Book of Days: A Novel (32 page)

"What about Taylor? Ever married before you?"

"Yes."

She paused so long Cameron thought that was all she would say.

"He was married at twenty-three. They were perfect for each other. It only lasted two years."

"Why?"

"He was widowed as well." Tricia looked up toward the ivy crawling over the redwood trellis and covered her mouth. "Whew, I don't think about the accident too much anymore." She blinked rapidly.

"Accident?"

She stood, pulled the lavender scarf off her head, and moved over to the rosebushes next to the trellis. "Taylor blames himself for her death. He's never come right out and said that, but I can tell that he does. I can tell." She plucked at the roses that were encroaching on her side of the bench. "He's never told me why he feels that way. I stopped asking a few years ago."

"What was her name?"

"Annie."

Window-crank Annie. One mystery solved, three thousand to go.

"He changed after Annie died. There was a big group of us that hung out together. Kirk and Arnold, and Annie and me, and at least ten others. Taylor was our leader and had a spontaneous streak that kept us all in trouble most of the time. After two or three months, the playful part came back but the thoughtful Taylor was gone. At least on the outside. We all tried to talk to him about Annie's death, but he wouldn't speak about it. Ever.

"We'd see him sometimes, sitting in the field where he proposed to Annie, weeping. But around us it was only jokes. He worked so hard at covering up his pain, at some point he couldn't even get past the veneer himself." She smiled. "And now God has brought you and Ann into his life to stir it all up again."

"That's a good thing?"

"It's wonderful. You have to clean out a wound before it can heal properly."

Cameron waited for her to finish deadheading the roses and sit back down before he spoke. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, of course."

"Does it bother you that Taylor keeps so many secrets from you?"

Tricia's smile was sad as she shook her head. "No. Because I believe it is a divine plan that I am in Taylor's life the way I am. And I also know beyond a shadow of doubt that he loves me. Deeply." She patted Cameron's hand again. "And I love him back the same way. Some day all secrets will be revealed."

"Does Taylor know something about the Book of Days he's not saying?"

"If I were in Las Vegas with millions to burn—which I don't have—and I were a betting woman—which I'm not—I would have to put my money on the answer being yes."

"What does he know?"

"I haven't a clue." She shook her head.

Cameron hadn't planned on interviewing Tricia about the Book of Days. He assumed Taylor would block any attempt, so he'd put little hope in the idea. But now that he was here, and she answered every question so openly, he'd begun to think he would get an insight or a clue or at least an indication about the true depth of Taylor's knowledge of the book. Now that it was apparent Cameron would get nothing, frustration swirled around him.

But Tricia could help with another mystery tied to the book.

"Can you tell me about Jason and Taylor? Taylor says Jason's been trying to one-up him since high school."

"Since their junior year." Tricia sighed. "But before that they were best friends. All through grade school and junior high, and through the first two years of high school. The best of pals."

"You've got to be kidding." Cameron snorted out a laugh.

Tricia arched an eyebrow. "That amuses you?"

"These days they'd be the last pair cast in a buddy movie." Cameron took out his notepad and scribbled in it. "There must have been a radical turn somewhere along the road."

"Yes." Tricia sighed again. "Over a woman. They both loved the same one." She reached down and pulled two straggling weeds poking up out of a crack in the circle of stones on which the bench sat.

"Annie."

Tricia nodded. "Taylor won her heart over Jason. Up till then, it had been okay that Taylor was the better athlete and more popular, better at school . . . But after Jason's heart was broken, Taylor became the villain, and no matter how hard he tried, Jason wouldn't let go of his bitterness. He was drafted after high school and went to Vietnam. Taylor hoped he'd be different when he came back but he was worse.

"Taylor married Annie right after college, hoping Jason would be his best man, a way to mend the wound, a way to put the pain behind them and move on, but Jason refused.

"Two years later she died, and Jason blamed Taylor for her death. He tried to prove it in all sorts of ways, but of course it was simply a horrible accident. A month or so later, Jason vanished. Nobody heard a whisper about him till twelve years ago when he moved back fully immersed in the New Age movement and determined to see the future and create a new world. He's been looking for ways to humiliate Taylor from the moment he returned. He hasn't succeeded, but it's made Taylor bitter toward Jason."

"I can't say I blame him for that."

"Unforgiveness is like taking a daily poison tablet, expecting it to hurt the other person."

"Jessie used to say something like that." Cameron thought of Ann. Hadn't he just talked to her about forgiveness? "You're saying he needs to forgive him."

"He must. He has to."

"Do you think Jason can ever forgive Taylor?"

Tricia looked up at Cameron with storm clouds in her eyes. "I'm not talking about Jason. I'm talking about Taylor."

Cameron bent down and pulled up a few strands of grass. "Tell me about Taylor's wife, Annie. Who was she? How did she die?"

"I should let Taylor tell you that part of the story." Tricia stood and brushed the dirt off her knees. "Not that he'll tell the tale easily."

"Did her death have anything to do with—?"

"Don't you think we've talked enough for one day? I do."

No, he didn't. He wouldn't feel that way till he stood in front of the Book of Days reading its pages. But he followed her lead, thanked her for the time, and walked to his car.

Onions, Cameron thought as he drove toward Arnold Peasley's house. Ogres might be like onions, but people were too—always another layer underneath the last one.

Taylor was turning out to have more layers than most.

He had to find a way to peel back every one of them.

CHAPTER 29

He listened to a late-night talk show—almost too soft to hear—as he clipped his nails close and stared at them. No. Not close enough. He always liked to see a little blood when he finished. Not a lot, just a thin red line outlining each nail.

He clipped another nail and watched the blood seep from his pinky finger.

Perfect.

Nine to go.

If only it were that simple to find the book. How many more days did he have to wait? Nine? Eight? Twenty? He couldn't control the answer and it frustrated him.

Why was Cameron rock climbing and talking to Stone's wife? Why was he helping Ann Banister find her history? All of that was time wasted. And there was no time to waste.

Cameron could dig where he couldn't so he could be patient. He'd waited years; he could wait a few more days, or even weeks, for Cameron to lead him to the book. But not months.

He flicked off the television and the lights, sat in the dark, and breathed in the warm summer air.

As soon as he stood in front of the book, he would kill Cameron, kill Taylor, and there would be a worthy guardian of the Book of Days once more.

CHAPTER 30

Tricia glanced at the clock on the dining room wall wondering how much longer should she wait before upsetting Taylor? It was 5:50. She would wait a few more minutes before telling him who was about to show up for dinner.

She set down a crystal vase full of scarlet gilia from her yard, then adjusted a cluster of five lilac-scented candles in the middle of the table. That one needed to go just a pinch farther to the left. Ah yes. Perfect.

She scuttled back into the kitchen and checked the oven and the stove top. Everything looked right.

"Dinner for three? And in the dining room?" Taylor stood leaning against the doorjamb leading into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"We'll be having chicken dijon, asparagus, and Asiago cheese bread, but we'll start with a salad and—"

"Hah."

She picked the stem stumps from the flowers off the kitchen counter, tossed them into the trash, and rinsed off her hands in the sink, her back to Taylor. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?" She sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

"Who is coming to dinner, my dear?"

"Ann Banister." She looked up and smiled.

"The TV woman? What for?" Taylor's mouth sagged, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you kidding? I don't want her here."

"So it wasn't just stomach cramps that made you react to her like she'd snapped your favorite fishing pole in two."

Taylor jammed his hands into his 501s, wagged his head, and started to say something three times before giving up.

"She admires you. Your column might not have ever hit national syndication, but she tells me she used to read it—"

"—in
The Oregonian.
"

Tricia nodded.

"And she's coming to dinner." Taylor paced. "I need a drink."

"You don't drink."

"I could start." Taylor held his breath. "She can't come here."

"Why, because she reminds you of someone?"

Taylor stopped pacing and stared at Tricia.

"Tell me who." She returned the glare.

Five books on the fireplace mantel leaning to the left suddenly grabbed Taylor's attention, and he strode over and straightened them up.

"You might as well get it over with. I already know who anyway. As if I couldn't figure it out with my own eyes."

"Fine! She reminds me of Annie, okay? She looks enough like her to be Annie's twin. I'm sure you noticed. Do you feel better now that you dragged it out of me?" His back was to Tricia.

"Yes, I do."

Turning toward her, he puffed out a disgusted breath and shook his head. "I really don't need her here, reminding me of Annie with that little hair flipping thing she does, talking like Annie, looking like Annie. We'll end up talking about Annie with this Banister woman—"

"What's wrong with talking about Annie?"

Taylor flopped down in his leather recliner. "I'm tired of talking about Annie. It seems like the only thing we talk about these days."

Tricia swiveled to face Taylor, hands on hips and—she hoped—lightning coming out of her eyes. "Knock it off. Annie's name has come up once, maybe twice in the past three weeks. Before that, never. Not since it happened."

Taylor folded his arms, snorted, and stared at the beige carpet. "Her dying was the most painful experience of my life. I would think you could—"

"She brightened a lot of people's lives in this town, not just yours. Why can't you share memories of this person with her friends who are still alive?"