So Dead, My Love Page 6

  Carmen shook her head as she sipped. “Mmmm, this is great Sam. Nope, they don’t have a clue. Gillian told me this morning that the rumors are already flying on the island. Apparently, they want to blame one of the tourist types or renters on the beach properties.” She laughed out loud. “God forbid a Bayton Isle resident be capable of something so horrendous. Kind of creepy though, huh?” Carmen took a couple of more sips of the coffee and got up. “Hate to run Sam, but I really have to get back to the store. Gillian can’t stay there all morning.”

  Samantha was up and halfway to the door behind Carmen when Carmen turned back, nearly running smack into her.

  “Oh, by the way, before I forget, Edmund Furrows is going to be at the party tomorrow night. I just thought you might be interested because you were so curious about that Karnov family.”

  “I thought he was touring the mainland for a couple of weeks?”

  Carmen opened the door and stepped outside. “Well, he was supposed to, but some personal business brought him back a little sooner. Lucky for us, huh?”

  Samantha took a moment to allow the thought to settle and felt hungry again for any Karnov lore Furrows might have.

  “See you tomorrow night.” Carmen hugged her. “Try not to be too late.”

  Samantha watched as Carmen made her way down the path and to her car. The sunlight, bright and fresh, broke Samantha’s preoccupation. She closed the door, went slowly to the drawing table and removed several pieces of drawing paper scattered there. Below them was her drawing pad. This was where she made quick, random sketches. Future works. She sat down on the chair and lovingly opened the cover. Turning several pages of landscape drawings, she came to a stop.

  She hesitated before slowly peeling back the page to the drawing underneath. The light, unsure lines of a new portrait filled the paper. If anyone were to see it, they couldn’t even begin to guess who it might be, unless of course, you were a Bayton Isle history freak or a member of the Karnov family.

  The penciled face of Lara Karnov stood out boldly. Samantha closed the sketchbook quickly. Already this woman, this historical ghost, had become an obsession. Samantha knew that she must paint her. It was useless to resist. The bank painting was the furthest thing from her mind. She would indeed have to come up with an interesting excuse to appease Bob Holder.

  ***

  Karnov Mansion was dark this evening. And cold. Some of the windows had not been shut, letting the chilling breeze of a late November night drift in and cling to the air and the walls.

  Tamara Weissman lay as she had now for days, in a deep, almost deathlike state. Tommy was doing his best to keep her fed, clothed and comfortable. Alive. Her eyes had become painful to open so caked over with the tears of futility. She could hardly bear any sort of bright light. Her room remained like that of a tomb. In the evenings only the warm, quiet dancing of candlelight kept the room lit. She had given up almost all hope for Samantha Barnes to come to her salvation. She had been wrong. Perhaps Samantha had not been the one after all. But then who? It was now all too late. No more speculation. No more searching. No more torture. Soon, it would all be over. Perhaps Tommy could continue. Soon, he would have to go out again. The blood would not last much longer. Another would have to be drained.

  Tamara had much time to think during her last days. Mostly, they were thoughts of regret. This was not what her grandfather had promised her. This was not the vision of the American dream the Karnovs had so eloquently spoken of. What unholy pacts had been made to bind her family to the Karnov family? She had never met them. Her grandfather had made all the arrangements for her. What he had done was basically sold her into slavery. His own grand daughter. They were evil. She finally admitted it. Her family had been Karnov caretakers for centuries. She had come to terms with feelings buried deeper than any Karnov secret. With death sure to come marching through that door any moment, her fears grew worse. How would her soul suffer? Was there something she could do other than prayer to save herself?

  It all mattered little now. She had always heard that death was nearby when you started reliving your past. The days of lopsided snowmen, laughter and the sweet whiff of Grandpa Victor’s pipe in Germany were increasingly bright and frequent visitors in her memories.

  She moved her head to one side, straining to hear any sound within her room or out in the mansion. It was all so deathly quiet. What could Tommy be doing?

  ***

  Down below Karnov Mansion, in the most secret of rooms, buried even deeper than the dank cellars filled with racks upon racks of wine cobwebbed by time, two solitary candles burned in their floor stands. The dense shadows that crowded the room engulfed everything in a thick suffocating blackness.

  The ebony coffin remained the centerpiece of the candlelight. The quiet in this room seemed to scream with a malevolent voice. This was the only place Tamara Weissman could not find him. Or hear him. Especially if he remained very, very still.

  Tommy sat hidden in the corner, arms hugging his knees, rolled up into a ball so tight he could hardly breathe. He didn’t want to do the things Tamara asked him to do anymore. It just wasn’t right. He felt sickened.

  His eyes darted to the small, brass box sitting just on the other side of the coffin on the floor. It was still in there, probably still swimming in a pool of blood. As much as he tried to close his eyes, he couldn’t control the feelings in his hands. The pulpy feel of the heart and the blood all around it nauseated him. Tamara had said she would take care of it for him. She would make sure he would remember nothing. Well, he was remembering something!

  He jerked his head suddenly to the stairs that led down to this sacred of all rooms in the Karnov Mansion. He thought he caught a noise. Rats probably. Tamara couldn’t even move an arm, let alone get up and walk to look for him here.

  Nope, he had made up his mind. Tommy shook his head involuntarily. He would feed her and tend to her but he just wouldn’t listen to her anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes and a moist track of wetness traced down his cheeks. Tommy sobbed silently, his huddled form rolling up even tighter against the wall.

  Chapter 7

  It wasn’t late when Samantha arrived Friday night at Carmen’s ocean-side home, but there were already so many cars that she had to park further behind the house. Carmen was certainly throwing a blockbuster. A combination winter Business Guild meeting and party, this get-together was the basket Carmen put all her eggs in. She couldn’t resist mixing business with pleasure. This party was a virtual Who’s Who of Bayton Isle. More vows were broken, acquaintances ignited and networking done here than in a year on the Isle.

  As Samantha headed up the steps, she breathed in deep of the salty air and reminded herself of the one single most important thing on her agenda tonight. Edmund Furrows. She would be devastated if he wasn’t here. She had committed herself to painting a portrait of Lara Karnov in acrylics. In order to do this, she had to know more. More about the Karnov Estate. The real story behind the death and times of Lara Karnov and her family.

  There were already groups of people scattered about. There was low music playing. It sounded like that cocktail type music Carmen liked. Carmen’s house was rather unique in its wide open spaces architecture. The metal, glass and unique shapes of ultra modern retro furniture gave one a sense of funky times. Scattered about were lots of reds, purples, animal prints and colorful lamps. And the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean and the cliffs of Bayton Isle greeted you from the huge, sliding glass doors that made up an entire wall. Samantha was held hypnotized by the palette of colors the setting skies were painting before her eyes.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” The spell was broken. It was Carmen. She immediately put her arms around Samantha. She was wearing black pants and a black turtleneck.

  “It’s so good to see you.” She let Samantha go.

  “It looks like you’ve got quite a crowd already.” Samantha looked around the room again. A bartender was set up on Carmen’s breakfast window, a small group of mostl
y men were huddled outside and some others she didn’t know were sitting about in the living room. Her eyes fell on Mrs. Peabody and her husband and quickly turned elsewhere. Great, how was she supposed to avoid her here? Mr. Peabody was minister of Bayton Methodist Church.

  “Come on. You want a drink or something to eat?” Carmen was leading her towards the huge kitchen area. She always knew how to get to her heart. Good food, wine or coffee always did the trick. Carmen’s kitchen had been transformed into a culinary paradise. There were three tables of exotic dishes. Nowhere could you find pizza slices or fried chicken drumettes. Bless Carmen. Samantha had given up food like that years ago after a serious bout with heartburn posed a rather unpleasant threat to her life.

  “Damn, Carmen, you really know how to lay it on.” Samantha’s eyes were still trying to take in all the food on the tables. Tofu, vegetables floating in white and red sauces, shrimp cooked every way you could think of, cheeses, sushi, and for the meat lovers, stuffed peppers with ground beef and other strange things she couldn’t and didn’t want to figure out.

  “I hope you’re hungry.” Carmen was looking at her with a very unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. Samantha knew she was up to something.

  “I have something just for you, Sam.” Carmen took her hand and led her to the back of one of the tables. “Voila! Your favorites from China Moon I had them brought in just for you.” Carmen uncovered a small black tray. Samantha smiled. They were shrimp marinated and sautéed in Maine red sauce and garnished with greens and glazed carrots, the specialty at China Moon restaurant, her favorite Chinese restaurant in Portland. Samantha squealed with joy and shook her head in delight.

  “I can’t believe you. You’re too sweet. Are these all mine or do I have to share?” Samantha winked at Carmen and took her arm. “Well, of course I’d share with you—and only you.” They both laughed and Carmen covered up the dish.

  “Okay, Sam, what can I get you to drink so you can mingle with crowd?” Samantha didn’t have to think too hard on that one. “You twisted my arm. How about a margarita?”

  “Wow, you really do plan on having a good time tonight. I’m really glad you came, Sam.” Carmen looked at her intensely. Her eyes twinkled with the fire of desire. Samantha didn’t know what to do or how to feel. Carmen made it easy and didn’t linger.

  “Okay, margarita coming right up.”

  “Oh wait, Carmen, do you know if Edmund Furrows is here?” “Yeah, he’s here. Last time I saw him he was outside with some of the others. Be right back.”

  As Carmen walked off toward the bar area, Samantha was left to ponder her next move. She really wasn’t much of a socialite and was seriously contemplating staying here hovering over the food and gaining a few pounds in the long run. She knew that wouldn’t work though, not if Carmen had anything to do with it and not if she wanted the scoop on the Karnovs from Furrows.

  Okay, so it was time to meander. She would have to try hard to avoid some people like Edna Peabody. Samantha secretly hoped that she hadn’t nabbed Furrows somewhere along the line. Moving from the kitchen, she made her way through the dining room and into the living room. As Samantha cast a look at the small crowds scattered about, she realized that she knew precious few of them.

  And still no sight of Bob Holder. Not that it mattered if she ran into him. He would ask about the painting and she would merely assure him that he would have it within a reasonable amount of time. After all, no money had been exchanged and no dates set.

  Finding Edmund Furrows had to be her top priority. She couldn’t spot him inside so Samantha headed for the sliding glass doors and the veranda outside. There was a group of men with women huddled on their arms on one side and on the opposite side, Edmund Furrows, alone and leaning against the railing, a drink in his hand. She slid the door open.

  “Mr. Furrows, how good to see you again.” She held out her hand. He turned, smiled and changed the glass he was holding to his other hand to shake hers warmly.

  “Ah, yes, Carmen’s friend. Samantha Barnes, I believe. I do hope you’re taking care of that autographed book. It may be worth something some day.”

  “I’m enjoying it immensely, actually.” Samantha chuckled. If only he knew.

  Furrows nodded, pleased with the compliment, and shifted his eyes back to the ocean vista sprawled below them.

  “A more beautiful place can’t be found.” He inhaled a deep breath of air. It was getting darker and colder. Samantha agreed with him. Bayton Isle was magical--blending hues of dark and light, secret and open.

  “It took me five years to research, write, and publish that book you took home with you the other night.” He stopped, took a drink and laughed, pointing to his glass. “Ginger ale. A surprise to many people. Everyone seems to think you have to be an Edgar Allan Poe or something if you write. At my age, you just want to take care of yourself so you can keep on writing.”

  Samantha smiled, conscious of the Margarita that would be coming her way soon. As a matter of fact, Carmen was probably trying to locate her somewhere inside.

  “Well, I’m not a writer, but I am an artist. Many people like to lump all artists and writers in one disreputable little bundle.”

  They both laughed and then turned as the sliding glass doors opened and out came Carmen, holding two glasses. Her smile widened as she came up to Samantha and Edmund.

  “Aha. The brush and the pen. What a stimulating combination.” She handed Samantha the drink. “Here, honey, mixed the way you like it.”

  Samantha took a sip, and of course, it was just the way she liked it. Strong.

  “So, Edmund,” Carmen continued, “What exactly happened on the mainland to cut your tour short?”

  “Well my dear, it’s not a pretty story.” He put an elbow on the railing. “It appears the publishers didn’t ship enough copies to the chains and I had to cancel all of the pre-booked appearances until they could get another shipment in. Of course the publishers are fronting all this. It appears my book is a bigger hit than they anticipated.” “Maybe they’re all interested in the evil, monstrous Karnov story.” Samantha blurted out. Both Furrows and Carmen laughed simultaneously. But Carmen was the one that gave her the knowing look. “Oh, no, Samantha, it’s because there’s so much here to love. Everyone wants to learn about our little piece of heaven on Earth.” She cast a quick look his way. “Don’t you agree, Edmund?”

  Samantha marveled at her skills. She could never be like Carmen. That was a gift. Edmund Furrows was still smiling as he turned the collar up on his polo shirt. It was getting colder now that the sun had disappeared completely.

  “Well, my writer’s ego surely wants to believe that.”

  The sliding glass door opened again and a casually dressed man peeked out.

  “Carmen, I’ve got that report you wanted. Wanna go over it now? We got the Chief cornered and willing to talk business.”

  Carmen touched both Samantha’s and Furrows’s arms and smiled.

  “It appears business calls even in the face of pleasure. I’ve been trying to get the Fire Department and the Police Department fund raising organizations to try and combine their efforts for optimum efficiency.”

  Leaving them alone, Carmen disappeared inside the busy party. The light from inside brightened the veranda porch. It was now or never for Samantha. It was going to be too cold soon to remain outside and if she lost Furrows to the party goers inside, all hope would be lost for privacy. She shifted her weight and looked straight at him.

  “Edmund, I truly enjoyed your book and, to be honest, I was very interested in meeting you again to discuss it.”

  She didn’t think Edmund Furrows was any different from most artists. A creative human being is much like a parent. They wish to constantly show off their baby pictures and talk about their children. Furrows sighed, moved closer to Samantha and looked straight into her eyes.

  “Now dearest Samantha, tell me you don’t want to talk about the Karnovs?”

  How could he guess? Samant
ha was somewhat taken aback. She smiled sheepishly, lowering her eyes, but looking back at him.

  “I can’t help it. They’re very fascinating yet you hardly mention them. Is there just not enough information or history available? I don’t mean to pry, but I find it interesting as to how and why an author chooses what goes in or out of a book?” She stopped to take a quick sip of her drink.

  “Seriously, Edmund,” she continued, “I’ve always been interested in things that go bump in the night. That’s why I was so surprised to find boogey men right here on our own island paradise.” She hoped she wasn’t being too pushy. “Don’t you find them fascinating? I mean, you must have done quite a bit of study on them?” If this didn’t get her what she needed, she didn’t know what would.

  Edmund Furrows burrowed his eyebrows, twisted the corners of his mouth and exhaled. “I found them an enigma, actually. The Karnov family was definitely fascinating, if you care for that type of thing. For some reason they sought this unpopulated island, then they just disappeared.” He stopped, looking intently at Samantha. “Do you want more?” He had a slightly amused look in his eyes.

  “Of course I want more.” She laughed a tight laugh.

  “Okay, seriously, Samantha, from my viewpoint as a writer, I didn’t think it was a storyline I wanted to drag out. I mean, let’s face it, it isn’t the sort of thing you want attracting you to Bayton Isle. So I just made the decision to merely bring it up and let it go as a point of morbid curiosity. Tainted history best left in the past.”

  Furrows buttoned up his jacket and pulled away from Samantha. “It’s getting quite chilly out here, don’t you think? Why don’t we work our way in?” Samantha had no choice but to follow. The others who had been outside had already gone in.

  As he slid the door closed behind them, Samantha turned quickly back to him. “By the way, what’s the real story on Lara Karnov, the one killed on the hunting trip? You led me to believe in your book that perhaps it wasn’t the true story.”