Читать книгу Die Before Nightfall - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 11

She’d never hung wash out to dry, but that wouldn’t keep her from trying. Raven Stevenson eyed the basket of sopping white sheets and the small bucket of clothespins sitting at her feet.

How hard could it be?

Five minutes later she’d managed to trample one sheet into the mud. The other two were hanging, lopsided and drooping, from the line.

“It could be worse, I suppose.”

“Could be better, too.” A pie in one hand, a grocery bag in the other, Nora Freedman came around the side of the house, her eyes lined with laughter. “Never had to dry laundry the old-fashioned way, I see.”

“I’m afraid not. Hopefully it won’t take me long to get better at it.”

“It won’t. And I give you credit for even trying. You wouldn’t believe how many renters have turned down this property just because I don’t have a clothes dryer.”

“Their loss. My gain.”

Nora beamed at the words, her deep brown eyes glowing with pleasure. “I knew the minute I saw you, you were the person for this place. I’ve been praying about it, mind you. So it didn’t surprise me when Glenda called and said she might have a renter. Here, I’ve brought you a welcome gift. Pecan pie and some things to stock your cupboards.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Of course I didn’t. I wanted to. I’ll leave everything in the kitchen. Gotta scoot. Prayer meeting in a half hour. Call me if you need something.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“See you at church Sunday? You did say you planned to attend Grace Christian?”

The nerves that Raven had held at bay for a week clawed at her stomach. “Yes. I’ll see you then.”

“I knew it. Just knew this would work out.” Then Nora was gone as quickly as she’d come, her squat, square figure disappearing around the corner of the house.

In the wake of her departure, the morning silence seemed almost deafening. Humming a tune to block out the emptiness, Raven bent to lift the dirty sheet and caught sight of a strange print in the barren, muddy earth. A footprint—each toe clearly defined, the arch and heel obvious. Small, but not a child’s foot. Someone had walked barefoot through the yard, despite the lingering winter chill from the damp spring morning.

Who? Why? Raven searched for another print and found one at the edge of the lawn. From there, a narrow footpath meandered through sparse trees, the prints obvious on earth still wet from last night’s rain. She followed the path until it widened and Smith Mountain Lake appeared, vast and blue, the water barely rippling. There, on a rickety dock that jutted toward the center of the lake, was her quarry—white hair, white skin, a bathing suit covering a thin back.

Raven hurried forward. “Are you all right?”

“Thea?” The woman turned, wispy hair settling in a cloud around a face lined with age. “I’ve been waiting forever. Didn’t we agree to meet at ten?”

Ten? It was past noon. Two hours was a long time to sit half clad in a chilly breeze. Raven’s concern grew, the nurse in her cataloguing what she saw: pale skin, goose bumps, a slight tremor. “Actually, I’m Raven. I live in the cottage up the hill.”

“Not Thea’s cottage? She didn’t tell me she had guests.”

“She probably forgot. Were you planning a swim?”

“Thea and I always swim at this time of year. Though usually it’s not quite so cold.”

“It is chilly today. Here, put this on.” Raven slid out of her jacket and placed it around the woman’s shoulders.

“Do I know you?”

“No, we haven’t met. I’m Raven Stevenson.”

“I’m Abigail Montgomery. Abby to my friends.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Abby. Would you like to join me for tea? I’ve got a wonderful chamomile up at the house.” Raven held out her hand and was relieved when Abby allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

“Chamomile? It’s been years since I had that.”

“Then let’s go.” Raven linked her arm through Abby’s and led her toward the footpath, grimacing as she caught sight of her companion’s feet. Torn and dirty, they looked painful and swollen. Another walk through the brambles would only make things worse. “It looks like you’ve forgotten your shoes.”

Abby glanced down at her feet, confusion drawing her brows together. Then she looked at Raven, and behind her eyes past gave way to present. Raven had seen it many times, knew the moment Abby realized what had happened. She waited a beat, watching as the frail, vague woman transformed into someone else, stronger and much more aware.

“I’ve done it again, haven’t I.” The words were firm but Abby’s eyes betrayed her fear.

“Nothing so bad. Just a walk to the lake.”

“Dressed in a bathing suit? In…” Her voice trailed off, confusion marring her face once again.

“It’s April. A lovely day, but a bit too cold for a swim.”

“What was I thinking?” Frustration and despair laced the words.

“You were thinking about summer. Perhaps a summer long ago.”

“Do I know you?”

“My name is Raven. I live up the hill at the Freedman cottage.”

“Raven. A blackbird. Common. You’re more the exotic type, I’d think, with that wild hair and flowing dress.”

Raven laughed in agreement. “I’ve been fighting my name my entire life. You’re the first to notice.”

“Am I? Then I guess I’m not as far gone as I’d thought.” Despite the brave words, the tears behind Abby’s eyes were obvious, the slight trembling of her jaw giving away her emotions.

Raven let her have the moment, watched as she took a deep shuddering breath and glanced down at her bathing suit.

“I suppose it could be worse. At least I wore clothes this time. Now, tell me, where are we headed?”

“To the cottage for tea.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Here, slip my shoes on first.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. What about you?”

“I’ve got tough skin.” Raven slid her feet out of open-heeled sneakers and knelt to help Abby put them on. “They’re a bit big, but we’ll have your own for you in no time at all.”

They made their way up the steep incline, Raven’s hand steady against Abby’s arm. It hurt to know that the woman beside her was being consumed by a disease that would steal her vitality and leave nothing behind but an empty shell. Why? It was a question she asked often in her job as a geriatric nurse. There was no answer. At least none that she could find, no matter how hard she prayed for understanding.

“Sometimes it just doesn’t happen the way we want.”

“What?” Startled, Raven glanced at Abby.

“Life. It doesn’t always work out the way we want it to. Sad, really. Don’t you think?”

Yes. Yes, she did think it was sad—her own life a sorry testament to the way things could go wrong. Raven wouldn’t say as much. Not to Abby with her stiff spine and desperate eyes. Not to anyone. “It can be, yes. But usually good comes from our struggles.”

“And just what good will come of me losing my marbles, I’d like to know?”

“We’ve met each other. That’s one good thing.”

“That’s true. I’ve got to admit I’m getting tired of not having another woman around the house.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No, I forget things, you know. I live with…I can’t seem to remember who’s staying with me.”

“It’s all right. The name will come to you.”

Of course, it wasn’t all right, was never all right when someone’s memory had gaping holes in it. But Abby seemed disinclined to discuss it further. Instead she gestured to the cottage that was coming into view.

“There it is. I haven’t been inside in ages. Have you lived here long?”

“I moved in this morning.”

“You remind me of the woman who used to live here.”

“Do I?”

“Thea. Such a lovely person. It’s sad. So sad.” The vague look was back in Abby’s eyes. Raven saw it as she helped her up the steps to the back door. Was someone out searching for the woman? Raven hoped so, as she had no idea where Abby lived. Nora probably knew. She’d call her after she got her guest settled.

She led Abby through the laundry room and kitchen, into the living room. “Is there anyone I should call? Someone who might be worried?”

Abby didn’t respond, just sat on the couch, lost in a world Raven wasn’t part of.

“Let’s take care of your feet, then I’ll make tea.” She cleaned and dressed the cuts, then helped Abby lie down. “Rest for a while. I won’t be long.”

Abby blinked up at her, then smiled. “You’re very kind and have a nurse’s touch.”

“I am a nurse.”

But Abby had already closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

“What do you mean, she’s gone? You’re being paid to take care of her. Not lose her.”

“She was watching TV, just as lucid as could be. Asked me to run out and get her some chocolate ice cream. I thought she’d be fine for a few minutes.”

“Martha.” Shane Montgomery stopped, raked a hand through his hair and took a calming breath. “We talked about this when I hired you. Aunt Abby cannot be left alone.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Martha’s quiet sniffles turned to deep sobs. “I thought she’d be fine. I never imagined…What if she’s gone to the lake? What if she drowns? It’ll be on me. On my head. Lord, forgive me.”

Shane bit back impatience. He didn’t deal well with hysterics and that was where Martha was heading, her round face red and wet with tears. “Let’s not panic yet. Aunt Abby has gone off before. She always comes home. There’s no reason to believe she won’t do the same this time.”

Except that Abby had gotten worse in the past months. So much worse that Shane was beginning to wonder if home was the best place for her. Unfortunately there wasn’t another option. He’d made a promise to her. He’d keep it. “Let’s call the police. Get them started on the search. Then we’ll—”

The phone rang, adding fuel to Martha’s fear. “What if it’s the police? What if she’s dead? It’ll be my fault. My fault.”

“Calm down, Martha. I won’t be able to hear above your crying.” Shane grabbed the phone on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Is this Shane Montgomery?” The voice was soft and pleasant.

“Yes.”

“My name is Raven Stevenson. I’m renting the Freedman property. Nora said you have an aunt. Abigail Montgomery.”

“That’s right.”

“She’s here at the cottage with me. I’m afraid she got a bit confused and—”

“I’ll be right there.”

Shane knew he was being rude, knew he should have given the woman a chance to speak, but his relief at knowing his aunt was safe overwhelmed his social skills. Not that he had many to begin with.

“Is she—?” Martha’s voice trembled, her wide brown eyes still overflowing with tears.

“She’s all right. I’m going to get her. Do me a favor and brew some of that tea she likes. What’s it called?”

“Chamomile?”

“That’s the one. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

He knew the cottage. Had been there as a child and had no trouble finding it now. The driveway was still dirt and gravel, the house still pale yellow. Shane pulled up close to the porch and hopped out of his Mustang convertible.

The front door opened before he had a chance to take a step, and a woman walked out. Flower child. That was Shane’s first impression. Curly, untamed hair, flowy confection of a dress, and bare feet scraped and covered with dirt. He figured her to be flighty, naive, maybe a little scattered. Then he met her gaze and was surprised at the calm intelligence he saw there.

“You must be Shane.” Her voice still sounded pleasant, though decidedly cooler than it had on the phone.

“And you’re Raven.”

“Yes. Come in.” She stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

He caught a whiff of something flowery and light, heard the rustle of her dress as he brushed by, and thought of summer nights and fancy parties. Then he saw Abby and froze. She looked frail. Old.

“What am I going to do with you, Aunt Abby?”

Raven heard the pain in those words and her judgment shifted. She’d thought the man careless, unconcerned, but realized now she’d been wrong. She moved beside him, placed a hand on his arm and was surprised by a jolt of feeling. She’d thought herself immune to men, hoped herself immune.

Apparently she’d been wrong. She dropped her hand, but couldn’t resist the urge to comfort. “She’s all right. No harm was done.”

“No? I disagree. Look at her. Sleeping like a baby. How will she feel when she wakes up, not knowing where she is? Maybe not even knowing who she is?”

She sensed his frustration. He wanted to fix things, couldn’t, and was angry at his own inability. Raven could understand that. She was ready to say as much, when Abby surged off the couch, screeching, screaming, arms flailing as she lunged across the room.

“Dead! Thea’s dead!”