Chill Waters (5 page)

“I’ll be closing up the store in a few days and some things just won’t keep.” Her smile held a small plea. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor.”

A gust of wind sent the skirt of her long, black coat flapping about her legs like giant bat wings. Behind her, lightning snaked across an angry sky.

“Please, come in,” Rachael said, forcing a smile. “I was just about to have a bit of supper,” she lied. “Nothing fancysoup and a sandwich maybe.”

“I’ve got the fixings,” Iris said cheerfully, looking relieved. She stepped inside bringing with her the blended scents of damp wool and wild roses. “I’m sorry, butI’m afraid your name has slipped my mind.”

I never gave it to you, Rachael thought, with a stab of resentment.
So how did you find me?
She took the bags from the woman’s arms. “Rachael. Rachael Timm…Warren
.” I don’t even want his damn name.

The keen blue eyes took in their surroundings—eyes that missed little.

“The place is a mess,” Rachael said. “I haven’t had chance to…”

“Of course you haven’t. Actually, it hasn’t changed all that much since your grandmother lived here. Or perhaps I’m just recalling the way it was. Of course there have been changes. The last owners, Ethel and George Bates, were friends of mine. A tragic story there,” she said sadly. “At any rate, I’m so glad someone will be living here again. And I’m especially delighted it’s you, Rachael.”

“You knew my grandmother?”

“Oh, indeed. You favor her, you know. Especially around the eyes. They’re deep set like hers were—intelligent. And you have that same regal bearing. I knew when you were in the store that you looked familiar. It just took a little while to register why.”

She followed Rachael into the kitchen. “I didn’t know her all that well, mind you. But like everyone who lived around here then I certainly knew who she was. And that she was kind. Once, when I was canvassing for the heart fund, she invited me in for a glass of lemonade. But Emily Warren kept her own counsel.”

“Please, sit down.” Rachael pulled out a kitchen chair. “Let me take your coat.”

“Oh, don’t bother yourself. I’ll just put it here,” she said, draping it over the back of the chair.

Rachael switched on the overhead light and three tulip-shaped bulbs shed a weak amber light over the rectangular wood table. “I’ll make us that tea.” She set the kettle on the burner. Then, opening the can of tuna Iris bought, she said, “I can’t believe you actually knew my grandmother. I would have thought all her contemporaries were…” she caught herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Iris chuckled, thankfully taking no offense at the careless reference to her years. “It might also surprise you to know that I have an Emily Warren seascape hanging above my fireplace at home.” This information was divulged with a hint of pride.

“Have you? Not that she was famous or anything. I’m afraid I have no milk.”

“No problem. I take my tea black. Maybe not famous, dear, but wonderful just the same. And not entirely unknown.”

Rachael busied herself setting out cups and saucers, bowls, triangular tuna sandwiches on a plate, the Oreo cookies, all the while listening to Iris’ chatter about the way things used to be. She couldn’t deny the pleasure it gave her to be talking to someone who had actually known her grandmother.

Ladling the steaming tomato soup into the bowls, she envisioned her grandmother at her easel—the intense concentration of her face, the way her hand would move absently to tuck back an errant strand of hair that had escaped the bun she always wore at the nape of her neck.

“I remember you, too,” Iris said, surprising Rachael yet again. “I’d often see you down on the beach with her.

Sometimes you would content yourself with just watching her paint, other times you’d be sitting on your rock writing in your notebook. I used to wonder what you were writing about.”

“Nothing of great importance, I’m sure,” Rachael said, pouring the tea. Odd, it was the sounds she remembered mostthe sighing of the bay, birdsong, the whisper of brush on canvasthe contented beat of her heart. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you…”

Another soft chuckle. “Oh, I think you were a child who tended to live in your own world. But you weren’t always writing in your book. Sometimes I’d see you riding past our cottage on your bike, those long, sun-browned legs peddling for all they were worth, dark hair flying out behind you.” Rachael stifled an impulse to touch her hair—short now, streaked with grey, which she’d only noticed lately. “Such a free spirit you were,” Iris said. “Made a body feel good just to watch you.”

Uncomfortable with herself as the focus of the conversation, she said off-handedly, “Such a long time ago.”

“Seems only yesterday to me,” Iris said, and sipped her tea. She held the cup away from her lips, gesturing with it to Rachael. “As it will to you too one day. Of course, you’re much too young…”

“Not so young,” Rachael said quietly. Weariness had crept up on her again, and the headache she’d wakened with this morning was finding new legs. As much as she’d enjoyed Iris’ company, which was a surprise in itself, she wantedneeded—to be alone now.

“Iris, I do wish you’d let me pay you for the groceries,” she blurted, a clumsy hint for her to go. The statement hung limp and awkward.

Iris smiled. “Of course, Rachael, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

Taken aback at the quick acceptance, and further embarrassed that it probably showed, she reached for her purse on the refrigerator, accidentally knocked it to the floor. Coins clattered and bounced, and disappeared under things. A tube of lipstick rolled under the table.

Down on her hands and knees, she waved off Iris’ attempts to help her, while trying not to burst into tears. Everything collected, she handed Iris a twenty. “Will this cover it?”

Her headache was now a railing tyrant inside her skull. The tuna she’d eaten was swimming upstream in her stomach.

“That’s fine,” Iris said easily, slipping the bill into her skirt pocket without looking at it. A hard gust of rain shook the window, and Iris turned slightly in her chair. “These storms can get frightening at times.”

“I never used to mind them.”

She turned back to Rachael, gave her a mysterious smile. “Yes, I can tell that about you. The wilder, the better. You love the feel of that power all around you, the energy.”

“And what else can you tell about me?” she asked in a tight voice, beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope.

“I’m sorry,” Iris said, her smile vanishing. “I’ve upset you. Please don’t think I’m prying.”

“I don’t know what to think. You keep implying you know things about me. At the store you…”

“Do I? I didn’t realize… I am sorry. It’s just thatwell, you seemed to need a friend. One doesn’t need special powers to see your pain, Rachael. It’s in your eyes, in your every move.”

“My every clumsy move, you mean. Just because I dropped my purse…”

“Oh, no, of course not. I recognized myself in you, Rachael. After my husband died, I was a lost soul, wandering in an alien world. There were no colors in that world, just varying shades of grey. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I felt as if I were standing on the edge of an abyss with a strong wind at my back.”

“I can assure you, my husband is very much alive.” Hot tears pressed behind her lids.
I don’t need this, dammit!
The hammering in her head was working itself up to a crescendo, vying with the storm outside her window. Unexpectedly, Iris reached out and placed a hand over hers. Warmth and understanding flowed from her touch.

“There are many kinds of deaths, Rachael. A lot of little deaths in a lifetime.” Withdrawing her hand from Rachael’s, she reached into her pocket and brought out a business card that she handed to her. “Just in casewell, if you ever need anything. Perhaps just to talk.”

Rachael glanced at the words on the buff card with its raised chocolate lettering. “You’re a potter.”

“Yes. I became interested in the craft after John died. A long time ago, now. I found working with the clay helped to ease the grief. I suppose it also gave me a sense of having control in my life. If I didn’t like the way a piece was shaping up, I could always change it. Work it differently. Take off a little here, add a little there. If you ever want a lesson—no charge of courseI’d be happy to…”

She’s really a very nice woman, but I don’t want these confidences. I have no energy to give to a new friendship. I just want to be left alone. Unconsciously, Rachael pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples.

“Rachael,” Iris said, concerned. Are you feeling unwell? You’ve gone terribly pale.”

“Nothing serious. Just a headache.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I have some Aspirin out in the car. I’ll just get…”

“No, It’s all right. Really. I’ll take something later. I do think I will lie down for a while, though. I don’t mean to rush you, Iris, but…”

She rose at once, put on her coat and buttoned it. “Forgive me. I hadn’t intended to take up so much of your time.”

“I’m glad you came,” Rachael said, and it was mostly true.

At the door, Iris hesitated. The fear was back in her eyes. The same fear Rachael saw in them when she was in the store.

“Rachael…”

“What is it? Is there something you want to tell me, Iris?” Her hand on the doorknob was damp, her legs felt shaky. She really did need to lie down.

Sighing, Iris said, “Yes, I’m afraid there is. I’m not even sure how to say this. I don’t want to frighten you needlessly. I may be wrong, but…”

“Please, Iris. Just say it.” Rachael could not imagine anything making her feel any worse than she already did.

“Yes, I suppose it is the only way.” She took a mental breath, then said, “You are in danger here, Rachael. Terrible danger.”

“Danger. What are you talking about, Iris?”

“I know how insane it sounds. But I do sometimes get these my mother called them forewarnings. I wish to God I didn’t get them, believe me. But the feelings are so strong this time. I felt the danger all around you when you were in the store. I—still feel it.”

“Are you telling me I shouldn’t live here?”

“I—I don’t know. At least keep your door locked, Rachael. The world is a far different place from when your grandmother lived in this house.”

Rachael stood on the porch as the taillights of the stationwagon swept the wind-bowed trees in a wide arc of drizzly light, then vanished into the night. Hugging herself against the cold rain that blew into the open porch, she hurried back inside and closed the door. With one thought foremost in her mindthe Tylenol with codeine, the only item in her purse that hadn’t spilled onto the floor.

As she filled her glass with water from the kitchen tap, Iris’ words replayed in her mind: “Keep your doors locked, Rachael. The world is a far different place from when your grandmother lived in this house.”

Setting the glass of water on the counter, palming the pills, she went back into the living room and snapped the lock on the door.
No point in tempting the fates.
She was about to turn away when she heard something outsidea shuffling soundlike footsteps on her porch floor. An icy hand touched her heart.
Was someone out there?
Her eyes fixed on the door, she strained to hear. Even her pounding headache seemed to lower in volume to cooperate. But she heard nothing further, only the wailing of the wind in the trees, and the crashing of waves down on the shore.

She washed down the two Tylenol with water. She was spooking herself, letting Iris’ warning get to her.

Back in the livingroom, she fed a new chunk of wood into the fire. As she sat on the floor hugging her knees, watching the flame curl hungrily about it, Iris Brant’s words echoed
…my mother called them forewarnings…

Just so much superstitious nonsense, Rachael told herself. Iris had cited recent acts of vandalism and break-ins, but that had nothing to do with her. Crime happened back in Deering, too.

She would not let herself think about a girl in intensive care, the victim of a brutal attack that had left her unable to speakyou could only process so much.

The flames leapt higher, cracking and snapping, casting flickering shadows on the ceiling and walls. Yet, despite the heat from the fire, they failed to warm her.

But at least the Tylenol was kicking in.

Ten

It was after one in the morning when Bob Myers came downstairs to find his wife sitting in the living room in the dark. Lightning flashed in the picture window, silhouetting her small frame on the sofa. Bob turned on the tri-lamp, touched a hand to her shoulder. “Helen, honey, are you okay?”

Her
no
was barely audible as she lifted her gaze to him. She looked so pale and drawn in the lamplight, tormented he knew, by visions of that monster’s savage attack on their only child. The good Lord knew he wasn’t coping all that well himself. But at least Heather was alive; she was still with them. Not that it dulled his rage at the animal who did this to her. No. Not for a minute. And he knew who that animal was, too, even if he couldn’t prove it. Not yet anyway. Heather couldn’t help them. Doctor Halstead said that even when she did regain her speech, which he’d all but guaranteed would happen, she might have no memory at all of the attack.