“Lauren,” he said, “I know how hard it must be for you coming back here. The memories are terrible. I’ve noticed how you look away from the dock and don’t want to go into the water. You are haunted, too.”
“Yes, but—” He rested a hand on my arm. “Hear me out. I understand why you’d want to blame another person for your mother’s death. When we lose someone we love very much, we want reasons.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I said, shaking off his hand.
“I’m not. It’s just that I’ve seen this before. Years ago, the Christmas Frank’s wife died in a car accident, her family couldn’t accept it. They accused Frank, saying he was after her money and property. Aunt Margaret’s death was painful enough for him without their making him a murder suspect.
But I understand their reaction. Fate and chance — they don’t seem enough to explain terrible losses. We all want someone to point to and be angry at.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Even so, you can’t go around blaming innocent people.
Nora is very fragile. Be gentle with her. Don’t do anything to make things harder for her.”
It seemed to me that Nora was doing plenty to make things harder for me.
“Now hear me out,” I replied. “Yesterday I went to see my mother’s grave in the churchyard across from your school.
There is another grave next to it. Its stone is inscribed with the word Daughter.”
Nick blinked but said nothing.
“When I got back to my car, I found a note that someone had slipped through the front window, a plain piece of paper with two words: You’re next.”
“When did you go there?” he asked.
“Right after I left the school. Nick, I know that Holly thinks Nora never leaves home, but she does. She was shadowing me at the festival Sunday.”
“That proves nothing,” he said, “especially since what you just described is a prank that could be played on anyone walking through a cemetery. It happened after school let out.
Someone hanging around saw you enter the place — they didn’t know you — they just thought it’d be fun to leave the note and get a reaction,” he reasoned. “It was nothing but a joke. You’re reading into it.”
“If the person didn’t know me, how would he or she know which car was mine?”
“This is a small town. Everyone knows the visitors from the residents. You have a D.C. tag, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“There you go. Did you happen to stop at your car between the school and cemetery?”
I nodded, remembering that I had put my purse in the trunk.
“Mystery solved.”
“No,” I told him, “there’s something more going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
He shook his head. “You’re going to make yourself as miserable and crazy as Nora. Your mother is gone, Lauren. I know this sounds harsh, but you have to get over it.” He turned away from me and whistled for Rocky.
I have to get over him, I thought, as the two of us walked off in opposite directions.
I was glad to get away from the house that afternoon. I picked up the party platters at two and paid for them, making them an extra graduation gift to Holly. She was probably hoping I’d do that, but I didn’t mind.
Dee’s was on the other side of Oyster Creek, outside of town. On the way home I passed the small road that led to Nick’s house and started thinking about the way he protected Nora. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned the knots to him, for he wouldn’t have believed me. Why give him more reasons to claim that I was going to make myself as miserable and crazy as Nora?
A loud crack shattered my thoughts. I quickly veered to the right, not seeing what had struck my car, instinctively getting out of the way. My car flew over the edge of the road.
The wheel jerked in my hands and I struggled to control it. I hit something, hit it hard, and heard the sound of metal bending and scraping. For a fraction of a second my body was thrown forward, then the airbag buffeted me back.
I sat there stunned, staring at the windshield, a spider web of cracked glass with a large chip at the center. After a few moments I unbuckled my seat belt, opened the door, and climbed out shakily.
My Honda had become wedged between two trees, entangled in barbed wire fencing. I leaned against the side of it, too limp to get my cell phone from my purse.
A car passed by, then its brake lights flashed on and the driver backed up.
“Lauren!” Frank said, pulling himself out of his tiny sports car. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
He quickly strode toward me.
“As I was coming around the bend, something hit my windshield. I shied away from it and ended up here.”
“Something like what?” Frank asked. “A stone, a bird, fruit off a truck?”
“I didn’t see.”
Frank walked around to the front of my car surveying it with a grim face and sharp eyes. He examined the windshield, then whistled softly. “I don’t like telling you this, Lauren, but that was no pebble that ricocheted against your windshield. It was something heavy and I suspect it was thrown.”
I gazed at the big chip in the glass and the splintered lines radiating from it. “I figured something had been hurled at me.”
“Did you now?” he replied, studying me curiously. “Did you see someone by the side of the road?”
“No, but I was on automatic pilot,” I admitted, “thinking about a lot of stuff.” I retrieved my purse from the car floor.
“I’d better call the police to report this and find out whose fence I’ve ruined.”
Frank slipped his own phone from his pocket. “Don’t bother,” he said. “The sheriff’s a busybody. I can track down the owner and help you if your insurance doesn’t cover the damages. Who do you want to tow your car? Pete? He still has the Crown station on Jib Street.”
“That’s fine.”
While Frank made the call I examined the front of my car.
By sheer luck it had run between two trees, plowing into the fence. The trees were planted in even intervals along the stretch of road, about a car width apart. If I had steered a little to the left or right, I would have hit a tree head on.
Before braking I had been going the standard speed for country roads, 50 mph. The accident could have been a lot more serious.