Past, Present and a Future (Going Back) Page 8

  “Just that sometime later that day someone vandalized the posters advertising your book. Scrawled across them with permanent marker and obliterated your name.” He paused. “Now why do you think someone would do that, Ms. Morgan?”

  When Clare found her voice, it didn’t sound like hers at all. “I haven’t heard a thing about this.”

  “Do you think the graffiti artist might be someone who had the same difficulty I had in believing your book was purely fiction? Or was it only a coincidence?”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Withers,” she said, hanging up. She rested her head against her hand. “What a mistake.”

  “What’s that?” Laura’s voice rang out from the den where she was making up a bed for Dave.

  Clare heard her walking along the hall back to the kitchen and wished she’d made the phone call later, when Laura was at the hospital.

  “Are you okay? You look like death warmed over, as the saying goes.” Laura observed from the doorway.

  “I feel worse than I look. That…that Withers creep. I wish I’d never called him. I should have just let the matter drop.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Basically he refused to see my point. Then he said he had some source who’d given him information about the Thomas case. And he managed to get the last word by telling me that someone had vandalized my posters at Novel Idea and implied that it happened because of my book.”

  “That’s crazy.” Laura sat down across from Clare. “It was probably some kid trying to prove something. They write graffiti everywhere for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yeah, but mine were the only posters damaged apparently.”

  “Well, maybe whoever did it didn’t have a chance to get to the others. And what was that about a source of information about the murder? What kind of information?”

  Clare looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Clare. You do know. That’s why you’re so upset.”

  “Because he knew something that…well, only a few people could know.”

  “Which is?” Laura asked, her voice gentle and coaxing.

  She’ll find out anyway, Clare thought. “The reason the police took Gil in for questioning was because…well, because I told them that I’d seen him walk toward the ravine with Rina. That afternoon.” She turned her head to Laura. “I was the one who told on him.”

  “Omigod,” Laura whispered. “So was that why you two split up?

  “Part of it. A big part.” Clare shook her head. “The only people who know that are the police and Gil and I. Or so I thought.”

  “You know what, Clare? I think you should forget about this. The guy’s stirring you up, that’s all. Maybe he wants to write a follow-up article.”

  “I shouldn’t have called him.” Clare covered her face with her hands. When Clare removed her hands, Laura was still staring at her. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Frankly, forget about it.” Laura peered at her watch. “Look, Emma’s due to wake up any second. After I feed her, I’ll head over to the hospital. Right now, why don’t you call the bookstore? At least you’ll feel like you’re doing something. I’ll try to get Emma back down again, but it may not work. She’s awake for longer stretches of time now. Is that okay? You could put her in her carriage and take her for a walk.”

  “Okay.” The prospect of exercise and fresh air was, after talking to Withers, very appealing. “And thanks for the loan of the jeans, Laura. I didn’t bring a lot of clothes with me.”

  “Thank you! Here you were expecting to come for a weekend and you end up staying on to baby-sit.”

  Clare patted Laura on the shoulder and as soon as she left the room to tend to Emma, Clare telephoned Novel Idea.

  The manager apologized profusely and told Clare that the police had been called but could do little. “Unfortunately,” she said, “the store security camera wasn’t focused on the particular spot where the display of your books was located. But at least none of the books themselves were damaged.”

  “Do you think kids were responsible?”

  The manager sighed. “That’s what the police are suggesting, though we’ve never had anything like this happen before. And I don’t know why teenagers would target just your display.”

  It was exactly what Clare had concluded, as well. She reassured the manager that there’d been no way to prevent such an act and hung up. Then she went upstairs to change for her walk with Emma. She pulled on her own black cords, pairing them with Laura’s black turtleneck. Although the day had begun balmy, the temperature had dropped to its usual autumn crispness after noon. Leaving the room, she brushed against a chair holding the books and notes she’d taken for her talk with Miss Stuart’s English class. The copy of her novel toppled to the floor and as it landed, a folded piece of paper flew out from it. Clare stooped to pick it up, noting the bleed marks of writing inside. She unfolded it and stared, her mind not instantly registering the block printing in red magic marker:

  “Your a troublemaker.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  GIL COULDN’T believe his eyes. It had to be her, he thought, with that sun-burnished hair. Pushing Emma’s baby carriage, no doubt.

  The sight of Clare Morgan taking care of a baby was both unbelievable and wondrous at the same time. He’d felt that yesterday as she fed Emma at the kitchen table. He knew she’d had little baby-sitting experience, yet she’d looked so natural holding Emma and smiling down at her. He’d had a sudden, blinding fantasy of her cradling their own child.

  It had been one of those crazy what-if moments. What if he’d never been implicated in Rina’s death? What if they’d never had that last, horrible fight? What if, instead, the daydreams they’d shared about college and marriage had all come true? He took a deep breath, shook his head clear of pointless speculation about a future that never happened, and jogged up behind her.

  “Hi there,” he said, more casually than he felt.

  She jumped, as he’d expected. The instant her tawny eyes focused on him he knew that she was less than thrilled to see him. Color rose in her face. “I didn’t know you jogged,” she blurted.

  He couldn’t stifle the grin. “Why would you know?”

  The flush deepened. “Laura’s gone to see Dave,” she went on, gesturing to a sleeping Emma inside the carriage. “I’m hoping to keep her this way until she gets back, though I may have to cover the whole town to do it,” she said with a slightly nervous laugh.

  “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

  She gave a halfhearted shrug as he strolled along with her. “So what’s the latest word on Dave?” he asked.

  “Laura called the hospital this morning and he was doing fine. He’s been fitted with crutches. Should be home in another day or so.”

  “That should make you happy.”

  Her eyes flashed at him. “You make me sound petty. I really don’t mind helping out a friend.”

  “Sorry, Clare. That wasn’t my intention. I just mean that you and I both seem to be uncomfortable around babies. I’d be counting the seconds, if it were me looking after her.”

  “I guess we’re a pretty poor choice for godparents.”

  “I meant to ask, but never got around to it. What are godparents supposed to do, anyway?”

  She smiled, catching her lower lip between her teeth. A gesture he recalled all too well. “I’ve no idea,” she said, “though I suspect the job involves birthday and Christmas presents.”

  “Hmm. Well, I guess I can handle that. Or at least, make calendar notes for my assistant.”

  “Occasional visits may be expected, too,” she said.

  Gil frowned. “That won’t be as easy. I’m usually very busy. In fact, this is the first time off I’ve had in a couple of years.”

  “Really? And you can hardly call it a holiday what with having to clean out and sell your father’s place.” She glanced his way again. “How did things go yesterday?”

  “They made me an offer but it was too low so I present
ed them with a counteroffer. I decided I’d rather take the extra few days than to see my parents’ house go for nothing. They put too much love and work into it.” He didn’t add that learning Clare Morgan was going to be in Twin Falls at least another couple of days had had some bearing on his decision. “How about you? Is this going to disrupt your book tour very much?”

  “Not really. There are a few more signings in New York and the suburbs, then in New Jersey. Fortunately, most were already slated for early November. I may be a celebrity here in Twin Falls, but elsewhere…” Her voice trailed off.

  He wanted to point out that anyone making the Times bestseller list was indeed a celebrity but decided she still wasn’t used to all the attention her book had garnered. Maybe she hadn’t changed too much after all. Oddly, that pleased him, though he couldn’t have explained why he cared. He was studying her profile so intently that it took him a moment to realize she was still talking. And about something upsetting, from the quaver in her voice.

  “What was that?” he interrupted. “Go back to what you just said.”

  “I said I doubt that I’m well liked by everyone here, judging from the damage to my promotional posters. That was bad enough. Finding an anonymous note in one of my books was a lot more upsetting.”

  “What do you mean?” He stopped and placed a hand on her arm.

  “Someone defaced my posters on display at Novel Idea, the store where I had my signing on Saturday. Then just as I was getting ready to take Emma for a walk, I found this note in one of the books I’d taken to Miss Stuart’s English class.”

  “What? Let me see it,” said Gil. “Look, Emma’s sleeping. Why don’t we go sit on that bench over there for a minute?”

  Clare peered down into the baby carriage, then raised her eyes to Gil. “Okay,” she said and wheeled the carriage to the bench.

  He sat down beside her and took his time looking at the note.

  “I just shoved it in my pocket,” she explained, “on my way out the door with Emma. I haven’t even shown it to Laura yet. She was all set to leave for the hospital and I didn’t want to hold her back.”

  “Not a good speller, that’s for sure” he said. “Let me get this straight. You passed the copy of your novel around the class while you were speaking?”

  “Yes. I read a section from it and then someone asked a question about the cover blurb so I passed the book around.”

  “So it was some kid who wrote this.”

  “I guess. Though I can’t understand why a kid would write a note like that. I can see them writing some comment about the book or its cover art or whatever, but why call me a troublemaker?”

  Gil gave the note back to her. “First your posters in the bookstore and now this. Both events occurring right after that newspaper interview. It can’t be a coincidence. Someone’s obviously very upset about your book.”

  She chewed at the edge of her lower lip for a moment before saying, “I came to the same conclusion on my way over here. But I still don’t understand why. And why a kid?”

  “I know you insist the book is pure fiction, but even I thought some of it clearly paralleled Rina’s murder when I read it. That was the point of that newspaper article, wasn’t it?”

  “You read it? You never said a word about it yesterday when I saw you at Laura’s.”

  He could hardly tell her the article had ticked him off so much he wanted to go down to the paper and punch the guy. A bit excessive, he granted. But the guy’s intent was so obvious it was insulting. He obviously didn’t give a damn about reviewing the merits of the book itself, but only wanted to cause a stir by dredging up Rina Thomas.

  “It was trashy journalism,” he said. “Not a book review at all. And I didn’t mention it, because I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re right,” she conceded. “I wouldn’t have. What’s the point?”

  He sensed that in spite of her apparent dismissal of the article, she was still disturbed by it. Time to change the subject he thought. But she surprised him by going back to the book.

  “Of course some of my own recollections are in the book. It happens…you know…when an author is writing about something that is similar to events in his or her personal life. The only reason I put the death in,” she rushed on, “was because Rina Thomas’s murder impacted on all of us. I wanted to use my own emotions at that time to give credibility to my character. To make her more real. Basically all I used from the real case was the death of a classmate.”

  But she’d left something out of her plot line and he couldn’t let it pass. “There was one other fact, wasn’t there, that differed from the real case?”

  Her eyes shifted downward. When she raised them again, looking at him through her thick lashes, the misery he saw in them tugged at him. Suddenly he was a teenager again and in helpless thrall to Clare Morgan. He clenched his jaw, wishing he wasn’t so easily taken in by those big eyes.

  Color rushed up into her face. “You know there is,” she said softly, “if you’ve read the book.”

  Gil waited, wanting her to say it.

  “I had Marianne—the girl who died—leave school that day with her friend Kenzie’s boyfriend.”

  Just as I left with Rina. The throbbing that had begun in Gil’s head as Clare spoke was now reverberating throughout his whole body. She’d finally come out with it.

  “But the boyfriend is never accused of murder—the idea of his being responsible is…well, is only in Kenzie’s mind,” she quickly added, as if wanting to justify herself somehow.

  “And that would be another part you didn’t change?”

  She paled, catching the bite in his voice. “I guess not. I mean, in the book no one else suspects the boyfriend except for Kenzie.”

  “So she never informed on him?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “So that’s definitely a part that you changed.”

  She glanced away, obviously embarrassed, and he could have kicked himself. What was he thinking? That finally getting her to confess her betrayal of him would make things better?

  “Let me explain this time—please,” she said, turning her head back to him.

  Her eyes were moist. Gil wanted to tell her to forget everything—all of it—and wrap his arms around her, but he couldn’t. “Go ahead,” he said.

  “The book is supposed to be about how Kenzie realizes that the town she grew up in—the quintessential small town—is not the paradise she’d thought. When I was writing it, my mind kept going back to Rina Thomas and how her death split apart our class. That’s what I wanted to show in the novel. How a single tragic event can change so many lives. So I invented a slightly different scenario.” She paused, her gaze steadily fixed on his face. “Different because I don’t have the same suspicions that Kenzie had.”

  The look in her eyes implored him to believe her and part of him wanted to. Still, he couldn’t help focusing on a word in her last sentence. Don’t. As in, not anymore. Certainly it didn’t mean she’d never harbored suspicions about him because they both knew better. He backed away from the retort he was tempted to make. Better to try to give her some advice than dwell any longer on a past that could never be changed. He took a deep breath and looked at Emma sleeping in her baby carriage.

  “I think the first thing you need to do is to go see Miss Stuart again and show her that note. See what she has to say about it,” he said, avoiding her face.

  “I don’t know if she’ll be able to help—I mean, it’s not as if she’d recognize the handwriting.”

  “Still worth a try.”

  The energy created by the talk seconds ago had vanished, leaving behind a tension that was almost palpable. Where do we go from here, Gil wondered? Or have we reached another dead end, just as we did seventeen years ago?

  She gave a vague nod, as if she were thinking about something else. He guessed she was expecting him to go on about the book but he didn’t know what else to say. She’d admitted the thinl
y disguised reference to him and Rina in the book. In spite of his claim earlier that day that he’d put the past behind him, Gil knew he’d been referring to only part of that past. He still carried with him the part that had centered on Clare Morgan. So he breathed a small sigh of relief when she stood up to go.

  “I should probably get Emma back home,” she said. “Thanks for the advice about the note.”

  Gil got to his feet. “Give me a call if you find out anything from Miss Stuart.”

  “At your dad’s place?”

  “Oh, right. The phone’s been disconnected. Here.” He took his wallet out of his nylon windbreaker and handed her a business card. “My cell phone number’s on there.”

  She took the card and pocketed it, keeping her eyes on his. “Thanks,” she said and turned to leave.

  “Clare!”

  She swung around.

  “Take care and…uh…all the best. In case I don’t see you before you leave.”

  She nodded. He jogged away before he could change his mind and take her into his arms, whispering that the past was done with. At last.

  CLARE SHUT the driver-side door of the Jetta and, after a second’s deliberation, locked it before she marched briskly through the parking lot at the side of the school around to the front entrance. The bell must have just rung because groups of students, jostling and shouting at one another, were spilling out the doors.

  The memory surge she’d experienced on Monday returned as she took the main staircase to Lisa’s classroom on the second floor. Rows of lockers, except for a different coat of paint, were as dilapidated as they’d been in her time. The same types of posters advertising dances and other social events were plastered on the same shabby-looking walls. It wasn’t until she noticed a boy scowl at her as he passed that she was reminded of the note. Laura had been shocked to hear about the note when she’d come home from the hospital and had insisted that Clare call Lisa Stuart immediately. No argument there, Clare had thought. Discussion about the note had also saved Clare from having to give a detailed account of her encounter with Gil in the park.