A Dark and Stormy Murder (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery) (9 page)

There was a picture of Jonas, apparently taken when he was much younger, and his face bore a certain vulnerability that I had not noticed in person. Perhaps Marge Bick had been right, and Jonas had changed due to his ill-chosen companions.

Doug Heller was pictured, too, squinting in the sun as he stood on the beach. The caption read “Detective Douglas Heller of the BLPD says that the case is still under investigation, and as of yet the police have no suspects.”

What must it be like, I wondered, to have to face a puzzle so daunting, with no guarantee that the answer would eventually emerge from the mist of clues? Doug Heller faced such a puzzle, but so did Sam West. Did he sit in his house at night, trying to work out what might have happened to his estranged wife? Did Doug Heller fear that his job would be on the line if he did not come through with answers?

Suddenly glad about my own job and my confidence that I could do it well, I grabbed my annotated manuscript, went down to the kitchen, and ate a quick plate of scrambled eggs with toast and a little fruit salad, which Rhonda had displayed attractively in individual blue ceramic bowls.
I put my dishes in the sink, feeling decadent, and went in to Camilla and her warm, cozy study.

“Is now an okay time?” I asked, holding the sheaf of papers awkwardly in my arms.

“Of course. Here—pull up that purple chair. Then we can both use the desk.”

I set the book down and dragged over the stuffed chair she had indicated. It was firm, yet comfortable.

She smiled at me, then pointed at the manuscript. “This has annotations, as well? Wonderful. I’ll take that, too. I’ve been going through your notes. They are splendid, Lena.”

“Thank you. Your book was an inspiration.”

“Mmm.” I needed to remember that, as a rule, Camilla was immune to compliments.

“Where should we start?”

“I am concerned at this point about the scene in the Black Forest. You made some fine notes there, and clearly there is a problem. What do you think is lacking?”

I settled into my chair while I thought about it. “The thing is—the location alone is thrilling. She’s left Austria and has become embroiled in the mystery in Altensteig. And then there’s that amazing scene where she’s being chased through the Black Forest by the man whose criminal enterprise she has stumbled upon. It’s compelling. But—it’s not as suspenseful as it should be.”

“Yes. You’re right, of course. I reread it last night, through your eyes, and I can see that it needs to be much more intense. I need them on the edges of their seats, not just appreciating the scenery.”

“Which I did,” I said.

She laughed. “Lena, you are irrepressible.”

“I sense that you’ve seen it firsthand—the Black Forest. Have you been there?”

Her expression grew soft. “On my honeymoon. Many, many years ago. Beautiful places tend to stay with you, especially if they are the settings for beautiful experiences.”

“Camilla—I know we’re just getting acquainted, but someday—I’d love to hear how you met. You and your husband.”

She nodded, her expression brisk again. “And someday I would like to tell you. Now—here is what I propose. We will both rewrite the scene in the forest. We will share, and decide on the best parts of each for the most suspenseful experience. Is that all right with you?”

I’m sure my face was bright red. “I—it—I would love to. I—if you think—”

“Good. In the meantime I’ll finish the other notes and work on addressing them, point by point. How long will you need to write the scene? It’s approximately, what? Fifteen pages.”

“Uh—let’s say two days. That way I can write and rewrite and bring you what I think is best.”

“Excellent.” She held out her hand like a business executive, but she was laughing. I shook it, and then I was laughing, too.

I wanted to say something about how honored I was to have the chance to write with her, but it was clear she already knew that. I stood to go, but she held up a hand.

“Wait one more moment, Lena. I realized that we haven’t really addressed the issue of your pay. I took it up with my accountant yesterday, and she put you on the payroll. If it’s all right with you, you’ll receive compensation
on the first and the fifteenth of the month. Since today is the fifteenth, I had her generate a check and bring it to me this morning.”

She handed me an envelope, which I took, feeling awkward. Did I open it in front of her? Did I wait to open it in my room? What was the etiquette?

Camilla seemed to read my mind. “You’ll probably want to open it later; when you do, I want you to know that this is the going rate in New York and London for people doing exactly what you are doing.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said. Was she warning me that it was a low amount? Or suggesting that I might find it too high? I feared it was the former.

“In addition, I’ve had my lawyer write up a contract.” She slid a packet over to me. “You’ll want to have your people look it over.”

“Oh—uh, yes.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t really have any . . . people.”

Camilla’s mouth twitched. “There are several worthwhile attorneys here in town who work on a sliding scale. And now that I think of it—your friend Sam West used to be an investment banker. I think he’d be quite good at this.”

“Oh! Okay, yes. Thank you. Thank you, Camilla.” I had stood up and was backing away as I spoke, clutching my contract and my envelope, which I was dying to open. Then I stopped. “Oh—I meant to tell you that I’m having dinner with Allison tonight. So Rhonda only needs to feed you.”

She nodded. “She always makes too much. I hate to have all that food just sitting around—who might . . . perhaps I’ll have Adam over—as a thank-you for the roses. What do you think?”

“That sounds great. I hope he can make it. Also, I ran into Lane Waldrop in town this morning.”

“Yes, I know Lane.”

“She spoke about us having lunch together. I had the feeling she was hinting that she’d like to be invited here. I think your house has a certain mystique for the locals—”

Camilla shrugged. “God knows why. But you’re welcome to have her here for lunch. Just let me know the day and I will tell Rhonda. Actually, I’ll be out of town for half the day on Thursday. I have a doctor appointment in Daleville. I love my doctor, and she moved farther away, so I followed her.”

“I see. All right, Thursday then. I will tell Lane to come at—noon?”

“Make it twelve thirty. Rhonda will want to have everything just so. She’s very particular about visitors. As though I were the queen and this were the castle.”

I laughed. “Well, thank you, Camilla. For everything.”

“The gratitude is mutual, dear.”

Out in the hall I increased my pace, practically running up the stairs and diving on my bed to tear open the envelope. I stared at the amount in the box with my mouth hanging open. After taxes, my pay came to twenty-five hundred dollars. AFTER taxes. Which meant I was being paid five thousand dollars a month. I was getting free room and board and a ridiculously high salary for work that was easy and did not confine me to a rigorous eight-hour schedule. Lestrade flew up onto the bed, breathing his cat food breath on me.

“Lestrade, I am rich. I’m rich and lucky and happy. I can pay off my debts and buy gifts for my father and new tires for my car. I am an
employed woman
.” I said this to
him earnestly, but he yawned as though he’d heard it all before. I scratched his fluffy head and got up to set the check and the contract carefully on my desk. I would have to decide on a bank in the area. Meanwhile, I needed someone to look at the agreement.

I opened my laptop and searched the local white pages for Blue Lake. Then I googled Sam West. I figured his number would be unlisted, given the extent of the harassment he had received, but to my surprise, his name and number were right there on the page. I felt nervous about approaching him for a favor, but I grabbed my cell phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of the decision.

He answered on the third ring. “Sam West. Is this Lena?”

“Uh—yes. Hi, Sam. You have caller ID?”

“I do. Nice to hear from you.”

“Yes. You might not think so when you hear that I’m calling to ask for a favor.”

“I have no problem doing a favor for you. You granted me one the other day by dining with me.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, rumbling into my ear.

“That’s nice of you. Okay, here goes: Camilla gave me a contract, and said I should have someone look it over. Except I don’t know a soul in this town, and I know zero about contracts and money and things.”

“I know everything about them. We are the yin and yang of contracts.” He sounded amused, and my tension eased.

“I wonder if you would look at it and advise me? I would owe you another favor in return.”

“That is the best part of all. Knowing I have a favor coming from Lena London.”

I said nothing, and he laughed.

“Of course I’ll do it, Lena.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”

“When would you like to meet?”

“Um—I’m basically free, except I’m having dinner with my friend Allison tonight. She’s the one who stood me up for breakfast the other day.”

“I am in her debt.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, I guess so. Would you like to meet for breakfast again?”

“Sounds good. But this time you come here and I’ll feed you. I’ve had enough evil stares for one week.”

“Um—okay.”

His voice became businesslike. “Meanwhile, why don’t you drop the contract off on your way to dinner, and I’ll look it over tonight.”

“Thank you! That would be great. I’ll do that. Probably around six.”

“I’ll meet you in the driveway. As you know, I like to contemplate the evening while smoking a cigarette.”

“And as you know, I disapprove on principle.”

He sniffed his amusement into the phone. “And what is your friend serving tonight? No giant waffles to endanger your own health?”

“She’s making lasagna with an unfortunate side of a male companion for the evening. She seems to think she should fix me up as a part of welcoming me to town.”

“Hmm. Avoid the interference of matchmaking friends, that’s my advice. They are often trying to kill two birds with one stone rather than giving great consideration to what sort of man would make you happy.”

“Exactly! I agree, Sam.”

There was a sound in the background, a pinging that could have been a text message or a computer. I could sense that his attention had shifted. He said, “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Thank you again. Bye, Sam.” I hung up and sat still for a while. I needed to rewrite the forest scene, but my head was swarming with thoughts.

I got up to search for my green pencil, which I had set down somewhere. In the midst of my quest I stopped and remembered that Camilla had called Sam West “your friend.” Not “our friend,” but “your friend.”

Why would Camilla, who had introduced me to West and his reputation in town, suddenly refer to him as my friend alone? It was a curious distinction for someone whose business was words.

Troubled by this, I located my pencil on the carpet (I suspected Lestrade had been batting it around again) and went to the desk.

It was time to return to the Black Forest.

8

Gerhard did not return, and they began to worry about his whereabouts; Johanna experienced a general dread, not just about the consequences of involving Gerhard in her suspicions, but of life itself, with all its hidden pitfalls, and the existence that the giant trees had made her call into question. What, really, did she know of the world, or herself, or her future? Why, really, did it matter?

—from
The Salzburg Train

I
HAD FINISHED
a draft by late afternoon; it was not one I would show Camilla, but it was a start. I dressed with a sense of satisfaction; I knew that writing was a layered process, and one had to find little joys as one went along. A finished novel was a culmination, but Camilla had once said, in a 1981 interview, that “the real joy is in going down the path, pen in hand, and meeting your story as it comes. You never know what adventures await you, and it’s the start of the journey that is the most thrilling. At the end, when the book is done, you all say good-bye. I far prefer the start: my characters as my friends, and a whole adventure awaiting us.”

In Camilla’s formula, this was the beginning of the adventure, in so many ways, and I intended to relish every
moment of it. Perusing the outfits in my closet, I said as much to Lestrade, who was stropping against my leg in an attempt to get me to open the door. He had a new world, too, and he longed to explore it. I smiled down at him. “Okay! Just tell me what to wear first.” I scooped him up and edged toward my hanging clothes. Lestrade, who had actually done this before, stuck out a paw, which happened to land on a blue sweater.

“Fine. I was leaning toward that one anyway. Here you go. Say hi to your new pals.” I walked him to the door and let him out, and he made his fluffy way down the stairs.

I returned and donned a bit of perfume before I slipped the blue sweater over my head. It was a midnight blue, a gift from my parents when I turned twenty-one. My mother had grown ill soon afterward, and I had always valued this sweater because it was a beautiful memory of a time when we were all together.

I pulled on my “dress jeans”—the nicer, newer black pair that looked well enough with a sweater and a pair of black boots—and viewed the result in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall. “Yeah, that works,” I said. Allison knew that I wasn’t a frilly person, and never had been. But I also felt that casual clothes suited me, and that I could still project a certain elegance with them, especially when I donned some matching jewelry. I slipped on a long, blue-stoned necklace that my ex-boyfriend Kurt had given me one Christmas, along with the matching earrings, which I now fastened into my ears.

“Blue is your color,” he had said to me once. The sad reality was that it was probably the most romantic thing he had ever said. Kurt wasn’t frilly, either, and it had turned out he also wasn’t thoughtful or kind.

With a sigh, I grabbed my purse and made my way downstairs, where Rhonda was making dinner and Camilla was nowhere to be seen. I leaned into the kitchen and said, “Rhonda, if you see Camilla, could you tell her—”

Rhonda turned, surprised. “Isn’t she in her little study there? I just saw her stoking the fire.”

“Uh—I’ll look again.” I walked back to the study, and sure enough, Camilla was sitting on the edge of her desk, flipping through a book.

“Hello, dear. All ready to go? Did Allison give you good directions?”

“Yes, thank you. I was looking for you earlier, and I didn’t see you in here. It seems like a couple of times I’ve had that happen . . .”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry. I was hunting for this book. It has a reference that I needed for my German character, my Gerhard.”

“Oh, I love him!” I said.

“Did you find time to work on the scene?”

“I did. I finished a draft, but it’s not ready for your eyes yet.”

“Wonderful. I’ll look forward to us comparing notes.” She snapped the book shut. “Seeing you going out reminds me—I should probably wear something other than this old sweater, since I have a dinner companion.”

“You look stylish—it seems effortless with you.”

Camilla gave me her shrewd, assessing look. I had forgotten that she didn’t like flattery; then she softened. “Oh, Lena. I could have used your kind support in the last few years.” Her face, though lined, looked oddly young and vulnerable for a moment. Then she stood up and regained her traditional composure. “Do tell Allison that I said hello.”

“All right. Should I tell her that you’re working on your knitting?” I asked, looking pointedly around the room.

Camilla laughed. “Observant girl. I’m trying to learn, but I’ve been terrible about practicing. I’m not very good at it. Allison is much better. She’s making a blanket.”

“I’ll tell her that you said hello. Have a nice dinner with Adam. Make sure you put those beautiful roses in the center of the table.”

Camilla waved as I made my way out to my car, which I hadn’t driven since arriving at Graham House. I climbed in, started the engine, and then pulled Allison’s directions from my big purse so I could study them one more time. I also retrieved Camilla’s contract. Then I pulled out of the driveway and drove halfway down the hill; I parked in front of Sam West’s place and got out of the car, contract in hand. He was there, leaning on a tree and stubbing out a cigarette with the toe of his boot. He squinted up at me, his hair slightly mussed by the wind.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello. We look like spies, passing a mysterious document in the shelter of the woods.”

I laughed and handed him the contract. His hands were ungloved and large, with long fingers. For an instant I imagined him caressing Victoria West’s face and was jolted by unexpected jealousy. I shook my head and pretended to be brushing something off—a leaf, an insect? Perhaps West wouldn’t notice that there was nothing there.

“Hopefully it won’t be too mysterious. I’m truly appreciative of this favor,” I said.

“No problem, Lena. Have a nice dinner with your friend.”

“Thanks.” I started to move back to my car, then turned
around and saw, to my surprise, that he wasn’t going in, but just standing there, watching me. Even in the shadow of the tree, in the autumn evening light, his eyes looked very blue. “What time should I be here in the morning?”

He shrugged. “I’m not that early a riser. How about nine?”

“Perfect. Thank you again.”

He waved, and this time he did turn and walk away. I remembered that the news article had said he was thirty-five, which meant that now at most he was thirty-six. In some ways he seemed ancient—especially in the defeated expression he sometimes wore—but when he smiled he looked young.

The wind had picked up, even since I’d left the house, it seemed, and I was glad to tuck back into my car and turn on the heater. I needed to get back on Green Glass Highway and drive south for about a mile, then turn left into a subdivision called Forest Glen. I would take this to a street called Winterbourne, where Allison’s house sat on the corner lot.

This was easy to remember, and I set the directions aside and enjoyed the scenery of autumn in Blue Lake. We had not yet turned back the clocks, so I was treated to a glorious sunset over the water. This was the sort of place one could get used to as a permanent home. I recalled what Camilla had said when we stood on the shore and watched the technicians work on the body of poor Martin Jonas. She had said that Blue Lake was “unrelentingly beautiful.” Her voice had been resigned. Had she wanted to leave at one point? At many points? But perhaps she had fallen into a comfortable existence here, or perhaps she had even come to rely on those profound sunsets and the horizon that seemed to go on forever.

At the edge of town, about to turn onto the highway, I saw the young man I had first seen in Bick’s Hardware on the day of the storm—the ski-sweater man who had been talking to Martin Jonas. In the evening light I could see that his hair was actually red, a detail I had not noticed when distracted by his weird sweater. Now he was wearing a Windbreaker and jeans and walking rapidly toward the restaurant called Wheat Grass—Adam Rayburn’s place. It was a charming restaurant with beige stucco walls, large windows, and a water view. Now that I had money I could dine there . . .

The man in the Windbreaker looked once over his shoulder, almost directly at me, and I accelerated past him and the restaurant and turned left onto Green Glass. He and Martin Jonas had been arguing. And hadn’t he sort of threatened Martin Jonas, this man with the red hair? It seemed perfectly obvious to me that he was the prime suspect for killing poor Martin—so why was he still walking free? Was it because my description of him had been lacking? If so, now I had more information to give the police. The man had red hair, and at nearly six in the evening on October 15, he had walked into Wheat Grass wearing a blue Windbreaker. Surely they could find security footage of him and arrest him right afterward?

What would Adam Rayburn think if he learned he had a murderer in his restaurant? Rayburn’s name made me think of something entirely different: had Camilla seemed nervous about having Rayburn over? If so, why would she invite him? And what, I wondered, was Rhonda making for dinner?

Once again the people of Blue Lake were dominating my thoughts. I tried to think of nothing but the topaz sky
as I drove to Allison’s house for my first dinner away from Graham House.

*   *   *

A
LLISON’S MARRIED NAME
was Branch. and she had told me to look for a house on the corner. I knew I had the right place immediately, not only because it sprawled on a corner lot with a leaf-strewn yard, but because there was a stone placard that read “Branch House” sitting in the center of the lawn. It was stately and expensive-looking; I wondered if it had been a wedding present.

I pulled into the driveway and gathered my purse and a little housewarming gift that I had purchased back in Chicago: a huge caramel-colored candle in a driftwood stand, scented with some alluring spice that I couldn’t name. Allison was mad for candles, so I felt confident it would be a hit.

I got out and marched to their front door, which flew open. Allison stood there, blonde and good-looking as always, her hair gathered in a casual ponytail that should have looked scruffy but looked fashionable instead. She wore a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black knit pants with high-heeled black shoes. “I’m so glad to see you!” she cried, hugging me against her.

“I come with gifts,” I said when she released me, handing her the package the clerk had wrapped for me. “Although I just realized I should have brought wine or something.”

“We have plenty—and our other guest brought a bottle.” She turned and pointed to the men who had just entered the room. “You know John, of course. And this is Doug Heller, our good friend and neighbor.”

Douglas Heller stood there, looking different and out
of context. He wore jeans and a green sweatshirt that said “IU.” He held a beer in his right hand, but he lifted his left to wave at me. “Hey,” he said, grinning.

“Hey. I did not expect to see you here. I thought you were busy solving murders.”

He nodded. “The Blue Lake PD never sleeps. But I took a break because my friend Allison said there was someone I should meet.” His voice was slightly hoarse, as though he had a cold.

Allison barged between us. “What do you mean you didn’t expect to see him? Do you guys know each other? How could you possibly know each other?” John was smirking. It cracked him up when Allison got all hyper.

“First of all,” I said, “Detective Heller was the one who came to the beach when Camilla and I found—Martin Jonas.”

“Oh, my gosh, of course. How did I not put two and two together?” Allison looked disappointed. Clearly she had wanted to spring Doug Heller on me as the ultimate surprise—which he would have been, considering his good looks and Viking-like demeanor.

Doug Heller spoke in his new, scratchy voice. “But even if I hadn’t met her then, I had already met her on the day she came to town. I saw her legs dangling out of her car on the side of the road, and figured I might have a motorist in distress.”

He sent me a twinkly look, and Allison didn’t miss it. She moved even closer. “What happened? What’s the story? I feel totally out of the loop here.”