47

Too Many Signs

It was no wonder they hadn’t heard anything; a screaming guitar solo met Drew when the door swung open. Bryce had obviously strong-armed the girls into playing his heavy metal crap over the lakehouse’s audio system.

He almost didn’t hear the jangle of his phone over the music — luckily, it was set to vibrate. That he couldn’t miss, not pressed against his hip as it was.

He jerked, swore under his breath, and dropped the toolbox by the door before going onto the deck to answer the call.

“Penny?”

“Daddy?” His daughter sighed into the phone. “I… I’m sorry. About the other day.”

“Yeah,” Drew said quietly, perching on the bench. “Me too, pumpkin.”

“I just… it’s been a bit crazy, you know? I really didn’t mean anything—”

“It’s okay, baby.” Drew exhaled heavily as he shook a cigarette from the crumpled box in his pocket. “That’s all in the past. All in the past.”

Penny let out a small, relieved laugh. “Is Angel there? I tried calling—”

“Yeah, she’s here,” he said, glancing inside. The living room was still empty. The music still pumped. “But she’s turned her phone off. Said some guy kept calling her and it was annoying the living—” he cleared his throat “—she didn’t want to keep getting his calls.”

“Which guy? Jarred?”

“Pumpkin, I don’t know.”

Penny laughed. “And when did she start listening to such old-school rock? What have you done to her, Dad?”

He managed a rough laugh, but barely. “That’s your dad; corrupting the young every chance he gets. Do you want to speak to her? I think she’s busy with her hair or something but I could—”

“Oh — no, no, no. Trust me, you don’t want to interrupt her when she’s busy with her hair. Will you have her call me when she’s done?”

“Course. Does this mean you’re coming home soon?” His stomach grew tight at the thought. If Penny arrived at Elm street this weekend, everything would be fucked. Possibly even more fucked than if seventeen couples arrived for the open house they didn’t know had been canceled. Because Penny would get worried, seeing his car gone and Angel’s stuff nowhere in the house. She’d start calling around. She might even phone Bryce. And, knowing Angel was here, she might even decide to drive through—

“Not… not yet, Dad. It’s just, Monty’s having this massive party here on Tuesday, and — if it’s okay — I’d really like to—”

“Penny? Relax, pumpkin.” He chuckled. “You’re an adult. You make your own decisions. And, unfortunately, now you’ve got to live with the consequences.”

“Gees, ominous much?” Penny said, but there was laughter in her voice.

“I just mean, you’re not a baby anymore. You can do what you want, as long as you realize I might not always be there to help you out if you make a mistake.”

“I’m not eloping, Dad.”

“Hope not.”

“Or getting pregnant.”

“Damn well hope not.”

Penny laughed, but it faded quickly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound…”

“Just tired. I’ve been working hard, pumpkin. It happens at my age, you know; you go to sleep and wake up tired.”

She laughed again. “I thought it might have been Angel driving you up the wall. She can be a bit needy sometimes.”

“No, she’s fine. Settling in nicely.”

“Settling in?” A note of confusion touched Penny’s voice. “What do you mean—”

“Nothing, baby. Nothing.” Drew let out a long breath. “Listen, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back later today?”

“Yeah. Sure. Uh… any time before ten, I guess.”

“Because that’s when you’re going to bed, right?”

“Sure, Dad.” It sounded like she was speakingthrough a wide smile. “My self-inflicted curfew is ten-thirty, but I always err on the side of caution.”

“Good to know.” He paused, running his fingers along the railing. “Hey, Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“I love you too, Dad.” There was the briefest pause. “You sure everything’s fine?”

“Course.”

“Okay. See you soon, Dad!”

But he ended the call without replying, just in case Penny could have heard the lie in his voice. He stared down at his phone, rubbing his thumb over Penny’s name. He’d had a picture of her on his other phone — the one sitting in a box somewhere at Trent & Morgan. She’d taken it herself, grinning like an idiot into the camera and then updating her contact. He ached to see that photo now.

He took a long tug at his cigarette and stared out over the lake.

There wasn’t another house visible — one of the reasons Juliet had loved this place so much. She claimed she’d felt like the only person in the world when she was here.

As if he didn’t know she’d been with someone every time.

As if he hadn’t figured out who that someone was.

That knowledge, month after month, had given him ulcers and anxiety attacks and migraines. It had been the catalyst of the mental breakdown he’d suffered, a week before Juliet died.

A week before she’d been killed.

Smoke billowed from his mouth. For a second, there was a dip in the music as the track changed. A flutter of sound reached him, and he looked up.

Standing here, he was directly beneath Bryce’s window. It was closed — during August, it made no sense to open them — but the curtains had been opened. From the angle he stood, though, he could only see the ceiling.

A woman’s voice, incomprehensible, before the music flooded back.

He rested with the small of his back against the railing, smoking the rest of his cigarette as he stared up into Bryce’s room.

Where had they done it, Juliet and Bryce? Did they have a specific room, or did they mix it up each time they met here? Had they fucked in front of the fire like he and Angel had? In the kitchen? Here on the deck, in a blanket, during the summer months?

Too many questions he’d never know the answer to.

He twisted to flick his cigarette over the side of the deck. Movement tugged his gaze to a tiny spot a few hundred feet away. He turned slowly, his hands finding the icy rail and clutching on, white-knuckled and straining.

A fisherman — his body no more than a tiny blob on that splinter of a boat — cast an invisible reel and sat down.

Drew swallowed. His lungs expanded as flurries of cold air rushed into them.

Too many signs; the tourists, Penny’s phone call, this fisherman. Too many alarm bells. It was time to go upstairs, tell Kelly her car was working, and perhaps ask Bryce to piss off with her.

He could spend the weekend with Angel. Trying to forget the fact that she’d slept with Bryce and so clearly enjoyed it.

Maybe… with time… he could learn to love her. Or at least like her enough to marry her. Why the fuck not? And so what if she inherited half of his estate — it was a price he was willing to pay if she let him screw her for the next thirty years or so. At least, until Viagra stopped working or his will to live faded.

He shrugged, staring hard at the fisherman.

Amazing. He’d worked out everything in such minute detail. But still, life had found a way to throw a fucking wrench into his gears.

He chuckled, the sound barely audible over some guy with a two-pack-a-day voice lamenting the fate of the world while a guitar howled as accompaniment.

Time to tell Kelly she could go home.

And then down the boat to take out all the shit he’d just piled inside. He gripped the rails a last time, grimacing up at the perfect sky. Maybe he’d leave everything inside, tell his house sitter to get rid of it next week.

“Fuck you, universe!”

The lake swallowed his voice as surely as the heavy metal music behind him did.

Then he turned, found the dregs of a smile to plaster on his face, and went inside. When he closed the deck’s sliding door, it slipped from his fingers and crashed closed with a bang that was timed — quite accurately — with another break in the music. He winced, and then stormed over to the home’s automated control system to switch off the music.

Silence flooded the house like a dam break.