Twisted Threads (22 page)

“How did you know?” I asked as we waited for the police to arrive. “How did you know it was a meth lab? And why did you wait until we were out here to tell me?”

“I may teach biology, but I know a little about chemistry,” Dave answered. “And as soon as I figured out what they’d used that place for, I knew we had to get out of there. Meth is dangerous, even if you’re just breathing it. Not to speak of the fact that it can explode. I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was getting both of us as far away as possible, as fast as possible.”

I shivered. And not from the cold. “It must be Caleb’s doing. I don’t think Lauren would have gotten involved with meth.”

Dave nodded. “Caleb may have been lending the place to friends. Lauren’s told me about some of them. Not exactly upright citizens.”

We didn’t have to wait long, by Maine wilderness 911 standards. Ten minutes later a car pulled in and parked next to Gram’s.

“You called about a possible meth lab?”

I stared. It was the same woman we’d asked for directions—the one who’d been behind the counter at the country store.

“We’re the ones. The camp’s down that path.” Dave pointed. “The place stinks of it. There’s no one there now, unless they’ve come by boat.”

“I didn’t think so,” said the woman. “Sergeant Marge Windham. Fisher Lake’s in my territory. We’ve had a problem with people breaking into places closed for the winter. Used to be youngsters broke in to have sex, or drink, or steal valuables. Recently people have been using the places for meth labs.”

“Aren’t you going to go down to see?” Dave asked.

“Nope. I’ve called in the experts. You won’t catch me hanging out somewhere used to manufacture meth. I haven’t got a suicide wish.”

“You said you didn’t think anyone was in the camp? How did you know?”

“Lauren and Caleb stopped at the store to pick up cigarettes and beer about an hour before you two were there. Lauren said it was too cold in the camp, and they couldn’t light a fire.” Sergeant Windham shook her head. “At the time I figured she meant they didn’t have any wood for the fireplace or didn’t have matches. But now I suspect they couldn’t light the fire because if they did, the whole dang place might blow up on them.”

“Why didn’t you tell us they were gone when we asked for directions?” I asked.

“You didn’t ask,” answered Sergeant Windham.

For a moment I’d forgotten I was back in Maine. “Did Lauren and Caleb both seem okay?”

She shrugged. “If ‘okay’ includes arguing and practically spitting at each other, then, yeah, they were fine. Couldn’t even agree on what brand of cigarette to buy.”

“We need to find them,” I told her. “The camp’s open. Could we leave you our reach information and get going? We’re two hours behind them already.” I looked at Dave. “They probably headed back home.”

“Haven Harbor, right?” asked Sergeant Windham.

I nodded.

“You folks live there, too?”

“Yes,” said Dave.

“Didn’t think I’d seen either of you in these parts before.” She looked us over, as if deciding whether we were worth paying heed to. “All right. Names, addresses, phone numbers. And any identification that proves you are who you say you are.”

We dug out our licenses. Dave’s, she didn’t question. Mine, she took a second look at. “Says here you live in Mesa, Arizona, and you’re Angela Curtis.”

“I just moved back to Maine.”

“When would that have been? That you moved to Maine?”

“About two weeks ago. But I grew up here.”

“You’ll need to get a new license, you know,” she said, writing down the information about my current one. “State says you have to turn in your Arizona license and get a Maine one within thirty days of changing your residence.”

“I will.” I felt as though my hand had been slapped.

“And, welcome back to Vacationland.”

My biggest immediate worry was that we’d run into the backup team Sergeant Windham had called and have to back down that narrow drive. Luckily, we got out before anyone else arrived. I hoped the sergeant had her gun with her, in case some of Caleb’s buddies showed up.

And I was sure glad she hadn’t questioned me more closely. Or seen what was under my jacket. If she’d found I was carrying without a Maine permit
and
had an out-of-state driver’s license, I suspected I’d be staying in Fisher Lake for a while. Or at least overnight.

Thankfully, Dave hadn’t noticed I was armed.

We headed out of Fisher Lake and reversed our drive to get back to Haven Harbor.

“If Lauren’s planning to poison Caleb, I’m surprised she didn’t do it at the lake. No one might have checked there for weeks. But Lauren must have known about the meth. Maybe she didn’t want a body to be found there,” I thought out loud. How long had the Greenes owned that place? Could Joe have taken Mama there? It might have been her last stop before the freezer in Union. Someone could scream for hours and no one up there would hear them, especially at this time of year. Sounds carried over water, but I suspected most residents of Fisher Lake were seasonal visitors.

“What’s our plan?” Dave asked. “We have a little time to think. I don’t like the idea of just barging in on them and asking Lauren whether she’s poisoned her husband.”

I hadn’t figured that part out myself. I thought a few minutes. “I have a reason to visit Lauren. I still have her needlework money. She wasn’t home the other day when I delivered it to everyone else.”

“That’s a start, then,” said Dave.

“Right. One step at a time.”

The light was fading over the harbor by the time we got back and the pewter gray sky was streaked with pink and orange. I pulled the car up in front of the Deckers’ home. Their pickup was in the drive.

“Okay. Here we go.”

Dave rang the doorbell. Lauren came to the door a few minutes later. Seeing us, she came out to the porch, closing the door behind her. Not an inviting gesture.

She folded her arms over her chest and looked from one of us to the other. “So? Why are you here?” She was tapping one of her feet, and her words tumbled out on top of each other. “Why are you both here? Together? What do you want?”

“You were anxious to get your share of the needlepoint money,” I said. “I brought it.”

“Good.” Lauren held out her hand.

“Why don’t we come inside? Talk a little.” I held the envelope out, but I didn’t hand it to her.

“We don’t need to talk. Give me my money.”

“Lauren, it’s all right. You can trust us.” Dave’s voice was calm and reassuring, like he might have been talking her down off a bridge. I was glad he was with me.

“So, what are you doing with her?” she asked him.

“Visiting you. That’s all. We’ve been looking for you. We even drove all the way up to your camp, thinking you were there.”

Lauren grew pale. “You went to Fisher Lake?”

“We just got back,” I said. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with sharing that information with Lauren, but Dave knew her better than I did. I trusted him to say the right thing.

“Did you go inside the camp?”

“We did,” said Dave.

“Shoot,” she said. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”

“We were worried about you,” Dave continued, his voice steady. “Lauren, I know you. What was in that camp had nothing to do with you. It was Caleb’s doing, am I right?”

She nodded slowly. “He said it was a way we could make some money. No one would ever know.” She turned to me. “When a man wants to do something, you can’t just say ‘no’ and have him stop. He wouldn’t listen to me. I told him it was against the law, and it was dangerous. I didn’t want him blowing up my family’s camp.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” I said. “No one would want that. Or want to be married to someone who would.”

“Exactly,” Lauren said. “You do understand.” She smiled, seeming to relax a little. But she didn’t move.

“Where’s Caleb now?” I asked. “In the house?”

She nodded.

“Can we see him?”

“This isn’t a good time,” she said, glancing behind her at the closed door. “Caleb’s resting.” She looked from Dave to me and then back again. “He gets awful angry if someone wakes him when he’s taking a nap.”

Dave and I exchanged glances. We had to get inside.

I took a risk. “Did he have a drink before he fell asleep, Lauren? We stopped for directions up in Fisher Lake, and a woman at the store there said you’d been by to get beer.”

“She had no right to tell you that,” said Lauren. “That was private business. I’m over twenty-one. I’m allowed to buy beer.”

“You are,” said Dave. “But, Lauren, you don’t drink beer. You always told me beer was too bitter for you. You drink wine, instead.”

“Maybe I’ve changed,” she said defiantly. “Or maybe the beer wasn’t for me. You don’t know as much as you think you do, Dave Percy, even if you do have those college degrees.”

“So you gave Caleb the beer,” I said.

She nodded. “He’s sleeping now. He always gets sleepy after he drinks beer.”

“Lauren, remember when we talked about water hemlock? The pretty weed that grows in swampy water?” Dave asked quietly.

Her eyes opened wide and she stared past us. “Did you put any of the hemlock sap in Caleb’s beer?” Dave was insistent. “Tell me.”

“Why would you even ask such a thing?” she demanded.

“Because Caleb was messing up your life. You and I’ve talked about that lots of times.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d poison him.”

Then Dave gambled. “But you poisoned Jacques Lattimore.”

Lauren didn’t blink. “I didn’t know if that hemlock you told me about would work. I put a little in that man’s tea. Just to see what would happen.” She turned to me. “It was so easy. I was experimenting. I didn’t know he’d die.”

Dave took a deep breath. “Lauren, unless you show us Caleb’s alive and well, I’m going to call an ambulance. I think he’s inside, and that you put some of that hemlock in his beer. If I’m right, Caleb needs to go to the hospital right now. Maybe they can still help him.”

Lauren’s arms went limp. “Go ahead and call. Someone would have, anyway. But I don’t think they can help him. I gave him a lot more than I gave that Lattimore.”

Dave stayed out on the porch and called while I followed Lauren inside. Caleb was on the floor of the living room, as though he’d fallen off the old blue flowered couch I remembered from my Brownie days. A can of beer lay on the table next to him.

Lauren was right. No one could help him. Caleb was dead.

I didn’t say anything. I looked from Lauren to Caleb and back again.

“You don’t understand. He’s been rotten to me. You don’t know what that’s like.”

“I do, actually,” I told her.

“And I’m in trouble, anyway, so you might as well know about your mother.”

Lauren sat down on a love seat only a few feet from Caleb’s body.

I sat next to her. “What about my mother?” I reached up and touched my angel. The police and ambulance would arrive any minute. Whatever Lauren had to say, I wanted her to say it now.

And she did.

Lauren told me a story.

“That Sunday afternoon I was ten years old and bored. The minister’s sermon had been long, dinner had been ham when I’d wanted chicken, and I was tired of playing with my dolls. Mom was having trouble with the pattern of the sweater she was knitting. ‘Go and play. Find something to do,’ she’d said. ‘Go bother your father.’

“So I went looking for him.

“I didn’t see Dad most days. He left our home early every morning, before Mom or I were awake, and went to the bakery to cook the bread and cookies and pies and cakes he sold during the day. While I was in school, Mom would join him behind the counter. After school she’d meet me at home. By the time Dad got home, he was tired and grumpy. Mom would say, ‘Don’t bother your father. He’s had a hard day.’

“But sometimes, very early in the morning, before he went into the bakery, he’d come into my bedroom. Sometimes he just looked at me. But sometimes he pulled down the covers and touched me. Touched my chest. And other places. It was scary, but exciting, too. I always pretended to be asleep, and Dad never said a word. When I was sure it wasn’t a dream, I thought of it as our secret. I never told anyone.

“That Sunday I looked for him, and I decided he’d gone to the bakery. Often on Sunday afternoons he worked on bills and accounts in his office there.

“So I went to find him. I knew Mom wouldn’t have let me go if I’d asked, so I didn’t tell her. I just left.

“I felt very brave, crossing streets by myself, and saying hello to grown-ups I knew who were out walking. I was a little scared Dad would be angry I’d come all the way alone, but then I remembered his early-morning visits to my bedroom and somehow knew he wouldn’t tell on me.

“The front door of the bakery was closed and locked. No lights were on inside. That didn’t surprise me. I knew the bakery was closed on Sunday. I went through the narrow alley, where Dad always parked his white van—the one with the words ‘Greene’s Bakery’ and a picture of a big loaf of bread. He kept that van sparkling. The back door to the bakery led to the kitchen, and to Dad’s office, where I figured he was working.

“The heavy metal security door was unlocked. I decided to surprise him, so I opened it slowly and slipped inside. The ceiling lights were on, and it smelled the way it always did—of yeast and vanilla and baking bread.

“I tiptoed to the door leading to Dad’s office. I tried to keep my shoes from making any noise on the hard linoleum floor. I planned to jump out and yell, ‘Surprise!’

“But when I got near the door, I heard voices.

“I peeked around the door frame. Your mom was there. She was talking. Talking real fast. She sounded mad. I didn’t understand all the words, because she was too far away. But I heard her tell my dad to stay away from you and your friends. She said he was sick, and she’d tell the police if he didn’t stop. Then Dad moved closer to her, and she pushed him away, hard. He pushed her back, against the wall.

“I got scared. I didn’t want her to call the police about my dad. So I ran into the store and got the gun Dad kept there. It was always in the same place, in the second drawer in back of the counter. I wasn’t allowed to touch it, but Dad always said it was there in case of an emergency, and this was an emergency.

“By the time I got back to the office door, your mom was away from the wall. She was backing toward the door. Toward me. My dad was following her, shouting bad names and saying she wasn’t fit to be a mother. If she went to the police, he was going to tell them so. Then they’d take you away and give you to a decent family.

“I wanted to help. I wanted them to stop. I held the gun out and I fired.” Lauren looked down. “Your mom fell toward my dad. There was blood all over him and her, and even on the ceiling.”

“What happened then?” I asked. I heard sirens outside. Lauren didn’t seem to notice them.

“It all happened so fast. I don’t remember it all. I started crying, and Dad put your mom down on the floor. He took the gun away from me. He kept saying, ‘This didn’t happen. It didn’t happen.’

“He made me promise not to tell anyone. Not even Mom. Not you. He stood there, with your mother’s blood dripping down his face, telling me I should go home. ‘And don’t tell your mother you were here. I’ll take care of it. Just promise never to tell anyone.’

“And I didn’t, until now. I was too scared. When I got home, Mom was still knitting. She told me to go read a book or color, and she’d heat up some soup in a while. And I went and read
Little Women
and tried to forget what had happened.

“Dad never mentioned it again. Neither did I. After a while I wondered whether it had actually happened, although I knew your mom had disappeared. People said nasty things about her then, and I thought maybe it was all right, what I’d done. I’d hurt a bad person. But most of the time I didn’t think about it. I wanted my memories of that afternoon to go away.

“But they didn’t. And Dad didn’t come into my room again, ever. So I knew then I’d done something really bad. Because I knew he didn’t love me anymore.”

As though on key Pete Lambert and the local ambulance squad burst in.

I pointed to Caleb’s body.

And Lauren started crying. “Caleb was a bad person. He was.”