The Puzzle (4 page)

I tossed in a few more logs and sat down, draping a blanket around my shoulders. Had I made an unwise decision? No one knew what I was really up to and I didn’t want help from anyone, at least not yet. I had to concentrate on why someone wanted Stephen out of the way.

What had Stephen done or been involved in that resulted in his murder? Who decided he was better off dead than alive?

One issue continued to bother me. What was Stephen talking about that last night we last spoke? His words made no sense I had to make sure I went over that again. I might have overlooked something important.

It didn’t surprise me that sleep evaded me my first night. Roaming like a zombie, stiff and glassy-eyed, I tried to keep the fires going until early morning. When dawn broke, I was already out of bed and dressed. The upstairs reeked of kerosene; clothes, everything, even my hair. The fumes were nauseating. I cracked the windows open a little for some fresh air and got moving.

Downstairs was arctic cold. I rekindled burning embers by adding logs, then started unloading some boxes and throwing the packing paper into the fires too. The first few hours passed by quickly.

Around ten o’clock, Mike arrived with his crew.

He tried to read me. “How did it go last night?”

I continued unwrapping dishes, trying not to show my annoyance at how late it was. I knew Jack would have told me this was the way up here in the mountains. “Just fine.”

He looked at me for a second longer, and then replied, “Good, now let me tackle those problems and get them squared away.”

Around noon, once again, Jack stopped by with more water and a hot meal Barbara had prepared, saying he would call later to check on me. At one o’clock, the electricians arrived and Mike walked them down to the well. By three o’clock, Mike announced there was electricity, and the well was pumping, which meant my refrigerator was humming too. With that news, I left for the small grocery store in town. The ordinary chore of food shopping was suddenly appealing, and would hopefully bring some normalcy back into my life.

Once there, it didn’t take long to stock up on the basic food and cleaning supplies I needed to get my pantry started, but soon I grew restless to return back to the house and finish unpacking. Almost done, I was reaching for the last item on my list when the hair rose on the nape of my neck. I didn’t move a muscle, and then slowly eased around to take a look. No one. I could have sworn someone had been there. I walked to the end of the aisle and peered down the next one. I didn’t see anyone.

All of a sudden, I was shoved from behind. I turned to find three small boys laughing and racing past me, their arms full of snacks.

I sighed, brushing away my anxiety as nothing more than exhaustion and an over-active imagination. Not many people knew I was in town yet. With that thought in mind, I aimed for the register, checked out and started walking toward the exit, but then heard my name called out.

“Samantha! I can’t believe you came back!”

That voice. I cringed. It was the owner, Ben, who had blatantly flirted with me at every opportunity whenever I returned with Stephen while we were building our house. Stephen laughed him off when I complained about it. I detested Ben and barely managed a smile.

“Hello, Ben.” His rumpled appearance hadn’t changed at all. Stephen and Ben had been friends for a long time. I couldn’t understand why Stephen bothered.

“I heard about Stephen,” Ben said solemnly, as his eyes swept over me from their six foot two perch. “It was such a shock.”

You didn’t even call to pay your respects or offer condolences, I silently retorted, taking in his wrinkled clothing and slicked black hair.

“Yes,” I said.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“No! Nothing at all,” I replied, politely cutting him off. “I’m doing just fine thank you.”

His insincere smile didn’t con me for a second. His hand unexpectedly grazed my shoulder, and lightly slid down my arm, a gesture that left me unsettled and slightly sick. He
leaned in close. “I’m here if you need someone to talk to, or want some company,” he whispered softly.

I stepped back. “I appreciate the thought. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back.”

I was fully aware his eyes were trailing after me as I walked away. My throat constricted, and my skin still crawled from his touch. I needed fresh air and flew through the door.

Outside, loading groceries into my car, I felt as though someone was watching me again. Quickly, I turned, but saw no one. I finished, jumped in the car, locked the door, and checked the rearview mirror, trying to figure out what was making me so jumpy.

Calm down. Lighten up. It’s nothing, Sam.

I gripped the wheel and closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax. I had to stay centered and aware. I couldn’t afford any mistakes because this had to be believable. I needed to stay in character, behaving the way Stephen’s wife would behave. Only I wasn’t Stephen’s wife anymore, but his widow. I shoved my uneasiness aside and proceeded to drive in the direction of my new home, new life, and hopefully new answers to all those questions sucking me dry.

All that week, I found myself dodging and ducking around workers while I tried to unpack. By Friday, everything was finally completed, and at the end of the day, Mike’s crew cleared the site, loaded up, and left my driveway for the last time.

Mike and I leisurely walked out of the house, pleased with what had been pulled off in such a short time. He grabbed the door handle of his truck and climbed in, then rolled down his window and glanced up at my house.

“You know, Sam, you’ve got a real nice home if I do say so myself.”

I was pleased with the results, too, and smiled. “I do, don’t I? Thanks for everything.”

Then with a final wave goodbye, he was gone, too.

I retraced my steps back to the entrance, closing my jacket tightly to keep out the damp approach of evening. I thought about what a melancholy time of day sundown had become: yet another evening alone. I felt my chest decompress and my eyes fill, as I glanced out at the forest, and then resolutely closed the door behind me.

There were so many secrets out there lurking…

…My car sat idling in the cold November twilight, as my mind dismissed those initial encounters and shifted back to the present. I stared down at my house. Exactly what had I accomplished? I knew if I wanted the truth I had to have patience. Even so, every so often, I still had reservations about my decision to move to this house and pursue this crazy venture.

But then I would think of Stephen, shadowed by the bizarre circumstances of his death and me with all those unanswered questions dumped on my doorstep, and like a persistent, intrusive visitor, my anger returned, knocking loudly, and my resolve ultimately always answered.

I had a burning desire for the truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I couldn’t just shy away from what I might find out about Stephen, or myself for that matter. I knew that it was going to hurt big time; and like Martha, I felt it in my bones. There was an unknown threat out there. I was convinced of it.

I just had to find it first, before it found me.

Chapter 6

Cough It Up

As I hung up the phone, my ears were still ringing. It was my agent, Sandra. I knew I would be hearing from her. Both Sandra and my editor were tired of waiting for the update I never sent. I had purposely not returned their numerous calls, hoping to buy some time, but they only bought that for so long.

“Friend or not,” Sandra said bluntly, “you should be working on your book. It’s time to get back to a regular writing schedule. Life moves on and readers have short memories because loyalty only goes as far as your next book. Focus on the here and now and get back to work. Besides, you have a contract for two more books, have you forgotten? Samantha, you don’t have a big one, but it is still a binding one. I like you personally, but don’t push the issue. I’ve got to deal with the publisher.”

Months ago, those words would have stung, but now I realized that Sandra was being realistic and making financial sense. We all had a stake in my book, plus I needed the money more than ever before. I had neglected to mention to them that my story had taken a new direction, but I was fairly confident they would be enthusiastic when they saw the finished manuscript. That is, if I unraveled the truth, wrote it all down, and finally sent it to them.

The pressure was on, and if my strategy was to work, I needed to refine my notes and keep on writing. I flipped open my computer and resumed typing my book and my life.

Chapter 7

I Don’t Have A Clue

Why were Stephen’s brakes tampered with? So far, the authorities had zero. Me? I was at a loss too. I had gone through his personal belongings, unable to find anything unusual or suspicious, except for one detail. I found it odd that his laptop was missing from the car at the accident scene. The police said the area was thoroughly searched. I knew he never went anywhere without his laptop and allowed no one near it. That fact was written in cement. Period.

After the identification, the police told me they would see me the next day to follow up with further questions. “Go home and get some rest,” they had said. Besides, I wasn’t in the best shape and finally did follow their instructions. Later, at home, I sat in the dark for what seemed like forever, stunned and unable to move. Isolation and fear paralyzed me as the minutes and hours slowly ticked by on my bedroom clock. Reluctantly, I finally ventured downstairs to Stephen’s office, determined to see whether the missing laptop was perhaps in his office. Maybe he had hidden it before going on his trip. I remembered hesitating before turning the knob.

No, I knew Stephen too well, and was certain he would have taken it on his trip. After an extensive search, I gave up and went to his desk, approaching his desktop computer. I paused, realizing it would be an exercise in futility. How was I to find out anything when I didn’t even know his password? It didn’t matter, I realized then, as I spotted small screws strewn across his desk. Leaning close, my breath caught. His hard drive had been removed.

Alarmed, I called the police. They fingerprinted the room and checked the house thoroughly. No other prints but his were found on the computer. Would Stephen remove his own hard drive? Why? Worse yet, did someone else remove it while wearing gloves? That would mean someone had been in my house. Was I home at the time?

On the evening of Stephen’s death, I had received several phone calls, but the person hung up the second I answered. Were they checking to see if I was home? If so, why? Were they still watching me? Did they think I knew what was on his computer, and did that now put me at risk? I couldn’t extricate myself from this mess if I tried. I didn’t want a life where I would always be looking over my shoulder in fear. Why no other prints? But then again, why would someone be so sloppy as to leave fingerprints behind? If there were answers out there, I was positive they had to be in some overlooked details from Stephen’s behavior and his past.

One surfaced immediately. Why had Stephen ignored my writing, acting somewhat dismissive? He would give a fleeting glance at the checks, totally disinterested. Upset, I opened my own checking account. What hurt me the most was the new book deal I had finally landed and was thrilled about and wanted to share my excitement.

The minute I found out, I managed to catch him on his cell phone. This was too important for voicemail. I was well versed from past experience how he hated to be interrupted on business trips. He claimed it was a distraction and he needed to stay focused. But I had convinced myself this would override any objections he might have once I told him about my new contract…

“What is it now?” he said, his words laced with hostility.

At first, I was caught off guard by his tone and didn’t speak right away. I had forgotten that with his caller ID, he already knew exactly who was calling him. Finally I said, “Stephen?”

“Yeah? What? I’m busy!”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Just say it, Sam!”

“But, Stephen…”

“I haven’t got all day,” he protested, impatiently.

“It’s about my new book contract,” I explained. “I just had to…”

“And you called me for that?” he shot back.

“But it’s more than I’ve ever made before. I just wanted to share with you my…”