So Dead, My Love Page 5

  “No, it’s okay, Gillian. Just happy, that’s all.” She smiled and reached over to kiss Gillian again. Gillian allowed her, but quickly pulled away and got up from the bed.

  “I’ve got to get to work. Come on, why don’t you have a cup of coffee with me before I have to leave.” She smiled coyly at Carmen as she put on a plaid bathrobe. Carmen only grinned, the thought of Gillian’s perfect body still burning in her mind.

  “Sure, baby. Why don’t you go downstairs and start it up. I’ll be right there.” With Gillian out of the room, Carmen lay just a few seconds longer savoring the scent of their lovemaking. That was when her eyes caught the little packet of white powder on the nightstand.

  All of a sudden, everything they had just done went sour. Gillian had promised her she would quit doing cocaine. She had pleaded with Carmen not to hate her, not to abandon her. This was what had driven John from their life, their bed. It had almost driven Carmen away as well.

  Carmen found herself struggling to keep from losing her composure. She rolled over and took the bag, uncomfortable even handling it. Had Gillian used any of it? She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t very good at these things. She had never felt a need to seek out drugs. It was a world populated by death, destruction and loss of control. Carmen could never not be in control. It was the only thing she knew. The only thing that saved her.

  She put the bag back on the table, dressed herself and went downstairs to the dining room where Gillian sat sipping a mug of coffee. There was one for Carmen as well sitting on the table. As Carmen took the chair next to her, Gillian smiled and caressed Carmen’s hand.

  “Mmmm Carmen, this morning was so wonderful.”

  “More wonderful than the coke on your table?” Carmen had to hit her hard, even if the sting of it might hurt.

  Gillian had the cup of coffee to her lips and stopped in midmotion. Her eyes looked away as she put the coffee on the table. She wouldn’t look at Carmen, only blankly out the window. But Carmen could tell by the firmness on Gillian’s jaw that she had struck a raw nerve.

  “Gillian, I saw the bag on your table. Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

  Gillian finally looked at her and the pain in her eyes sent a chill inside Carmen.

  “You obviously don’t trust me. Of course I don’t blame you. It’s kind of hard to stick by a liar and a cocaine freak.” Her eyes were moist with the beginnings of tears. “I guess I can’t blame John either.” She wiped her eyes and reached out to hold Carmen’s hand again.

  “Carmen, I don’t care about John, but I do care about you and I need you to believe me. I haven’t touched the stuff. I came across it when I was cleaning out the drawer. I just laid it there on the table.”

  Her voice was pleading. In her soft blue eyes, Carmen was willing to believe anything. Carmen squeezed her hand softly.

  “Gillian, you know I care about you too. It’s just that seeing that stuff really brought back painful memories.” She got up and went to Gillian, hugging her tightly. “Why don’t you go up and get dressed? You’ll be late for work. I’ll get rid of the bag.”

  Gillian got up, still in Carmen’s arms. Her smile was back and she began to play with Carmen’s hair. “I’m so glad you don’t have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that matter.” She held on to Carmen’s waist. Carmen grabbed her chin and brought her mouth to hers for a light, gentle kiss.

  “Enough of that. Go on. I can clean this up.”

  As Gillian ran upstairs, Carmen began picking up the cups and saucers and rinsing them at the sink. As the water ran over the shiny, slick ceramic, Carmen wondered silently if the sins and the heartaches of the sinners could be so completely washed away from their souls and even deeper down in her thoughts, she wished John Haskell would stay away just one more night.

  ***

  “Yes, Dave, I can have the castle and hunk to you by then. Yes. I can ship it to you Express. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Samantha hung up the phone. David Stone was feeling somewhat frantic about her getting the cover to him on time.

  Samantha ran her hand through her hair and looked down at the acrylic of a pirate with long, shoulder-length hair, brandishing a cutlass on one hand and clutching a beautiful princess in the other. Samantha could never understand why so many writers insisted on blonde heroines. David wanted a castle looming in the background.

  She sighed and her eyes wandered to the window that faced out over the trees and the Atlantic Ocean. It never ceased to amaze her how she was able to do any work with a view like that tempting her soul. In the warmer months after moving in, when she opened the windows, the sound of the crashing surf was like music to her mind. Sighing again, she glanced back down at the finished cover.

  The painting was good. She silently appreciated herself more often than not, but never expressed it to others. Let the world sing your praises. Of course, her talent was recognized and it made her life rich in comfort and a few luxuries. Doing the romance book covers was like painting with numbers. It never stressed her out or gave her anxiety attacks. She really did enjoy them and in all honesty, felt blessed to have been given such an easy living, although at times she wished she could do more heaving chests clutching other heaving chests rather than hairy manly torsos.

  Tomorrow she would have to pack up the painting and ship it to Barnum Books. Samantha got up, put her arms straight up in the air and stretched, enjoying the feeling in her body. When she painted, she always liked to wear her leggings and a large, oversized shirt. It was as close to freedom as possible. She walked to the window and watched the gray clouds, swollen with rain, building in the sky.

  It had been three days since her release from the hospital. Her scars were healing well but she had to really fight to keep herself from scratching a nagging little itch around them. She had been very productive those three days, developing an almost hermit-like existence. She hadn’t left her house but she had gotten one other cover for Barnum Books done and out the door.

  Carmen had called only once just to check up on her. She seemed to be back to her old self. Carmen’s party was still on for this Saturday. That was just a couple of days away.

  As Samantha’s concentration floated back to the darkening sky, she thought of the bank commissioned painting. She turned to look at the barely begun canvass on her easel. Why was it such a mental problem for her? She had wanted the diversion. She admitted that to herself. Her heart just didn’t feel content. Maybe it was because another project had distracted her. Painting the long dead and mysterious Lara Karnov had consumed all creative yearnings. The tragic story of Lara Karnov and the Karnov family had occupied her thoughts for days. The book had indeed been a wise buy.

  She’d almost memorized the entire two pages devoted to the history and infamous lives of the Karnov Family. They were the best-kept secret on Bayton Isle. The Karnov were the first to arrive. No one else wanted to settle it. Bayton Isle was a craggy, God-Forsaken place before actual settlement. The Karnovs built up their marvelous estate using slaves brought for that purpose. They became ruthless overlords when the first settlers arrived, demanding servants and other services from all families who decided to make a go of it on Bayton Isle. Then, mysteriously and without warning, they disappeared, leaving only caretakers to look after the estate.

  According to Edmund Furrows, they were rumored to be black magicians and even worse, vampires and werewolves. They were hardly seen during the daylight hours, adding to their dark mystique. While the book intrigued and captivated Samantha, the entire part on the Karnovs was written very much tongue in cheek and the briefness of the history left much to be desired. Surely, there had to be more. Perhaps Furrows merely included it to add a little spice and sensationalism to increase sales of the book.

  Samantha couldn’t keep Lara Karnov out of her mind. And the mysterious note with the cryptic writing did nothing to douse the fires of her imagination. Should she take it seriously? She could check with the hospital to find out if there was anyone else in the emergency
room with her that night. She had spent all these days debating whether to follow up on this or just chalk it up to a bad out of body experience. The note could have been anything. Something someone dropped and presumed to be hers by the nurses on duty. A game.

  She ignored the cold stare of the white canvas and dropped, suddenly exhausted, on her couch. Could she muster up the courage and drive down in search of the Karnov Estate? No, she had lots of work to do. The sound of rolling thunder outside interrupted her thoughts. It looked like it could be a bad storm. She would heat up something simple tonight and try to work on the commission painting. It was going to be another one of those nights.

  ***

  With each intake of breath, the darkness in her brain and the pain gripping her heart lingered longer. Tamara Weissman was lying on her bed, curtains drawn, barely able to move. She had never fully recovered her strength upon her return from the hospital. Samantha Barnes had to come soon. She was the chosen one. Tamara was sure of it. Tamara could no longer do the bloodletting without landing herself in the emergency room, drained and near death.

  What was she to do? She demanded blood. Needed blood. There had never been a choice. Tamara Weissman was there only to keep her alive until the chosen one appeared. Until the chosen one ended it all.

  Tamara closed her eyes, feeling the caked eyelashes barely meet. She had wanted so desperately for it not to come to this. The very thought of initiating the monstrous act sickened her. But she had no choice now. She reached very slowly for the little bronze bell next to her on the table and weakly swayed it back and forth. She hoped Tommy had heard her.

  The old clock on her dresser told her it was near dinnertime. Earlier she had heard the strong clap of thunder echo through the house. She wanted to get up, just for a moment, to look out at the sky. The turmoil of Mother Nature at her fiercest always fascinated her. Perhaps Tommy could help her up.

  The door to her bedroom opened and the sandy-haired young man stood there.

  “Is there something you need?”

  “Yes, Tommy, there is. Please, come closer. I’m very weak.”

  As much as she tried, Tamara could not sit up in her bed without a sting of pain in her body. She winced as Tommy came to stand beside her. She needed to speak slowly to him. What she was about to ask him to do was heinous and unspeakable, a murderous act that would damn his soul along with hers. It had to be done. Losing your soul was better than facing the wrath and punishment at the hands of the Karnov monsters. He had to listen carefully to her every word and understand fully.

  “Tommy, my dearest companion, you’re going to be called upon to do something more important than breathing.” She stopped, eying him intently. He was listening and alert.

  “Your true mistress, the ultimate heiress of Karnov Estate, has been kind to you in giving you shelter, food and freedom here.” She felt herself getting weak already. She silently prayed she could finish. She had to make it quick. There had to be bloodletting tonight and she could not do it.

  “Both she and I need your help tonight. Only if you succeed will she be able to continue to provide for you and for me. Do you understand?” He nodded, eyes not leaving hers.

  “Tonight, Tommy, you must go to where there are children. Anywhere, Tommy, a playground or a park. Break into a home if you have to. You must not fail me.” Tamara Weissman’s voice came in low rasps. Tommy inched even closer to hear her. His eyes never left her. His face showed little or no emotion. But he heard every word she whispered.

  As Tamara finished her last word, she felt an overwhelming darkness settle in her heart. Her hand dropped to her side, the bell toppling on the bed beside her. She needed rest. She could speak no more. If she thought her prayers were still heard, she considered putting in a good word for Tommy. But no, what she would be asking for was salvation. Forgiveness for a soul already lost.

  Chapter 6

  Samantha Barnes woke up with a stifled scream in her throat. Sitting straight up in her bed, she pushed back the hair from her face and swallowed hard. Her heart still pounded as she tried to take deep breaths. A quick glance at the clock on her night table told her she’d slept till nine. She shook her head in disbelief. That was way past her usual. The sun was already streaming through the mini blinds.

  The dream. It had come back, a little different this time. The voice was more persistent. She had to get out for a breath of fresh air. It would do her a world of good. Dressing in gray leggings and white cable knit sweater, she headed to the shore. The thunderstorm last night had left everything green and fresh along the narrow path that led down from her home to the beach below.

  The sound of the crashing waves and the raw beauty of the shore was one of the reasons Samantha had chosen to come back to Bayton Isle. Whether she’d make this her permanent home still remained to be seen, but this was one of the most unspoiled areas of the Atlantic islands off the coast of Maine. She cast a look at the summer rental cottages dotting the cliff side. Only the wealthy could afford to lease those. Even they appreciated the splendor of Bayton Isle.

  The sun coming up over the cliffs always cast a soothing glow over her mind. This morning was no different except that the thunderstorm last night had left its tainted treasures on the seashore. Seaweed, shells and litter lay strewn about like unwanted trash the ocean threw out. It always pained Samantha to see all the human debris that found itself into the ocean. Old milk cartons, a mangled sock, countless beer and soda cans, anything and everything we found disposable lay out here. It was the like ocean had spit out its undigested waste.

  Still, the peacefulness worked on her soul. She inhaled the salt and embraced the feeling of isolation. Crossing both her arms against her chest, she walked quietly on. The dream had really shaken her up. The nightmare was bad enough but now this voice had intruded there as well. What the hell was it? Her subconscious? Had her feelings of inadequacies and loneliness led her to this? Was she truly losing her mind? The mysterious voice was soft, gentle. Seductive. She promised love, devotion, freedom. Everything Samantha longed for in her life.

  She struggled against looking up toward the house on the cliff. She’d made a silent decision to fight against her obsession with the Karnovs. With Lara Karnov.

  Looking down, she noticed the wet footprints she was leaving on the tan sand. How could she tell Carmen or anyone else about her feelings? A playful wave crashed wildly against the rocks, spraying the air with salty ocean drops. Samantha watched as the foam raced back towards the Atlantic. She licked her cheek and tasted the salt.

  She suddenly caught a voice calling her name and turned, surprised to see Carmen walking towards her, hand waving. Carmen jogged half the distance to meet up with Samantha. They continued walking slowly, side by side, Carmen with her hands in pockets.

  “Couldn’t find you at the house, so I knew you had to be here.” Carmen looked at her then back out at the ocean. “Did you get much done on the painting?”

  “What painting?” Samantha stopped and stared at Carmen. Did she know about the Lara Karnov painting?

  “I worry about you sometimes. The bank painting, silly.” Carmen was looking at her, a perplexed look on her face.

  Samantha breathed a sigh of release inside. No, of course Carmen didn’t know. She was getting paranoid.

  “No, Carmen, I haven’t done a damned thing.” Samantha looked sideways at Carmen, trying hard to repress a smile that formed nonetheless.

  Carmen put a hand up in the air in protest. “Okay, okay. I get ya. I’m just asking because the big party’s coming up and I’ve invited Bob Holder.” She paused. “I don’t want it to be a sticky situation for you, you know.”

  Samantha laughed. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle my clients.” She stopped in mid walk and looked at Carmen.

  “Hey, what are you doing here at this time? Closing the shop today?” To Samantha, it seemed that for just a fleeting second, Carmen avoided her eyes.

  “Gillian opened the shop for me today. I told her
I had to come and see you for a minute.”

  “Well, c’mon,” Samantha said grabbing hold of Carmen’s arm. “Let me not keep you so long then. Let’s go back. I’ll get us some coffee before you leave.”

  The sunlight was just starting to settle in as they walked back to the house. Samantha started to get the coffee going when she spotted the newspaper on the kitchen counter that Carmen had obviously brought in. The front page headlines stopped her cold. Her eyes fixed on the print, she began to read.

  Billy Phillips had been found brutally murdered. Worst yet, mutilated. A morbid curiosity kept her reading, not realizing that she had stopped everything she was doing and was standing mesmerized at the counter. Billy was only 10 years old and was last seen on his bicycle around 6 p.m., leaving Hadley’s, the corner market on Chapel and Monserat.

  “Isn’t that awful? I read it this morning.” Carmen’s voice startled her. She had come up behind her. “You want to finish reading that while I fix the coffee? I’ve got to get back to the shop, dearest.”

  “Oh no, no. Of course not, silly. How rude of me. Sit down. I can read this later.” She put the paper aside and began filling the coffeepot with water and ground espresso. Carmen began taking down a couple of mugs from the cabinet.

  “You know, they couldn’t understand the killer’s intent.” Carmen spoke as she headed to the table with the mugs. “At first they thought it might have been a wild animal of some sort life a wolf, except I don’t think there are any on the island and besides, the kid’s body was neatly placed up against a tree as if he was sitting. His heart had been cut out with something sharp, like a knife.”

  Sitting at the table and pouring the coffee, Samantha couldn’t resist the interest in the terrible tragedy. “Do they have anybody in custody or suspects.”