Raquel Byrnes (22 page)

“No, no, no.” She put her hands over her ears, face pulled into a frightened grimace. “If you say that, he’ll leave me alone with it.”

“With what, Lala? You’re scaring me.” I gently coaxed her hands from her ears. “Tell me, sweets, what will he leave you alone with?”

“With the secret.” She lunged, climbed into my arms and put her head in my neck, sniffling. “I’ll have to keep the secret all alone.”

“Is that why you did that to the pictures of him and your mommy, Lala?”

Eyes wide, she nodded slowly. Shaking, she brought a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

26

Bernard pulled up to the yacht on a small boat with an outboard motor, and I didn’t have a chance to tell Simon I needed to talk with him.

As we climbed aboard, Lavender’s small hand trembled in mine.

Simon turned to see us, his face registering confusion, but Bernard slapped him on the back, a belly laugh shaking his considerable jowls. “Simon, my boy. What say you? Are we in for a long repair or what?”

“It, uh.” Simon cleared his throat. “It’s pretty bad, but doable.”

“Well, it needs to be done by the tenth, Simon; it’s essential.”

“How’s that?” Simon helped us down.

“Well, we’ll talk all about it over a steaming bowl,” Bernard said. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“I’m Rosetta Ryan.” I shook his hand.

“You must be the caregiver everyone is chattering about. How do you like that magnificent Shadow Bay Hall? My great-grandfather was a member of that hunting lodge, you know. Before Davenport’s father shooed everyone out and made it a private residence, of course.”

Bernard talked the entire way to shore about hunting, not taking a breath.

My nerves ratcheted up the more solemn Lavender became. When we pulled to the floating deck that ran parallel to the shore, I pulled on Simon’s hand.

“We need to talk.”

“Is everything all right?” Simon’s quizzical gaze hovered on Lavender.

I shook my head, but Bernard nudged Simon with his hat.

“We’ve got some freshly baked bread,” he said proudly. “Perfect for lunch.”

The Walrus and the Carpenter
was a crab shack modeled after Cape Cod fish houses, complete with the blue and white awning and white clapboard siding. Bernard waltzed us through the main dining room, his jovial voice booming through the restaurant.

“Hello, hello,” he said to a table of older ladies in flowered dresses. They looked like they’d just come from a tea with the queen. “Did you all meet Rosetta? She’s the one up at Shadow Bay Hall.”

“Oh,” one of the ladies tittered. “How are you getting along, dear?”

“Um, well?” I looked at Simon, who held Lavender in his arms.

She put her chin on his shoulder, looking behind him.

“Thank you, and yourselves? How was your event?” I asked, thinking fast. They must have done something and then met here for lunch.

“Very nice, thank you,” the first lady said. “We had a book reading at the library.”

“Ah,” I smiled.

“We’ll let you ladies get back to your soup,” Bernard said as he led us to the outside eating terrace. “If you let them, they’ll trap you in their conversation for ages,” he whispered.

Simon gave me an amused look, and I couldn’t help but smile. Bernard’s presence meant my talk with Simon would have to wait. We sat, and Bernard ordered us clam chowder, not bothering to ask if that was what we wanted.

“So the ferry dock, ten days, Simon. It must be completed by then.” Bernard tucked the cloth napkin in his collar and fiddled with a package of oyster crackers.

“Why is that, exactly?” Simon asked. He adjusted the brooding Lala on his lap.

I rubbed her back, but her gaze wouldn’t meet mine.

She kept her attention out the window on the water, her small lips turned down in a pensive frown.

“I know having the ferry dock out of commission is inconvenient, but why the rush?” Simon asked.

“Well, because of the gala, of course.” Bernard leaned on the table, a gleam his eyes. “The governing board has elected to throw a gala at the museum in honor of the newest acquisition.”

“You’re serious?” Simon’s face registered surprise.

“Well, it’s no Roman artifact,” Bernard sniffed. “But it is an important piece none-the-less.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What is it that you’re talking about? Noble Island has a museum?”

“Of course we do.” Bernard chuckled. He ripped the package of crackers open, sending them bouncing across the white-and-red checkered tablecloth. Clearing his throat, he set down the wrapper. “Simon, here, is to thank, actually. He does these authentications and restorations for big name museums, and in return, our little island museum gets rare pieces of art to display. And this one is the end all be all, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s a few photographs,” Simon said, looking embarrassed.

“Nonsense.” Bernard poked another packet of crackers in our direction.

“Is it sort of a trade off?” I asked.

“Exactly. Surely, you didn’t think Simon worked for the money. He has no need of course. No, no, it’s for the good of Noble Island that our resident art expert offers his services.”

“That’s very, well, noble, Simon,” I said and smiled. “What is the gala for?”

“We have on loan from the famous art museum in Seattle, a photographic series from Erin LeSeiur.” Bernard leaned forward as if it was a juicy bit of gossip. “She may even come for the opening.”

“Really? That is definitely a coup for you, then.”

“You know her work?” Simon asked, surprised.

“Yes, I saw her opening in Los Angeles a few years ago. She does the most incredible landscapes. They’re breathtaking.”

“Ha, then it’s settled.” Bernard clapped. “You must come.”

“Wait…” I backpedaled.

“He’s right, Rosetta,” Simon said. “If I wanted to share the fruit of my labor with anyone, it would be you.”

Heat rose up my neck, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bernard smirking. I was sure the talk of the village would be of nothing else tonight.

We sailed back as the sun set crimson over the dusky water, and I let my thoughts wander as Simon wrestled Lavender into a jacket.

She seemed exceptionally difficult tonight, her nervous glance my way sending ripples of worry through me. I needed to talk to Simon about her, but it needed to be out of her earshot. She wiggled from his grasp and ran to the railing.

“I’m not cold,” she said and folded her arms.

“Lala, will you please just put this on?” Simon said, exasperated.

She shook her head, and Simon sighed.

“How about a blanket, then?” I asked.

She looked at me and then nodded.

“If it’s all right with your daddy.”

“As long as she’s warm,” Simon said, tossing the jacket on the seat. “Go grab the one that you want, Lala.”

Lavender ran to the hatch disappearing into the belly of the yacht.

“We have to talk about something,” I said quietly.

“I had a feeling.” He sat next to me and took my hand in his. “What is it?”

“I-it’s about Lucien.”

“You know about Lucien?” Simon sucked in a breath, stood, and paced to the helm. He glared out at the dark water. “How much do you know?”

“I know that she plays with an imaginary friend she calls Lucien and that he was her twin.”

“She what?” Simon rubbed his face with the heels of his hands. “She doesn’t ever mention him.”

“Simon, I saw the photographs with the mouths scratched out.”

“The psychologist said she was just acting out her grief. That it’s common for children to paint pictures without mouths or to scratch out mouths in photographs if they feel guilty for something.” He looked at me, his face tight with anguish. “He said she may have some sort of survivor’s guilt but is not able to articulate it, and it ends up feeling like a secret to her. I don’t know if he’s right or not, but I know she’s troubled. He said she’d get through it. She did…that to all the pictures of Lucien and her mother.”

“She pretends he’s alive.”

“Oh, Lala…” Simons face paled. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger. “Lucien drowned, Rosetta. He drowned a couple of weeks before Amanna died.”

“I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“Lavender and Lucien were up at the lake with Amanna. It’s a mile or so from the house.” He looked at me helplessly. “She said she accidentally fell asleep while sunning and woke to their screams. She could only get to Lavender. It devastated all of us.”

“Maybe it is survivor’s guilt.” I shook my head, not sure I believed it. “Whatever is going on in her mind, she’s worried about my wellbeing and everyone else’s. She took things, personal things, to keep us safe.”

“She’s scaring me, Rosetta,” he said. “She’s getting worse, isn’t she?”

Lavender ran back up the steps dragging the blanket behind her. She climbed onto my lap, and I arranged the blanket around her, tucking in the sides.

Simon watched us with worry etched on his face.

I looked up at him and nodded. “Yes. I think so.”

“What am I going to do? I don’t know how to…” Simon crossed to us, ran his hand along her hair, smoothing it. His lips pressed tight, the worry on his face broke my heart.

I slipped my hand over his, squeezing gently. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He bent down, kissed my hand and then the crown of her head.

“Thank you, Rosetta.” His voice broke, and he turned, faced the helm, with his hands in his pockets.

I rubbed her back, and my throat ached so much I had trouble breathing. How could I even begin to know what to do? How could I stop all this from getting worse?

Please give me wisdom, Lord. Please show me how to help Lavender and Simon.

27

I woke with dread squeezing my heart. Breathless, I sat up. My gaze flitted around the room, and I strained to see into the unsettling darkness. Something was wrong, the energy of the room disturbed somehow. I listened, my hammering heart the only sound. Throwing off the covers, I flicked on the lamp. Nothing looked out of place. I slipped out of bed, taking a turn in the room, uneasy.

The bedside clock read five in the morning. No nightmare this time. Smooth darkness pressed against the window, a silent night without storms.

Why am I awake?

I wandered the room, looking for something to calm my thoughts. Maybe I could still get some sleep. The book of botany from Davenport’s library sat on the bedside table. I ran my thumb along the ragged edges of the pages, not in the mood to read. Walking over to the dressing table, I sat and ran a brush through the tangles in my hair, thinking.

A large knot snagged my fingers. I craned my neck to see the back of my hair in the mirror and froze. Entangled with my own hair, a long lock of jet black hair wove in and out of mine in a braid. I gasped, yanking at the hair. It came away in my hands, and I stared at it, barely breathing, dread pooling in my chest as I realized someone had to have come into my room. Had to have put their hands on me while I slept. Dark strands floated onto my white nightgown, and I slapped at them as if they were spider’s legs, desperate to get them off of me. Anger and fear squeezed my throat, and I sucked in a jagged breath, my hands shaking.

I stood panting in the middle of the room, locked with indecision, and then I rushed to my dresser, threw on jeans and a sweater, and headed for the door. I yanked it open, peered up and down the hall hoping to see something, anything that I could chase or yell at, but the dark corridor was still.

Frustrated and burning with adrenaline, I slammed my hand on the door, tears squeezing from my clenched lids. This was getting out of hand. This was getting personal. I shook, helpless and without direction, when a thought occurred to me about the night I saw the specter in the woods. Simon said he never fired his gun. So, who was shooting out there in the middle of the night?

How could I have forgotten about that?

The only person I knew who had a gun was O’Shay. Not able to prove the noises or the specter in the woods, there was one thing I could prove. I could prove that O’Shay shot his rifle. That at least was something.

I had no idea where to find it, and I didn’t know what to check for. But he seemed intent on keeping me from the deck. Why should I trust that he saw nothing out there? And hadn’t I heard a door open and close inside the room when he went to check? A closet maybe? It was worth a look at least. My eyes went to the package of hairpins on the dresser. Grabbing them, I left the room and padded down the hall in my black gypsy slippers. I headed towards the study door with the flashlight and pins in hand. Determined to see what was on that deck, I shaped the hairpins into the forms I’d used on my father’s office door. The last time I’d done this, broken into someplace for answers, the truth had sent waves of disasters leveling my life to nothing. Was I willing to risk the same thing happening again? My hands shook.

What would I gain from doing this, especially if I found nothing? What could I lose? I was frightened and off balance already. Should I go and ask Simon to open it? No. I had to have something to show him. Something more than frightened ramblings. Until now I was reacting, but with this act, I was doing something at last.

Slipping the pins into the rusty lock, I worked them until I felt the tumbler give. The older lock was easier to open than I expected, and I pushed through the study door. It closed behind me with a soft click, and I used the flashlight to pan the room. Nothing looked different. I went to the closet, took a breath, and pulled it open. My flashlight beam sliced across the floor picking up the corner of a stock. The rifle leaned in the corner behind some musty coats. Kneeling, I picked it up, smelled the hammer. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to find, but it smelled of oil and metal. Disappointed, I put it back and stood, closing the door.

My gaze went to the French doors. Jiggling the handle, the lock disengaged like the other night, and I eased it open. The dark night met me with a chilling breeze. I stepped out onto the deck, my breath caught in my throat as I shined the light in the corner. Empty. No hunched figure lunged for me. No tree limb lay there, either. I raised a brow. Had O’Shay removed it?