Love Lies Bleeding (32 page)

He shrugged carelessly. “Nah.”

“But I thought you wanted to go to St. Michael’s? They have one of the best prelaw—”

“I’m not going into prelaw, Mom,” he said, laying the cereal box to the side. “I wanted to go to St. Michael’s because of their music department.” Catching the look on her face, he held up his hand. “You’re right about needing a college education, but why can’t it be in something I love? I love music, Mom.”

Anne shot to her feet, knocking her chair over. “If you think I’m going to waste all the money I’ve saved over the years so you can chase after some crazy—”

“It’s not crazy. People with a degree in music earn a living.”

“At what? Teaching?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but I wanted more for you.”

Red-faced, Caleb rose. “What about what I want for myself?” He began to pace the kitchen. “I don’t want to be crammed in some stuffy office, writing wills, handling divorce cases. I want music in my life.”

“It can be a hobby,” she insisted.

He whirled on her. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not a kid anymore and you can’t tell me how to live my life.”

Anne glared at him. “Oh yes I can, Caleb Weaver. As long as you’re under my roof,
I,
” she said, stabbing a finger at her chest, “make the rules.”

“I won’t be under your roof if I’m away at college,” he argued back.

“But I’ll be paying for the roof you
are
under.”

“If it means getting to make my own choices then I’ll pay for college myself,” he spit at her.

She crossed her arms and tried to stare him down. “How?”

“Scholarships, part-time jobs, loans. It may take me longer to finish, but I can do it.” He spun on his heel and stomped toward the door. Reaching it, he stopped. “In fact, Mom, why don’t I start supporting myself right now. I’m eighteen. I’ll move out. You won’t have to worry about paying for a damn thing!” He yanked the door open, then slammed it behind him, leaving Anne standing alone in the kitchen.

She righted the chair and sat down hard. Dazed, she couldn’t believe Caleb’s reaction. He’d never talked to her like that. Oh, sure, he argued, but she’d never seen him so vehement about a subject. He’d grouse and grumble, but in the end, he did what she thought best.
Thought best?
Anne groaned. Those were the exact words she’d heard Lawrence Moore say to Sam. No, she didn’t treat Caleb the same way Sam’s family treated her. She respected his opinion.

As long as his opinion agrees with yours,
said a little voice inside her head.

Suddenly weary, Anne laid her head on the table and began to cry. She hadn’t meant to bully her son. She’d only wanted to see him have a better life than hers had been. Deep sobs shook her shoulders while guilt racked her heart. How could she have been so stupid, so blind? Hadn’t both Greg and Fritz tried to talk to her? Caleb was a good kid, a smart kid. She should’ve trusted him to know what would make him happy. Now he was going to move out, go off on his own. He’d never be able to earn enough to meet his expenses while going to school. He might talk himself into dropping out. After working all these years to make sure he had a shot at a good life, she’d lost him.

Raising her head, she picked up a napkin and blew her nose. Sitting here blubbering and having a pity party wouldn’t solve anything. When Caleb calmed down, they’d talk. And for once, she’d listen. She blew out a shaky breath and rose to her feet. She needed to keep busy until she could talk to him again, but she was at a loss about what to do with herself. Her eyes roamed the kitchen, searching for something to do.

Guess I’m unemployed.
The thought felt strange to her. She’d gone to work every day she possibly could, seldom, if ever, taking any time off. She’d dreamed of having a day all to herself, and now that she had one, she didn’t know what to do with it. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she jumped when the phone suddenly rang.

Caleb, calling to apologize.
She ran to pick it up. She wouldn’t let him—she’d tell him how sorry she was before he had a chance.

“Caleb,” she cried with the phone to her ear. “I’m sor—”

“It’s not Caleb, Anne. It’s Fritz.” His voice sounded tight, strained. “Have you heard anything about Edward? I know you’re friends and I was hoping you had news.”

“News? What news?” Anne’s grip on the phone tightened. “Has something happened to Edward?”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” she exclaimed.

“Edward had an accident last night. His car . . . he wrapped it around a tree.”

“Oh no.” Anne gasped.

“They took him to the hospital in Pardo, then by air ambulance to the Cities, but that’s all I know.”

Anne remembered Dr. Douglas mentioning an emergency delaying Sam’s CAT scan. Had Edward been the subject of that emergency?

“I’ve tried calling Dunlap’s but the line is busy.”

“I’ll run down there right now and see if I can find out.”

“Will you keep me in the loop?”

“Yes.” Anne slammed the receiver down and, grabbing her bag, rushed out the door.

When she whipped into the parking lot at Dunlap’s, she saw all the cars. Surely someone inside could tell her about Edward’s condition. Jumping out of her car, she ran up the steps and opened the door. She skidded to a halt. Instead of being at the hospital with her son, Esther was sitting on her stool behind the counter as if she were holding court. A couple of local women, friends of Esther’s, stood next to her making comforting sounds while Esther whimpered into a handkerchief.

All eyes turned to Anne, standing in the doorway. An uncomfortable silence settled on the room. Ignoring it, Anne crossed to the counter.

“Esther,” she began, “I’m so sorry to hear about Edward. How is he?”

“He’ll live,” Esther barked in a tear-roughened voice. “No thanks to that woman you’re working for.”

Stunned, Anne took a step back. “What does Samantha Moore have to do with Edward’s car accident?”

“It’s her fault,” Esther sniffed as she wiped her face. “Living in that cabin, asking him questions about
her,
bringing back memories best left buried.”

“Now, Esther,” said one of her friends as she rubbed the woman’s shoulders, “don’t get yourself all riled up again.”

Anne lifted her hands in a silent question as she looked at Esther’s friends.

One of them shifted back and forth nervously. “He done it on purpose,” she said in a hushed voice, as if she could keep Esther, sitting next to her, from hearing.

“That’s right,” Esther said, sliding off her stool and shaking a plump finger at Anne. “He tried to kill himself.” She took a deep breath. “I saw the way she acted at the party. Just like that woman did. Cut out of the same cloth, those two are. Singing the same song she always sang, flirting with men she had no business making up to, just like she did.” She folded her arms over her ample breasts. “He’s been stirred up ever since.”

“Esther, really,” Anne began in a calm voice, but Esther cut her off.

“I tell you, that cabin’s cursed. I wish it would’ve burned down years ago,” she yelled at Anne.

Anne started backing out of the store. Esther was hysterical and not making any sense. But she’d learned what she needed to know—Edward was going to live—she’d have to rely on the grapevine for any information about his condition.

She pulled out of the parking lot. It was all too much. Sam, Lawrence Moore, Caleb, Esther’s ranting. If she went home, all she’d do would be to pace like a wild thing. She needed to talk. Shooting a look at the dashboard clock, she decided to stop at Greg’s. It wouldn’t be easy admitting that he’d been right about the way she’d been dealing with Caleb, but Greg would help her come up with a way to make peace with him. What’s eating a little crow if it led to reconciling with her son? And Sam—Greg would want to know what had happened with her.

It wasn’t until she stopped her car in front of his cabin that something Esther had said finally sank in.

Edward had mentioned the same thing that day in the parking lot, but it hadn’t registered. Sam had sung Blanche’s favorite song at Fritz’s party.

Chapter Thirty

A
wet nose touching her cheek startled Sam out of a sound sleep. She opened her eyes to see Roxy’s face inches from hers. With a smile, she stretched and patted the dog’s head. She sat up and glanced at the clock. Eleven
A.M
. At least she’d had some sleep. Once they’d discovered Blanche’s picture, Greg had insisted that they forget about it for a while and get some rest. Sam had curled up on the couch and gone to sleep immediately. Now it all came rushing back. Her father, his threat of a competency hearing, the weird dreams, Blanche—she’d thought that confirming the identity of the woman in her dreams as Blanche would solve everything, but it hadn’t. As Greg pointed out, it only raised more questions.

She picked up her sketch and stared at it.
What really happened to you, Blanche? Did you run off ?
Blanche’s smile seemed to mock her.

Placing the sketch on the coffee table next to Blanche’s photo, Sam folded the blanket she’d used and thought about her father. Instead of worrying about a woman from the past, she had to create a plan to deal with him. She couldn’t stop him from petitioning the courts, but she could plan a defense. She’d ask Greg to recommend an attorney.

Greg—the way he’d kissed her. He was right—she had more pressing problems to consider. A slow grin tugged at her lips.
But it had been very nice
.

The grin vanished when a sudden rap at the door set the dogs barking. Was it the sheriff looking for her? Alarmed, Sam thought about trying to hide, but before she could take any action, Greg walked into the living room.

He held up a hand. “It’s okay. It’s Anne,” he said, opening the door.

“Hey,” Anne said, smiling, until her attention drifted beyond Greg and she saw Sam standing in the living room. Her expression changed as her mouth formed an O. Recovering her composure, she brushed past him. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

“I guess you could say I’ve run away from home,” Sam said in a wry voice.

Anne sat suddenly in one of the chairs. “Your dad—”

“Nope,” Sam answered with a shake of her head. “He doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way until I have a chance to talk to a lawyer.”

“Why didn’t you come to my house?”

Sam sat on the coffee table facing her. “I heard what my father said to you, Anne, and I don’t want him causing you more trouble.”

Anne gave a snort. “I’m not afraid of Lawrence Moore.”

Sam chuckled. “I’m sure you’re not, but I don’t want him making your life miserable.”

“Oh, I think he already plans to do that,” Anne replied sarcastically.

Sam gave Anne’s knee a pat. “We won’t let him.”

Anne’s eyes moved to the albums stacked behind Sam. “What are those?”

Sam glanced over her shoulder. “We were looking for a photo of Blanche.”

“And?”

“And we found one,” Greg said, striding over to the coffee table. “Take a look at this.” He handed Anne both the sketch and Blanche’s photo.

Anne studied them for a moment then shook her head. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“Neither do we, but it proves Sam really was dreaming about Blanche.”

“Do you think Blanche did cause Edward’s—” Anne slapped her hand over her mouth. Dropping it quickly, she stared up at Greg. “Edward was in another car accident.”

She told Greg and Sam about her call from Fritz and her visit to Dunlap’s. “One last thing: Esther is blaming you, Sam.”

Sam jerked. “Why? I barely know Edward.”

“She said all the talk about Blanche upset him.” She leaned forward. “Here’s something else that I should’ve thought of before—the song you sang at Fritz’s party?”

“The one I don’t remember?”

“Yeah, that one.” Anne frowned. “Edward mentioned it first, but I blew it off. Esther said that Blanche sang the same song at parties, too.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

Sam tugged on her bottom lip. “I remember Edward saying something about a song, but he was acting so strange and I was upset.” She looked up at Greg. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he said, combing his fingers through his hair. “Too many things have happened for it to be a coincidence.” He studied Sam for a moment. “Before you moved into the cabin, had anything like this ever happened to you?”

Sam hesitated before answering. Right now Greg was on her side, but if she told him the truth, would he still believe her? If she told him about how tenuous her grasp on reality had been after waking up from the coma? She decided to take her chances and be honest.

After she finished telling her tale, Greg studied her carefully. “But what’s been happening to you now is different, right?”

Seeing that he understood, Sam sighed with relief. “Yes,” she declared. “The dreams that haunted me before were ones tied to the attack . . . Someone was watching me; intruders were in the house; I was being chased . . . I always played the starring role.” She looked off into space. “But in these dreams, I’m an observer.”

Greg sat on the couch and picked up the sketch. “Do you think there’s anything significant about your drawing of Blanche?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I’m grasping at straws—but maybe there’s something about the way she’s dressed, the location, the flowers—”

Anne stuck out her hand. “Give me that,” she demanded. Taking the sketch, she looked it over for a second. “The flowers,” she said, tapping the picture. “They look like the ones blooming on the bush by the step.”

“I know that. I recognized them, too. It’s why I wandered outside.”

Anne’s eyebrows arched. “But do you know Blanche planted that bush?”

“Who told you that?” Sam asked with a frown.

“You—when you were rambling. You also said Alice gave her the seeds.”

“Alice? Alice at the Beauty Barn?”

“Must be.” Anne slapped her thighs and rose to her feet. “I say we go have a chat with her. What do you think?”

Sam looked up at her. “To be honest—I don’t see the point. What difference does it make who planted the bush? Or if it
was
Blanche, where she got the seeds?”