Love Lies Bleeding: A Novel Part 12
"Hmm, I see." Fritz uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "A teenager, and that would've been . . . ?"
"Well . . ." She did some swift arithmetic in her head. "Jackson just turned forty and I believe he said he was fifteen that summer, so it must've been about twenty-five years ago." Sam c.o.c.ked her head and studied him. "Why?"
"Too young, even for Blanche," he muttered.
"Blanche? Who's Blanche? Why all the questions? And how does this relate to a strange woman prowling around my dock?"
"Blanche was the woman who lived here back then, but I'm sure it's just a coincidence that you wound up staying in this particular cabin." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "However, it's not a coincidence that you're seeing a woman dressed in lavender. That was Blanche's favorite color."
"She's prowling around her old home?"
"No, Blanche left the lake about the time your fiance spent his summer here. He probably didn't even know her." He looked toward the patio door and to the lake beyond. "But plenty of others still living here did." He turned back to Sam, his face once again tightening. "I'm afraid, my dear, someone has selected you as the target of a rather cruel joke."
Chapter Twelve.
Anne came back in the kitchen just in time to hear Fritz's remark. Wonderful. She might have considered the same thing, but Anne thought back to what Sam had said about feeling exposed. Now that Fritz had planted the seed that Sam wasn't safe here at the cabin, she'd never get Sam to come out of her bedroom.
But watching them, Anne was surprised. They were chatting away like new best friends. Sam seemed relaxed and comfortable in Fritz's company. What had happened while she'd been on the phone with Caleb? Whatever it was, she was glad to see the change in Sam, and even though Fritz was not her favorite person, the interaction was good for Sam.
Noticing Anne, Fritz turned. "I think someone is playing tricks."
"Any suspects?" she asked.
Fritz c.o.c.ked his head and gave her a knowing look. "One."
"Teddy Brighton," Anne stated flatly.
"Ah." He leaned back in his chair. "You've already considered the possibility."
"Who's Teddy Brighton?" Sam interjected.
"A little hooligan," Fritz replied in a clipped voice, then, with a look at Anne, shrugged. "No insult intended toward Caleb."
"Caleb is not hanging out with him," Anne shot back quickly. "For once I agree with you, Fritz, and I've told Caleb to stay away from him."
"Does he live at the lake?" Sam asked.
"For the summer," Fritz replied. "I heard there'd been a problem concerning Teddy and a missing car, so he's been banished to the lake and placed under the watchful eye of his grandmother Irene."
"Brighton?" Sam's eyes narrowed. "That name sounds familiar."
"The family is quite influential. Irene's family were lumber barons," Fritz said. "Lots and lots of lovely money that Ted Two has used to build a successful construction business."
"That's where I heard the name," Sam said with a snap of her fingers. "Jackson mentioned them. They were involved with the new wing at the hospital."
Fritz gave a slight nod. "It wouldn't surprise me. Ted Two is just a bit older than your fiance and has his fingers in a lot of pies."
"You saw his mother and wife at the beauty shop, Sam," Anne remarked.
"The two women whispering?"
"Yeah."
"The grandmother looked a little old to be handling a delinquent teenager," Sam said.
Tipping his head back, Fritz gave a bark of laughter. "You don't know Irene. She rules that family with an iron fist. When he was alive, she kept Ted One on such a short leash, it was a wonder he didn't strangle." His attention drifted around the room. "Of course, he was known to slip it off occasionally. Right here in this cabin, as a matter of fact."
Anne's eyes widened in shock. "Blanche and Theodore Brighton?"
"Yes. It was-"
Sam held up a hand, stopping him. "Wait, the Blanche who lived here?"
"Yes, there was only one Blanche." He paused. "Thank G.o.d. As I said, her presence graced-if one could call it that-these four walls." Fritz settled back in his chair. "Blanche may have wreaked havoc wherever she went, but I have to give her this-she was never afraid to live her life as she saw fit. She was never afraid to go after what she wanted, even if it did belong to someone else."
"Was she married?"
"Yes, to Harley Jones, the poor, besotted fool. It's an often-told tale-old bachelor gets hooked by a much younger woman." He shook his head. "And, by G.o.d, she led him a merry chase. When she finally ran off, he sold this place and moved to the city."
"They've never been back?" Sam asked.
"No, but I'm sure wherever Blanche may have landed, she's still causing trouble."
"And now you and Anne think that Teddy is pretending to be Blanche and wandering around the lake?"
"Possibly."
"Why?"
"Who knows what goes on in that young man's head? I, for one, wouldn't care to find out." Fritz paused. "It could be that he's doing it to shake up his grandmother-trick her into thinking that Blanche has returned in order to get back at her for trying to control him. Irene's reaction to the mere mention of Blanche's name is well known. Or he might have heard about you, my dear, and decided to play a prank on you."
"Why me?"
"Everyone's been wondering about you. They've heard just enough to want to know all of the gory details."
"It's none of their business," Sam declared hotly.
"True, but it doesn't lessen their curiosity." Fritz pursed his lips. "It could be that, thanks to the rumors, Teddy sees you as an easy target. Anyone else might run him off with a load of buckshot. You, on the other hand, wouldn't."
While Anne watched Fritz talk about the Brightons and Blanche, she saw Sam's demeanor change. Her body seemed to shrink and her eyes lost their spark. She could almost see Sam's carefully constructed wall rise again to its formidable height. If Fritz would've just left well enough alone without sharing all that old gossip. But no, as always, he had to stick his nose in where it didn't belong.
Fritz pushed away from the table and rose. "Well, that's enough of a stroll down memory lane." He looked down at Sam. "I would caution you not to repeat what I've told you this morning. Irene Brighton isn't the only one who finds the subject of Blanche Jones distasteful."
But before he could leave, Anne spied the mail carrier pulling up in front of the cabin. Stepping out on the porch, she collected a large package, addressed to Sam. Excited, she held it up. "Were you expecting this?"
"Yes," Sam replied in a terse voice and with a lift of her eyebrows. "So Dan finally got around to it."
"Aren't you going to open it?"
Sam shrugged. "You can if you want."
Anne hurriedly ripped off the tape and extracted two frames. When she turned them around, her breath caught in her throat. They were paintings, cityscapes; the subject of one-Anne couldn't tell whether it was St. Paul or Minneapolis-showed the city in the early morning, before the sleeping giant had stirred. Looking at the painting, she felt the stillness, the quiet, as a hint of the morning sun began to peek over the tops of skysc.r.a.pers. The other painting showed the same scene, only at night. City life moved across the painting in a rush. Figures of people hurried down the sidewalks, while neon signs glowed above them. Cars filled the streets, and such was the immediacy of their portrayal that Anne could almost swear she caught a whiff of their exhaust.
She was amazed. When she'd first learned that Sam had been an artist, she'd a.s.sumed her painting was nothing more than a rich girl dabbling. Calling herself an artist because it sounded good. But these works, even to Anne's inexperienced eye, spoke of real talent.
"These are amazing," she cried. "I don't know much about art, but these are truly beautiful."
Fritz stepped closer and took one of the paintings from Anne. Holding it at arm's length, he studied it closely.
"These are quite good," he said, looking over his shoulder at Sam. "Is this your work?"
Sam's face tightened and she waved his question away with her hand. "Yes, but I did them a long time ago. I don't paint anymore."
Propping the painting against the cabinet, he turned. "But, my dear, you really should. It's a shame that a talent like this should go to waste."
Sam rose to her feet. "What do you know about it?" she stormed. "You live up here in the backwoods of nowhere. Hardly the seat of art and culture no matter how much you'd like to pretend differently."
Shocked, Anne and Fritz watched her stumble from the room, down the hall to her bedroom. A moment later, the door slammed.
"Was it something I said?" Fritz asked Anne in a wry voice.
Rolling her eyes, Anne grabbed Sam's plate from the table and, with a couple of angry strides, sc.r.a.ped the remaining food into the garbage.
"Who the h.e.l.l knows," she answered, setting the plate on the counter and facing him. "She has more mood swings than any other patient I've ever dealt with." She looked back toward the bedroom and lowered her voice. "And for some reason, any discussion of her experiences as an artist sets her off."
Fritz's gaze followed Anne's and he shook his head. "That's too bad. She really is talented." He glanced down at his watch. "Look at the time. I've got to go." Pausing at the door, he smiled warmly. "Again, thank you for giving Caleb permission to play in our quartet."
Anne's eyes narrowed and she gave him a steely look. "Just remember your promise not to encourage his foolish dreams."
"Anne," he said with sympathy, "not all dreams fail."
Sam had been so angry over Fritz's comments that Anne decided to let her cool off for a bit. She needed a little time to herself, too. Taking the last of the coffee, she stepped out onto the front porch and, pulling up a chair, propped her long legs on the railing.
It had been a morning of revelations. The cigarette b.u.t.ts proved Sam hadn't been dreaming, and Anne was relieved. She didn't like the idea of someone prowling around at night, and the thought of Teddy Brighton playing one of his tricks made her blood boil. But at least the sightings were real. She didn't know what the solution was. They didn't have enough proof to go to the Brightons and accuse him. Anne rolled her eyes at the thought of how that exchange would play out. Irene Brighton would have a stroke if she thought her grandson was wandering around the lake dressed up as Blanche. But maybe Fritz was right and that was Teddy's intent-to enrage his grandmother.
She took a long sip of coffee, and thought about Sam's reaction to the paintings. Was Fritz correct? Had Sam's dreams failed and now the mention of them generated anger? If so, she and Sam had more in common than either of them had realized. Anne knew how it felt to have your deepest hope dashed by cruel reality. It was for that exact reason that she was so determined not to let Caleb fall into the same trap. She shook her head. She never would've thought that she had anything in common with Samantha Moore.
Her eyes strayed to the plant that she'd noticed growing by the porch. She dropped her legs and stood, peering over the railing. Something had happened to it. It looked like it was dying. The once-green leaves were yellow, and their edges were brown and curling. Almost as if the plant were pulling in on itself. The cl.u.s.ters of buds had dropped, unfurled, and now littered the ground beneath the bush. Anne shook her head. One day vibrant and alive, then the next brittle and lifeless. She reached out and plucked one of the leaves, the edges crumbling in her fingers. Kind of like Sam. She'd been a vital, successful woman, but all of it had ended in the s.p.a.ce of a day. Hopefully Sam was strong enough to make a comeback.
Dropping the leaf, Anne moved away from the railing, and as she did, she noticed a lone figure walking down the lane whom she recognized immediately.
Setting the coffee cup on the railing, she hurried down the steps. "Edward," she called out.
He stopped, turning toward her, but averting his gaze from the cabin.
Sprinting, Anne caught up with him. "Hey, how's it going?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "I've been meaning to stop by the gas station, but I've been working with a new patient."
A slight smile tugged at his lips as he moved, putting his back toward the cabin. "So I've heard."
"Have you talked to Dr. Osgood?"
Edward's head lowered. "No, I've been busy, too. With the fishing tournament this weekend, we've had a lot of customers at the bait shop."
Anne frowned. "I understand, but you need to take care of yourself," she chided.
He raised his head and his eyes drilled into hers. "Why?"
Years of pain and hopelessness sounded in that one word, and Anne looked away. She couldn't bear seeing the despair in his eyes, and she wouldn't diminish his suffering by responding with some cliche. She focused on her own limbs. Her strength had never failed her and she's always taken it for granted. What must it be like for Edward, or Sam, to have that suddenly taken away? When even the simplest task brought pain or failure? It didn't bear thinking about.
Raising her gaze, she saw Edward staring at a cardinal sitting in the branches of a pine. Its bright red feathers almost glowed against the dark green of the pine needles. His face, lifted to the sun, relaxed, and she caught a glimpse of what he had been. She'd heard the stories-the local superstar, the young man who was going to go far-until a car accident shattered his future. His forehead tightened and he absentmindedly rubbed his arm.
"Can pain drive you crazy, Anne?" he asked softly while his eyes met hers again.
"Edward-"
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and his expression shifted. "Forget I said that," he said with a squeeze. "You're right-I should talk to Dr. Osgood. Who knows? Maybe they've discovered some new treatment."
Anne couldn't help giving a sigh of relief that she didn't have to answer his question. "Exactly," she exclaimed.
"I've got to get back to the store." He dropped his hand and began to walk away. "Take care."
"Promise you'll call Dr. Osgood?" she called to his retreating back.
With his arm held tightly to his side, he nodded.
"You look troubled," Greg said, placing a gla.s.s of wine on the small table next to her.
Sitting on Greg's deck, Anne looked out over the lake. She'd stopped by for a breather. Sam had insisted on spending the day shut up in her bedroom, and no matter how hard Anne had argued, she'd refused to come out. Anne had tried to be understanding, but her charitable feelings went only so far. The truce they'd struck hadn't lasted long and she left the cabin frustrated and on edge. She'd hoped that stopping by Greg's for a chat would help ease some of her tension before she had to return and deal with Sam again.
"Does it ever get to be too much for you?" she asked, leaning her head back against the chair.
"What? Life? The dogs? The price of coffee?"
Lifting her head, Anne gave him a wry look. "Life."
"Oh, that," he replied, patting his leg. His golden retriever, Molly, trotted over and dropped at his side. "Sure. All the time."
"So how do you handle it?"
After downing his Scotch, he bent and stroked Molly's well-shaped head. "I'm a simple guy. My dogs and my saxophone help me keep life in perspective." Sitting back, he stretched his legs out in front of him. "What's getting to you?"