Blackthorn Winter (29 page)

"All right," I said reluctantly. "That does sound fun. But what if whoever is leaving these warnings comes back while we're gone—?"

"Better that we
are
gone, then, I think," said Mom firmly.

At least we've got Celia's key,
I thought. Unless she'd made copies.

So Duncan and I set off, walking first to the Coopers to collect the humongous basket Duncan's granny had packed, and then along the winding switchback trail up Castle Hill. We didn't talk much at first. There was an unhappy tension between us and we both knew why. I didn't really believe that either of his grandparents had come to our house and destroyed Ivy's bear, and I had overreacted about the red paint, so I knew I owed him an apology.

"Listen," I mumbled. "I'm sorry, okay? I like your grandparents. And I know other people have red paint." I told him about how I'd met up with Rodney Whitsun and Andrew Parker. "Everybody seems like a suspect, and it feels awful not to trust anybody, and—"

"Not
anybody?
" he asked, reaching for my hand.

"Well," I said, "there's you. I mean, I
want
to trust you."

"But you don't?" He stopped walking and set down the heavy picnic basket. He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him.

"No, I do," I said quietly. "I do trust you."

My heart was beating hard. We were standing there staring into each other's eyes again, just as we had at our kitchen table. But this time there was no anger, no annoyance. This time it was incredible. All my fears seemed to melt away. Bloodstains, beach stones, decimated polar bears, what were any of these to me? Weird voices and visions in my head, strange smells and half memories—what did any of these matter now? Old Tim-whatshisname back in California—who was he? There was only Duncan.

His kiss was sweeter than any cup of tea. We clung to each other there on the switchback path and just didn't want to let go.

A long time later, though, we did. We had to, because a man and his dog were coming toward us. The dog was bounding along, yipping happily as if delighted to have found us. The man, we saw as he drew closer, was the vicar. Outside on this brisk, cold day he seemed a very different sort of person from the long-faced, solemn person who had officiated at Liza's funeral. He greeted us and said what a lovely day for a picnic, then strode on, calling to his dog.

But it was as if the reminder of Liza had cast a shadow over us. Duncan picked up the picnic basket. Hand in hand, we trudged up the rest of the hill.

"I do trust you," I said again. "It's Celia I don't trust." I felt shivery just thinking of her.

"Let's try to forget her for now," Duncan said. "Try to
forget all this mess. It seems that ever since I met you, there's been only trouble." He paused. "That didn't come out right. I mean, because of the murder and all the suspicion and everything, you and I haven't ever just had time to get to know each other the way I ... the way I hoped we would."

Now I felt a different sort of shiver. I squeezed his hand. "I know," I said.

The ground was damp so we sat on the wooden bench with the bird's-eye view of Blackthorn. We opened the basket to find, as Duncan had predicted, a mammoth feast. Chicken sandwiches and fat pickles (
gherkins,
Duncan called them) and chocolate cake and wedges of cheddar cheese and Scottish oatcakes to eat with the cheese. It was all delicious, every last bite.

"The entrance to that tunnel Granny and Grandad were telling you about," Duncan said through a mouthful of cheese, "is back there among the foundation stones somewhere. I remember Quent showed it to me once, when he and my mum brought me up here to fly my kite. It's been boarded over, though, because too many people wanted to go exploring." He stood up and wandered around the edge of the hill to the stand of black-branched blackthorn trees and remnants of the castle walls. "Let's try to find it."

Carrying the second half of my sandwich, I followed him. We climbed on the stones and poked in the crevices but couldn't find any sign of it. I didn't care in the least; I was just having a fine time being with Duncan and feeling for the first time in ages, it seemed, almost carefree.

Giving up on finding the entrance to the ancient tunnel, Duncan collapsed onto one of the low crumbled walls and started picking up fallen white blossoms. I watched
him. He selected a long, thin reed of grass and used it as a string to thread the blossoms onto, making a sort of garland. Okay, I'd make a garland, too. But not his way. The only way I knew to make jewelry out of vegetation was to slit the stem of one flower to push another through ... and so on. Like a daisy chain. There weren't any daisies on Castle Hill, though, so I picked dandelions. Their yellow heads weren't open yet, but the stems were nice and sturdy. Soon my necklace was ready, and I put it over Duncan's head. It wasn't big enough—so it rested on top of his bright hair like a crown.

"Now you," he said. "Come here."

"
All finished now! Come here, come try it on.
"

"
No,
Buzzy
wear it. Pitty necklace for Buzzy!
"

I knelt next to him, trying to ignore the voices in my head. He lifted my long braid out of the way, keeping hold of it for longer than he needed to—and I liked that. Then he fastened the blossom necklace around my neck—but I didn't like that. Somehow I felt a little ripple of unease.

"
All right, Toots. You win. I'll wear the necklace, and treasure it forever. It'll be my good luck charm because it's a present from my precious little Jewel-baby...
"

Those voices again! I reached up, wanting to pull the necklace off and dash it to the ground—but I couldn't do that to Duncan. He wouldn't understand.

I didn't really understand myself. I mean, how could I be uneasy about a lovely flower necklace, made for me by the nicest boy in the world? Why should having it around my neck bring on these fearful, half-formed memories?

"Thanks," I said weakly. "It's beautiful."

"Wear it for good luck," he said with a grin.

"It will be my good luck charm," I whispered, and then
felt a little dizzy. Why did the words make me feel I was being sucked into a whirlpool?

"Hey, are you all right?"

"Yes." I fought my way out of the dizzy spin and blinked at him. "Just tired, I guess. I didn't sleep very well last night after Celia's little visit. And then the thing with Ivy's polar bear."

"We aren't going to talk about Celia—or any of it," he reminded me with a lopsided smile.

"Oh, right, sorry!"

"How about that job offer, then. At the Old Ship?"

"I think I'll try it—if they don't mind that I'm not sixteen yet. At home you have to be sixteen to work—at least officially."

"Go talk to them, anyway. See what they say."

"I will." A chill sea wind blew up Castle Hill from the water, bringing with it a fine, stinging mist that wetted our faces. "It's good we had our picnic when we did," I said resignedly. "But I think we'd better go."

There was a dizziness in my head, and a sort of roaring in my ears—almost as if the ocean were rising in a tidal wave. Almost as if all the strange voices were babbling at once. I pressed my hands to my temples. I felt almost as if the dark shadows of my memory were pressing back.

Pitty necklace for Buzzy!

It'll be my good luck charm because it's a present from my precious little Jewel-baby...

"Picnicking in March is a rare delight," Duncan said, rather poetically. He laughed. "That's what my mum used to say."

I gave him a wan smile. "I think I need to go home, Duncan."

"Or back to my house? Quent's in London, still. We could watch a film. Or to my grandparents' house? We could sit by the fire and talk—"

I didn't want to watch a film. I just wanted—what? To take a nap. Get away from the voices in my head. The thought of having to chat with the Coopers was daunting. "No, I'm really sorry. I just feel really ... tired. Not up to socializing."

"Well, I wish we could just hang out here," he said ruefully, "but I guess it isn't exactly cozy." The castle foundations would offer scant protection once the rain started. I stood up and reached out a hand to pull him up, too. He gave in gracefully. We packed our sandwich wrappings and leftovers into the picnic basket. He wore his dandelion crown all the way down the switchback path, looking like some sort of elfin king. I unhooked my necklace from around my neck, but held it safely in my hands all the way back to the cottage, bending forward to protect it from the wind and rain.

Mom and the Goops were still out when I unlocked the cottage door and stepped inside. I hung up my wet jacket on one of the hooks by the door. Across the room I could see the red light of the answering machine blinking. I peeked into the bathroom first, just to be sure no one was hiding there, then pushed the Play button and sank onto the couch in our sitting room to listen to the message. A wave of sadness engulfed me at the sound of my dad's voice. It was such a double whammy for adopted kids like me and Edmund, who had already lost one set of parents, to have our mom and dad separated like this. And awful for Ivy, too, of course, but in a different way. This was the first earthquake shaking up the security she'd always been able to take for granted. I hated that we weren't all together. I listened to the message twice, just to hear his voice.

 

"
Hey, all my little ones and hello to Mommy, too! Greetings from sunny California, where everything is blooming like crazy, and if murders are happening, it's not to anyone I know. I'm worrying about all of you, having to deal with Liza's death. I was hoping to get a chance to chat with everyone for a while, but you're not home, so I guess I'll try again tomorrow, or soon. When are you getting e-mail, Hedda? What's with this
'back to the cave' stuff, with no Internet service? Oh well, guess I shouldn't complain; at least you've got a phone ... Thanks for your letter, Ivy! I did figure out the code, but it took me about an hour. Love you, too, baby. Edmund, I have your amazing drawing of the pirate ship hanging in my office. It's super! And Jule, I miss you, too, honey. Very, very much.

Okay, kiddos, we'll talk soon. Bye!
"

 

I went slowly up to my room. I had told Duncan I was tired, and so I would try to take a nap. I sank onto my bed, holding the blossom necklace in my lap. I stroked the soft petals. I couldn't wear it, but I didn't want to throw it away. Where could I put it to keep it safe?

I remembered that the necklace Nora had made was stored in the sunroom in that pretty little box inside the basket on the window ledge. I could keep my necklace there, too—and it would be a fitting place, since my necklace had been made by Nora's son.

O, very symbolic!

Smiling, I went down the hall to the sunroom, straight to the basket full of little boxes. I opened the first one and a small collection of tiny seashells spilled into my hand. "Oops, wrong box," I said to myself. I scooped up the shells and put the box back. I looked into the next little box. Dried flowers. The third held feathers. The fourth contained earrings made of shells and feathers. The fifth was empty—no,
almost
empty: One small blackthorn blossom lay in the corner of the box.

This was the box that had held Nora's necklace. I was certain of it. I checked through all the boxes again. No, this
box had to be where the necklace had been. But it was gone now, with only the single blossom left behind.

Baffled, I stood holding the small box in one hand, and my necklace from Duncan in the other. Someone had taken Nora's necklace. But who?

Surely not Mom. Nor the Goops; they didn't even know it was there.

But the necklace had definitely been here when we first moved in. I stood as if in a trance, remembering how I had come up here that first day we'd arrived in Blackthorn, exploring the house, finding the sunroom, opening the box and lifting out the lovely necklace. Liza had come into the room then. She had seemed startled by the sight of me with the necklace, and had demanded to know where I'd found it. She told me then that it was Nora's special necklace.

Special necklace, special necklace...

I felt dizzy again, as I had on Castle Hill with Duncan, and I clutched the window ledge for support. I stared down at the green lawn and the Old Mill House but was not really seeing them. Instead I was seeing something else, someone else: a little girl crawling under a bed, reaching out to grasp what she found there, far back in the corner, dusty and tangled.

Buzzy's special necklace? What was it doing here? And if it was here—then where was Buzzy? Because Buzzy would never, never, never leave her magic charm behind!

I blinked and tried to focus, but the pressure of the shadows was enormous. I clutched my head.

"Buzzy ... Buzzy," I whispered. The shadows shaped themselves into pictures, and I could almost see her now, my first mother, my birth mother. A very young woman,
skinny and blond, with a big smile and a gap between her teeth. Probably a teenage mom with few resources and fewer parenting skills. Probably a drug addict. But sweet to me, I remembered that suddenly. Like a big kid herself. Oh yes, I remembered racing into the waves—back when the beach held no dizzy-making terrors. I remembered gathering shells on the beach. Making necklaces from the shells we found. One special necklace for good luck. A little insignificant sort of thing, but one Buzzy would never willingly have left behind.

I sucked in my breath. I felt I was looking through cloudy glass, trying to see clearly, trying to find my way. I closed my eyes and suddenly the blurriness was gone, and I was remembering Mrs. Thurber at the party, and hearing in my head, just as clearly as if she were speaking to me now, her chirpy voice. She had made a dramatic declaration at the party, something that hadn't really registered then, but now rang with significance:
Nothing short of death would keep me from wearing my stars!
We had all laughed and admired her jewelry.