Promise Not to Tell: A Novel (18 page)

“Maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “You were pretty drunk. I kinda took advantage.”

I laughed at this. “I’m not sure who took advantage of whom.”

He gave me a shy little smile. Blushing, I studied the lines around his eyes. Crow’s-feet. Like that bird he’d killed got him back somehow. There was something wounded, boyish, about him.

“Nicky, I’ve gotta be honest. I’m not too good at the relationship thing. My marriage fell to shit pretty early. I’m kind of an emotional basket case.”

I looked at the man before me and saw once again the fourteen-year-old boy, his skin dark brown from working in the fields, his eyes moist with need. He smelled of cigarette smoke and gasoline. He took off his John Deere cap and set it on the table.

“Last night meant a lot to me,” he began. “And I sure hope that wasn’t the end of it. It’s not like I’m asking for some big commitment. I know you’ve got your life and I’ve got mine. I can’t make any promises about what this might or might not lead to, but shit, we’re all grown up now. We can’t go back, but we can move ahead, know what I’m saying? So take a chance on me, huh? Let’s just see where it goes.”

His voice was smooth as whiskey, and when he whispered there was that raspy edge to it that made the back of my neck warm. I leaned in and put my lips against his.

There was no clashing of teeth this time, no terrible force as there had been the night before. It was gentle and sweet. There was no desperation, only a hint of restrained longing. Longing, perhaps, not just for each other, but to go back. To go back and live things over again—to have our second chance. I put my hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer, trying to hold on. And just for one moment, we were kids up in the loft again, needing to come up for air, but loving the feeling of breathlessness.

“Kate and Nicky sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

My mother’s singsongy, child’s voice jolted us back to the present, jerked Nicky and me away from each other. It was Del’s voice, and, glancing over at Nicky’s frightened face, I saw I was not the only one who thought so.

Perhaps it was having a witness, perhaps it was the emotional exhaustion, or the hangover, or even the hormones, but it was in that moment that my subconscious fears came crashing forward into my conscious mind. Del was speaking through my mother, using her like one of those talking dolls, pulling some invisible cosmic string. That was simply the fact of the matter. She had found a way back, and, just as Nicky had warned, she was royally pissed.

“When’s the wedding?” she asked. Hearing the voice of a vengeful child coming from my poor old mother’s mouth was obscene. She turned away, cackling all the way back to her studio, where she slammed the door. This was followed by crashing sounds, as if she were tearing the room apart.

“You should go,” I whispered. “I’ll call you later.”

“Kate, I…”

“Just go. It’s okay. We’ll talk later.”

So much for second chances.

He picked up his greasy cap and put it on.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too,” I answered, then he was gone.

A
N HOUR LATER
, I was sweeping up broken glass in the studio when Opal arrived.

“Holy shit!” she said. “What happened in here?”

“My mother decided to do a little redecorating.”

The room had been torn apart. It was mostly my things she’d tried to destroy. She pulled all the clothing out of my suitcases and ripped what she could. The cot I slept on was turned over and the covers scattered.

“I came over to tell you I finished the Jenny. I just now glued the wing walker on and hung it up.”

“She must be happy up there, especially when you consider that all her other plastic brethren are going to be stuck waving at toy trains going around in circles.”

Opal nodded. She took a seat on the floor. “I’m supposed to stay away from you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“My mother says you could be dangerous,” Opal said.

“Does she?”

“And I bet you don’t know a thing about wild mushrooms.”

“And I bet you still haven’t found whatever it is you were looking for in those woods. What is it, Opal? Is it something connected to Tori’s murder? It isn’t my knife, is it? Did you take my Swiss Army knife?”

The color drained from her face, and she resembled the ghost she was so afraid of.

Could she be Del’s half sister? The resemblance at that moment was staggering. And the overriding feeling I had was one of fierce protection. I wanted to protect Opal in the way I’d never been able to protect Del.

“I can help you,” I said. “You just have to be honest with me. Please, Opal. You can trust me. What were you looking for in the woods? What is it you’re not telling me?”

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell the truth at last, then something stopped her. I followed her gaze to the easel in the corner, where my mother’s painting stood, the only thing in the room that hadn’t been disturbed during her latest rampage.

“What is this?” Opal asked, her face going whiter still as she walked up to my mother’s painting.

“My mom’s latest work. It’s supposed to be the tepee fire.”

Take no notice of the pair of roaming gray eyes in the corner.

“But there’s someone in there,” Opal said as she reached out to touch the figure in the painting. “Someone with a sheriff ’s star. Who is it?”

“I don’t know, Opal,” I said.

“It’s her, isn’t it? It’s Del. Did she have a star like this?” Opal’s voice was wavering now.

“Opal…”

“Tell me! Tell me the truth about this one thing and I’ll never ask any more about her. I’ll leave you alone just like everyone wants.”

It wasn’t like Del’s star was some big secret. All Opal needed to do was talk to anyone who was around back then or go down to the library and look through old newspaper articles.

“Okay, okay. Yes, Del had a silver sheriff ’s star. Just some junky tin thing. A kid’s toy. She wore it all the time. She had it on the day she was killed, only it was never found.”

“So the killer took it?” Her face twisted into a grimace of concentration.

“That was the theory.” I waited for the barrage of follow-up questions, but there weren’t any. Opal just stood staring at the painting.

“So now what, Opal? Does this really mean we’re all done talking about Del?” I asked.

“Cross my heart,” she said as she turned from the painting and hurried from the room.

I was grateful she’d left off the
and hope to die
.

I
DIALED THE NUMBER
to the big barn and Raven answered on the second ring. I only hoped she hadn’t seen Opal coming or going.

“Hi, Raven. I have to go out for a while. Up to Burlington. Would you stay with my mother until I get back? I’d ask Gabriel, only he was just with her yesterday. I should be back around suppertime. I’ll phone from Burlington to check in, just to make sure you’re okay.”

Raven hesitated before answering, making it clear she didn’t want to do me any favors. She wasn’t going out of her way for this cat killer.

“What’s in Burlington?” she asked suspiciously.

“I want to look up an old friend.”

She sighed. “I don’t mind helping Jean out. Before you got here I was with her every free minute. She never got lost on my watch.”

I ignored the jab.

“I appreciate it,” I told her. “Listen, my mom had kind of a bad spell a little while ago. I gave her a Haldol and put her to bed. She’ll probably sleep the whole time you’re here.”

“I’ll be over in ten minutes,” she said.

I
THOUGHT WE COULD HAVE A CUP
of tea before I go,” I said to Raven when she arrived, gesturing toward the kitchen, where I’d laid out the teapot and cups. Raven looked suspicious.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Raven took a seat at the table and poured a cup of green tea, carefully spooning in honey from the pot in the center of the table. I half thought she was going to ask me to take a sip first to make sure I hadn’t poisoned it.

“If it’s about Opal, I’m afraid the subject isn’t up for discussion. I think you’re an unhealthy influence on her at this point.”

“As a matter of fact, it
is
about Opal, but it’s got nothing to do with me.”

“What then? Do you have some terrific parenting advice? If that’s the case, I think it’s safe to say you can skip it.”

“I want to know who Opal’s father is.”

Raven looked truly blindsided.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Her face twisted into a disgusted scowl. “That is
none
of your business! Who do you think you are?”

“Was it Ralph Griswold?”

Her dark eyes turned a murky black.

“Who told you that?” she demanded.

“A reliable source,” I lied.

“Was it Nicky?” She ran her hands through her hair. “I am going to kill that drunken jackass.”

So it was the truth after all. And another secret Nicky had been keeping.

“Opal doesn’t know, does she?”

“Jesus. Of course not. Didn’t your ‘source’ tell you I was raped? I’m not going to lay that on her: your biological father was a disgusting redneck rapist, and probably a pedophile to boot, Opal. How is she supposed to take that?”

“I really didn’t know how it happened. I’m so sorry.”

Raven snorted. “I don’t need your sympathy. It was a long time ago and the son of a bitch did us all a favor and dropped dead soon after. I got a beautiful daughter who means the world to me. If you even
think
of telling her, I’ll make you more sorry than you could possibly imagine.”

I suddenly understood why she’d been so adamant about not wanting to indulge Opal in stories about Del and the Griswolds.

“Of course not,” I said carefully. “That’s your place, not mine. But I wonder if on some level she suspects. I mean, that would explain a lot about her obsession with Del, wouldn’t it?”

She shot me an exasperated look.

“Don’t you have somewhere you have to be, Kate? You’d better get going. The weather’s not supposed to be too great later on.”

I took the hint and grabbed my coat and keys, leaving Raven sitting at the table.

Who else, I wondered, knew the truth about Opal’s father?

B
EFORE GETTING ON
I-89 up to Burlington, I stopped in town at Haskie’s for a cup of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. My ankle still throbbed and my head wasn’t doing much better. I had resolved to steer clear of Wild Turkey for the rest of my visit.

“Heard about your mother’s cat,” Jim Haskaway said as he rang up my purchases. “Damn strange thing—its throat being cut like that.”

Oh, come on. Not this.
I was in a hurry and not in the mood for anymore small-town gossip.

I nodded.

“Another funny thing,” Jim continued, “about that old murder—Del Griswold. When I saw Ellie Miller at Tori’s funeral, I mentioned you were back in town helping your mother out. We got to talking and Ellie said you and little Delores were the best of friends back then. Now I figure Ellie’s all shook up with her daughter being killed and all, and must be confused. ’Cause the way I remember it, you told me you hardly knew that Griswold girl.”

He eyed me with practiced suspicion. Great, a small town amateur detective—look out, Angela Lansbury. I wanted to suggest he stick to his role as fire chief, but was interrupted by a chime coming out of Jim’s scanner that seemed to get his full attention. It was followed by the staticky voice of a dispatcher saying that there was a car accident in town near the waterfall, then another series of electronic beeps.

“Ellie must be mistaken—it was a long time ago,” I confirmed, laying my money on the counter and hurrying away before he gave me back my change. He was too focused on the scanner to call after me. Saved by the bell.

I had parked the rental car in front of the Millers’ antiques shop and when I looked in through the filmed-over window, past the
CLOSED FOR THE SEASON
sign, I saw a woman I immediately recognized as Ellie sitting at a table thumbing through a stack of cards. She looked much the same as she had when I’d last seen her at high school graduation. She still had perfect posture and was dressed in a fashionable yet tidy way. Her hair was lighter than ever and she wore it in a neat bun. When she looked up and saw me, I felt compelled to say hello and made my way to the shop door, which was unlocked despite the
CLOSED
sign.

“I heard you were in town,” she said flatly.

Good to see you, too, Ellie.

The store smelled like old leather and furniture polish. A string of sleigh bells that were hung on the door jingled as it swung closed.

“Word gets around,” I told her, forcing a kind smile. Ellie turned her attention to the pile of old postcards she was sorting on the desk. Old sepia-colored images of a Vermont long gone. In front of the piles of yellowed postcards was a silver letter opener, a pad, and a pen. The desk was small, almost child-size, and Ellie sat with her knees pressed beneath it, looking terribly uncomfortable.

The shop itself was in a state of disarray and looked to be in the middle of a major off-season reorganizing project. At the back of the store stood a ladder resting against a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves that had been stripped bare. Carefully labeled boxes were stacked around the shop along with clipboards, price stickers, and reference books on antiques and collectibles.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. The words sounded hollow. She didn’t look up, and continued working through the postcards like they were a tarot deck, dealing them out to tell an uncertain future.

“People are talking,” Ellie said at last, her voice quavering. “People are saying you might have had something to do with what happened to Tori.”

Her face twitched as she spoke her daughter’s name. She fingered a stained postcard showing a picture of the old waterwheel that once ran the mill in town. Long gone. Wood rotted. Metal turned to dust.

“Me?”

“You and Nicky Griswold.”

Perfect. The dynamic duo of crime.

I laughed, unable to stop myself.

“Me and Nicky Griswold,” I repeated. “Is that what you think, Ellie?”

She pursed her lips, squinted down at a picture of a man with a team of horses hauling buckets of maple sap. Quintessential Vermont.

“I don’t think anymore. When you lose a child, you stop thinking.” Her words were sharp and her eyes never left the postcard. I nodded down at her sympathetically, knowing she didn’t see.

“I heard what
Nicky
thinks,” Ellie said. “He’s been going around town saying the Potato Girl did it.” She snorted derisively. “The Potato Girl’s the one who gets blamed for everything around here. If there’s a drought, it’s her doing. A car wreck, she’s responsible. But it makes me sick to hear people blame her for this. Just to hear her name and Tori’s in the same sentence makes me sick.” Her fingers trembled as she raced through the cards, seeming to put them into random piles.

“I understand,” I said.

“No!” Her tone was sharp. Angry. “No, you don’t. What’d you come here for, anyway, Kate? To reminisce about old times? To say how sorry you are about my daughter?” She looked up at me for the first time, her eyes burning into mine. She sat up even straighter, banging her knees into the bottom of the tiny wooden desk.

“I
am
sorry.” My voice was nearly a whine. “I just wanted to offer my condolences. I’ll go now and leave you to your work.”

“Good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you get in your little car and get out of New Canaan, Kate. No one wants you here. You showed up and the trouble began.”

She was right about that. Had my arrival triggered something? Put forces in motion? Or was it all just an unhappy coincidence?

“Just
go!
” Ellie barked. She stood up fast and flung an arm toward the door. As she rose, her legs caught the edge of the desk and it overturned, spilling postcards everywhere. The letter opener skittered across the floor to my feet. Ellie crouched, snatching up postcards, and began to cry. I picked up the letter opener and took a step toward her, thinking to help her collect the cards. Ellie jumped back, putting a hand to her throat.

“Are you going to hurt me now? You think I haven’t been through enough? You think there’s anything you could do to me that would hurt worse than the pain I already feel?” She was sobbing now. I dropped the letter opener to the floor.

“God, no. I’m so sorry. I was just trying…I’m sorry.”

She kept her hand protectively over her throat.

“You know, the truth is, I don’t think you killed my daughter,” Ellie said through her tears.

Before I could think how to respond she went on.

“But I think you know who did. I can see that in your eyes. I see it just as I saw that you really were friends with Del back then and that everything you told Sam and me about her was bullshit. Am I right, Kate?”