Love Lies Bleeding (20 page)
“Um—” she stuttered in confusion. “Edward Dunlap. He and his mother own the little gas station at the four corners.”
“Edward,” Sam said, stepping closer and extending her hand. “I’m Samantha Moore.”
Edward grasped her hand reluctantly. “Samantha.”
She moved in closer without letting go of his hand. “I’m staying at the old Jones place. Maybe you know of it?”
“Yes,” Edward answered in a tight voice.
Moving her hand up Edward’s arm, Sam smiled at him. “Did you know Blanche?”
Anne shook her head in disbelief while Edward shifted uncomfortably. Fritz had warned Sam—she herself had warned Sam—that talking about Blanche made people nervous. What did she think she was doing? Taking a step closer, Anne opened her mouth to interrupt, but before she could get the words out, Edward jerked back, his head whipping toward the crowd inside.
“Excuse me, but I see my mother waving at me.”
He turned on his heel, clutching his arm tightly to his side, and left them alone on the deck.
Taking Sam’s shoulder, Anne spun her around. “Fritz and I both warned you not to ask about Blanche,” she hissed.
“So?” Sam replied with a toss of her head. “I’m curious. If I know more about her, I might be able to figure out who’s wandering around my dock at night.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Edward now stood at his mother’s side. “Was he one of Blanche’s ‘friends’?”
“There’ve been stories—” Anne stopped, watching Edward with his mother. “But I don’t want you asking him a bunch of questions. Edward’s life isn’t easy. He’s in constant pain and he doesn’t need you bugging him.”
Sam fluffed her hair and Anne felt her lack of concern. What was with her tonight? She’d never seen Sam act this way. First Teddy schmoozing with Dr. Van Horn, now Sam acting like she didn’t have a care in the world. It was as if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. No one was acting the way Anne expected.
“Oh, forget it,” Sam said, fluttering her hand at Anne. “This party’s a drag. Let’s see if we can juice it up.”
Juice it up?
What in the hell did she mean by that?
An hour later, Anne understood what Sam had meant. Once she was back inside the cabin, Sam had flitted from group to group, introducing herself, smiling and laughing at old jokes, and even mildly flirting with some of the men. At first, Anne had followed in her wake, but had finally given up when Sam started verbally sparring with Irene Brighton. She now leaned against a wall watching Sam carry on. For someone who claimed to have a problem with crowds, Sam certainly knew how to work a room.
“Has she been drinking?” a voice next to her asked.
Anne’s attention slid to Greg, who’d come up silently beside her. “As far as I know—just lemonade. With all the medication she’s taking, she can’t have a drop of alcohol.”
She looked back at Sam, who had her hand on old Mr. Abernathy’s arm as she . . . My God, was she fluttering her eyelashes at him? Anne’s eyes sought out Dr. Van Horn. Had he noticed Sam’s behavior? Yup—from the tight-lipped expression on his face, it looked like he had. She shoved away from the wall.
“This might get ugly,” she whispered over her shoulder to Greg. “I’m getting her out of here.”
Anne made her way to where Sam had been standing only to find her gone. Casting her eyes around the room, she spotted her by Fritz’s baby grand piano, whispering to him. Fritz’s eyes flew wide open in what looked like surprise as he shook his head. Sam persisted, leaning in close. Finally he slowly nodded, and pulling out the bench, he sat down and began to play.
With a satisfied nod, Sam tossed her shawl on the bench and moved to the side of the piano. Spreading her arms wide, she clutched the edge, swaying to the rhythm of the music. The guests’ voices stilled and all attention was on her. Her eyelids drifting shut, she opened her mouth and began to sing.
She had a rich alto voice as she crooned an old song that Anne recognized as one her mother used to play back in the mid-seventies.
When Sam reached the chorus, a startled gasp came from the direction of Esther Dunlap, and Anne saw Edward’s face flush bright red. He turned suddenly and rushed out the door with his mother following him closely. Anne heard the front door slam over Sam’s singing.
Sam’s eyes opened and focused directly on Teddy Two. Strolling over to him, she ran her hand up his arm as she sang the next line. She leaned toward him.
Abruptly the music stopped as Dr. Van Horn approached them. Taking Sam’s arm, he led her through the stunned crowd and out the door.
Returning to Greg’s side, Anne placed her fingertips at her temples and shook her head. “Can you take me home?” she asked, letting her hands fall to her side. “Looks like I just lost my ride.”
W
hat a party,
I think, grinning to myself. Stirred everyone up good and proper, didn’t it? Irene had been so pleased. Made her night—until Samantha Moore started singing. She didn’t like that—I know she hates that song—know it reminds her of a time she’d rather forget. And to witness Samantha singing it to Irene’s son—how dare she? I’d watched Irene silently fume, drilling both her son and Samantha with a look that would drop a horse. It had been so funny, and I had to fight the laughter boiling inside of me. It had been almost impossible to hide my feelings.
It was amazing really that Samantha had chosen that particular song. What a strange twist of fate. Or had she been asking questions? Had she heard the stories and decided to play a little trick on the partygoers?
And Edward Dunlap—he stormed out of there like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Of course, in a way, they had been. That thought sobered me. In the recesses of what I suppose I could call my heart, I feel sorry for Edward. I know he had been a young man with a bright future until
she’d
destroyed it.
I walk down to the end of the dock and stare out over the dark water. It always comes back to her, doesn’t it? Twenty-five years is a long time for someone to haunt the memories of so many people. Who would’ve thought that someone so insignificant would have such an impact on so many lives?
My eyes travel to the boards beneath my feet.
Insignificant?
I ask myself. She hadn’t been insignificant, lying here in this very spot, dressed or undressed, depending how one looked at it, in her minuscule bikini. She’d been rather impressive. Every male on the lake had found a reason to run their boats by during the hours of one and three. Disgusting, really, when I stop and think about it, and feel my hands clench at my side. Cheap, that’s what she’d been. A common tramp who’d almost ruined my life. I should’ve learned my lesson from her—never trust a woman. What if she had persuaded old Ted to run off with her? Would my life have been different? Would Edward’s?
I turn slowly and walk back toward the cabin. Reaching the edge of the dock, I hear the sound of a dog barking and quickly I duck into the trees.
That damn dog! How can I possibly engage in these nightly strolls undetected when that dog carries on like that? It was a mistake for her to adopt it.
A small grin tugs at my lips. There are ways to make the animal disappear.
S
am knew she was dreaming. The feeling was all too familiar—dreams, never ending, looping over and over in her mind, with her unable to stop them up.
Oh my God,
a tiny part of her brain screamed. Was she in a coma again? She wanted her eyes to open, needed her eyes to open. She fought to regain consciousness and to rise above the darkness that was sucking her under.
Useless. A tear leaked out from the corner of one eye as she surrendered and slowly sank into the abyss.
The dream opened with Sam lurking in a corner of a room filled with people. Okay, she could handle this—not a nightmare, simply a dream triggered by Fritz’s party. In fact, it
was
Fritz’s party: she spotted his baby grand sitting in the center of the room, but something was off. The cabin didn’t look the same. The furniture had changed and the decor was different.
The people were different, too—she didn’t recognize anyone. And they were dressed funny. Hawaiian shirts; blouses with huge shoulder pads; miniskirts. One woman was wearing a shiny blouse that broadened her shoulders and tight skinny jeans. Earrings the size of fifty-cent pieces bobbed from her earlobes, while her hair rose straight up from her forehead and fell in a cloud of curls around her head.
Sam’s attention turned to the man at the piano. Wearing a white sport coat over a neon-pink T-shirt, jeans, and loafers with no socks, he sat with his head down as his hands played softly over the keyboard. A woman with red hair cascading down her back leaned against the piano listening. She was dressed as oddly as everyone else—a purple miniskirt and a sheer lavender blouse. She held a cigarette in one hand, waving it through the air as she talked with the piano player. Something she said caused the man to suddenly lift his head.
Fritz. A much younger Fritz.
Before he could reply, their heads turned in tandem as a distinguished-looking man with silver hair joined them. The woman turned slightly and pushed away from the piano. Stealing a hand up his arm, she stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. Amused, the man threw back his head and laughed. Smirking, Fritz lowered his head once again and began playing louder.
Sam recognized the song. It was one she’d heard on a golden oldies station in the Cities, but she couldn’t remember the lyrics.
The woman had no problem with the words. Stepping away from the man, she stubbed out her cigarette and began to sing seductively, allowing her body to slither against the piano. Her companion looked on, an approving smile on his face and lust in his eyes.
Another watched her, too. A lone man sitting on the couch. He was dressed roughly compared to the others in the room, and his long face was marked with unhappiness as he stared at the redhead standing by the piano. His knees were pressed together tightly while he clutched a highball glass with both of his work-worn hands. Sam didn’t think she’d ever seen a man more miserable and she felt drawn toward the couch.
The dream shifted and she found herself outside. Was it the same night? Was she still dreaming about the lake?
She cast her eyes upward. A crescent moon shone in the night sky and cast a pale light on the woods surrounding her. Moving in the dream, her feet crunched on fallen pine needles while a cool breeze caressed her bare arms and rustled the leaves around her.
Summer, it must be summer,
she thought.
Peaceful, but she didn’t feel peaceful. The shadows of tall pines crowded her, and in her hyperalert state she was aware of the creatures skittering through the brush. It felt as though a thousand eyes were watching while the stench of decay hid beneath the scent of the wild honeysuckle. In the distance, she heard the angry buzz of voices. Turning, she went toward the sound.
A cold sweat formed on her forehead as she stepped away from the trees and saw the black water of a lake. The voices stilled.
A figure knelt at the end of a dock stretching out over the dark water. A woman who was unrecognizable in the dim light clutched her hands tightly to her chest; her sobs rose and fell with the rhythm of the water lapping the shore.
The breeze carried a soft
please
to Sam’s ears, and made her stomach burn with acid. She’d been that woman. Begging and sobbing for her life while the cold of the concrete floor seeped into her joints. Sorrow and empathy poured out of Sam’s heart as if her soul were trying to reach out and touch the crying woman.
Abruptly the woman stopped. Her head lifted and the shadow of one hand moved to wipe away her tears. She shifted slowly and Sam knew that any moment their eyes would meet.
Pain—fast and hard—hit the back of her skull, driving her to her knees. Pebbles, lying on the ground beneath her, ripped at her flesh, while a silent scream tightened her throat. She knew what was coming next. The dream would change. She’d be back—back in the deserted garage. She’d be surrounded by the harsh smell of exhaust fumes. She’d hear the taunts and jeers of the young men circling her. Pain . . . so much pain . . . enough to blind her fear.
She had to wake up.
With a jolt, she shot up in bed, only to collapse back against her pillows, her head throbbing with each thump of her heart. Rolling onto her side, she clutched at her pillow as she bit back a whimper. Awake now, she willed her muscles to relax and tried to conquer the waves of hurt rolling through her head.
A warm body suddenly pressed against her and the pain eased. When a cold nose tentatively touched her hand, Sam looked at the head close to hers. Two brown eyes surrounded by black fur stared at her as Roxy edged closer, her nose nudging Sam repeatedly. With great effort, Sam lifted her hand and let it fall on the dog’s head. Sighing, she closed her eyes . . . and she slept.
The warm rays of sunshine slanting across Sam’s face stirred her to consciousness. Slowly, like a deep-sea diver, she rose to the surface. Disoriented, she threw her forearm over her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, her name was Samantha Moore, she was at Elk Horn Lake staying in a cabin, and what she had experienced last night was nothing more than a weird dream, she thought. In the end, she’d pulled herself free of the nightmare and she was fine. Maybe
fine
was too strong of a word. Her head throbbed dully and her body ached. Was she coming down with the flu? The dreams might have been caused by a fever. She placed her hand on her cheek. No, her skin felt normal, not hot to the touch.
Scooting away from Roxy, who still lay curled at her side, she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. With bones creaking, she rose and hobbled into the bathroom. She flipped on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water. It trickled down her neck and dampened the front of her nightgown. Ignoring the cotton sticking to her chest, she stared at herself in the mirror. Dear Lord, she looked like a rabid raccoon. Smeared mascara ringed her eyes, deepening the dark circles already there, and her hair was sticking out in spikes. Frowning at herself in the mirror, she turned and headed back to the bedroom. It must have been some party.
