Endless Fear (9 page)

Aunt March shuffled into the room with July at her heels. “Well, whadda ya know…. She can walk again.”

The remark made April feel as self-conscious as she suspected it was meant to. Trying to ignore the heat stealing up her neck, she smiled at the old woman and then at the other upraised faces. “Yes, the feet are good as new.”

As the family exchanged “good mornings” April strode to the coffee maker and filled a white mug to the rim. Why she let that crusty old lady get to her, she couldn’t say. She sensed eyes boring into her back. Aunt March, again? Had she been the one who’d left the gruesome doll on her bed? She balanced the hot cup with both hands and turned to face her family, but caught no one looking at her.

“
Better all take your places before the food gets cold,” Helga declared, hefting a platter of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast toward the table. The rustle of folded newspaper and the scrape of chairs followed straightaway.

April walked to the vacant seat next to her young sister. Setting the coffee mug on the plastic placemat, she extracted the doll from her waistband, set it on the center of the table and said with practiced calm, “Look who turned up in my room, July.”

The child let out a squeal as April’s gaze sped from one adult face to another in pursuit of any betraying flinch. The effort proved a waste of time. Disappointment followed her into her chair. Whatever enlightenment she’d hoped to gain by this ploy hadn’t materialized. She’d never seen a more innocent-looking bunch. Not one guilty twitch, not one clenched jaw, nor one telltale red ear-tip in the lot.

What the hell was that all about
?
Spencer wondered, covertly studying April’s fallen expression. The pointed way she’d plopped the doll on the table and drawn everyone’s attention to it reeked of something rehearsed. And the failure to elicit a reaction from anybody but July seemed to have taken the wind out of her sails. The urge to touch her hand consolingly stole over him.
Don’t!
he warned himself. Whatever her problem, his involvement was guaranteed to make it worse.

* * * *

Several days later, April congratulated herself on the boldness of her actions with the Barbie doll. She may not have smoked out the culprit, but apparently she’d shown her tormentor anonymous notes and childish pranks couldn’t frighten her away from Calendar House.

Intent on taking advantage of the unusually mild afternoon, she left her room and headed down the hallway toward the main staircase. Nothing and no one, she determined, must stop her from regaining her memory. But when would that be? What few recollections she’d experienced this past week had had nothing to do with Lily’s fall, just her cruelties. April chewed the inside of her lip. The hatred she felt at each of these times only increased her fear that she had been the one arguing with her mother on the landing above the stairs.

She descended to the foyer, thinking the house seemed unduly quiet. Sun refracted through the leaded glass windows on either side of the massive pine door, emphasizing the purples, greens, and blacks of the Oriental carpets. Adding yet another slash of color, her red parka hung from a hall-tree hook. Catching hold of it, April padded across the rugs and stepped over the threshold onto the porch outside.

She slipped into her jacket and hastened down the steps to the deserted apron in front of the house. The air was crisp, and few clouds littered the sky. It was much like a spring day; only the occasional lick of a winter gust said otherwise. The sun felt good on her face, but the glare was blinding.

Squinting, April reached for her sunglasses in her pocket, then remembered she’d left them on the dashboard of her rented car which, along with the other family vehicles, had been relegated to the garages earlier in the week. Well, she had to get them or the glare would give her a headache before she even began her walk.

Leaving the asphalt, she started down the grassy slope toward the garages. The sudden roar of a motorboat engine belched from the belly of the boathouse, startling not only April, but a pair of sea gulls who had been perched on its rooftop. Squawking like a couple of disgruntled old maids, they lifted into the cloud-patched sky, wheeled over the protected bay and out across the glistening water.

April moved down the path toward a stone and mortar building—a miniature copy of the house, laughingly called a shed. Strange how much smaller it appeared than her memories of it, she thought, circling the elaborate structure.

As children, the twins and she had been fascinated by it and its cache of ladders, rakes, nails, hammers, shovels and various garden sundries. They were allowed inside only when accompanied by an adult. Of course, when they had reached their teens and understood its function, their curiosity had died altogether.

Now her curiosity was peaked by the powerful boat motor. Momentarily forgetting her sunglasses, she crossed the road. The tide was in. The ramp, bridging shore and dock, stretched as flat as the water today. April advanced onto the dock, enjoying the bob of motion.

As she neared the metal boathouse, the engine silenced. The flat notes of Karl’s off key whistling, accompanied by a metallic clank, echoed from within. Was he alone? Why did the thought of that make her hesitant?

Stifling the inexplicable feeling, she strode through the open door. The light inside was fluorescent, dull after the sun’s radiance. She blinked, peering at the exposed framework walls and the score of orange life jackets, fishing nets and poles, gaff hooks, and buoys hung about on nails. The dock cuffed the inside of the building on the front and two side walls like a giant U. Aged creosote and brine tangled with the odor of fresh motor oil.

Her gaze fell on the sleek royal blue-and-white speedboat taking up the body of the boathouse. It skimmed the water, slung on large straps supported by a ceiling hoist as though it were in traction, April mused, realizing the purpose was more likely to protect the boat from the tide’s whims. Seeing two heads dipped close together over its motor eased her tension.

“
Okay,” her father instructed Karl. “That should do it.” August shifted to the boat’s wheel and stopped. His eyes widened as they always did when something unexpected intruded on his train of thought. “April, this is a pleasant surprise. What brings you down here?”

“
The noise.” April acknowledged Karl’s friendly grin with one of her own. “What’re you two doing?”

Her father leaned toward her and dragged a grease-stained rag from his rear overall pocket. He wiped his hands, then poked the cloth back. “Karl and I are installing one of my gadgets. A keyless ignition.”

“
Something new?”

“
Nope. Never found a buyer for it, though. Still, it’s a convenience
I
appreciate. No good inventing things if you can’t use them.” The subject seemed to draw his attention back to the project. He fiddled with something beyond her line of vision on the dashboard. “Okay, Karl, here goes.”

The motor sputtered. Sparks flew at Karl. He swore and stumbled backward. August rushed to him. “Must have crossed the wires. Are you all right?”

“
Sure. Surprised me is all.”

All but forgotten, April left them to their work.

The garages were a couple hundred yards from the dock, up the asphalt lane. Made of stone and mortar like the house and tool shed, the building had originally been a stable. With the advent of electricity and motorized vehicles, the barn gates had been replaced with garage doors, the packed earth floor with concrete, and the oil lamps with electric lights.

Six truck-wide doors graced the front, while two human-sized ones allowed access at either end of the building. The one nearest the dock stood open. April hastened inside.

Murky light slithered through the grimy window set eight feet up the back wall, but it was enough for her to see the cobwebs massed on the high open beams supporting the roof, and that the car parked here was not the one she sought.

From somewhere deep inside the garages, a car motor started.

Imagining how the building must have looked in her great-great- grandfather’s era, April proceeded through the swinging doors separating each stall from the next. Surprisingly, the individual chambers were huge, better suited to the luxury cars of the sixties than the compact, gas-efficient models now occupying them. And yet, for all the modernization April felt the old building had retained a sense of its originality. She could almost smell the hay and the horse manure lingering in the shadowy corners.

The idling motor grew insistently louder with her progress. Evidently, whoever had entered the building before her and left the door ajar was going somewhere, most likely Friday Harbor.

In the fifth stall, she found her rented compact. The rumbling engine emanated from the sixth. Although the cells were partitioned, the ventilation left a lot to be desired, April thought, getting a whiff of exhaust.

Best to get her sunglasses and leave. She spotted them on the dashboard, and seconds later was stuffing them into her pocket.

The running motor revved. Exhaust crept beneath the wall like smoke from a blazing room. April coughed, frowning disgustedly at the wall as though the person in the unit beyond could see her and would stop the car. Or exit the garage. Surely, the engine was warm by now.

April felt an uneasy prickling. Maybe she’d better see if the driver in the next stall was all right.

She pulled the separating door open and leaned into the garage. Her father’s Cadillac Seville hogged the chamber like the old white elephant it was, wheezing foul air from its bent tailpipe. No one was behind the wheel, and as she’d suspected the huge door was shut. “Hello? Is someone here?”

Holding her nose, April stepped across the threshold. The swinging door bumped shut against her backside. Intent on turning off the engine, she sank to the driver’s seat. The aromas of pipe tobacco and childhood memories surrounded her as she reached for the key. Her hand froze. “What the…?”

There was a hole where the ignition should have been. Obviously her father’s handiwork. Lord, why hadn’t she taken the time to look at the device so she’d know what she was supposed to do to turn it off?

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to sit here and wonder about it. Rushing into the smog-laced cell, she sped to the single outside door on the side wall. Locked. Exhaust fumes burned her eyes and stole her breath. With her hand cupping her mouth and nose, she fled to the swinging door leading to the unit containing her car. She gripped the knob and pushed. The door wouldn’t budge. Alarm burst through April.

Dear God! She was trapped! Cold curled in her belly. This was no accident.

She threw her shoulder against the door. It resisted. April hit it again. Nothing. She gulped a lungful of fumes. Then coughed. Her head started to pound.

Frantic, she raced to the big door and clutched the chrome handle. The lock refused to release.

“
Help!” she screamed.

The powerful boat motor roared to life.

“
Help!” But even as the word left her mouth April knew it was a waste.

Coughing, she flung her gaze around the doorframe, then the room. She spied an electric door apparatus attached to the ceiling. Was there a remote opener in the car? A second later, she was again in the car. No opener.

The smoke was robbing the life from her. As April stared death in the face, she realized no matter how bleak her future might turn out, it was better than this alternative.

She closed the car door. It took two tries before her trembling fingers managed to hook the seat belts. The pounding at her temples worsened. Shaking her head, she eased the shifter into reverse, and slammed the gas pedal to the floor.

Chapter Six

The garage door burst apart with a boom as loud as a detonated dynamite stick. Wood flew high and wide and clunked on the car’s roof and hood. Yelping, April ducked reflexively.

The car roared backward, over the parking apron, across the road. It rammed into a madrona tree. And stopped. April pitched forward. The seatbelt cut into her chest and stomach and yanked her back against the seat. Leaves rained onto the car.

Jerkily, she shifted the gears into park, then dropped her head on her forearms on the steering wheel. Her heart raced in sync with the motor. Drawing trembling breaths, April tried to calm herself. The thought wouldn’t leave. Someone had tried to kill her. Why?

Panic regrouped and gathered force. Wanting out of the car and away from this place, she shoved the door open with adrenaline-powered strength, and stepped from the vehicle onto broken hunks of garage door. The boards beneath her feet cracked. Exhaust continued to spill from the engine, but now the stench was softened by sea air and, peculiarly, the scent of fresh-split pine.