A Trick of the Light Page 6

  “And never, never fall in love,” Chloe said. Living in Lilithdale meant a woman had asserted her independence. They played the game like men. Like her father. Walk away when it got too serious, when real responsibility tugged. When her mother had gotten pregnant, he pretended to be responsible by immersing himself in his trucking job. He sent a check once in a while, stopped in to say hello, and then he was gone again. Hiya, Dad. Bye, Dad.

  What Chloe never told anyone was how much she’d wanted him to stay. She’d learned young that needing a man was unacceptable. A strong woman took care of herself. She wanted to be strong. She’d been taught well, had the best role models. But deep in her soul, she feared she wasn’t strong at all.

  Rascal popped up and licked Chloe on the nose.

  “Augh!”

  “Dylan’s not the right type even for a fling. He’s too part of the mainstream,” Stella said. “And Rascal just reminded you about your bad instincts where men are concerned.”

  From anyone else, that statement would have seemed odd. But Stella did indeed have a knack for communicating with animals.

  “How can I forget?”

  Oh, she knew when a man was wrong for her. Unfortunately, it was only either just before or during lovemaking. Then everything would clarify for her. Mostly she’d had the epiphany before doing the deed. She’d wanted it to work so badly with Ross, she’d ignored the instinct.

  “I’m not going to get into that kind of situation with Dylan,” Chloe promised, more to herself. “I just want to help find his son.”

  She sensed the heavy silence and managed to sit up before Lena could push her back down. She twisted the sheet around her and took in the looks being exchanged between the two women.

  “What?” Chloe asked.

  “I just don’t want to see your life ruined, hon,” Lena said softly. She closed the bottle of oil and set it on the shelf.

  “You mean like what happened in Sarasota?”

  Another look passed between them, a communication Chloe could never interpret. Probably she needed some kind of psychic ability.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Lena said at last. “I thought I was doing the right thing, going to the police with my information.”

  Chloe crossed her legs on the table. “But you did help them find the missing girl. Even if it was too late to save her, at least her parents had a body to bury.”

  The color drained from Lena’s smooth, tanned skin, and her blue eyes darkened. “Still, the family blamed me for not coming forward in time. The girl’s mother came to my house and screamed that it was my fault her daughter had died. Then she had a breakdown on my front porch. It was on the news for a week, playing over and over, that woman crying and pointing her finger at me. The media hounded me, the police denied working with me … and worse, my friends turned their backs on me.”

  That was the most Chloe had ever heard about the events that brought Lena to Lilithdale.

  Stella put her arms around her sister. “It was one of the most painful experiences we’ve gone through, ’cept for losing your mother. We don’t want you to go through that, especially since …”

  “I don’t have any real powers,” Chloe finished. They never said it, but it always hung between them. Poor Chloe, no powers, no abilities.

  They exchanged another look, Stella asking, Lena saying no.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “I know you don’t remember any of what happened; you were too young. And then your mother died, and …” Stella let the words fade, meeting Lena’s gaze again. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to go through it. The ridicule, the accusations. It was ugly.”

  Chloe slid to her feet, sheet wrapped around her. “You’re not telling me everything.”

  It was Lena who most reminded Chloe of her mom: the soft, rounded lines of her face and a shadow of vulnerability in her eyes. Lena usually tried to hide that vulnerability with a grimace. This time she simply walked out of the room. Stella put her hand on Chloe’s bare shoulder. “It’s just that this whole thing is bringing back unpleasant memories. Your mother had no special abilities, you know.”

  “What does this have to do with my mother?”

  Stella fell quiet, looking at Rascal. “Nothing.”

  “Is Lena afraid that the publicity will touch her again?” Chloe asked.

  “She values her peace here, yes. Mostly she’s worried about you.”

  Chloe gave Stella a hug before she left, remembering how close she’d come to never hugging her again. Then she got dressed and made her way to the entrance.

  The sound of screaming filtered through one of the closed doors she passed. The Primal Scream Room. The one-day seminar taught women how to release their pent-up emotions. Chloe hurried outside; she always found herself wanting to scream if she listened too long.

  She glanced over at the park as she made her way to her car. She couldn’t help but pause and watch the women prepare for their sunset games. Every night they chose a different game: bridge, Pictionary, or mah–jong, all played on pink picnic tables.

  Conversations were a hum on the salty breeze, punctuated by laughter. Marilee, her grandmother, was already there, setting up the punch bowl; it was her turn to bring the rum runners. With her typical flair, she’d colored them purple.

  Chloe was sure there was nowhere on earth like Lilithdale. In nearby Naples and Marco Island, the trend was toward high-end housing developments and the tourist trade. Every time Chloe drove into Naples, she discovered a new traffic light or more land cleared for a subdivision or shopping center.

  But Lilithdale was timeless. Most residents weren’t bothered by outsiders coming for an afternoon, but nobody was interested in attracting hordes of tourists. No one tried to outdo their neighbor with a bigger, better house. Most of the homes were nothing more than cottages built back in the fifties and sixties. There were a few mobile homes that were built on stilts because of flood zones. One tiny motel, a few restaurants, and the various small businesses were all these women needed in their lives.

  People had their routines and no desire for change. The only change they wanted was a new flavor of coffee or one of Marilee’s colorful concoctions at the Blue Moon Supper Club. Anything more and they started getting uneasy.

  Even though Chloe didn’t feel as though she really belonged, she was fiercely protective of her hometown. Though Lilithdale was viewed as an oddity, it didn’t go unnoticed that they had some beautiful views. As one sleazy developer had asked their mayor several years ago, why waste million-dollar views on two-bit cottages? Imagine tearing them down, building beautiful homes that would give the island prestige.

  All the residents could imagine were outsiders and high property taxes. That night they all met in the park and made a pact: no one would sell to an outsider. Everyone was asked to stipulate in their wills that their homes be sold to the township of Lilithdale at a reasonable price, with the profits going to any outside beneficiary. Chloe was pretty sure that’s why Irina had left her home to Chloe when she died. She’d had no beneficiary.

  Chloe stopped to admire a pair of cardinals flitting through patches of sun, and with the toe of her pink sneaker pushed a shiny black beetle away from a swarm of ants. She couldn’t bear to see anything suffer. How many times had she saved a hapless lizard or ladybug from her cat’s clutches? She shook her head. It had nothing to do with being tender.

  Sitting on her upstairs deck, Chloe let her dog, Shakespeare, and cat, Gypsy, lavish affection on her. She’d adopted Shakespeare, a black and white border collie, from the animal shelter. She’d found Gypsy wandering along the side of the road leading to Naples.

  “I almost didn’t get to see you guys again.”

  She pulled her stuffed frog from where she kept it buried in the cushions on her chaise lounge. It was an impulse buy a few years ago, a long-legged frog wearing a crown and velvet robe, bearing a sign that read, “Kiss Me.” After settling on the lounge, she cradled him to her chest
with a sigh. A prince was her fairy tale. Frogs were her reality.

  She slid into dreams before the sun had even set, and she dreamed. Sunshine glinted off something metallic, water lapped rhythmically. A little boy sat in a canoe watching her. Teddy. He opened his mouth to say something … but no sound came out.

  She woke with a start, her heart pounding. Gypsy jumped off her lap, meowing indignantly at the disruption. “Sorry, sweetie,” Chloe said absently, staring into the darkness.

  She’d always been a vivid dreamer, but this wasn’t a regular dream. It was as real as the tinkling sound of the wind chimes above her. She made her sore, achy way down the wooden stairs to the dock where she kept her canoe. Shakespeare jumped in beside her, always eager for a ride. The water was smooth, and the air was cool. She heard a large fish churning nearby, maybe a tarpon. Water gently lapped against the sides of the canoe. The sound in her dreams was something like that, but not exactly.

  She let the canoe glide and listened to the sounds around her: the rustle of a raccoon searching for dinner and the eerie call of a bird. In the dim moonlight, the mangrove islands made her feel as though she was lost in a cave system.

  The woman in the tunnel … she was real, wasn’t she? Chloe could still feel the urgency of her words.

  “Teddy,” she whispered to the night. “Where are you?”

  * * *

  “Chloe, what in Heaven’s name are you doing out here?”

  Chloe blinked awake, wondering what Lena was doing in her bedroom. And Stella. And Marilee. When Shakespeare jumped to his feet, her head hit the bottom of the canoe with a thud. She pulled herself up, rubbing the back of her head. Shakespeare had evidently been her pillow.

  Chloe’s sleepy eyes took in three concerned faces. “I went for a late-night paddle.”

  Stella’s purple caftan shimmered in the morning breeze. “We got worried when you didn’t answer your phone. Gypsy showed me the way.”

  “Yeah, we were worried,” Marilee said.

  Chloe fixed her animals their breakfasts, mixing up fresh ingredients, then holding Shakespeare’s dish while he gobbled it down. That was a quirk he’d come to her with; he wouldn’t eat unless she held the bowl. Stella said Chloe’s vibes were essential to her dog’s digestion.

  They were all watching her, including Rascal.

  “I’m fine,” she said. Even exaggerating the truth didn’t work around them. “I’ve been having dreams since the accident. I’m pretty sure they’re about Teddy.”

  “What kind of dreams?” Lena asked, that shadow in her eyes.

  “Psychic dreams?” Marilee asked.

  “Not psychic, Chloe’s disabled,” Stella said.

  “We really shouldn’t call her disabled. It’s so politically incorrect,” Marilee said.

  “But it’s her word.”

  “What are your dreams about?” Lena asked over their conversation.

  “Teddy in a canoe looking at me. Okay, it doesn’t sound earth-shattering, but I felt this urgency to look for him. Out there.” She nodded toward the mangroves. “I think it has to do with meeting Wanda in the tunnel.”

  Lena sat down with a thud.

  Chloe dropped to her knees in front of her aunt. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lena’s been having visions again,” Marilee said.

  “She’s been trying not to,” Stella put in.

  Lena’s voice sounded strained. “But since your accident, with that boy missing and you feeling so strong about it and all … they’ve started to come back.”

  Chloe laid her cheek on Lena’s lap. She could feel her pain and reluctance. “Lena, I need your help. I can’t find this boy on my own.” Chloe had seen that grimace on Lena’s face all her life. Lena had been fighting visions while claiming she no longer had them.

  Marilee surprised Chloe by saying, “Think about what Chloe does for you, me … for all of us. Nobody will know the information came from you. We’ll keep it to ourselves.”

  “But what about …” Lena let her words drift off, staring at her mother with pleading eyes.

  “Chloe’s stronger. She’ll handle it.”

  Chloe got to her feet. “Would someone please tell me —”

  “All right,” Lena said. “I’ll help.”

  Chloe let her questions go, too grateful for Lena’s help to press for answers.

  An hour later they had eaten the pink pancakes Marilee had whipped up, then gathered in a circle on the back deck. Sunlight filtered through the mangroves and danced on the faded wood planks. Wind rustled through the leaves, and a seagull cried plaintively as it hovered over the glistening water of the bay.

  Lena sat with her eyes squeezed shut. Every few minutes she trembled like an earthquake tremor. When she swayed, Chloe broke contact to catch her. Stella and Marilee quelled the action with a shake of their heads.

  Lena sucked in a breath, then released it with an agonized groan. She shuddered, then collapsed against Chloe. They carried Lena to the chaise lounge, and Chloe inconspicuously tucked her frog back into the cushions. No need to raise eyebrows with her silly dreams of finding a prince. Poor Chloe, a lost romantic soul. We thought we raised her better than that. We sure did, Marilee would agree.

  “Is she all right?” Chloe asked.

  Lena opened her eyes. “I saw the boy. He’s somewhere near the water. Either on a boat or in a small house right on the water. And someone is with him.”

  “His grandmother.”

  “No, a man. And birds. Teddy’s okay. I felt hunger and fear, but he’s alive.” Her voice had grown faint on the last few words. “I’ll have to try again later.”

  Chloe was elated by the clue, but nervous about what it meant: She was going to have to see Dylan again.

  CHAPTER 6

  By Wednesday afternoon, Teddy had been missing almost three days. Dylan had mapped out every possible route Wanda could have taken. He’d organized search teams, and for an entire day, he’d felt in control again. Then night fell, and Teddy was still gone.

  Three television stations were waiting to capture the grieving father when he pulled up in front of his house. Same act as before, don’t show emotion. They’ll just suck it up and replay it as a sound bite. He gave them the only words that meant anything: “If anyone has seen my son, please contact the police. Look at his picture and think: have you seen him?”

  Camilla opened the door as soon as he reached it. Her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled. “It’s been like this all day, Mr. McKain.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this. Do you need help?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And call me Dylan, please.”

  She lifted her chin. “I can handle them.”

  He took in her strong shoulders and the determined gleam in her brown eyes. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, wishing he felt that strong just then. “Do I pay you enough?”

  “Eh.”

  “I’m doubling your salary until we get Teddy back. We’ll talk about your permanent raise later.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Anything I should know about?”

  She picked a legal pad off the counter. “We’ve had plenty of calls, people wanting to help, one guy actually wanting money — money! — to help. I told him where he could stuff his generous offer. I hope I wasn’t out of line. Oh, and your father called.”

  He stiffened, a natural reaction whenever Will was mentioned.

  Recently Will McKain had been trying to contact the son he’d never had time for. Dylan remembered too many years of waiting for even a smile or a minute of his time. “What did he want now? You didn’t tell him …”

  “There goes my raise. I figured, him being your father and all, you’d want him to know. I did bad, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “He asked if there was anything he could do. Did we need money, did we want him to come down, that kind of thing. I said you would contact him if you needed him.”

  Fat chance
of that.

  He set the cell phone on the dining room table. “Go home and get some rest. I’m in for the evening.”

  She straightened, military-style. “I can put in the hours, sir. Dylan, I mean. If you need me, I’m here.”

  “No, you go. I appreciate your help.”

  “There’s something else. That detective came by today.”

  “Again?”

  “He asked more questions about you. I don’t like him or his implications.”

  The hairs on Dylan’s neck stood. “What implications?” This wasn’t about him; it was about Teddy.

  “He asked what kind of father you are. What kind of life you live.”

  “Let him ask what he wants.” After a moment, he asked, “What kind of father did you tell him I was?”

  “Hard-working, good provider.”

  Dylan found himself rearranging the napkin holder and crystal salt-and-pepper shakers. Camilla couldn’t say he was a good father because she’d never seen him in action. He loved his son, from that first moment the doctor had put the little guy in his hands. He couldn’t believe how perfect life was.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Dylan, sir. You’re going to have a visitor tonight,” Camilla said, gathering her purse. “That woman Mrs. McKain hit. She called earlier, said she had to talk to you.”

  He covered his face with his hands and heard a groan, then realized it had come from him.

  “I did bad again, didn’t I? Since your wife hit her, and you went to see her at the hospital, I figured it was all right to tell her to come over. She said she might be able to help find Teddy. You don’t think she’s planning to sue, do you?”

  “I wish she was.” That would be a sane reason for her coming over He had to stop her. “Did she leave a number?”

  “I always get a number. But it doesn’t matter, because she left twenty minutes ago.”

  He heard a car door slam shut and voices rise. “Oh, great. Just what I need.”