Pinching the bridge of her nose to hold back the tears, she placed the phone on the coffee table. Sitting here bawling about her problems was pointless. Maybe she had been fired, but she was still responsible for Samantha Moore at least until the weekend and she needed to get back to the cabin. She wouldn’t give Lawrence Moore another reason to accuse her of being derelict in her duties. She’d start her job search tomorrow. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to convince Sam that she should stay the night.
Anne stood in the doorway of Sam’s bedroom, watching her read a magazine. Finally the girl looked up and frowned.
“You’re back,” she stated flatly, returning her attention to the magazine. “I told you I wanted to be alone.”
“Tough,” Anne replied in a hard voice. “Your ankle needs to be kept elevated, so I’m here to wait on you . . .” She paused. “At least for the rest of the week. After that, you can argue with someone else.”
Sam placed the magazine on the bed and cocked her head. “You’re quitting?”
Placing her shoulder against the door frame, Anne crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I’ve been fired. Your father thinks I’ve been ‘inattentive,’ so I’m done Monday.”
Sam shook her head. “No, you’re not.”
“Oh yes, I am,” Anne exclaimed, pushing away from the door. “Your father was quite clear on that score. I’ll fix you a tray then put more ice on your ankle.”
Plucking at the bedspread, Sam tugged on her bottom lip. “My father changed his mind.”
Anne’s eyebrows shot up. “When?”
“He called after talking to you.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you tell him I fell?”
“I thought you’d already told him.”
Sam gave a small grunt. “Not likely. In case you haven’t noticed, my father has control issues. The less he knows the better.” Her mouth tightened in a grim line. “I’m trying to convince him that I can take care of myself, and telling him that I fell isn’t the way to do it. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that in mind.”
“Let’s go back to the part about me not being fired—” Anne stopped as a small, satisfied smile crept across Sam’s face.
“It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve won a battle with him,” Sam said in a wry voice. “It was lovely.” She shook her head again and the smile disappeared. “I convinced him that I wouldn’t work with anyone else.”
Stunned, Anne stared at her. “Why? It’s not like you’ve enjoyed working with me.”
Sam shrugged. “I guess I’d rather have the devil I know than the one I don’t.”
“Me being that devil?” Anne said curtly.
“Exactly.” Sam studied Anne carefully. “You may be bossy and pigheaded, but at least you’ve been straight with me. And you don’t take any bullshit.” A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “As evidenced by the fact that you came back even though I kicked you out.”
“Speaking of which—”
Sam held up a hand, silencing her. “I know. Not one bum leg, but now two. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was? Falling flat like that? Then having a stranger cart me around like I was a baby?” Her hand dropped. “I needed to be alone for a while. I’m not stupid . . . I knew you’d be back.”
Anne felt a subtle shift in power. She now owed her job to Sam. Did that mean she had to answer not only to Sam’s father, but to Sam, too? If so, it wouldn’t work. Based on Sam’s behavior the last couple of weeks, Anne couldn’t afford to let her have the upper hand. And that’s exactly what she’d have. She’d be able to remind her every time she didn’t want to do something that it was thanks to her that she still had a job. Anne couldn’t be effective under those conditions.
“Look, thank you for convincing your father not to fire me, but maybe it would be best if you worked with someone else.”
“Why? Afraid I’ll hold getting your job back over your head?”
Anne grimaced. “To be honest . . . yes.”
“I won’t,” Sam replied sincerely. “You know what you’re doing, but I need you to back off a little.” Her attention traveled to the window as she shifted nervously. “Before the attack, I ran my own life. Now I’m told when to get up, when to go to bed, what to eat, what not to eat. I’m sick of it.”
“You want to call a truce? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
Anne’s gaze roamed around the bedroom. “I won’t let you hibernate.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
She thought of the pile of bills lying on the kitchen and her eyes narrowed. “The first time you threaten to go to your father, I’m out of here.”
“Fair enough,” Sam replied.
With a glance over her shoulder, Anne moved away from the door. Could she trust the girl? Or would she play the prima donna? Time would tell, but every dollar she earned here would be one less dollar lost out of savings—that was enough at this point. Anne took a half step before Sam called out, stopping her.
“Wait a second—who is Greg Clemons?”
Anne noticed two faint red splotches appear on Sam’s cheeks. She must really have been embarrassed earlier if even the mention of Greg’s name made her blush.
“If you’re worried Greg will gossip about you, don’t,” she said with a shrug. “Greg’s a good guy, keeps mostly to himself, and doesn’t spread tales.” Anne’s thoughts flashed to Esther Dunlap and Fritz Thorpe, and she frowned. “Not like some others I could name around here.”
“He works for the animal shelter?”
“Yes.” Anne tugged on her bottom lip. How much should she tell Sam? Greg was a friend, and after mentally condemning Esther and Fritz for their loose lips, she couldn’t very well reveal his secrets. “He not only works at the shelter, but takes in the worst cases of abuse, rehabilitates them, then finds homes for them.”
Sam cocked her head. “When I knocked, I heard a saxophone.”
“Yeah, that was Greg. He loves jazz.”
“I’ve never cared for it,” Sam replied, her lip curling.
“Ah, something you have in common with Fritz Thorpe. He doesn’t like it either. He’s been trying to get Greg to play with him for years, but Greg won’t play what Fritz wants.” Anne gave a small chuckle. “I think he refuses just to irritate Fritz.”
“Mr. Thorpe is a musician?”
“Oh yeah,” she answered with a vigorous nod. “He’s a retired music professor.”
“He’s fairly young to be retired, isn’t he?”
She hesitated. Fritz might not be her favorite person, but she didn’t feel the need to relate the old stories of why he had taken early retirement.
Ignoring Sam’s question, she continued, “According to some, he’s even composed a few pieces.” She caught the look of surprise on Sam’s face. “You’re shocked?”
“Well . . . yeah. I wouldn’t have expected, ah, um . . .”
“Culture in the backwoods of Minnesota?”
Sam bobbed her head.
Anne turned on her heel. “You’ll find that there are a lot of unexpected things around here.”
A hand shaking her shoulder awoke Anne from a sound sleep. Rolling over on the couch, she opened her eyes to see Sam’s face looming over her in the pale moonlight. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up.
“What are you doing out of bed? Your ankle. You shouldn’t be putting any weigh—”
“Shh.” Sam silenced her while she leaned heavily against the arm of the couch. “She’s back.”
“Who?”
“The woman,” Sam answered in a voice tight with fear.
“What woman?”
“There’s a woman, dressed in a nightgown, standing at the end of the dock.”
“Impossible,” Anne said, throwing off the light blanket covering her. She swung her legs off the couch and, with quick strides, crossed the room to the patio door. Flinging the curtains open, she peered into the darkness. Nothing. She opened the door and stepped out onto the deck.
Across the lake, lights from Fritz’s cabin flickered, and she heard the light notes of a saxophone drifting on the breeze. Walking along the edge of the deck, she looked over the side. Again, nothing. Rolling her eyes, she went back inside.
Turning, she locked the door to the deck and flicked on a light. Sam sat on the couch, her face white and her eyes huge. Anne shook her head. “There’s no one out there.”
“Didn’t you hear the whispers?”
“No,” Anne answered slowly. “Did you?”
“Yes.” Sam lowered her head and stared at her lap. “Just like before. I heard whispers and smelled cigarette smoke.” She lifted her head. “You don’t smoke, do you?”
“No.” Anne watched her carefully. Sam was truly afraid. “This has happened before?”
“Yes. The first night I was here alone.” She drew a shuddering breath. “First the whispers, followed by the smell of cigarette smoke.” Her eyes darted to the now-closed drapes. “Then I saw a woman, in a lavender nightgown, standing at the end of the dock.”
“Did you see what she looked like?”
“Not her face, but she had long red hair.”
It could have been a nightmare, but Sam seemed so convinced that she had seen someone. Anne searched her mind for an explanation.
Long red hair, huh?
She wasn’t aware of any redheads living at the lake this summer. Next time she ran into Fritz Thorpe, she’d try to ask him about red-haired strangers without raising his suspicions.
Her lips tightened in a frown. Caleb had told her that the rumors about Sam’s nervousness had been flying. What if someone who had nothing better to do than to prey on others thought it would be funny to play a sick joke on her? Someone like Teddy Brighton.
I
stop playing and stand. Spanning my fingers wide, I admire their competence. So strong, so sure, I really do have beautiful hands. Curling and uncurling each digit, I watch the tendons expand and contract and am satisfied every muscle, every nerve is working as it should. I drop them to my side and stroll to the kitchen. Immediately my attention is caught by the window above the sink.
I’d forgotten to lower the blinds.
Frowning, I cross the room. My hand pauses on the cord as I move to lower them. Outside, I see the hulking shadows of the pine trees ringing my property. Once I roamed those woods and the hills behind them. No longer. They contain secrets, secrets dark as a cave. A small smile flits across my face at my cleverness. Dark as a cave, I like that. But then my breath quickens as I remember just how dark that is. A cold, damp dark that seeps into every pore as you lie huddled and alone, crying for your mother . . .
No.
I yank the cord and send the blinds crashing down. My breath slows. I’m an adult, and the darkness holds no power over me now. Stepping over to the liquor cabinet, I open it and take down a glass and a bottle of Scotch. Not my beloved Glenlivet, but under the circumstances it will have to do. I dislike the way my hand shakes as I pour three fingers. Knocking it back, I let the amber liquid chase away the cold memories.
Better now, I pour another before I go back to the living room. I search for my special tape, one that I made years ago when cassettes were all the rage. Finding it, I fumble in my haste and pop it into the tape deck. Soon the melody fills the room. Closing my eyes, I sway back and forth to the music and some of the Scotch sloshes onto my hand. Normally, wasting precious drops of the amber liquor would bother me, but not now. All I want is for the music to carry me away.
He handles that particular section of the piece with such mastery that it almost brings me to tears. In a wordless salute, I lift my glass to him then down it in one gulp.
I look at my hands again. I’m good, but he was better. Such flair, such styling. He could’ve been one of the greats if she hadn’t come along.
I try and turn my thoughts. I will not sully his work by thinking of her while his music dances around me. Angry now, I stop the tape.
She should’ve recognized his talent and left him alone. But no, she played with him like he was a shiny new toy. That is, until the shininess wore off. Then she cast him away, ruined and broken, and moved on to the next one.
My eyes are drawn back to the kitchen window. She deserved it, she really did. My finger taps at the empty glass. So what if it trapped me in a life I never wanted? Vengeance does have its price, and not only for its victim, but also for its avenger.
S
am rolled over on her back and stretched her arms high above her head. Carefully, she moved her right ankle side to side. Nope; nothing, not even a twinge. She smiled to herself. She’d been right—Anne and Greg Clemons had made a fuss over nothing. Her face sobered. She’d been lucky. The fall could’ve been serious and she’d need to be more cautious. Not let herself get swept up in her emotions so easily.
Turning on her side, she tucked her hands under her pillow. She’d been so humiliated by her outburst that all she could think about was getting away from Greg as quickly as possible. She’d always been in control of her feelings, but now they constantly simmered right below the surface, ready to burst forth at the smallest thing. Wonder what Dr. Weissinger would say about that? Wonder what he’d say about the mysterious woman haunting her dock at night?
Was there a woman? She burrowed deeper under the covers. Anne didn’t see her, but, she argued with herself, that didn’t mean the woman hadn’t been there. Did Anne believe her? Probably not, because no one ever believed her. It’s true that after the coma she’d had a hard time differentiating between her dreams and reality, but she thought she was better. Panic threatened to claim her. What if everyone did have reason to doubt her? What if she was again losing her grasp? No, she wouldn’t allow it.
Throwing off the covers, she sat up, but dizziness hit her and she fell back against the pillows. Her gaze fastened on the pills sitting on the nightstand. She hadn’t been able to slide on her meds last night. Anne had insisted that she take every single one, including the ones Jackson said would help her sleep. She gave a soft snort. Well, they weren’t working, were they? She’d actually slept better on the nights she’d been too tired to take them.
A sharp rap at the door broke through her thoughts. The door swung open and Anne’s head appeared in the doorway.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said, stepping into the room. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better,” Sam replied.