Puppa’s hair had whitened in the last ten months. And from my angle, his face looked weary and sad.
“How have you been?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question, though I wasn’t sure I could bear the answer.
He stared at the road ahead, driving another mile or so in silence. I fidgeted, worried he was passing judgment on me.
At the passing lane, he swung his eyes in my direction, staring at my profile. I pulled off my sunglasses and returned his look.
So much sadness in his eyes. What had happened while I was gone?
“Where have you been?” He croaked the words.
It never occurred to me that he had no idea where I’d been all this time. I just assumed Brad had let him in on the plan. Or Denton had contacted him so he wouldn’t worry. But what good would disappearing from the face of the earth do if everybody knew where you were?
I bit my lip. “Puppa. I’m so sorry. I hope you weren’t worried. I thought Brad would have told you.”
At Brad’s name, he snapped his head in my direction and blinked hard. “Brad? How could he tell me?” He looked straight ahead. “We’ve all thought you’ve been dead since June. They told us you died in a car crash in Minneapolis. We had a funeral.”
I shook my head. “No. I was in a car crash, but I’m fine. I got away to California, where Brad told me to go so I’d be safe from Frank Majestic.”
He gave a little nod of his head. “A faked death.” He hummed in disgust. “And we all fell for it.” He glanced at me. “You were safe as long as you were dead. Now here you are, back in the thick of things.” His eyes watered up. “And you’re alive. You’re alive.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Yes, I’m alive. And I’m home. But I wasn’t safe in Del Gloria. Someone’s been trying to kill me. I’m not sure there is anyplace safe for me.” I looked in his eyes. “I might as well be home.”
A mile of pines passed by the window before he spoke.
“Patricia, things have changed. Things happened… You were dead, for crying out loud.”
I nodded in agreement, still smiling to be home. “I know. I’ve been gone a long time. I kept waiting for Brad to call.” I gave a little laugh. “I guess if he thought I was dead, that was a pretty good reason not to call…”
My brow scrunched. Something wasn’t right. Denton assured me Brad would call when it was time. They must have been in touch. Denton should have told Brad I was still alive. I put a hand to my forehead. Brad must know and was just keeping it a secret. Because if Denton hadn’t told him the truth, and Brad really thought I was dead, Brad might have moved on with his life. He could have met someone new. He might be engaged to some other future Mrs. Walters instead of me.
I gave a ferocious shake of my head. It wasn’t possible. Brad knew I was alive. He had to know.
We turned onto the Silvan Peninsula. Just a few more miles to my log home on the lake. I looked at Puppa. “I’m sure there’s no heat or anything, but I’d like to stop at my house and see if I can get things going.”
I’d lived a few places in my life, but none felt as much like home as the lodge. I’d spent summers there as a girl, wandering through half-pint pines that now towered skyward. And after I’d been ripped from the secluded safety of the lodge by well-meaning grandparents, I dreamed of the day I would return to Port Silvan and buy the log cabin and make it my own. And I’d done just that. Now that I was back from my leave of absence, I could finish the renovations and get the yard ready for an outdoor wedding, sometime next summer.
Puppa stared straight ahead, not responding.
The miles flew past in snow-covered splendor.
“Looks like we’ll be having a white Christmas this year.” The closer we drew to home, the more the goose bumps raced up and down my arms. Three days ’til Christmas. I was home just in time.
My driveway was around the next bend. My right leg pressed against the floorboard as I willed Puppa to slow down for the turn.
He turned in. The drive was plowed, the banks pushed back in tidy order. Tracks from multiple cars covered the surface, and strangely, a large wooden sign was posted to a tree. VALENTINE’S BAY LODGE, it said in burgundy and cream, with a phone number and website address beneath it.
“What’s going on? Who’s been down here?” I was used to my house being off the beaten path and my drive only lightly traveled. Who would post a sign?
“Patricia, this isn’t a good idea.” Puppa stepped on the brakes. “Stay at the lake house with me. We’ll come back another day.”
“Keep going.” I got a sick feeling in my gut. “I need to know what’s happening here.”
The vehicle slowed. “You’ve been dead since June. Things have changed.”
“Obviously my house is one of them. Keep going.” I pressed my Tasha Stewart sunglasses onto my face and set my mouth in a tight line.
Puppa accelerated, though I could tell by the set of his jaw it was only against his will.
We crossed the creek and came around the corner. And there it was. My log cabin. Or was it mine? The logs were newly stained, the door was painted a welcoming shade of red to match the new shutters, and Christmas lights and garland hung in joyous celebration of the holiday. I took a jagged breath. I hadn’t expected this. A dilapidated cottage in need of repair, yes. But this pristine building with a perky sign announcing Guest Parking where my shed once stood had never entered my mind.
I did a double-take as we passed. My Explorer-there it was in new condition, as if it had never been crunched by a murderous truck.
But the lodge… What if they’d sold it? What if it didn’t belong to me anymore? Could they do that? Maybe they thought I was dead, but now that I was alive again, it was still mine. Right?
Grandfather pulled close to the entry. Welcome to VAENTINE’S Bay arched over the door. Window boxes filled with cedar boughs, pinecones, and red bows garnished the porch.
The car doors slammed as I stepped into the crunching snow. A woman came to the door as we approached. She smiled, her dark hair and eyes sparkling even in the dingy gray light of early afternoon.
“Hi, Bernard. It’s great to see you. Who’s your friend?” she asked, holding the door wide.
I came to a dead stop. Samantha Walters. Brad’s sister. What was she still doing here? She’d been scheduled to return to Rawlings and her Coney Island diner back in September. It was now December and there she was. Standing at the door to my home like she owned it. And didn’t she realize that frumpy blouse made it look like she was pregnant?
21
I stood on the porch, speechless, my feet glued to the boards.
“Come on in,” the happy-as-ever Sam said, gesturing her welcome.
I looked past her into the kitchen, made warm and inviting by red accents against the black and tan floor tiles and gold-speckled countertops. Naturally, Sam was in her element with the ’50s decor.
I stepped closer for a peek at the ceiling. The asbestos tiles were gone. Soaring walls gave a spacious feel to the room. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set. That had been my idea. I was going to do that. Who did she think she was, stealing my house and my decorating ideas?
Behind me, I sensed Puppa’s hesitation. His hand nudged my arm, but not to prompt me forward. I could tell he wanted to pull me by the elbow back to the truck and fly down the drive at high speed. And if it weren’t for the anger that kept my attention on the woman before me, I would have gratefully complied.
But seeing Sam in my home, at my place at the door, just didn’t set right with me. No. So what if the last time we’d been together she’d saved my life?
A white flash shot through my brain and I was back in the great room of the lodge that terrible morning. One of the gunmen pointed his weapon my way, I heard a growl like a mother tiger, then Sam pounced the guy, his weapon discharging into my arm instead of my heart.
A cold wind rushed around me, permeating my California slicker and sending shivers through my body. If that flicker of memory was accurate, I’d been shot by one of Majestic’s cronies, not Candice LeJeune like I’d thought all these months.
