Sam ignored the comment. 'We had better take you back to the house. You look okay, but we should make sure, and we should tell your father about the swing set.
'But I want to go the pond,' Patrick insisted. 'Ashley is-' 'Later,' Sam said, his voice stem.
This time, crossing the snowy grounds, Patrick trailed behind us. November wandered off. Sam and I walked silently side by side.
'The equipment is old,' Sam said at last, 'and bolts rust and loosen.'
'On both ends at the same time?'
He shook his head. 'I don't believe it was an accident. I think someone got out a ratchet and worked on the bolts. I'm just telling you what the others might say.
I glanced over my shoulder to make certain Patrick was with us. He trudged, head down, so I couldn't see his face.
'Kate, this is getting dangerous,' Sam said, 'dangerous for both of you. Killing a hamster is one thing. Pushing a person down a flight of steps and causing a swing set to collapse is something else. I think the last two incidents are related. What kept Patrick from being hurt just now? You warned him, and I pulled him away before the bar fell. You're Patrick's protector. Someone wants you out of the way so he or she can get to him.'
'Maybe,' I said, 'or maybe someone is getting nervous because Patrick and I are talking about Ashley. I still think this is connected to her death.'
'But not to a ghost,' Sam replied quickly.
I shrugged. 'I don't see why murderous relatives preclude a ghost.'
'They don't,' Sam said. 'But if what you see accounts for what is happening, why bring in what you can't see? It just muddies the situation. It is people, not ghosts, who murder. I think someone has murdered here before and is willing to do it again.'
I tried to quell my growing fear. 'Maybe these incidents are meant as nothing more than warnings,' I said. 'If I was serious about killing someone, I wouldn't fool around with attempts that may or may not work, warning the victim.'
Sam laughed. 'Then you'd make a lousy murderer, Kate. Think about it. The more direct the attempt-the more certain the outcome-the less chance it has of being considered an accident. As long as a murderer has the time to try a few 'accidents,' why not?
'Why not take the safer route, as long as the victims are available?' He turned toward me, grasping my wrists, making certain I was listening to him.
'And you are, Kate. You and Patrick are way too available.'
At first, Sam and I thought Adrian wasn't listening. We found him in the office, pacing the floor, deep in thought. As we recounted what had happened, he glanced at Patrick, then drifted over to a pile of opened mail and fingered through it. Sam grew irritated-l could hear it in his voice-but, of course, Adrian had heard every word. When we were done, he checked over his son as thoroughly as we had, then sat down facing him.
'Well, Patrick, did you thank Sam? You owe him a great deal for pulling you away from the swing set.'
'Thank you,' Patrick said softly.
'And did you tell Kate you are sorry for scaring her?'
'I'm sorry.'
Adrian rested his hand on Patrick's shoulder. 'We have a problem, son. If we tell your mother about this, she will become quite worried and will wonder what else you might get into.' Adrian lowered his head and peeked at Patrick. 'You're not getting into any other trouble, are you?'
'No, Daddy.'
A wry smile formed on Adrian's face; he knew better than to believe it. 'Then why don't we keep this a secret between you and me, so we don't upset your mother. Can you do that?'
Patrick nodded silently.
Sam had to leave for practice, but took a few minutes to accompany Patrick to the third floor to see the playroom, where his hockey picture was enshrined. I remained behind.
'About this secret,' I said to Adrian when we were alone, 'are you protecting Emily from worry, or me from being disciplined?'
He smiled. 'I can always count on you to be forthright. Both, actually. I know it's not your fault, Kate. As for Emily, she worries excessively and sometimes smothers Patrick with her affection, but don't think poorly of her. This is my third child; he is Emily's only.'
Then he called Roger on his cell phone, asking him if he had noticed anyone around the metal play equipment and telling him to dismantle it immediately.
When he hung up, he looked tired.
'Do you think someone tampered with the swing set?' I asked.
'It's possible. Stay as close as you can to Patrick,' he said, gesturing toward the door, indicating that our discussion was over. I knew Adrian wasn't the kind of person who felt obligated to tell others how he intended to handle matters. Family reputation was important to him; he would address the situation quietly. I left and met Patrick and Sam on my way upstairs.
'I've got to run,' Sam said. 'I'm picking up some of the other guys for practice.'
'Thanks for coming, thanks for everything,' I replied. 'I know Adrian is grateful too.'
Sam grimaced. 'I did my best to be polite to him. It wasn't easy.'
'Why?' asked Patrick.
Sam glanced down at the questioning face. 'Because sometimes I'm a little rude. Don't do anything stupid, buddy, I don't care who dares you.
Understand?'
Patrick nodded.
'Yeah-yeah,' Sam muttered, and raised his eyes to me. 'Keep in touch?'
'Sure.' I met his eyes for half a second, then looked away.
He reached out, resting two fingers lightly on the back of my hand. 'Keep in touch, Kate.'
After Sam left, Patrick and I put on dry clothes and spent the rest of the afternoon upstairs. Because he was doing poorly in his schoolwork, we used the extra time to work on spelling and math. He was unusually quiet and agreeable. Perhaps I had imagined him pulling away from me, I thought; I was getting like Emily, overreacting when he didn't want to be a cute, cuddly little kid.
Patrick and I endured another family dinner, though Trent was absent from this one-in town with the 'kitchen-sink blonde' who managed the hotel. I learned from Brook that Robyn's description meant the woman colored her own hair, which meant that she was a middle-class working type who didn't have much money to spend on herself, which meant she wasn't up to the Westbrook standards.
With one less participant, I had hoped the mealtime squabbling would be less, but instead it became a cat fight between Robyn and Emily. Adrian ignored them, occasionally addressing Patrick and me. Brook assigned points to the ladies' jibes, keeping score. Patrick withdrew as soon as the quarreling began, raising his head now and then to gaze at the flickering candles.
After dinner, when we were alone, he remained withdrawn, wanting to go to bed early that evening. His behavior was beginning to worry me. I asked him if he was ill, if he was sore from his fall, if he was afraid of something, if he was sad-l posed every conceivable question about how he felt, but was told nothing.
I asked Emily to come in and read a book with him, then requested that Adrian do the same, hoping to reassure him with their love and attention.
Neither of them appeared to be concerned, for Patrick seemed like a quiet, sleepy child, the ideal seven- year-old at bedtime, but I knew something was wrong. He barely responded when I said the little rhyme he liked and kissed him good night. It was as if he had fallen deep inside himself, into a world I couldn't reach.
I slept poorly that night, awakening at every sound, checking on him at midnight, 2:15, 3:55.1 awoke again a few minutes after five, tired and cross, but there was no getting back to sleep until I checked him again. Once more, I crept downstairs.
