Voices Carry (11 page)

“Decker knows that I come here as often as I can. He did ask me to take a few days and just take a look around the farm and see what I could see. Unofficially, of course. I did that.” She paused for a second before adding, “I think you should consider going back to Tanner for a while, at least until the locals are certain that they have taken everyone into custody who’s been involved in this.”

Patsy looked at Genna as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The bikers saw me at the farm. It wouldn’t be difficult to find this cottage, or to find me if anyone took it into their head to look.”

“Why would anyone make a connection between you and this?” She pointed to the television.

“Because sweet little Rebecca Frick identified me as an FBI agent right in front of them.”

“Oh.” Patsy’s face folded into a frown. “That is unfortunate. She may have been standing on the porch when Mrs. Frick asked me what you were up to these days, and I told her. But what does that have to do with me?”

“We’re pretty isolated over on this end of the lake. Except for old Mr. Corbin, who is deaf as a stone, and the MacKenzie’s across the road, you’re all alone here during the week.”

“So?”

“Don’t play dumb, Pats.”

“You think someone is going to come after you and mistake me for you? Ha. Not on my best day.”

“Don’t make light of this, please.”

“I’m not making light of it. But if everyone’s in jail, then there’s no one to come looking for you, now, is there?”

“Just for a few weeks, Pats. Till we find out if they make bail—”

“They won’t make bail.” Patsy pointed to the television again. “They just said that the judge was expected to set bail at a big number.”

“I’d still be happier if you weren’t here alone.”

“I’ll call my sister Connie and see if she can take
some time off, maybe spend a week or so, if it makes you feel better. And you’ll be here, at least until Nancy arrives tomorrow. But I’m not worried, honey. Don’t you be.”

“I can’t help it, Patsy. I love you.”

Patsy squeezed Genna’s hand again, holding it longer this time.

“I love you, too, Genna. You’re the child of my heart.”

There was more Patsy could have said, but the lump rising in her throat blocked out any other words that might have been spoken. But Genna knew. It was all there in Patsy’s eyes.

“And you’re my fairy godmother.” Genna smiled gently and reached out to touch the older woman’s face. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” Patsy assured her. “Now. No more glum talk. Let’s go out for dinner. The Methodist church over in Parsons is having their annual fish fry tonight, and I’d hate to miss it. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get ready, no more.”

Patsy absently straightened the kitchen while she waited for Genna to duck into the shower and wash off that lake water she’d spent the afternoon swimming in. Patsy wasn’t about to be scared into running back to Tanner. She’d spent every summer of her life right here, at Bricker’s Lake, and she’d be damned if some little biker-boy with an attitude was going to change that. Besides, Genna worried too much.

Of course, she would call Connie, as she’d promised Genna she’d do, but Patsy was more concerned about Genna’s safety than she was about her own. After all, it had been Genna, not Patsy, who’d given information
that led to this morning’s arrests. Genna, not Patsy, who was known to be an FBI agent. Genna, not Patsy, who’d be the most likely target for retaliation.

Patsy tapped her fingers on the counter, debating, then picked up the phone. Genna was just starting to dry her hair. Plenty of time for Patsy to put a call to her nephew, Brian, who was now with the state attorney general’s office and still had connections within the state police. It wouldn’t hurt to let him know what was going on. And if Brian felt she—or Genna—needed someone watching out for them, he’d be sure to let them know. He’d arrange it himself. Patsy didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of him sooner.

Disappointed at having to leave voice mail, rather than speak with her nephew directly, Patsy still hung up the phone with a sense of satisfaction. That takes care of that, she reasoned. Nothing at all to worry about. Brian will take care of it.

Patsy wiped off the breakfast counter for the fifth time, trying to convince herself that today’s developments explained that creeping sense of foreboding she’d had since the beginning of summer. It had hung over her spirits in exactly the way that the early morning fog hung over the lake, dense and nebulous. There had been absolutely nothing she could put her finger on, no moment when she’d first noticed it. It had simply been there, that shapeless precognition, that impression that something was about to strike.

And yet it had been a peaceful enough summer, a pleasant summer. The fishing had been good, if not great, and she’d had lots more company than she’d had in the past. Certainly, she’d spent more time this
summer with Genna than she’d had through all the past winter and spring.

Or maybe I’m just getting old.
Patsy shook her head and wiped down the top of the stove. Again.

“Ready, Pats?” Genna emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed except for her feet. “I just need to get my sandals,” she said as she breezed through the kitchen.

Or maybe all the years worrying about my Gen are finally catching up with me.

Patsy sighed.

Bikers and drug dealers, child pornographers and white slavers. No wonder she was feeling uneasy, all that talk about killers and deviants last weekend. Nancy had been fascinated, and it had all seemed harmless enough at the time. Now, in light of the day’s developments, Patsy wished the conversation hadn’t gone on for as long as it had.

She also wished she’d made more of an effort to talk Genna into a career in teaching when she’d had the chance.

It almost hurt to breathe.

For the third night since the weekend, Genna awoke in a sweat, her hands fisted in the sheet, her jaws clenched, her heart racing. She sat up slowly, pushing herself quietly into the headboard, bringing her knees up to her chest, orienting herself to her surroundings. Realizing where she was, she was grateful that she hadn’t cried out. She wouldn’t want to awaken Patsy, wouldn’t want her to know that she still had the dreams, that the old devils still taunted her.

It’s just that I’m so close to the camp, she rationalized. I’ve had the dream here before.

But not night after night, she reminded herself. She’d never had the dream this many times in succession. And each time, she’d awakened feeling those piercing dark eyes focused on her.

It’s the stress from this whole drug thing with the Frick boys. Worrying about Mrs. Frick, worrying about the entire Frick family, how they’ll cope. Worrying about the boys going to prison.

Worrying about Patsy in the aftermath.

That was the big one, she acknowledged. Worrying about Patsy. Though it had eased Genna’s mind to know that Patsy had called Brian. Surely he will see to it that she is watched carefully until this is over. Brian would move in here himself if he thought there might be a problem. Hell, he’d move the National Guard in if he thought he had to. She wished she’d thought of calling Brian herself.

On tiptoe, she walked through quiet rooms into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water. Taking small sips, she calmed herself before unlocking the back door and stepping out onto the deck. A three-quarter moon shimmered behind the trees on the far side of the lake and clouds drifted in ragged shreds across its face. A mosquito made itself at home on her bare arm, and she slapped at it with a vengeance. Somewhere, up on the road above the lake, teenage boys revved their car engines and prepared to race that long, flat stretch of asphalt. The familiarity of it all calmed her.

It’s just that I’m so close to the camp,
she repeated.
The dreams will stop as soon as I get back to my apartment tomorrow night.

*   *   *

But the dreams had persisted, even after she had arrived home.

The first thing that Genna did upon entering her apartment on Friday evening was to throw open all the windows in the hopes of banishing the stale hot air that lay stagnant in the quiet rooms. She listened to the messages on her answering machine and made notes of the numbers she needed to return calls. She opened her suitcase and put away her clothes. She searched a closet for a box suitable to wrap the baby quilt in. She went into the kitchen and searched the freezer for something she could make for dinner. Finding nothing that fit her mood, she went back into the bedroom and grabbed her purse from the bed where she’d earlier dropped it.

She’d gone to the mall and picked up a cute gift bag and a card for the baby quilt. She’d checked her favorite boutique for a summer sale and picked up a few great selections for dinner in the food court. On her way home, she’d stopped to grab a movie at the video store.

And then she’d called a tow truck when the Taurus died in the parking lot outside the video store.

An hour later, she was back in her apartment, wondering if the car would be fixed in time for her to drive to Philadelphia on Sunday for Baby Carmen’s christening. Wondering if perhaps the car’s demise might not be a sign that she should not be mingling with the Mancini clan. That maybe she should use the convenient excuse to skip the entire thing and spare herself an entire day in John’s company and in the always-gracious hospitality of his family.

Maybe this was fate’s way of letting her know that maybe it hadn’t
been such a good idea to have accepted Angie’s invitation.

Or maybe it was just another reminder that the Taurus was in fact on its last legs.

She crossed her arms over her chest and walked to the front window, pondering her options. Maybe there was a train.

If there’s a train on Sunday morning, maybe it means I should go.

She reached for the phone and dialed information, called the train station and jotted down the Sunday schedule. There was an early train into Philadelphia that would arrive with plenty of time to take a cab to the church. If she chose to take it.

On the other hand, maybe she should just skip it. What was the point, anyway? She wasn’t even dating John anymore. And what would be more awkward, for her to show up and be with him, or to show up and
not
be with him? What was Angie thinking of anyway, inviting her? And what had she been thinking of, accepting?

Better to skip it, she reasoned. Better for everyone to avoid the situation altogether.

She could mail the gift.

But she should call Angie and make her excuses.

Genna rustled in her handbag for the old scrap of paper on which she had long ago jotted down Angie DelVecchio’s phone number. She could have sworn it was in her wallet. . .

Perhaps in her briefcase.

Or a desk drawer.

Twenty minutes later, Genna decided it would be easier to just call John and leave her regrets on his answering machine.

That decision made—for the moment—Genna found herself looking for something to keep her mind off the dreams that had plagued her all week, leaving her weak with fatigue and edgy with anticipation of. . . what?

Brian had stopped at Patsy’s cottage yesterday morning and while he’d agreed that he’d be happier if Patsy went back to Tanner for a while, he’d promised to make certain that his mother—Patsy’s sister Connie—moved up to the cottage for a few weeks. He also made arrangements for a private security guard to move into a cottage across the road after he contacted its absent owner and asked if he could rent the place for a few weeks. Remembering Brian as a child and happy to make a few unexpected dollars, the elderly gentleman was pleased with the arrangement.

So Patsy should be fine.

And I’ll be fine, too,
Genna assured herself as she settled in to watch the romantic comedy she’d picked up.
All I need is a good night’s sleep and a return to my normal routine. Both of which I hope to get soon.

She stopped the tape and went into the kitchen and lopped off a piece of the chocolate cake that Patsy had made the night before and forced Genna to take home with her. She poured a glass of cold milk and carried her snack back into the living room. She licked the frosting off the fork and idly studied the train schedule she’d scribbled on the back of an envelope, looking for the Sunday morning trains to Philadelphia. It still wasn’t too late to change her mind.

She called John’s apartment in Virginia and left a message on his answering machine asking him to call her.
She wondered if he was still in Delaware, or if his case had concluded and he’d driven straight to his mother’s house. Either way, he’d check his answering machine for messages.

On the other hand, she thought, it would be good to see John’s family again. They were a raucous crew, but good-natured and fun to be with. The christening would be in the same church where Angela and Carmen had been married just shy of two years ago. On that occasion, John’s mother had taken the opportunity to tell Genna that every major event in their family history had taken place beneath the roof of that church. Both she and John’s father—rest his soul—had received all the sacraments of the Church there, baptism through marriage. John’s father had been buried from that church. And all of their children had done likewise, except for Tess eloping and everyone knew how
that
had ended up, as if breaking with family tradition had alone been responsible for her unsuccessful marriage. Genna couldn’t help but think that Mrs. Mancini was letting Genna know what the consequences might be for bucking the system, just in case Genna might be thinking of marrying into the family and harbored thoughts of having the wedding elsewhere.

And everyone, it seemed, had engaged in heavy speculation over Genna’s involvement in John’s life. She’d just about gotten used to that when John had disappeared last year.

Maybe he was out to dinner tonight.

Maybe he had a date.

She chopped off a piece of cake with a little more force than the confection deserved.