Death Knell In The Alps (A Samantha Jamison Mystery) (20 page)

Chapter 5

The Good, The Bad And Me

I stood in the hallway, my hands on my hips, and glanced around. Draped along some ceiling fixtures from room to room were hideous electrical wires with only bare bulbs attached. Mike had started the gasoline generator outside before he left, its humming was deafening and drone-like, while the bulbs created a harsh, intense, and painful glare.

“Only a few electrical appliances can run at a time,” he had carefully instructed.

Even though the chaos was intimidating, I got right to work, placing firewood in the kitchen and living room hearths and lighting both, grateful Mike had left a stack at each one. Hot tea was next on my list. I turned on the kitchen faucet and out shot a whoosh of air and a few measly drops of water, and then nothing.

Closing my eyes, I gripped the edge of the counter tightly. What in the world was I thinking? No electricity. No water pumping. “I can do this,” I whispered encouragingly to myself.

A sudden, sharp knock startled me. I cautiously walked over to the entrance and peered out the glass in the door at the encroaching darkness. A familiar face appeared. Relieved, I quickly unlocked the door.

“Jack! What a surprise!” I greeted, in a friendly, but guarded manner.

What did he want? I couldn’t stop myself from getting consumed by paranoia. Should I question everyone’s motives?

 
“Come on in,” I invited, attempting to put us both at ease.

He walked in, carrying bottled water. “I saw Mike in town and heard about your arrival and electrical problems. Since the well needs electricity to pump, I figured you’d need some water.”

“Oh Jack, I completely forgot about the well.”

How could I have suspected Jack? Of course, he would know! I relaxed and led him into the kitchen. “I was going to call you tomorrow.”

He set down the jugs of water. “This sure was unexpected. Will you be okay for the night? Barbara and I are concerned. Do you need anything else? I see you’ve got fires going. That’s good, because it’s going to be bitter tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ve got Sneakers to protect me. Don’t worry.” I was trying for laid-back and lighthearted, but didn’t feel it. I did manage to get a laugh out of him though.

“Very funny,” he replied, but then he turned serious. “Is your phone working, Sam?” He eyed the table where it sat.

“It sure is, and I definitely promise to call you if there is any kind of emergency.”

“Well …okay, but I don’t feel right, leaving you like this, with no one else around. You’re isolated out here. Who knows what could happen to a woman all alone?”

I tried not to dwell on that fact. I gave Jack a confident smile, hoping my fear wasn’t that obvious, firmly committed to pulling this off on my own. “Hey, please don’t worry, okay?”

“I’ll try not to, but you know me, I will anyway.” Jack put on his gloves and hat. “It’s getting very cold out there. Now, don’t forget, we’re only a short distance away. Just call us.”

“I will.” I placed my hand gratefully on his arm. “And thank you for stopping by with the water. It was nice of you to think of me. I really appreciate your concern.”

He smiled, opened the door, and headed straight for his jeep, yelling back over the rumbling generator, “Bye, Samantha.”

“Goodbye Jack, and thanks again for coming out.”

I slowly shut the door, slid the deadbolt in place, and then leaned heavily against it, physically placing a separation between that huge black void outside and me. What did I expect? There were houses nearby, but they were vacation homes and were presently unoccupied. I shivered involuntarily, brushing off those thoughts, and then went to check on the fires upstairs to turn on the kerosene heater.

Okay–time to unpack. Resolutely, I went into the living room to begin the task, but came up short. Too many boxes stood there staring back. The idea of doing this on my own suddenly felt overwhelming. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, I realized there was no way I could attempt it my first night. I had driven a long distance that day and my muscles and neck were stiff. I searched for a place to sit, shoved away a few boxes, and then dragged a rocker up close to the blazing fire.

I tossed in a few more logs and sat down, draping a blanket around my shoulders. Had I made an unwise decision? No one knew what I was really up to and I didn’t want help from anyone, at least not yet. I had to concentrate on why someone wanted Stephen out of the way.

What had Stephen done or been involved in that resulted in his murder? Who decided he was better off dead than alive?

One issue continued to bother me. What was Stephen talking about that last night we last spoke? His words made no sense. I had to make sure I went over that again. I might have overlooked something important.

It didn’t surprise me that sleep evaded me my first night. Roaming like a zombie, stiff and glassy-eyed, I tried to keep the fires going until early morning. When dawn broke, I was already out of bed and dressed. The upstairs reeked of kerosene; clothes, everything, even my hair. The fumes were nauseating. I cracked the windows open a little for some fresh air and got moving.

Downstairs was arctic cold. I rekindled burning embers by adding logs, then started unloading some boxes and throwing the packing paper into the fires too. The first few hours passed by quickly.

Around ten o’clock, Mike arrived with his crew.

He tried to read me. “How did it go last night?”

I continued unwrapping dishes, trying not to show my annoyance at how late it was. I knew Jack would have told me this was the way up here in the mountains. “Just fine.”

He looked at me for a second longer, and then replied, “Good, now let me tackle those problems and get them squared away.”

Around noon, once again, Jack stopped by with more water and a hot meal Barbara had prepared, saying he would call later to check on me. At one o’clock, the electricians arrived and Mike walked them down to the well. By three o’clock, Mike announced there was electricity, and the well was pumping, which meant my refrigerator was humming too. With that news, I left for the small grocery store in town. The ordinary chore of food shopping was suddenly appealing, and would hopefully bring some normalcy back into my life.

Once there, it didn’t take long to stock up on the basic food and cleaning supplies I needed to get my pantry started, but soon I grew restless to return back to the house and finish unpacking. Almost done, I was reaching for the last item on my list when the hair rose on the nape of my neck. I didn’t move a muscle, and then slowly eased around to take a look. No one. I could have sworn someone had been there. I walked to the end of the aisle and peered down the next one. I didn’t see anyone.

All of a sudden, I was shoved from behind. I turned to find three small boys laughing and racing past me, their arms full of snacks.

I sighed, brushing away my anxiety as nothing more than exhaustion and an over-active imagination. Not many people knew I was in town yet. With that thought in mind, I aimed for the register, checked out and started walking toward the exit, but then heard my name called out.

“Samantha! I can’t believe you came back!”

That voice. I cringed. It was the owner, Ben, who had blatantly flirted with me at every opportunity whenever I returned with Stephen while we were building our house. Stephen laughed him off when I complained about it. I detested Ben and barely managed a smile.

“Hello, Ben.” His rumpled appearance hadn’t changed at all. Stephen and Ben had been friends for a long time. I couldn’t understand why Stephen bothered.

“I heard about Stephen,” Ben said solemnly, as his eyes swept over me from their six foot two perch. “It was such a shock.”

You didn’t even call to pay your respects or offer condolences, I silently retorted, taking in his wrinkled clothing and slicked black hair.

“Yes,” I said.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“No! Nothing at all,” I replied, politely cutting him off. “I’m doing just fine thank you.”

His insincere smile didn’t con me for a second. His hand unexpectedly grazed my shoulder, and lightly slid down my arm, a gesture that left me unsettled and slightly sick. He
leaned in close. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to, or want some company,” he whispered softly.

I stepped back. “I appreciate the thought. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back.”

I was fully aware his eyes were trailing after me as I walked away. My throat constricted, and my skin still crawled from his touch. I needed fresh air and flew through the door.

Outside, loading groceries into my car, I felt as though someone was watching me again. Quickly, I turned, but saw no one. I finished, jumped in the car, locked the door, and checked the rearview mirror, trying to figure out what was making me so jumpy.

Calm down. Lighten up. It’s nothing, Sam.

I gripped the wheel and closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax. I had to stay centered and aware. I couldn’t afford any mistakes because this had to be believable. I needed to stay in character, behaving the way Stephen’s wife would behave. Only I wasn’t Stephen’s wife anymore, but his widow. I shoved my uneasiness aside and proceeded to drive in the direction of my new home, new life, and hopefully new answers to all those questions sucking me dry.

All that week, I found myself dodging and ducking around workers while I tried to unpack. By Friday, everything was finally completed, and at the end of the day, Mike’s crew cleared the site, loaded up, and left my driveway for the last time.

Mike and I leisurely walked out of the house, pleased with what had been pulled off in such a short time. He grabbed the door handle of his truck and climbed in, then rolled down his window and glanced up at my house.

“You know, Sam, you’ve got a real nice home if I do say so myself.”

I was pleased with the results, too, and smiled. “I do, don’t I? Thanks for everything.”

Then with a final wave goodbye, he was gone, too.

I retraced my steps back to the entrance, closing my jacket tightly to keep out the damp approach of evening. I thought about what a melancholy time of day sundown had become: yet another evening alone. I felt my chest decompress and my eyes fill, as I glanced out at the forest, and then resolutely closed the door behind me.

There were so many secrets out there lurking...

…My car sat idling in the cold November twilight, as my mind dismissed those initial encounters and shifted back to the present. I stared down at my house. Exactly what had I accomplished? I knew if I wanted the truth I had to have patience. Even so, every so often, I still had reservations about my decision to move to this house and pursue this crazy venture.

But then I would think of Stephen, shadowed by the bizarre circumstances of his death and me with all those unanswered questions dumped on my doorstep, and like a persistent, intrusive visitor, my anger returned, knocking loudly, and my resolve ultimately always answered.

I had a burning desire for the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I couldn’t just shy away from what I might find out about Stephen, or myself for that matter. I knew that it was going to hurt big time; and like Martha, I felt it in my bones. There was an unknown threat out there. I was convinced of it.

I just had to find it first, before it found me.

Chapter 6

Cough It Up

As I hung up the phone, my ears were still ringing. It was my agent, Sandra. I knew I would be hearing from her. Both Sandra and my editor were tired of waiting for the update I never sent. I had purposely not returned their numerous calls, hoping to buy some time, but they only bought that for so long.

“Friend or not,” Sandra said bluntly, “you should be working on your book. It’s time to get back to a regular writing schedule. Life moves on and readers have short memories because loyalty only goes as far as your next book. Focus on the here and now and get back to work. Besides, you have a contract for two more books, have you forgotten? Samantha, you don’t have a big one, but it is still a binding one. I like you personally, but don’t push the issue. I’ve got to deal with the publisher.”

Months ago, those words would have stung, but now I realized that Sandra was being realistic and making financial sense. We all had a stake in my book, plus I needed the money more than ever before. I had neglected to mention to them that my story had taken a new direction, but I was fairly confident they would be enthusiastic when they saw the finished manuscript. That is, if I unraveled the truth, wrote it all down, and finally sent it to them.

The pressure was on, and if my strategy was to work, I needed to refine my notes and keep on writing. I flipped open my computer and resumed typing my book and my life.