So Dead, My Love Read online

  As the answering machine rewound itself, Samantha Barnes ran both her hands through her hair, tossing her head back. She hadn’t slept, eaten, or bathed in two days and spent the week lovingly brushing acrylic upon the canvas standing before her.

  The image of Lara Karnov looked out and held her gaze. It was unlike anything she had done before. Using her memory of the painting at Karnov Mansion and the photo reproduction from the book, Samantha had created something uniquely her own. It was different because it had been created from the heart.

  Littered about the floor around her, newspapers had piled up unopened. She hadn’t even turned on the television. When she slept, she dreamed of her. When she was awake, she daydreamed of her. Everything had become Lara. Samantha was also having trouble forgetting Karnov Mansion, Tamara and Tommy. She was almost convinced that that was where she belonged. But then why was she still here? Her mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle all jumbled up in neat packaging.

  A heavy knocking on the door made her jump back to reality. Who the hell could that be? She looked disreputable in her old white terry cloth robe. There was the knock on the door again.

  “Hey, Samantha. It’s Carmen.”

  Something inside of her lit up. Carmen’s voice broke the trance. Samantha ran to the door and opened it, the sunshine temporarily blinding her. She put a hand over her eyes.

  “Carmen.” She jumped into Carmen’s arms, a very surprised Carmen hugging her tightly.

  “Sam, you have been one difficult woman to get a hold of.”

  She loosened her hold on Samantha and looked down at her. Samantha actually felt ashamed at her appearance. She probably smelled too. They both walked inside after Samantha closed the door.

  “I tell you, Sam, it never amazes me how real artists work.”

  She looked around at the mess in Samantha’s living quarters. “You need to hire yourself a housekeeper if you continue to work like this.” She walked to the stack of newspapers still neatly folded in their plastic.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t been keeping track of the murders around here. You were so interested in Billy Phillips.” Carmen opened one of them and held it up for Samantha to see.

  Samantha went up to Carmen in a daze and took the paper from her hand.

  “They found another kid earlier this week,” continued Carmen. “Same way. She was really carved up. Her heart was missing.” She stopped and eyed Samantha, who was spellbound by the front page.

  “Hey, are you okay Sam?”

  Samantha didn’t answer. She was still staring at the headlines on the spread out paper in front of her.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Somehow I’m not convinced.” Carmen looked closer at Samantha and took the paper from her hands. “You look like shit, Sam.”

  That was when Carmen spotted the painting on the easel. As she walked towards it, Samantha literally ran past her and stood in front of the painting, blocking Carmen’s view.

  “Stop it, Carmen. I appreciate you coming here and your concern, but I know you’re just going to give me grief over this and it isn’t any of your business.”

  The words had stung. Samantha saw the look of disbelief flash in Carmen’s eyes. She stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Now I know something is wrong.” Carmen said, shaking her head. “Sam, we’ve been friends too long and I care too much about you to push this in your face right now.” Her eyes were sad as she tried to figure it all out on Samantha’s face. “If you need to talk to me, you know where to find me.” She stood just a few moments longer in front of Samantha, then quickly turned back towards the door, stopping to look back at her.

  “Something is going on with you, and I just want you to know that you mean a lot more to me than just a friend.” She walked out.

  Samantha inched her way back to the couch and sat quietly. She felt a depression creeping up on her. She had hurt Carmen. Carmen loved her. Carmen would jump if she told her how high. She looked back at the painting of Lara Karnov and in that moment, all thoughts of Carmen vanished. As if to clear her head, Samantha walked back to the paper strewn on the floor and picked it up.

  The headlines were clear, loud and frightening. As she stood there reading, the cold hand of fear squeezed ever so persistent on her heart. Once again the FBI had been called in. This time, a little girl by the name of Angie Morrison had been found in much the same state as Billy Phillips and in the same general area - The woods off Piper’s Drive, not far from Karnov Mansion.

  Samantha flung the paper back down to the floor. What was wrong with Tommy? She guessed that he was partly mentally handicapped, but surely Tamara had told him to be more careful. She caught herself thinking and stopped. What was wrong here? She was feeling no sympathy for Angie Morrison, a child who had had her whole life ahead of her. A child surely loved and missed by a mother and a father. Yet all Samantha could think of was the danger to Lara. With the FBI on the case, it was bound to get dangerous for Tamara and Tommy. If they were arrested, who would take care of Lara?

  Instinctively, she began to pick at the pile of papers on the floor until she found yesterday’s paper. Funny, she couldn’t even remember going outside and picking any of these papers up.

  The issue she had been reading was three days old. In yesterday’s edition, there were no headlines staring back at her about the Angie Morrison murder but there was a column further down on the front page. As Samantha read, her world and her surroundings began to fade and dull. Only the sound of her beating heart seemed to exist. She read on. After questioning everyone from the tourists on the cliff sides to life long Islanders, the FBI were concentrating on leads that pointed to Tommy Mills, a caretaker at Karnov Estates. He was missing and considered dangerous.

  Although Samantha didn’t know Tommy’s last name, it couldn’t be anyone else. How could she have let this happen? Why had she walked out on them? Shaking the guilt feelings from her mind, she continued reading. The next paragraph talked about the history of the Karnov Mansion and its mysterious presence on the Island.

  Then there it was, in black and white, the name Tamara Weissman. Tamara had been found dead. Samantha’s heart caught in her throat. Her hands holding the newspaper went numb and she felt the room start to spin around her. She put her head back and closed her eyes to shake off the dizziness. She looked again at the paper in front of her.

  Tamara Weissman had been found in her own bed, the article continued. A heart attack or stroke was the preliminary finding as the cause of death. The FBI was not considering Tommy Mills a suspect in Tamara Weissman’s death. With Tommy Mills still at large, an islandwide search was in effect.

  Samantha let the paper drop to the floor. She got up from the couch and kicked furiously at the pile of papers in front of her, scattering them across the room. Disbelief mingled with anger roared in her head.

  “Lara.” She cried her name in a futile effort, for there was no answer. What would happen to Lara? Samantha almost ran to the painting and standing in front of it, removed her robe, letting it drop to the floor. She stood naked before Lara Karnov’s eyes of black acrylic.

  “I give myself to you.”

  She picked up several of the tubes of water-based acrylics scattered on her work table and began to squeeze them onto her body, smearing the paint on her arms, her abdomen, her legs, her face. Alizarin Crimson, Prussian Blue, Yellow Ocher, Ivory Black. In a daze she continued until she was literally covered in paint.

  And in the deathly quiet of Karnov Mansion, Lara Karnov heard her, saw her, and smiled.

  ***

  The Islander Café and Grille was the place to go if you wanted fresh seafood for dinner and an even better atmosphere for lunch. It was a home away from home with the extras that made it special. Howard and Betty Cushing owned and operated the Café, and they insisted on only the best. There was always the smell of the wood burning stove clinging to the place
.

  Samantha had literally forced herself to come into town. She’d had a difficult time scrubbing the acrylics off her body even though they were water-based. Thank God for the technology that allowed for easy rinsing of acrylics.

  After the week spent barricaded in her house, the smell of the clean, brisk Bayton Isle air made her remember why she had moved here in the first place. The move had instilled a certain sense of freedom in her. She had finally realized that it was Bayton Isle itself.

  She hadn’t intended to stay long in town, just grab something quick to eat. Of course, on Bayton Isle, something quick to eat didn’t mean McDonald’s or Burger King. The big burger monsters would never find it profitable here; the number of kiddies on Bayton Isle could hardly account for one percent of the population. Getting something quick meant either Chilly’s Deli Shack or a hot dog at Kim’s Corner convenience store. And Samantha ended up wanting neither.

  Taking advantage of the added energy being out and about had given her, she made up her mind to treat herself to a nice sit-down lunch at the Islander Cafe and Grille. After all, this might all be a distant memory when Lara entered her life.

  When she walked in, the place was still hopping. She’d hit the lagging part of lunch hour. It was already two o’clock. There were tables available and the waitress in the pink gingham dress led her to a small table for two toward the side of the main dining area.

  Samantha thanked her and seated herself, eying the framed print on the wall next to her. It was an attractively framed recipe for making fish soup. Someone had added original artwork of delicate fish around the borders. This was something Betty had started—collecting obscure and tasty recipes from around the world and exotic ways to cook and enjoy fish. These she framed and hung all around the Cafe. Samantha had actually had the fish soup and found it very good. She wondered silently how her tastes would change in her new life.

  The same waitress came back, introduced herself as Mary and took Samantha’s order of a baked haddock sandwich with the special marinade, cole slaw on the side and a coffee. She had barely put the menu down when Samantha noticed Stephen Kendall walking her way. He was wearing his hospital scrubs under the white coat.

  “What a coincidence meeting you here, Samantha.” He had a wide smile and his eyes waited for an invitation to sit. Samantha didn’t offer one.

  “Hi, Stephen.” She remembered his phone message. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you but I have so many projects going…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to offer any more explanations. It wasn’t her fault Stephen Kendall didn’t know when he wasn’t wanted. He pulled up the other chair across from her and sat down.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” He was already eying her steadily. “I do understand about being busy.”

  From that moment Samantha detested him and resented him for intruding in her precious space. This was a moment she wanted to share with no one. She was here only to enjoy the things she might miss. Stephen Kendall wasn’t one of them. When she didn’t answer, he reached out and put his hand over hers on the table.

  “Hey, Samantha, everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” she heard her disembodied voice say, “I’m just thinking about all my deadlines at home.”

  “Hey, I understand.” He moved his hand away. “I just fade out sometimes too. That’s why we need to take a break every once in awhile.”

  He looked away towards Mary who was serving another table, then back at her. “Have you ordered yet? I have to make it a quick one.” He smiled again at her. “You know how it is at the hospital.”

  He reached down for the menu and peered over the top of it at Samantha. “So what’s good here? A couple of my nurses just told me about this place. I’ve been eating at home a lot and at the hospital.” He stopped, smiled. “What are you having?”

  He was trying to make conversation. Samantha was well aware of it. She was also quite sure that he would like nothing more than to get her into his bed. Well, maybe she was being unfair, but not likely. He wasn’t any different than the rest of them. Men usually couldn’t think beyond that and food. And here he was with both his desires. When she looked at him, his head was slightly cocked and there was an amusing look in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry...” She fumbled the words out.

  “Hey, I’m the moron for intruding. I was just wondering if you could recommend something good.” He seemed a bit perturbed. Perhaps he would get the hint and leave her alone.

  “It depends on what you like. The haddock is good here.” She didn’t want to prolong this and wished silently that Mary or whatever her name was would bring her the food. Maybe she would ask for takeout. That would give Stephen Kendall the message.

  He sat back in the chair and looked away. “That sounds good.” He pushed the chair back and got up. “Actually, I think it might be a good idea for me to get it to go.”

  He looked around the restaurant. “Looks like it’s busy.” He stood there, just looking at her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. And there was that lost look in his eyes, the same look she’d seen in Carmen’s face many times.

  His impending departure perked Samantha’s spirits immediately. She looked at him and actually smiled. “Yes, they do get busy at lunch. And you won’t be sorry with the haddock sandwich. It’s my favorite.”

  Stephen smiled and nodded his head. “Sorry we met in such a rush today, though. Can we still have lunch sometime or better yet, dinner?”

  His persistence was wearing her patience thin. Maybe now was a good time to tell him that she preferred the company of women. Why go into that now? Did it really matter anymore? Perhaps if she told him she was in love with a dead woman he’d turn and run with his tail tucked behind his ass.

  “I don’t think so, Stephen. Now isn’t a good time.”

  He shrugged his shoulders just ever so slightly and still smiled. “Hey, okay. Maybe some other time.” He reached in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a card. “My number is on it. When you want to get together, call me.” He handed it to her.

  Samantha took the card and stuffed it into her wallet. Not likely that she would be calling him for anything. The waitress showed up and started placing the food on Samantha’s table. Distracted, Samantha looked back up and found that Stephen had walked away and was standing in the take out line across the dining room.

  She thanked the waitress and took a sip of the coffee. She was thankful it wasn’t tongue-burning hot. By the time she had eaten half of her sandwich, Stephen Kendall had gone and all she was left with was the difficult thought of how to break into Karnov Mansion after dark.

  Chapter 10

  The calls were beginning to rub on Carmen’s nerves. This was the second time in a week that Charlie’s Cove Pub had called. Each time, Carmen had to run and salvage what was left of Gillian Haskell from a booth in back of the bar.

  Carmen had done everything but virtually move into Gillian’s house, at Gillian’s request. It hadn’t taken long for it to all fall apart. When Gillian wasn’t drinking out at Charlie’s Pub, she was near passed out and slurring her words at home. Their personal life had deteriorated into nursing care for Gillian. And lately, Gillian had started making lame excuses when it came to sex and showings of affection. All of this was wearing Carmen down.

  Samantha’s odd behavior wasn’t making things any easier for her either. On top of that, she was expected to host the annual Police and Fireman’s Fund Drive, a much-anticipated dinner at the Island Auditorium, usually done on a grand scale. All the important business leaders were expected to be there.

  When she arrived at Charlie’s, Charlie Smith, owner and allaround neighborhood nice guy, greeted her with the usual. His round, pink face was embarrassed. Not for himself, of course, but for Gillian and for whatever reasons had led her here.

  Carmen supposed it was hard for people like Charlie to understand how a once respected businesswoman like Gillian Haskell could come to this end. Everyone knew abo
ut the divorce, of course. Everyone knew everything on Bayton Isle. Gillian’s neighbors were already giving her the evil eye. And with Carmen always coming to her rescue like some knight in shining armor, tongues were beginning to wag.

  Gillian was sitting, head on the table, in her favorite booth. Charlie must have removed all the martini glasses she usually collected around her.

  “Come on, Gillian.” Carmen grabbed Gillian’s shoulders and looked at Charlie. “Do me a favor, Charlie; next time she comes looking for vodka or anything alcoholic, call me.”

  Charlie followed Carmen as she struggled to get Gillian up to her feet. “Well, there’s been a fellow who’s met her here on a couple of occasions.” Charlie scratched his head as Carmen stopped to look at him. “I think he’s the doctor over at Bayton Isle Medical. Steve, I think his name is.”

  Carmen tensed up and her grip on Gillian’s arm tightened. She didn’t know what to say. Gillian had never spoken of him. It seemed Kendall made the rounds. She remembered the way he’d looked at Samantha.

  “She doesn’t drink at lunch or anything like that does she?” She didn’t want to appear to be too curious or heaven forbid, jealous of Gillian’s rendezvous with the good doctor Kendall. Charlie was shaking his head.

  “No. No. They mostly come in after six.” He grinned. “I guess Gillian has figured out when our happy hours are. Six to eight. Been that way for over twenty years.” He opened the door for the both of them, Gillian’s head resting, oblivious to all, on Carmen’s shoulder.

  “So you want me to call you, huh?” “Yeah, Charlie. Call me.”

  ***

  Samantha gave one final tug on the shoelaces. She knew there had been a reason to buy herself the heavily fortified hiking shoes. They had been good to go walking out in the Bayton woods, but other than that, they had gotten little use.