The Lost Women of Lost Lake (12 page)

“Seth and Emily,” called Cordelia. “Front and center.”

The other two actors emerged from one of the voms. These were Ginny and Greg in the production, the young lovers. Seth was sensitive looking, with dark brown hair worn long and shaggy for the play. Emily was thin and lovely, with long blond slightly frizzy hair and a grace and presence on stage that she lacked entirely when she stepped off.

Vom
was a theater term Jane was familiar with. Short for vomitory, it was a word with a theatrical history dating back to ancient Rome. Jane had first come across it when Cordelia had done work at the Blackburn Playhouse in Shoreview many years ago. A vom was an exit or entrance through the banked seating of any theater-in-the-round. The Lost Lake Community Theater had four voms, one that led to the dressing room, two that allowed the audience to enter and exit, and one that led to the prop room and stage door.

Barreling down the steps from the audience, Cordelia smiled like a cobra about to strike. “Comrades,” she said, hopping up on stage. “Your English accents are … how shall I put it?”

“Substandard?” offered Wendell.

“Yes, that's a good word. Better than atrocious, miserable, or criminally inadequate.”

The actors all stared at the floor.

“Here's what we're going to do. Instead of London, we're going to set the first part of the play in Boston. The Willows' country garden will take place in a small town outside of the city. The programs haven't been printed yet, so the change won't be a problem.”

“Lower Pendon, Bucks?” chirped Camilla. “Sounds rather English to me.”

“The audience will just have to work harder to suspend their disbelief. Now. Please drop all pretense of an English accent and resume your normal mode of speech. Think you can do that?”

The actors shuffled and grumbled, and all said they could.

“Dandy. I believe that to be our only major problem. We want people laughing at the play, not at us. Are any of you free during the afternoons this week?”

“Camilla and I are,” blurted Wendell, backing up a step and looking sheepish as he once again dropped his gaze to his loafers. He wasn't the best pick to play the assured, lecherous Philip. Tessa had explained that everyone in town felt sorry for him because of his string of bad luck, and that's why she'd given him the part.

“Depends on the day,” said Seth, his arm draped across Emily's shoulder.

Emily agreed. “I work most afternoons.”

“I'll have the stage manager, the amazing Mr. Littlewolf, contact you. I would like to work with each of you briefly, one on one. Tonight, as you all know, is the dry tech. We won't need you to stick around for that, although if you want to, feel free. Tomorrow will be our first dress rehearsal. I'd like all of you here by six. Any problems with that?”

“No, Miss Thorn,” said Wendell, clearly in awe.

“Marvelous.” Motioning to Fontaine Littlewolf, who had been standing up by the control booth door watching the action, Cordelia called, “Bring your play book down here and let's get going on the cues.”

Jane had met Littlewolf on several occasions. Tonight, as a way to welcome Cordelia to the playhouse, he'd given them a mini-tour. Cordelia was most interested in the costume department, such as it was. She examined each piece of clothing to determine the size. Jane could see her lusting after some of the more outrageous specimens—male or female, it didn't matter.

Wriggling her hefty form into the seat next to Jane, Cordelia leaned close and whispered, “I may take you up on changing rooms at the lodge tonight.”

“Because of the pea?”

“I am not cut out to live in Sparta.”

When Jane broke into a laugh, Cordelia puffed herself up like a great bird. “You think my discomfort is amusing?”

Before Jane could answer, she heard a shout and then a crash.

“What the—” said Cordelia, rising.

Littlewolf, who had been on his way down from the control booth, shook his head and started for the vom that lead to the dressing rooms.

“Is it a fight?” called Cordelia.

“Wendell and Seth. Wendell doesn't like the way Seth leers at Emily. I know this may seem out of character for him, but he decked Seth a couple of weeks ago.”

“Lord,” said Cordelia, sitting down with a thump. “I absolutely love it when there's brawling in the ranks. Makes for such a collegial atmosphere. This play is supposed to be light comedy. If the actors all hate each other, guess how it's going to come off?”

“I wonder if Littlewolf will need some help,” said Jane, still looking in the direction of the shout.

“Breaking up scuffles among the thespians must be in the stage manager's job description. It's certainly not in mine. I think we should stay here and hope that makeup can handle any potential black-and-blue issues. If a gurney becomes necessary, we cancel the production.” She pulled a Snickers bar out of her purse. At Jane's questioning look, she said, “What? It's a health food. It has peanuts.”

*   *   *

Monday nights were the pits, even in high summer. Lyndie sat on the stool behind the counter at the emporium and gazed forlornly at the empty display aisles. She didn't even need to hide her cigarette. It was probably silly to be open, although it gave her time to clean and dust—and sometimes, when she was in the right mood, to think.

Lyndie wasn't as dumb as some people assumed, especially Tessa, who never had anything good to say about her mental abilities. True, she wasn't an intellectual. Philosophical discussions bored her. She would rather talk about people, celebrities, or concrete things like recipes or vacation spots or children. Tonight, however, Lyndie was feeling reflective.

The one quality all her husbands had in common was confidence. In George's case, he had God on his side. His relationship with the Almighty was one of the things she loved most about him. She could sink into his convictions and warm herself by them. And yet tonight, when she needed them most, she was forced to the conclusion that borrowed convictions were useless.

Her cell phone rang. Removing it from her purse, she glanced at the caller ID before pressing it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lyndie. It's Wendell.”

“Ah, hi,” she said, wishing now that she hadn't answered. Lyndie had dated Wendell's father once upon a time. She'd always felt sorry for the boy because he had so little natural spunk.

“Have you thought any more about my idea?” he asked.

“Honey, you know I would love to be able to help you out, but right now I've got so many other things to deal with. And money is tight. I don't think I'd be able to swing it. I'm beginning to wonder if I should sell the emporium.”

“Really? That's so sad.”

He sounded depressed. “You're still at Helen Merland's place, right?”

“Thanks for putting in a good word.”

“And you're helping her out?”

“Every chance I get.”

“That's a good boy.”

“I am
not
a
boy,
” he erupted.

She was momentarily stunned into silence. He'd never raised his voice to her before. “Are you all right?”

“Gotta go. Thanks for nothing.”

“Wendell? Are you there? Wendell?” It was no use. He'd hung up. She wondered what had gotten in into to him, and yet with so many other pressing issues on her mind, she soon forgot about it.

A few minutes before nine, as she was reaching to remove the
OPEN
sign from the window, Feigenbaumer startled her by pushing through the front door. She stepped back. “We're closed. You can't be in here.”

“I need to show you something.”

“Not interested.” She inched her way back toward the counter, to her purse and the loaded revolver that was tucked inside. She was glad now that she'd listened to Tessa's advice and taken the gun out in the woods to do some target practice.

“I want you to look at a couple of photos.”

“No more photos,” she said, nearly knocking over one of the displays in her eagerness to get back to her purse.

“I think you may recognize this woman.”

“Why can't you just leave me alone?”

“Am I ruining your evening? Such a shame.”

The threat in his voice was unmistakable.

“Here,” he said, stepping up to the counter.

She edged onto the stool. “I'm not interested.”

“You will be in this one.” He dropped it in front of her, pressed it to the Formica with his finger. “You recognize her?”

She only had to glance at it to realize he'd found her senior photograph, the one that had appeared in her high school annual. “I've never seen that person before.”

He let out a laugh. “That's good. You don't think she looks an awful lot like you?”

“No, I don't.”

“Really, Judy?”

“I'm not her. I've lived my entire life in Lost Lake.”

He made a buzzer sound. “Ennhh. Wrong. Ten points off for lying. I did a little research in the last couple of days. You arrived in town in February of nineteen-seventy. Your first place of employment was Sibley's clothing store on Elm and Walnut. You had a Minnesota driver's license in the name of Lyndie Reynolds. Since your arrival, you've been Lyndie Becker, Lyndie Taggert, Lyndie Niemi, and Lyndie LaVasser. I'd say that makes you the town's official gold digger.”

“My personal life is none of your business.” She lowered her right hand to her lap.

“You killed him, Judy. Admit it.”

“I want you to leave.”

“What I need to know is, where's Sabra Briere?”

“I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about.”

He came at her, fist clenched. “Stop with the bullshit. You think this is all I have? What I've found will send you to jail for the rest of your life. I want a straight answer to my question and I want it now. ”

Her hand curled around the handle of the revolver.

“Where's Sabra?” he demanded, shoving his face close to hers. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she replied softly.

“Well?” he said. “I'm waiting.”

13

Jonah relaxed in his aunt's car two doors away from the Jensen house, listening to a CD Kenny had given him and waiting for Emily to get home. The Hold Steady was Kenny's current favorite band. Normally, Jonah and Kenny didn't like the same music. This time, however, Jonah had to admit that the band was hot. He liked the convoluted lyrics. He wasn't sure he understood them, though that was probably the point.

After spending the afternoon smoking dope at the hideout, he and Kenny had met up at a pizza joint in town and in record time they'd downed an order of Italian cheese bread; two extra meat, extra cheese pizzas; a side of spaghetti; and, when Jonah left, Kenny was chowing down on a piece of apple pie à la mode. Jonah had to admit that Kenny had done most of the eating. He'd put on a bunch of weight in the year Jonah had been gone. From certain angles, he almost looked fat. Basic training would beat that out of him soon enough.

By the time Emily got home, the clouds had parted revealing a perfect crescent moon. Jonah slipped out of the front seat, but then remembered the rose he'd bought at a convenience store. He ducked back inside and retrieved it from the dash. By the time he reached the Jensens' front lawn, Emily was on her way inside.

“Hey,” he called, unable to stop himself from grinning. He felt like an idiot. Pretty soon he'd start drooling, with no more ability to stop the drool than his stupid-ass grin. He'd been thinking that he should have hid somewhere, popped out and scared her. She would have been mad at first. By the time she realized she was pissed, they would have been locked in each other's arms.

Turning and squinting into the twilight, Emily said, “Jonah?”

“It's me.” He walked right up to her and handed her the flower, enjoying the shocked look on her face.

“What … how?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He had to admit that he was a little disappointed. He'd expected her to be all over him, which was her usual MO. Instead, she kept her distance. She almost seemed afraid. He didn't get what was happening
at all
. “Aren't you happy to see me?”

She held the rose to her nose, sniffed it, passed it back and forth in front of her mouth. “Give me a minute, for Pete's sake.”

All of a sudden everything seemed all weird. He wasn't even sure if he should hug her.

“When did you get here?” she asked.

“Last night. Got caught in a storm. It was kind of a miserable trip up. I hitchhiked. Kenny and me, we hung out this afternoon. I came by first thing this morning, but you were gone.”

“I was around this morning.”

“Well, I mean, after I got up. I slept late.”

She gave a careful nod. “Kenny say anything else?”

“Like what?”

She shrugged.

“Come on, Em. Are you happy to see me or not? Maybe things have changed between us. Maybe you don't feel the same way about me anymore. If that's the case, be straight about it. But please, whatever's going on inside that head of yours, stop acting so freakin' peculiar.”

She continued to hold the rose under her nose. “When you left, I thought it was forever, that I'd never see you again.”

“I worried about that, too. But I'm back. And this time, I'm not leaving.”

Resting her arms on his shoulders, she said, “Honestly, Jonah, the rose is perfect. Nobody's ever been as sweet to me as you.”

He couldn't help himself. He kissed her so long and hard that he felt as if he'd taken a dive into a deep pool. Coming up for air, he said, “I've got my aunt's car. Want to take a drive?”

“Where?”

“Does it matter? God, but you're beautiful.”

“So are you.”