Daughters of the Lake(52)

On the very hour of Phil Stewart’s death, boxes upon boxes had arrived on the front porch of Jess and Addie’s new home in Wharton. They were filled with dresses and linens and dishes and candlesticks purchased on their honeymoon trip—everything the young couple needed to set up their new life in style.

The father’s life ending, the son’s life beginning, at exactly the same hour. If Jess had been a man who thought deeply about things, the juxtaposition of these two events might have occurred as odd to him. But it did not. Indeed, he never knew exactly when his father’s life ended. He only knew that his was about to begin.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

She was wrapped up in his arms, her lips on his neck, her legs around his waist. He told her he loved her, sweet and low, in her ear. Then the scene changed, and all Kate could see was rain outside her window. Violent thunder, lightning, shouting voices. And then all was still. Whiteness wrapped its tendrils around the house, around her. Where was the lake? Where were the houses across the street? Where was Jess? She felt a sharp pain in her belly and knew it was time. Fog will take your baby.

Startled awake, Kate found sunshine streaming through her windows and a massive dog draped across her chest.

“Morning, girl,” she said, scratching Alaska’s soft fur. Kate lay there awhile, trying to make sense of what had happened to her the night before. Her memories were hazy—had it really even happened?

She remembered her dreams—images and sounds flying by, one after the other. The woman with the violet eyes and her husband, locked in an embrace. The lake in a torrential rainstorm, enormous waves crashing into the shore. Shouts and accusations. Hissed threats. Fog.

She shook those thoughts out of her head and slid out from under the covers. After a quick shower, she pulled on her clothes and headed downstairs to find her cousin talking quietly on the phone in the library. The conversation stopped abruptly when she walked into the room.

“You’re up!” He smiled at her as he spoke into the phone, “She’s awake. I’ll call you later.” He hung up. “Let’s have breakfast!”

“Who was that?” Kate gave Simon a sidelong glance. “Were you talking about me?”

“It was Jonathan, if you must know,” Simon admitted. “And yes, of course we were talking about you. The Big Chill, as it were, has us both worried. How do you feel?”

“Okay,” she said. “None the worse for wear, really.” Kate wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered. “But that was weird last night. Wasn’t it? I mean, if it was some sort of bug that’s going around, it’s short lived. I feel fine now.”

Simon squinted at her. “Do you really? Because you look a little pale.”

“I feel okay. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

“Things seem a little out of control. First the dreams and now this.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s have some coffee. Everything seems out of control until you’ve had coffee.”

They settled into a table by the window that Simon had already set with a basket of croissants, a bowl of strawberries, blueberries, and melon, and a pot of French press coffee. Kate poured some into her cup, added cream, and took her first sip.

“Any dreams last night?” Simon asked.

She nodded. “I didn’t really understand them, though. They were just images, one after the other.”

“More scenes from the life of our mystery woman?”

She nodded, remembering. “I think I’ll head up to the third floor and go through some trunks today,” she said, tearing off a bit of her croissant and popping it into her mouth. “I like your idea about looking for a diary or datebook.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s dusty up there and considering what happened last night—”

“I’m fine, Simon. Really.”

He scowled at her. “At least take the day off,” he said. “Relax. De-stress. Will you do that for me?”

Kate smiled. “I will. You worry too much, though.”

Kate took another sip of her coffee. “The thing is, I’m a little worried, too. I mean, last night might have been nothing more than a weird flu bug going around. But I’m not sure about that. It really felt linked to all of this.”

“I know,” Simon said.

“Dreaming about this woman is one thing, but last night was no dream,” Kate said. “I know this sounds crazy, Simon, but it felt like I was experiencing what she experienced in that cold, dark water.”

“And considering the fact that our fair lady ended up murdered . . .” Simon said, remembering Kate’s pre-nup.

“Exactly. I’m thinking the sooner I find out what’s behind it all—”

He finished her thought. “The sooner it will go away.”

“That’s my plan,” Kate said, tearing into her flaky croissant and taking a big swallow of coffee. “But I really think I should do something before I climb up to the third floor.”

He squinted at her. “What’s that?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve done it,” Kate said, pushing her chair back from the table. “I’m going to make a phone call, and I don’t want you to talk me out of it.”