a lot of things, but she did trust Stephen. It was something innate, something rooted so deeply inside her that it hadn’t been a conscious choice. It just
was.

“You know I wasn’t thrilled when you brought Mark home to meet us.”

“I remember.” He’d thought Mark was a rich kid with an overwhelming sense of entitlement. Mark had thought her family and their tidy little house were quaint and had wondered why someone with Brent’s potential didn’t do something besides lawn care. He’d made money at it, sure, but he could have made money doing something more, well, prestigious. Not performing a service that people didn’t want to do for themselves.

“I wouldn’t mind facing this one at family get-togethers. He’s a good guy.”

“I know.” All other uncertainties aside, that was one thing she did know. “I was thinking yesterday that as soon as I settle, I could start donating money to some charities, and the first ones that came to mind were here in Copper Lake. You know, like I should start close to home and Copper Lake
is
home. And other than Mark’s family, I like the town. It’s a good place.”

“And the cute little nerd vet makes it an even better place, huh?”

She elbowed him. “You’ve been talking to Anne.”

“Of course. We talk about everything.” Still embracing her with one arm, Brent led her away from the pool and across the lawn. “So you might stay here.”

Stephen hadn’t asked her to, but he’d hinted that he would like it. Besides, she couldn’t choose a place to live based on a short-term relationship that could, despite her hopes, remain short-term. But she’d liked Copper Lake before she’d met him. She had friends here, people who didn’t gossip about her, who knew what Mark had done had nothing to do with her.

“Apparently, I’m thinking about it.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem for you?”

“Not the town. Just the house. Fair Winds. A few people I can avoid.”

“You wouldn’t mind going from one of the wealthiest men in town to a vet who, I’m guessing, doesn’t make a lot of money and doesn’t care?”

She gave him a reproving look. “You know I don’t care about money.” It was easy to say when she had it, but she would give up every dollar to erase the past eighteen months of suffering and loss.

“I know.” He wrapped his arm around her neck, pulled her close for a hug, then led her toward the house. “But you do care about
him,
don’t you?”

* * *

Stephen was reluctant to go home that night. Brent and Anne had said good-night and retired to the guesthouse over an hour ago, and their lights had gone out soon after. After begging for her fifth
one last story,
Clary had fallen asleep in her mother’s arms and snored lightly, while Scooter was doing the same on one of the chairs. Stephen and Macy were sharing the teak love seat on the patio. It was the only place left on the property, she’d joked, that would seat anyone comfortably.

She tried to hide a yawn, not easy when her arms were full of daughter. He took it as his cue to reluctantly say, “I should go and let you get to bed.”

For just an instant in the dim light, panic crept across her face. “Sleep’s overrated, you know?”

“I could—” He stopped himself from offering to spend the night. The old beds in the guest rooms were shorter than him by a head, and there wasn’t even a decent couch left in the house to curl up on. He wasn’t wild about bunking down on the floor because while sleep might be overrated to her, he needed it to function. But he’d do it if she asked.

She was looking at him curiously, so he changed his statement to a tentative offer. “You and Clary could go home with me.” His house wasn’t much more accommodating, though he did have a sofa Scooter would happily share with Clary and a bed
he
would happily share with Macy.

Not that they’d ever talked about sharing a bed, or done anything beyond a few amazing kisses. He wouldn’t turn down more, of course. He wanted her. He missed her when he was away. He worried about her. He fantasized about her. He was pretty damn sure he’d fallen in love with her.

But he wouldn’t pressure her.

He swallowed over the enormous lump in his throat. “I could, uh, sleep on the couch and you two could, uh, have the bed.”

Her head was still tilted, her gaze still curious. Heat flooded his face and pumped into his body with his blood.

After a moment, she sighed. “You don’t know how tempting that is.”

Which even he understood translated into
Thanks but no, thanks.

“This has been a tough day, and I...”

Wanted to retreat with her baby and forget any of it had happened. He understood that, too.

He stood and helped her up, and for a moment, they stayed there, the three of them in a silent embrace. He pressed a kiss to her temple, dropped another on Clary’s head, then stepped back so Macy could lead the way inside.

Their footsteps echoed through the house. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the place seemed even colder, less welcoming. It was the missing furniture and rugs, he told himself, all the softness removed, but that wasn’t entirely true. It was also the threat. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t even say at the moment that it wasn’t Mark’s ghost, as she’d suggested, but he didn’t like it. He would be happy the day he’d seen the last of it. Even happier the day Macy and Clary saw the last of it.