When the Wind Blows (19 page)

Dan was sure the old woman was telling him the truth. He was aware that the children had, until recently, steered well clear of the house. And if Christie Lyons were not living there, they would undoubtedly still be avoiding the place. But none of that had any bearing on Kim Sandler’s death, and he was about to say so when Diana returned to the parlor with Christie next to her.

The little girl looked at him worriedly. Was she in trouble with the marshal now, as well as with Diana? “Is something wrong?” she asked.

Dan knelt by her and took her hand gently in his own. “Well, something happened today, and I need to talk to you about it.”

Christie regarded him warily. “Am I in trouble?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” Dan smiled at her reassuringly. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

Christie shook her head.

“Then you can’t be in trouble, can you?”

Memories of the last week whirled in her head. “What happened?” she asked.

Dan ignored the question and asked one of his own instead.

“Were you up at the quarry today?”

“Unh-hunh. I was swimming with Kim and Jay-Jay and Susan.”

“You all went up together?”

“Unh-hunh.”

“And you all left together?”

Now Christie shook her head again. “Kim didn’t go with the rest of us. She stayed.”

“By herself?”

Christie nodded silently, and Dan went on.

“How come she didn’t come back with the rest of you?”

Christie shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess she didn’t want to.”

“Was she mad at you?”

Christie hesitated and glanced at Diana, hoping for support. There was none, and finally she turned back to the marshal. “Sort of,” she admitted.

“And were you mad at her?”

Now Christie shook her head emphatically, her blue eyes reflecting the fear that was growing inside her. “No,” she said. “Did something happen to Kim?”

Reluctantly Dan nodded. “She had an accident.”

Christie’s eyes met his, and when she spoke, her voice was steady. “Is she dead?”

Though Dan was sure the ingenuousness in her voice was sincere, he watched her carefully as he answered her question. “Yes, she is. She drowned.”

Christie’s hand tightened on Diana’s, and Diana knelt beside her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. No one said you had anything to do with it.”

“But how could she drown?” Christie asked. “She swims better than any of us.”

“We don’t know,” Dan told her. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Now, I want you to think very carefully. Did you see anybody else up there? Anybody at all?”

A tear formed in Christie’s right eye. She brushed it away, but when she spoke, her voice shook. “No. The kids said nobody ever goes up there.”

“What about Juan? Did you see Juan up there?”

“No!” She pulled away from Dan Gurley and wrapped her arms around Diana. “Please,” she asked, her voice tiny. “Can’t I go back upstairs now?”

“Of course you can, darling,” Diana murmured. “I’ll be up in just a few minutes.”

When Christie was gone. Diana faced Dan Gurley. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. It looks like an accident, but there are a couple of odd things. She was wearing only her underwear, and there seem to be a few bruises on her body. Nothing serious, but Bill wants them looked at by an expert.”

“I see,” Diana said pensively. Then she met Dan’s eyes. “Juan?”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not, but until I know exactly what did happen up there, I’ll have to hold him. He’s in jail right now.”

Diana shook her head sadly. “Poor Juan. He seems so—well, he seems so harmless.”

“Maybe he is,” Dan said, trying to express more hope than he was feeling.

A few minutes later he was gone, and Diana was about to go back upstairs when Edna stopped her.

“Diana?”

“I have to go up to Christie, Mother.”

“In a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Diana sighed and sat down.

“Diana, didn’t you go up to the quarry today?”

Diana looked at her mother blankly. “I started to, but I didn’t. I—I changed my mind.”

“But when you left here, you were so worried.”

“I know—”

“What happened? What made you stop worrying?”

Diana thought about it. In truth, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t tell her mother that, nor could she explain to her mother what had happened up on the mountain that day—the wind screaming at her, the confusion, the minutes she had lost. It would only give Edna ammunition to use against her.

Besides, her mother always wanted answers. Simple answers. Suddenly she smiled.

“I just decided you were right, Mother. You told me I was being silly, didn’t you?”

“But the wind was blowing when you left, Diana. I always worry about you when the wind blows.”

“That’s in the past, Mother,” Diana replied. “Can’t we forget about all that? Please?”

As Diana left the room to go up to Christie, Edna sat very still. She wished she could forget about the past. But try as she would, she could not. The past was too much a part of the present, and it could destroy her.

Somehow Edna would have to find a way to use the past to
control
the present.

If it wasn’t already too late.

12

Jeff Crowley wished he could go home.

He, along with his parents, was at the Sandlers’. All afternoon the word of Kim’s death had rippled through Amberton, passing from one person to another among the shopkeepers and over the back fences, and late in the afternoon people had begun arriving to offer their sympathy to Alice and George, and to discuss what had happened.

Now, at nine o’clock, only the Jenningses and the Gillespies were still there, along with the Crowleys. While their parents sat talking in the living room, the children huddled in the kitchen, their ears pressed against the door, eagerly listening to every word.

“It could have happened to any of them,” Jerome Jennings was saying.

   But it didn’t, Alice Sandler thought bitterly to herself. It happened to Kim. Why Kim? Involuntarily she glared at Jennings. Why couldn’t he take his prissy wife and his brat and go home? She chided herself for being uncharitable and tried to make herself believe that he was right—that it
could
have been any of the children. Deep in her heart, though, Alice was positive that what had happened to Kim was no accident.

“Juan Rodriguez should have been arrested years ago,” she said aloud.

The Reverend Jennings, who prided himself on being fair-minded, clucked sympathetically. “Now, now. What he did then wasn’t all that serious. Still, considering his background …”

“And for that matter, it’s the Ambers’ fault, too,” Alice went on, ignoring Reverend Jennings. The rest of the people in the room were staring at her now. “I warned them years ago,” Alice explained. “I told Miss Diana that the quarry was dangerous and that it should have been fenced off. But did those high-and-mighty women do anything? Nothing! Nothing at all. Well, maybe if it had been one of their own who was dead—”

“Alice, that’s not fair,” Joyce Crowley protested. “I’m sure Diana and Miss Edna are as sorry as anyone else about what happened. And the quarry’s not being fenced off doesn’t make what happened their fault!”

Alice Sandler sighed heavily and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “It just seems to me that they’re every bit as responsible as Juan.”

In the kitchen, Jay-Jay looked at her friends, her eyes glowing maliciously. “Besides,” she whispered, “maybe Juan didn’t kill her at all. Maybe Christie did!”

The others stared at her, agog.

“That’s dumb.” Jeff said.

“It is not,” Jay-Jay shot back. “When me and Susan left, she stayed, didn’t she?”

Susan nodded reluctantly. “But it was only a couple of minutes,” she said, her voice revealing her uncertainty.

“It was
ten
minutes,” Jay-Jay insisted. “I had my watch on, and I looked,” she added smugly.

“You did not,” Jeff countered. “You’re just trying to get Christie in trouble.”

“How do you know? You weren’t there!”

“It doesn’t matter. Everybody knows you’re a liar!”

“You take that back, Jeff Crowley!” Jay-Jay shrieked.

“I won’t! It’s true!”

Joyce Crowley appeared at the door.

“All right, what’s going on?”

“Jeff called me a liar,” Jay-Jay shouted, her face red with anger.

“Jeff!”

“Well, she is. She said Christie drowned Kim!”

“I did not,” Jay-Jay said sulkily. “I said she
might
have.”

“Good Lord!” Joyce Crowley breathed. “What would make you say a thing like that?”

Jay-Jay glanced at her friends, but Susan and Jeff were both avoiding her eyes. “I was just kidding,” she hedged. Then her face set stubbornly. “But she still might have.” She repeated her story to Jeff’s mother, but when she was done Joyce shook her head doubtfully.

“Jay-Jay, why would Christie do something like that? Kim and Christie were friends.”

“Maybe they had a fight,” Jay-Jay suggested.

“And maybe you’re letting your imagination run away with you. Now, all of you, settle down.”

“Can’t we go home?” Jeff begged.

“In a few minutes,” Joyce promised. As she returned to the living room Matt looked at her questioningly.

“What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Joyce said. She saw no point in repeating Jay-Jay’s story, since privately she agreed with her son that Jay-Jay was a liar. Minister’s children, she thought. What makes them such little stinkers? Aloud, she tried to pass the incident off. “I think they’re getting tired, and I am, too.”

A few minutes later the group broke up, and as they drove home Joyce told Matt what had gone on in the kitchen.

“Oh, Lord,” Matt sighed when Joyce had finished. “I hope Jay-Jay isn’t going to start spreading that tale around. A thing like that can make a child an outcast. Hasn’t Christie had enough trouble already?”

“But everybody likes Christie,” Jeff said.

“Everybody likes her a lot better than they like old Jay-Jay!”

“I only hope it stays that way,” Joyce said softly. “But it’s such a small town.…”

   Diana lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the house. The day had exhausted her, but sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed restlessly in her bed, willing herself to relax.

Finally she went downstairs, prowling the rooms like a restless cat. She had the feeling she was looking for something but had no idea what.

She went over the day carefully.

The blank spots were still there, and nothing she could do would fill in the blanks.

And then, after Dan Gurley had left, Christie had once more disobeyed her.

She’d told Christie to stay upstairs, but late in the afternoon, she’d gone upstairs. The nursery had been empty.

She’d found Christie in the barn.

The barn door was open, and when she’d stepped into its gloom, at first Diana thought it was empty, except for the horses.

And then she heard Christie’s voice, coming from Hayburner’s stall.

“Good boy,” the little girl’s voice was crooning. “Are you my good boy?”

Diana moved slowly through the barn until she could see into the stall. Christie was standing next to the horse, her arms around his neck, nuzzling him.

The horse stood still, his huge gray body looming over the tiny girl, his brown eyes placid. And then his head moved, and his eyes seemed to fix on Diana’s face.

A strange sensation passed through Diana.

It was as if the horse were challenging her.

And then, as if to confirm the feeling, Hayburner suddenly whinnied and pawed at the ground.

Christie looked up and saw Diana at the gate. As Diana watched, Christie seemed to shrink back against Hayburner, and the horse, too, backed a few steps farther into the stall.

“What are you doing?” Diana asked. “You’re supposed to be in the nursery.”

“I—I got lonely,” Christie explained.

“Then why didn’t you come to me?”

Christie’s eyes darted around the stall like those of a trapped animal. “You—you were mad at me.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I wanted to be with Hayburner. He’s my friend.”

“He’s
not
your friend,” Diana snapped. “He’s only a horse, and he doesn’t give a damn about you! If you want a friend, come to me.”

Christie cowered away from Diana’s words, and suddenly, as if hearing herself for the first time, Diana realized how she must sound. Instantly she was sorry for what she’d said. “Christie? Oh, Christie, I didn’t mean that. Of course Hayburner’s your friend. But I am, too. If you’re lonely, you can always come to me.”

Christie seemed to relax a little, and Diana reached out to touch her. Once again Christie huddled against the horse.

“It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you,” Diana whispered. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you.”

A memory stirred in Christie. What had Diana told her a week ago, when her chick had died?
“People always hurt the things they love.”
And Diana had hit her that day, as if she’d done something wrong. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, except sneak out of the nursery, and Diana hadn’t known about that. Had she? Or had she spanked her that day because she loved her? It didn’t make sense, any of it. She waited, clinging to the horse, as Diana came closer to her, then picked her up.