Paradox Lake Page 6

  Soon we’re well inside the forest, snipping here, chopping there, cutting away anything that’s in the way of the trail. The occasional felled tree trunk blocks the path, but there’s not much we can do about that since we don’t have a chainsaw. We simply walk over the obstacle. After maybe twenty minutes go by, the small, isolated beach appears for us on our right-hand side.

  “This is it, Anna,” I say. “Time for lunch.”

  “Great,” she says, the hatchet still in hand. “I’m starving. All this work really makes me hungry.”

  Walking out onto the isolated beach, I open up my pack and spread out a small picnic lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches and potato chips. I brought along a cold Pepsi for Anna and for me a cold beer. Hey, why not indulge a little? For a while, we sit on the felled log and eat without saying much of anything. The woods and the lake are just so peaceful and alive with the birds flying overhead and fish jumping. Each and every one of our senses seems to be occupied.

  After a time, Anna says, “How about a swim, Rosie?”

  “Did you bring your suit?”

  “Wearing it under my jean shorts.”

  She pulls her shorts and top off revealing her navy-blue Speedo one-piece I purchased for her at the beginning of the summer. Without waiting for me, she goes to the water and dives right in. It makes my heart beat with joy to see her one hundred times happier today than she was yesterday. Pulling off my boots, jeans, and t-shirt, I consider hopping in the lake in my underwear. But since I don’t feel like walking back home in soggy underclothes, I decide to dress down to my birthday suit.

  “Haha,” Anna barks, “Rosie is naked!”

  “Don’t tell anyone!” I say, before diving in.

  The water is not only crystal clear, it is still cold and refreshing this late in the summer. I swim towards Anna and splash water in her face. She splashes water back at me. It’s the most fun we’ve had in a long, long time, and I never want this moment to end. It’s almost surreal how happy I am. We’re treading water, soaking in the midday sun, when I notice that Anna has her eyes focused on something back on the beach.

  “What is it, honey?” I ask.

  “Something in the sand,” she says.

  Before I can ask her to explain, she’s swimming for the lake-shore. I follow her. Standing on the sand, she goes to the far edge of the beach, and begins to dig with her hands.

  “I spotted something reflecting the sun,” she says. “Something yellow. Like gold or something.”

  “Gold,” I say, slipping back into my clothing after drying myself with a towel I stored in the backpack. “We struck gold? Now that would be unbelievable luck, young lady. Just make sure you share your good fortune with your poor old mom.”

  “Rats,” she says, after a time, pulling up some very old yellow plastic ribbon. “It’s not gold, after all. It’s just trash.”

  My eyes focus on the ribbon. It’s so old, parts of it have lost its yellow coloring and faded to white. But the words printed on the tape are still plainly visible.

  CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS

  “Why does it say crime scene, Mom?” Anna asks.

  My heart shoots up into my throat. Here’s what my gut is telling me: I’ve discovered the exact spot where Sarah Anne Moore was raped and murdered. Here’s what else my gut is saying: If I reveal the truth to Anna that a girl her exact age was brutally killed here thirty-three years ago and that she lived with her family inside the house we are now living in, she’s liable to freak out. No—correction—she would most definitely freak out. And who could blame her?

  “It’s probably just some garbage left over from a party or something like that,” I say, offering up a weak lie, but a lie nonetheless. “You know, some kids drinking and messing around. Give it to me and I’ll add it to the trash.”

  She hands me the approximately foot-long length of plastic ribbon.

  “You sure are dedicated to cleaning up Paradox Lake, Mom,” Anna says, not without a giggle.

  “Least we can do,” I say.

  Then, before she has the chance to dig up anything else that might be left over from Sarah Anne Moore’s murder, I tell her to pack it up. Time for me to get some work done on my new sculpture project, or so I offer up as an excuse.

  “No more trail clearing,” my daughter says like a question.

  “I’m giving you the rest of the day off,” I say, with a smile. “How’s that sound?”

  “Awesome,” she says.

  Together, we head back into the woods, following the very same trail Sarah walked before she was abducted by a madman.

  As soon as we come to the trailhead and the woodpile, Anna shoots for the back door and heads inside. I know precisely where she’s going. Up into her bedroom for a chat session either with Nicole and/or Jake Walls. May the day’s drama begin. But on the bright side of things, I did manage to get her out for half a day in the fresh air and sunshine. Thank the Lord for small victories.

  As I’m heading over the backyard towards the house, my phone vibrates. Pulling it out, I see that it’s a text from Tony.

  Thumbing the text icon, I read: Can you at least give me your address up there in case of emergency?

  He’s right. He should at least have our address. I guess I avoided giving it to him so that he didn’t have one too many Jameson shots at Lanies Bar and decide to drive up here to surprise us. The last thing I need is a Tony DWI on my conscience.

  Sorry, I text with my thumbs—not with the speed and accuracy that Anna can accomplish, but not bad for a woman of my years. 22 Paradox Lake Road

  Thank you Rose, he responds.

  You’re welcome Gonna get some work done now Talk later XO

  If I don’t add the X and O, I’m going to get an earful about it later on. Tony doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, he holds the pulsing organ in his two hands for all the world to see. He’s an artist, and an overly sensitive one at that. Maybe that’s why I fell in love him all those years ago.

  Heading inside, I make a mug of tea and take it with me back into my studio. I dig into my jeans pocket, pull out the crime scene ribbon, and set it on the small worktable pushed up against the far wall. For a while I just stare at it. Until I sit down at my clay bust and, taking hold of the sculpting knife, begin to work on the face, cutting away a little here and slicing off a little there. I spin the bust around and start forming the head and the hair by slicing fine, thin lines into the clay. Thick, lush, long hair, like a woman would have. A young woman. Or perhaps even younger.

  I find myself working frantically, my creative left brain constructing something my cognitive right brain has no idea about. I call it sculpting in the dark. My hands and the sculpting tools they hold are nothing more than conduits for whatever it is my brain wishes to construct. It’s a miraculous process for which I have little or even no control.

  By the time I’ve completed what amounts to a half hour session of sculpting, my forehead is covered in sweat and my upper back is aching. Setting the sculpting knife down, I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, and take a good look at the face I’m creating. It most definitely belongs not to a mature woman, but instead, a girl.

  A girl very much like Anna or Sarah.

  CHAPTER 14

  BACK IN THE kitchen, I pour a tall glass of cold water and drink it all down at once. I’m parched—the dusty clay literally coats your mouth and tongue. That was the most intense sculpting session I’ve had in a long while. My self-imposed exile in the mountains is working its spooky magic. My mind is spinning. I look around the empty kitchen, at the appliances, the wood counters, and the kitchen table. The crucifix that hangs on the wall above the window over the sink must be as old as the house itself. My guess is that it’s the same cross Sarah Anne Moore looked at day in and day out when she lived here. The very same cross she gazed at before she decided to go hiking on the Paradox Lake Trail all those decades ago.

  Stealing a quick glance at my watch, I find that it’s going on two
in the afternoon. It suddenly dawns on me that Tim Ferguson is coming for dinner and I don’t have anything to feed him. It means a trip to his general store, which might be kind of awkward since I’ll be shopping for him. Therefore, he’ll feel funny about charging me for it. There’s a Price Chopper supermarket in the nearby town of Schroon, which is located just a few miles past the town of Paradox. I’ll have to go there to stock up.

  I go to the staircase and stand at the bottom.

  “Anna,” I call out.

  I wait for a few beats until she appears at the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, Rosie, what is it?” she asks, her phone gripped in her hand. At this point, I’m surprised it hasn’t become spontaneously biologically attached.

  “Listen, honey, I’m heading into Schroon to buy some dinner for tonight. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Any chance I can stay here?” she asks. “I’m not afraid or anything like that during the day.”

  She seems chipper. A little too chipper.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Little Jake Walls.”

  She smiles, her cheeks turning a distinct shade of red.

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Sounds like things are working out after all.”

  “He thinks Nicole is a drip,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say. “Go ahead and do whatever it is you kids do. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  “Take your time, Rosie.”

  When a preteen tells a parent to take their time, you most definitely want to do the opposite. I grab my keys and exit the house by the front door.

  Pulling out of the gravel drive, I make my way over the packed gravel road until I come to the two-track that accesses the Paradox Lake Road. Hooking a left, I drive the winding, pine tree-lined road all the way into Paradox. When I pass the general store, I can’t help but crane my neck to see if Tim might be hanging around outside.

  Sadly, he’s not.

  However, I do spot the creepy, stocky man who smiled at Anna and me in the store yesterday when we were looking at the books. What’s his name? Ed. He’s wearing a pair of ratty farmer overalls over a green t-shirt and work boots. He’s opening the door of what I take to be his old, run-down pickup truck, the color best described as a combination brown and rust.

  He catches sight of me as I slowly pass, not like he can see me, but like he senses my presence. Maybe they don’t see a lot of Mini Coopers up here. What’s strange is the way he stares at me. He also offers a smile. His unblinking eyes remain locked on my eyes until I pass. It’s all I can do to peel my eyes away from his. When the car directly ahead of me hits the brakes and turns into the general store parking lot, I have no choice but to slam on the brakes or rear-end it.

  “Watch where you’re going, lady!” an older, crazy-gray-haired man shouts out his open driver’s-side window.

  I’d offer up an apology if only I weren’t already down the road from the store. As I drive out of town, I can’t help but see Creepy Ed’s round face and bald, scarred head. In my brain, I see his blue eyes. Chills fill my veins. But then, Tim said he was harmless. Maybe I’m just a spooked woman—a stranger in a strange land. A land where an innocent preteen girl was murdered thirty-three years ago. Now, I’m living in her house, while Anna is sleeping in her old bedroom.

  Maybe the old murder is hitting too close to home.

  It takes me fifteen minutes to get to the town of Schroon. It feels a little odd, because back home, it takes me no more than four or five minutes to drive to my local mega-mart. But this is the country, and out here, nothing is close by. I will say this, however—compared to Paradox, Schroon is a bustling metropolis. The main street is lined with small mom-and-pop shops along with a Subway, a McDonald’s, a couple of banks, an old red brick church, a Death Wish coffee shop, and a Stewart’s bread and butter shop. When I come to the Price Chopper, I pull into the lot and park the Mini Cooper.

  Heading into the store, I buy some fresh hamburger, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, three Idaho potatoes for homemade French fries, a head of lettuce, a couple of vine tomatoes, and finally, a half-dozen ears of corn. Talk about serendipity, but I was just about to buy a blueberry pie when I receive a text from who else but Tim. I don’t remember giving him my number. Or did I? Oh well, whatever the case, he’s able to text me.

  Hey it’s Tim … Don’t bother with dessert … I’m bringing a freshly baked apple pie … some wine and Mountain Dew

  He follows up with a yellow smile-face emoji.

  Great Thanks Tim

  I add a yellow smile-face emoji to go along with his.

  Looking forward Rose

  I feel a wave of excitement shoot up my spine. My stomach goes a little tight, and my brain buzzes with adrenaline. What’s happening to me? I’m supposed to be in love with Tony. I’m feeling both elated and guilty at the same time. But then, I’m not married to Tony. And yet, I’m fooling myself if I refuse to believe he hasn’t become a sort of surrogate husband to me since I lost Charlie. He has certainly been like a father to Anna, even if she does give him a hard time on occasion.

  I shake my head and make the decision right there and then in the supermarket bakery section not to get ahead of myself with Tim. But I also tell myself that you only go around once. Life is short. Charlie and Allison are evidence of that. If I like Tim, it doesn’t hurt to spend some quality time with him.

  Isn’t that right, Allison?

  Tony is a cool, creative guy, Rosie. A bit unhinged at times, I gotta say. But a real good guy. A creative guy. On the other hand, you’re not married either. You don’t even live together. It doesn’t hurt to hang out with Tim a little. Get to know him a bit. It’s not like you’re gonna jump right in the sack with him.

  You’re making me blush, young lady.

  What are daughters for, Rosie?

  Okay, maybe it seems strange to speak with my dead daughter, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. I truly believe she can hear me, and I can hear her. Sometimes I talk to Charlie, too. It’s the strangest thing, but even if their physical bodies are gone now, their souls are able to communicate with mine. We are biologically attached, after all. We are blood. And the blood, she runs thick. Their spirits are constantly on my mind and ever present. And nothing can ever change that.

  Before checking out, I make sure to buy another twelve-pack of Stella beer in cans. What the hell? Better to have more than less booze hanging around the house on the lake.

  Back in the Mini Cooper, I get another text from Tony.

  Miss you.

  I’m picturing him bellied up to Lanies Bar a little earlier than usual, since he’s fighting loneliness. As I’ve already intuited, Tony is one of those guys who can’t stand being alone. I guess it never dawned on me until now that he might find himself a new girlfriend while I’m gone. Admittedly, the thought makes me sad. But what’s good for the goose …

  Miss you too Tony.

  But I’m not sure I mean it and I pray he doesn’t read anything into my response. Just to make sure we don’t get into anything, I put the phone on silent. But then realizing Anna is all alone in the lake house, I decide against the move and put the sound back on. Oh the never-ending responsibilities of parenting.

  Starting the car, I pull out of the lot and head back in the direction of Paradox, hoping that I get a quick glance at Tim when I pass by the store.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE WOLF DOESN’T walk along the Paradox Lake trail. He sprints on all fours, shooting and scooting along the path like a man—an animal—far younger in years and physical condition. A full mile separates his old family house in the deep forest from the Moore house, but he’s able to cover the ground in a hair less than twelve minutes. By the time he arrives at the Moore trailhead, he’s dripping with sweat, the green t-shirt under his overalls soaked to the skin.

  He slips on past the woodpile to the back door of the house. Pausing for a moment, he hears the beating of his pulse in his temples. He also hears the
voice of a girl. She’s talking on the phone. She keeps saying the name Jake and then giggling afterwards. He even hears her say, “Jake, I love you.” It makes the Big Bad Wolf smile to know a girl Anna’s age can actually love a boy.

  What big ears you have.

  The better to hear you having phone sex with your boyfriend.

  He wonders if they’re talking on the phone or if they’re WhatsApping, looking at one another’s smooth naked bodies. That’s what all the kids do now. They don’t wait until they’re older like the kids used to do before he was sent up to prison. Now they use electronics to satisfy their young animal desires. Father O’Connor was right when he warned the Wolf the world was far different than it was in 1986.

  Slowly, he opens the screen door off the kitchen. He tiptoes across the kitchen floor and into the living room. He goes to the staircase and stands there looking up onto the second-floor landing. He breathes in deeply, and breathes in Anna’s scent.

  What a big nose you have.

  The better to smell every bit of you.

  He feels himself getting aroused, and for a quick beat, he’s tempted to pull his sex out. But he refrains. For now, he’s happy with playing this little game of catch as catch can. Only, Anna is not about to catch him since she’s so absorbed in her conversation with Jake. The Wolf wonders if she loved the gift he left for her this morning. He wonders if she’s perused the pages, stared at the brilliant drawings of the Big Bad Wolf. He loved giving her the gift, just as he loved giving Sarah Anne all her gifts way back when—he also gifted her a copy of Little Red Riding Hood, which the police later confiscated as evidence.

  Then, the sound of a car pulling up outside the front door. That would be Rose. Turning, the Wolf scoots on all fours back across the living room floor, past the piano, through the kitchen, and out the back door. He skitters across the backyard and the woodpile, heading back onto the Paradox Lake Trail. Soon the time will come when the real Big Bad Wolf will take what is his. It will be a beautiful thing.