A Dark and Stormy Murder (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery) (21 page)

“Why? What’s the connection? What’s Nikon?”

“I have no idea. But it brought me that picture.”

“Unbelievable,” he said.

“Doug.”

His eyes met mine. We were both still leaning over the computer. “What?”

“You know what. Sam West has been done an injustice. By the police. By the public. By you. For more than a year now. And he’s sitting in jail.”

He nodded, his face half shame and half disbelief. “Yeah, okay.”

“So now it’s time to set things right. How do we do that?”

He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. I pulled back, surprised, and he smiled. “Okay, I get it.
We
don’t do anything. I do. And it will take a large portion of my day off, so I’ll ask you to skedaddle.”

“I could stay, and—”

His face grew stern, remote, cop-like. “This is police business, Lena. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Okay. Thanks, Doug.”

“Thank you, Lena. It looks like you just saved a man’s life.”

Before I had even closed the door he was on the phone.

18

She walked toward the river, not certain of her destination. Her only conscious thought was that everything was lost: her past—her family—her love—and she had no way of retrieving what had once been hers. When the man stepped in front of her on the dirt path, she almost screamed, but her voice froze in her throat and she stared, in shock. It was Gerhard. Somehow, against every predictable outcome, he had found her again, and in a rush her life came back to her.

—from
The Salzburg Train

C
AMILLA AND
I
worked in her office the next morning, trying to find momentum after the strange events of the past week. Doug had called the previous evening, but had stayed on the line only long enough to tell us that “things were in motion” and he couldn’t divulge more. I tried watching CNN for information, but so far there were no headlines, so we buried ourselves in work for several hours until Camilla yawned and stretched. “I think the dogs could use a walk. Would you like to come along, get a bit of fresh air and a stretch of the legs?”

“I don’t think so. I was hoping Doug would call . . .”

She smiled. “All right, then. You keep the lamp in the window, as it were, and I’ll get these fellows some exercise. Do me a favor and close the door after us.” She put the leashes on the happy shepherds, and they all marched out the front door. They would have yanked her right down the stairs, but Camilla said something stern under her breath and they both settled down, adapting to her more quiet pace. “See you soon!” she called over her shoulder.

I was about to close the door, but I saw a car pull into the driveway. Adam Rayburn emerged, looking more casual than I’d ever seen him in a pair of faded jeans and a gray hooded sweatshirt. He said something to Camilla with an urgent look on his face, and she replied, putting what looked like a comforting hand on his arm.

His expression changed to one of incredible relief, and he pulled Camilla into a big hug. I didn’t think she would like that sort of thing, but she was laughing when he let her go. She said something else to him, looking up into his face, and he smiled.

I realized he must have read the Martin Jonas story in today’s newspaper—an update including the arrest of Ray Dawkins and the surprising confession of Dave Brill. (Doug had told us he talked to get a more lenient sentence.) The story had contained some details about the day of Dawkins’ apprehension, including the fact that he had broken into Camilla’s house and confronted her and “her assistant” as they were at work. It wasn’t particularly accurate, but it was close enough.

Adam must have read about it that morning and driven out to see Camilla for himself—to be sure that she was intact and none the worse for wear. I remembered his face at the restaurant, stricken by the idea that Camilla would
ever suspect him of something terrible. And looking at him now, with his kind and smitten smile, it did seem rather ridiculous.

Adam lifted one of Camilla’s hands, with a dog leash still in it, and kissed it. Camilla, always so reserved, beamed at him and said something in his ear.

Then the two of them went walking down the driveway, each holding a dog, speaking easily to each other and looking perfect together.

I sighed and closed the door.

*   *   *

C
AMILLA AND
A
DAM
came back half an hour later only to leave again, bound for lunch. “Rhonda left some mouthwatering sandwiches,” Camilla called to me. “Eat as many as you like, Lena.”

I felt too restless to eat. I paced around for a while, studying the paintings on Camilla’s walls. I went upstairs and fed Lestrade. I came back downstairs and fed the dogs. I took my camera out to the back porch and photographed the lake and then Camilla’s house; my father had asked me to e-mail him some pictures, and I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

I came back in and paced some more before I realized I was going stir-crazy. I put on a jacket, determined to go down the hill and into town. If I got enough exercise I would probably get rid of the nervous feeling inside me.

The wind was cold on my face when I started down the driveway. The autumn trees were losing their color now, some stripped bare by the last storm. Soon it would be November, and the cold would set in. Blue Lake was most likely quiet in winter, as people holed up in their houses
under mounds of snow, waiting for the warm months and a chance to enjoy the water. I thought of my father and Tabitha in Florida. What would they think of it here? I could arrange for them to visit me soon, now that the worst was over . . . I saw an unfamiliar black car ascending the hill and I darted behind some trees in a sudden return of the paranoia Camilla and I had felt for days.

The car stopped before reaching our driveway; one of the backseat doors opened and a large bag was thrust out, followed by Sam West, looking thinner and more vulnerable. His brown hair blew around in the wind as he reached in to pay the driver and send him a polite wave. The car made a U-turn and went back down the hill. West hesitated, looking first at his driveway and then at the road that led up the bluff toward Graham House. Toward me.

I stepped out from behind the trees and started to walk toward him. Even at this distance I was able to lock eyes with him. He started to move toward me, and then I was running. When I was three feet away, he said, “Lena,” and I threw myself against him. His arms wrapped around me instantly, possessively. “Sam, I’m so glad you’re home,” I said, and then I was kissing him, and he was kissing me back as the cold air blew around us.

For a long moment there was only the feeling of his mouth on mine, my hands in his hair, his warm palms on my lower back. “Sam,” I said again, only a centimeter away from his face.

“I didn’t know,” he said, looking slightly stunned. “I hoped, but I didn’t—” He shook his head.

“Now you do.” I smiled at him.

“I thought maybe you liked the cop.”

I moved back a few more inches so that I could study his features. “Doug?”

He smirked. “I guess I’ll have to call him that now. He’s suddenly turned decent in the last twenty-four hours.”

“He knows he was wrong. He’s making amends. Did they—mistreat you?”

He rearranged his arms around me and sighed. “It wasn’t so bad, except for the hopelessness. The feeling that I was being sent away for something that I didn’t do, that I would never know what had happened to Victoria, and that I would never be able to explain to anyone, especially you.”

I brushed a stray eyelash from his face. “Now they all have to apologize to you. The whole world, all your critics, all those nasty people who were willing to believe the worst.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. And I have you to thank, Lena. You showed up here, only weeks ago, and I yelled at you like some ogre, and every day after that you made my life brighter and brighter, and then you saved it.”

“It was just luck.”

“Luck that I met you.” He pulled me back against him in a sudden spasm of emotion and squeezed hard. “You want to know something? That day you and I had breakfast together? I followed you, Lena. I wasn’t going to go into the damn town and face all the endless stares. But then I saw you go drifting by with your bright face and your happy walk, and I couldn’t resist. You were like a siren.”

I laughed, surprised.

“So I pretended that I meant to go into that stupid little restaurant, and luck was with me again, because your date
canceled and I got to have breakfast with you. It was the best day I’d had in a long time.”

“That’s sweet,” I said, smoothing out some frown lines on his face.

“I was afraid you were too young for me, and I saw the way Heller looked at you. But then, just as I was feeling bummed about it, you called me on the phone. Your voice perked me right back up. There’s something about you, Lena. You’re like an elixir. Every time I was exposed to you, I felt a little more of my life returning.”

“And then you made me waffles,” I said. “With a brand-new waffle maker that you bought just for me.”

He looked surprised. “A detective, huh? But of course you are. You found Victoria when no one else could.” He kissed me again. I slid my arms around his neck and kissed him back, and then I pulled away slightly and breathed in the scent of him, my nose on his cheek. He said, “How did you find her, Lena?”

“It was a weird coincidence. I don’t think I would have seen the picture if not for the conversation we had at breakfast—the one at your house. You told me that Victoria said she wanted to sail away, and somehow that image stayed with me. You thought it was an image of escape, but subconsciously I guess I thought that it might be more than that.”

“Hmm.”

“So Camilla and I were working on the book, and I ended up suggesting that the characters escape on a yacht. She liked it, so I was doing online research, looking up yachts with various search terms. I saw that picture and didn’t recognize her in it. But later I saw Victoria on her
friend’s blog, in a picture I hadn’t seen before, and it reminded me so much of the yacht photo.”

“Yes—I saw them both.”

“But here’s the crazy part—the thing I Googled, that made those particular pictures turn up? Were the words ‘yachts’ and ‘Nikon.’”

Sam stiffened. “What? Why? What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. That’s the next step, right? To figure out what Nikon is, then use it to find Victoria.”

“That’s good information. I need to get inside and pass it on to a couple of people.”

“Not yet,” I said, snuggling against him. “Do you know I thought you were a horrible person when I first met you?”

“I was horrible. I’m sorry.”

“But I thought you were handsome, too. I still do.”

He kissed my hair. “I thought you were very pretty, and sweet. Especially when you made that disapproving face at me.”

“I disapproved.” We stared at each other for a while without speaking, sending messages in silence. “So what happens now?” I finally said.

He sighed and pushed me away, gently. “That’s the bad news. Nothing happens, Lena. Not until this is sorted out. I’m not going to drag you into this controversy, and I don’t want nosy reporters hunting you down and calling you ‘Sam West’s lover’ in the tabloids.”

I started to protest, but he held up a hand. “No. This isn’t over. You know what I went through, Lena; you understood better than anyone, and that’s why you’ll understand that I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep that kind of evil away from you.”

“Sam—”

“They’ll be here soon, the vultures. I’m surprised they’re not here now. But of course they don’t know I’m back yet. They’ll find out, and they’ll come. So nothing is going to happen right now, for your sake.”

“I can handle myself. You know I’m strong.”

“I know, and I hope you’ll wait for me. Maybe it won’t take long. The police are on it, and now my own investigator has something to go on. The problem is that the man who took that picture was just taking crowd shots. He didn’t know Vic or who she was with, and now that crowd has dispersed. The festival is over, and everyone went sailing away. We know she’s alive, but we don’t know where.”

“So?”

“So we need that information. One image does not put me totally in the clear. To be honest, the DA in New York didn’t want to let me go, not even after they had the pictures, because he said it wasn’t enough evidence.”

I made a scoffing sound.

He laughed. “They had a special hearing yesterday, and my lawyer—Don Fraser is his name—really earned his money. Don wiped the floor with that DA, and later he told me he really enjoyed it. Don’s believed in me all along, and yesterday was vindication for both of us. He put up both photos on a big screen; then he Skyped with the man who had photographed Victoria. Ultimately it was more than enough for the judge.”

“God, I hope so!”

He shook his head, still seemingly amazed by it all. “What I really can’t believe is that she let me go through all this. That she was going to let me go to jail.”

“Maybe she didn’t know.”

His face hardened. “She must have known when she provided a bunch of her own blood to help frame me. I can’t get over that part. It was her blood, Lena. And officials are estimating the blood was there before the picture on the yacht was taken, not after. So she didn’t lose it as a result of foul play. What does that leave?”