The Edge of the Shadows (22 page)

Isis waved her off. “Did we have sex? Hayley, it was no big deal. Get rid of the whole virginity package you've got going on and you'll see for yourself.”

FORTY-ONE

“
I can see forgetting some kinds of stuff,” Becca said, “like where you put your car keys or maybe why you walked into a room. Even a message you're s'posed to give to your mom. But this wasn't like that, Seth. This was forgetting even
taking
the message. It's like he came across a jumbled-up piece of paper and he read it and he can't remember anything about it.”

Seth frowned. He was standing in the parking lot used by people who walked onto the ferry when they went over to Port Townsend and he'd been watching that same ferry steadily approaching Whidbey when his cell phone had rung with Becca calling. He considered what she was telling him. “Grand's just getting old,” he settled on saying. “I don't get why you're so freaked about it.”

“I'm freaked because the message could be important, and you
know
why.”

Seth did know that. He said, “Your mom?”

“What if she didn't go all the way to Nelson? Where is this place La Conner? I mean, they said Skagit Valley but where's that?”

“Up north, just off island,” he told her. “But, Beck, why'd your mom be on a tulip farm? What's the place called again?”

“Broad Valley Growers. And I don't know, maybe she didn't need to go all the way to Nelson. Maybe she got . . . like . . . a flat tire? Maybe . . . what about amnesia?”

Seth said, “Beck . . .”

“I know it's dumb but don't you see that—”

What he saw was Prynne. The ferry was docking and she was standing with the other walk-on passengers at the very front of it just behind the chain that held the cars back. He waved, but of course she didn't see him since she'd not ever been to Whidbey Island and she didn't know where to look. He saw that she didn't have her eye patch on and that she didn't look exactly pretty but really, truly interesting with her tangled hair and the long skirt she was wearing. She had on her cowboy boots and a faded denim jacket and a slew of chains that winked in the bright sunlight. It came to him that she was just like him, out of step with most other people, and he liked that about her.

“Seth! Seth!”

He realized that Becca had been going on and he stirred himself to say, “Lemme call this place, Beck. I'll feel them out and see if I can find out something. If I can't get an idea what's going on, we can go up to La Conner. We can check the place out and if your mom's there—”

“No! It could be a trick. Ever since those posters went up everywhere, I've had a feeling like something's going to happen. What if someone's put together who Laurel Armstrong is and who I am? That picture of me in the paper . . . the old one when I was in, like, fifth grade . . . ?”

“It barely looked like you.”

“Aidan saw me looking at that picture. So what if he called up with that message? He knows I'm looking into him, too.”

Seth saw that the ferry had docked and the passengers were disembarking. He began to stride in the direction they would have to come. He said, “'F that's the case, then maybe he's just trying to freak you out.” Seth waved to Prynne and this time she saw him. She had her fiddle case dangling from one hand and she lifted it in a form of hello. He said into the phone, “Look. I gotta go, Beck. But we c'n check out this place if you want to. Try not to worry in the meantime. You got to remember, it could've been a message for Grand or even for Parker and Grand just can't remember.”

He ended the call then, and there was Prynne, standing in front of him and looking so . . . so . . . so just like Prynne that he wanted to hug her. He was, he realized, exceptionally glad to see her.

• • •

THE GLASS EYE
looked totally real. Seth hadn't been prepared for that. He said, dumbly, “Hey that thing looks like . . . like the real thing,” and then felt like a fool.

Prynne laughed. “What'd you expect? A doll's eye or something? You want me to pop it out for you?”

He held up his hands in a
whoa
gesture. “No way! You look nice.”

“Didn't like the eye patch, huh?” she said companionably as they started to walk toward his VW.

“I didn't mean it that way. The eye patch is cool. I'm, like, more or less into eye patches. Who wouldn't be? Especially when you find out they're real. Know what I mean?”

She stopped walking and observed him. “Are you nervous?” she asked directly. “'Cause it seems to me that I should be the nervous one if I'm playing for you guys.”

Seth removed his fedora, fiddled around with it, put it back on his head. He said, “Well, yeah. Guess I am. I dunno. It feels like a first date or something. I don't know why. I'm feeling so . . . like pins and needles are sticking in my feet.”

“Oh. It's that guy/girl thing. We got to get the first kiss out of the way. I don't want you to think I'm after you or anything because I'm not. But it's just that sometimes there's this guy/girl tension and I've found that just bringing it out in the open and having a decent kiss more or less defuses it.”

“Wow. You're pretty direct.”

“Yep. No point in being anything else. You up for it?”

“I'm game, yeah.” He kissed her softly.

She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. Very nice and all that, but it's got to last longer and it's got to be serious, if you know what I mean.”

He did. He also liked kissing her.

She said then, “Great. That's out of the way. What a relief. Now. Where do I meet the rest of Triple Threat?”

“Why? D'you have to kiss them, too?”

She laughed. Then she locked her arm with his. “Maybe,” she told him. “But I sort of don't think so.”

FORTY-TWO

D
espite Seth's words, what Becca felt was the approach of something. It was like being on a collision course and what she was going to collide with was Aidan Martin. The boy knew very well that she was gathering information about him. But he was a kid who seemed to understand that the best defense was an aggressive offense, and one thing was certain: He didn't scare.

Becca could imagine him doing to her what she was doing to him: following a few trails. How tough would it actually be, she wondered, for him to follow the trail of one Rebecca Dolores King from San Luis Obispo, California? If he did that, it was only a few short steps to learn that the real Becca King was dead of leukemia in her fourteenth year, and from that he could conclude without much trouble that Rebecca Dolores King's identity was now the property of an altogether different person. Sure, he'd have to do a little digging around, but was there anything about life these days that couldn't be discovered by someone who was even moderately in the know about the Internet?

So on the one hand, the whole deal about Broad Valley Growers in Skagit County could be a way for Aidan to see just how much he could make Becca King run around like a chicken without its head. But on the other hand, it could also be a real piece of information that she needed, not because of Aidan and who he was and what he'd done in his life but because of her own life and how it had developed from the moment she'd told her mom what she'd learned from Jeff Corrie's whispers.

The truth was that Broad Valley Growers might have to do with Jeff Corrie just as easily as it might have to do with her mom. Or it might have to do with not a single thing except Aidan Martin's messing with her mind. But in any case, she needed to find out if there was
anything
dangerous associated with that place: like Jeff Corrie hiding out there and using it as bait to lure her to him. Still, calling Broad Valley Growers again and saying, “Hey, is a guy called Jeff Corrie staying with you?” was not an option. But finding out exactly where Jeff Corrie was at the moment seemed a reasonable one.

Becca went into Langley to do her research although she was determined not to use either the public library or South Whidbey Commons since Aidan Martin had already seen her in both places. But he had not yet tracked her to the Hub.

Derric drove her to town. He'd approached her at school. He'd said, “Damn. I'm sorry, Becca,” and she knew he meant that he felt bad about hanging up on her when they'd been talking about Rejoice, his parents, and his psychologist. “The whole thing with you talking to Mr. Wagner at my church . . . ?” he said. “It put me over the edge.” He'd run his hand over his smooth dark head as if this motion would settle his mind and soothe out of it the whispers of
because if what happened when that place closed down is bad 
. . .
know it is, know it is and all I ever had to say about her was
 . . .
I know that too
 . . . He went on to say, “You know, I just wish . . .” and even that he could not complete.

She'd locked her hand with his and said, “I know.” For all he'd ever had to do was to tell someone that the very small girl among the children who'd been taken out of the alley in Kampala was his little sister, and that would have made all the difference.

In town, they parted at the Hub. This was somewhat like South Whidbey Commons, only it was a gathering spot not for teenagers but rather for middle school kids. It sat on one of Langley's cross streets, on the lower floor of a white-steepled Methodist church. Inside the Hub, there were games for the kids to play, a place for homework, and a few computers to share. Time was limited on these computers, but a helpful older lady in an electric lime green track suit told Becca that she could use one of them for a few minutes, but only if she waited her turn.

This involved hanging around for an hour, and when it was finally her turn, she did a Google search on Jeff Corrie. As usual, there were a slew of old entries since Corrie had been “a person of interest” for quite some time. Becca quickly saw, though, that since she'd last checked on what was happening with him, something had occurred to put Jeff back into the headlines of the San Diego paper. A story about
Corrie's Claims Prove True
made her heart leap up to her eyeballs.

As she clicked on the story, what Becca thought was that her mom had returned to San Diego. Maybe she'd decided that the better route was a face-to-face confrontation with him.

Her head was filled with this idea when the story in the paper popped up in front of her. And then her world fell off its axis. For the story in question was about Jeff Corrie's partner, Connor West. And Connor West was one hundred percent alive.

Becca could barely take in what was in front of her on the screen. She made out the words but not the sense of them and certainly not what they implied.

Connor West had been found on a boat. Connor West had been found in Acapulco. Connor West was on his way—escorted by the San Diego police with the full permission of the Mexican authorities—back to California.

Becca stared at the story. There had to be some kind of mistake. It was
not
Connor West. It was only someone who looked like Connor West. Or maybe it was someone who'd taken over Connor West's identity much as she'd taken Rebecca King's. When they got him up to San Diego, they'd do a DNA test or they'd use his fingerprints or they'd just compare his picture to a picture of the real Connor West and then . . . But that was stupid. Of
course
it was Connor. He didn't have an identical twin conveniently hidden away for a moment like this. How dumb to think so! How idiotic! How . . .

Becca found she could barely breathe. She felt as if the room were swimming around her. She heard shouting but it was all in her head and what the shouting pounded inside her skull was
you were wrong you were wrong you were wrong you were WRONG
.

Yet she'd heard Jeff's whisper, as clear as anything, that day in the kitchen in San Diego.
Connor West
and
dead
and . . . Hadn't that been it? Yes, it had. She knew it had. Plus those telling words from Jeff's whispers:
she knows
. He'd locked his eyes on hers the moment he'd had that thought. That thought had followed those about Connor West and death and what
had
those words been? Not the memory of them but the words themselves, every single one of them. She strove to remember but all she could come up with was
dead
and then Connor West had disappeared, gone without a single trace, and how did that happen without a person being murdered and his body disposed of, and her mom had believed her, for there was no reason for Connor to flee. So they'd made a run for it because Jeff was dangerous. He'd used his wife's daughter to help him embezzle money, he'd cheated old people out of their life savings, he was being investigated, he was a liar, he was a con man, he was a killer.

But now that image of Jeff Corrie was shattered right before Becca's eyes. And there was nothing she could do about a single thing that had come about from what she'd assumed when she'd heard Jeff's thoughts. Especially was there nothing she could do to get word to her mom.

FORTY-THREE

B
ecca burst out of the Hub. She fled across the street and through a parking lot that ran along the back of Second Street. It ended in a slope of lawn where seven of the town's multitude of rabbits were munching their way toward winter. At the top of this slope Cascade Street offered its regular view of the water far below and of the distant mountain range that gave the street its name. But Becca was only dimly aware of any of this because she was desperate to find someone, to unburden herself, to understand, to plan, to . . .
anything
.

She pounded in the direction of the Cliff Motel. It wasn't far, just a few blocks to Sixth and Camano and Derric would be there. She could tell him and ask him and he would know what she could do. Only . . . he didn't know a single thing about the whispers, about Jeff Corrie, about her mom, about anything at all. Debbie Grieder was there, her supposed “Aunt Debbie,” but even Debbie didn't know the truth. Seth knew part of it, but he was nowhere nearby. And there was no one else. There was
no one
and what was she doing here on this island by herself without her mom and with her grandma dead and not there to offer the kind of wisdom that had always got her through the bad moments in her life because her grandma, too, had heard people's whispers only she had learned to control them like a radio off and on and on and off and if Becca herself had only been able to do that she would have—

Becca forced herself to stop. She had to slow down her tumbling thoughts. She had to consider her options. She herself had been checking the Internet, right? So what would have prevented her mom from doing the exact same thing from Canada? How else would she know when it was safe to return? They'd thought that safety would be indicated by Jeff Corrie's being put on trial and thrown into jail. But wasn't the current situation the very definition of safety, too? Of course it was. And maybe her mom—

“Becca! Hey, Becca?”

Becca swung around. Hayley Cartwright was in her family's farm truck. She'd pulled to the curb. She had her little sister with her and she was leaning out the window. “You look deranged,” she said with a smile. “D'you need a ride?”

Seeing Hayley, Becca came up with the answer.

“C'n you take me to Diana Kinsale's house?”

• • •

BECCA COULDN'T BEAR
the thought of hearing anyone's whispers. Once she was in the truck, she fished around for the AUD box, for Hayley and Brooke were filling the air with thoughts. One of them was thinking about
what's the point 'cause she won't do anything
and
there's never any money
and
who cares
if I die
, which was pretty chilling. The other was thinking
there's still that cigarette
and
I can't just can't
and
if I ask him again
and
who do I trust.
While at one time, Becca would have strained to put this all together and in some kind of context, she couldn't trust herself to do that now. So she shoved the ear bud firmly in place to block out the noise even as
tell the police but can I really do that
soared into the air like the crack of a limb falling from a tree in Ralph Darrow's forest.

It wasn't a terribly long drive to Diana's, just a ride along the undulating route of Sandy Point Road. Where it ended in a sharp curve that headed in the direction of the island highway some miles away, Hayley made the zigzag onto Clyde Street.

Diana's dogs were in their run at the back of her house, and they'd begun barking when Hayley pulled into the driveway. Oscar wasn't among them, for he'd be in the house with Diana, but rather than go up to the door directly, Becca went to the dogs and petted each of their heads. She wished she had something to give them, but she'd come empty-handed. She murmured to them and they quieted down, milling around at the fence and nuzzling her hands.

At the front door, Becca rang the bell. No one came to answer.

What Becca thought at first was that Diana wasn't at home, despite the presence of her truck. But through the panel of glass at the side of her door, she could see Diana's shoulder purse dangling from its regular hook and beneath a bench below that hook, Diana's outdoor shoes were arranged. Her indoor slippers were not in place, so she had to be in the house.

As Becca was thinking this, Oscar came padding to the door from the direction of the sun room. She could see the poodle through the glass, and he saw her as well. He looked directly at her with his knowing eyes. She knew he was trying to tell her something and she knew it couldn't be good.

Becca felt a stirring of alarm. She tried the door. It was unlocked. Totally Whidbey Island, she thought. She went inside and Oscar nudged her in a silent greeting so unlike his pals outside. He led the way to the sun room and there Diana lay on a chaise with a comforter drawn up to her chin, her skin looking yellow, and deep circles beneath her eyes.

For a terrible moment, Becca thought she was dead. She cried out. Diana opened her eyes. She didn't seem the least bit startled to find that Becca was inside her house. Instead she said, “Becca. Hello. You've caught me napping,” and she sat up, winced, and rubbed her lower back. “Too much yard work. It's the autumn cleanup. I always tell myself to go at it slowly. Things don't need to be done all at once. But then I get going and can't seem to stop. It's silly at my age.” She shot Becca a smile.

Becca returned it hesitantly, which caused Diana to say, “Something's happened. Sit next to me. Here. You're shivering.”

Becca sat next to her, and Diana put her arm around Becca's shoulders. Becca felt at once the sensation of calming and lifting. She allowed herself just to
feel
for a moment, as her gaze took in the rest of the sun room. Diana's plants were healthy and thriving in their pots, but her loom bore a patina of dust which spoke of the many weeks that Diana had not done any weaving. That dust seemed to match her yellowed skin, the deep circles beneath her eyes, and the air of exhaustion that emanated from her. Not for the first time, Becca wished that Diana would allow her complete access to her whispers.

“Something
has
happened,” Diana said quietly.

For a moment Becca thought that Diana had read
her
thoughts and was going to confess something about herself. But when she went on, Becca saw that Diana's words were another version of Hayley Cartwright's saying “You look deranged.” So now was the time to tell the truth, if she could bear to do so.

She said, “I made us leave San Diego, Mrs. Kinsale. I heard his whispers . . . his thoughts, see. I was in the kitchen with him and my mom, and he thought I was using the ear bud. He'd been in my bedroom and I knew he'd been reading my journal so I figured if he was going to do that to me, then I was going to get inside his head. But when I heard what he was thinking . . .” Becca felt the tears rising and the last thing she wanted was to start crying now. She plunged on as fast as she could. “I helped him in his business because my mom told him about how I could more or less hear what people were thinking only you're the only person I never could hear. I still can't hear you except when you want me to, and you know that already, don't you? So I would bring sandwiches and cake and coffee to his office and then I would tell him what the people were thinking, as good as I could. He told me it was to help him guide their investments and I believed him. Only what it really was was that he was skimming money off the top of whatever they made. Him and Connor West his partner. I didn't know that and neither did my mom, only what if he wasn't skimming at all? What I mean is what if
Connor
was doing all the skimming because it was Connor who disappeared. And Jeff's whispers were saying that Connor was dead but how would he ever have known that if
he
hadn't killed him and got rid of his body and if he did that to his friend, what did that mean he was going to do to me and my mom? Because he knew, see, that all I would have to do was not wear the ear bud and I'd figure it all out, which I sort of did anyway. But I couldn't say anything to the police because why would they believe me and what was I s'posed to say anyway? ‘I read his whispers, which are just like thoughts only less direct and I have to work out what they mean'? Like, the police were going to believe that? So I told my mom and she knew we had to leave till it was safe and Connor's body was found and Jeff was arrested. But she knew he'd try to follow us, which is why she wanted me to hide out here with her friend Carol Quinn. Only Carol Quinn was dead and my mom was gone and I never could reach her on the cell phone and then the sheriff found the cell phone anyway—”

“Shh,” Diana said. “I understand it all now.”

Until Diana spoke, Becca was unaware that tears were streaming down her own cheeks and onto her old fleece jacket. She wiped her face on its sleeve but she couldn't stop talking because there was more, and what
more
comprised was the very worst, which she had not yet got to.

She said, “I finally remembered part of what he was thinking when I was coming here. ‘Dead isn't always dead these days.' That's what it was but I couldn't remember at first when I saw that Connor West . . .” She didn't think she could say it but she forced herself to go on. “Mrs. Kinsale, he was never dead at all. See, I thought what Jeff meant was that he could make it look like Connor was still alive so that no one could accuse him of getting rid of Connor. I thought Jeff wanted all the money for himself and soon as the police gave up looking for Connor's body, Jeff would be home free. See if he could make it look like Connor was the person embezzling money and the money was all gone and Connor was gone too and if he was willing to do all that to his best friend, what would he do to us if he found out that I knew it all? So we ran, and now . . . Oh God, Mrs. Kinsale, he's alive just like Jeff Corrie said from the first. I saw it in the San Diego paper. He's been in Mexico. Someone turned him in or someone found him or someone did something only it doesn't really matter because the only thing that matters is that I was wrong. And now my mom . . . My mom . . .”

Becca was hiccupping through sobs at this point and Diana tightened her hold around her shoulders. She said, “Let's be calm for a minute. Say nothing more.”

“But I need to tell my mom,” Becca said. “If she's in Canada—and maybe she's not even there!—I need to tell her that Jeff didn't do it because Connor's alive. And if that's the case, she c'n come back and we c'n go home.”

“Quiet now. Just breathe.”

At last Becca had said what she'd come to say and she forced herself to be silent. Her breathing was jerky but slowly it calmed and the warmth from Diana increased in its power over her until all she felt was peace. At last, Diana released her from the embrace. She gentled Becca's hair from her face.

She said, “Things are quickening, Becca. Did you read the book to see what quickening means? Events are hurtling you forward. They always have been, but now the pace of them is faster. And this is a good thing. Come with me.”

Diana led Becca outside, through the sunroom door and onto the terrace. This looked out at tiny Hat Island in Saratoga Passage, with its looming trees and its handful of houses. As they stood there quietly, a great bald eagle soared above them and out over the water, its head dipping in a search for food. It found it and dove, a flash of white head and white tail feathers and then upwards again with a fish in its talons.

Diana turned to her. “Nothing happens in the world by mistake. Things feel like mistakes, but there are no mistakes.”

“But that was one,” Becca said. “What I heard. What I told my mom. Why we ran away from San Diego.”

“The reason for the running itself turned out to be incorrect,” Diana told her. “But the running itself and your journey to this place? That was never a mistake. The why of it all may not be clear to you yet, but it
will
be clear if you allow it time.”

“I asked Parker Natalia about my mom,” Becca told her. “He's from Nelson and I asked him about her, like whether he knows her. Only he doesn't. He never heard her name before. And what if that means something happened to her?”

“I think it means very little.”

“But it's a small town. His family owns a restaurant there. They know lots of people because it's popular so wouldn't she have gone there? She'd even need a job. But he said—”

“You're Becca King, but you're not Becca King,” Diana told her. “Why would she be . . . She's this Laurel Armstrong I've been seeing everywhere, isn't she? On the posters, in the newspaper.” When Becca nodded, Diana continued. “So why would she still be Laurel Armstrong up in Nelson? And, honestly, why would Parker Natalia even know her? I've lived here on the edge of Langley for thirty years, Becca, and I don't know everyone. Yet there are only one thousand people in the town itself. Who can possibly know everyone? People come and go. And you must keep in mind that she may not have gone to Nelson at all. She may have changed her mind or discovered another place equally as safe and much closer, just over the Cascades, perhaps. She may have remained close by to watch over you and keep an eye on things. Indeed, she herself may have followed Jeff Corrie's story in the papers.”

“So what am I supposed to
do
? Just wait?”

Diana smiled. “You've answered your own question. You've answered life's big question.”

Becca felt deflated. She wanted a course to follow and waiting around was no course at all. She had a feeling that Diana Kinsale was about to go all Yoda on her in that maddening way of hers, and she wasn't far wrong.

Diana said, “Here's what I believe: Revelations tend to come to us through everyday matters. Today you've learned something about the nature of what you heard in the past through Jeff Corrie's thoughts. I think you have to take that and sit with it for a while. Sit and wait.”