“They think the Scorecard Rapist used a date-rape drug.”
“Yes, well, the possibility that drugs were involved explained Sara’s panic. I panicked, too. So did your father. That’s why I canceled the conference and why Richard and I made sure that you were never alone that week. We didn’t relax until I got the call from Sara saying that Brinker was believed to be dead and that you were safe.”
“I remember,” Lucy said. “You and Dad never let me out of your sight. You even made me sit in on your classes so that I was never alone.”
“We were both very worried. We talked about going to the police, but we had nothing but Sara’s suspicions to go on. Let me tell you, Richard and I were never so relieved in our lives as we were when we got the call from Sara telling us that Tristan Brinker was believed dead.”
Memories of that week floated through Lucy’s mind. She had not really understood what was going on. But she had sensed that somehow her parents were united that week, bound together by their mutual love for her. In her teenage naiveté she had even dared to hope that they would dump their new spouses and remarry each other. That little fantasy had, of course, been shattered once the call from Sara had assured Ellen and Richard that the danger was past.
“The only other thing I can remember is that, in addition to being worried about your safety, Sara was also concerned for the young man who brought you home that night,” Ellen said.
“Mason. His name is Mason Fletcher.”
“Mason Fletcher, yes.”
“She was afraid that he might be in danger?”
“I got that impression. I think what alarmed her was the possibility that he might try to deal with Brinker himself. She said she did not want him to do that.”
“Aunt Sara was worried about both of us.”
“So she got rid of the source of the problem. Permanently. Who knew your aunt had such a fierce side? It must have been incredibly traumatic for her. And it does explain the changes in her behavior. She was never quite the same after that summer.”
Lucy opened a drawer and studied a tumbled array of yoga tops. “The shadow.”
“What?”
“There seemed to be a shadow around her after that summer. Even when she was enjoying herself, you could feel it.”
“I don’t know what you mean by a shadow, but given what we now know, it’s highly probable that she suffered some post-traumatic stress. Perhaps that’s what you detected.”
“Yes.” A thought struck Lucy. “But I never noticed the same shadow around Mary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think Sara kept her secret even from Mary. Sara probably didn’t want to burden her with the knowledge. Or, as Mason suggested, maybe she didn’t want to take the risk that Mary might accidentally let the secret slip. Whatever the case, Sara carried the full weight of killing Brinker to her grave.”
“Evidently.” There was a short silence on Ellen’s end of the connection. “Speaking of Mason, I’m a little sorry to hear that he is there in Summer River.”
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“Sara always felt that Mason had a lot of potential and would someday make something of himself. I take it that didn’t happen.”
“Mason never had to make something of himself.” Lucy crossed the room to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. “He is now what he was intended to become.”
“Dear, you know it annoys me when you talk like Sara. I can’t translate that New Age jargon. What on earth are you trying to say?”
There was no explaining Mason, Lucy decided. “Never mind. Mason doesn’t live here in Summer River. He’s just visiting, spending some time with his uncle. Mason went into law enforcement.”
“I see.” There was a faint, significant pause. “He’s a cop?”
It wasn’t disapproval in her mother’s voice, Lucy decided—more like a tinge of disappointment, as if Ellen had hoped to hear that Mason had obtained a Ph.D. in quantum physics or chemistry. Lucy knew that note well. She had heard the same regret in the voices of both of her parents when she had informed them that she was going to work as a forensic genealogist. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to grad school?” Ellen had asked. “You have so much potential, dear.” Her father had been more blunt: “You’re wasting your education. Genealogy isn’t a profession, it’s a hobby. You don’t need a degree to draw up a family tree. Any sixth-grader with a computer can go online and find out where her great-great-grandparents were born.”
“Mason was a homicide detective for a few years,” Lucy said. “Now he and his brother run a security consulting company.”
“Do you mean one of those companies that supplies guards for shopping malls and office buildings?”
“More like one of those companies that solves old murder cases.”
“It sounds very macabre.” Ellen paused. “Is there any money in it?”
“Evidently, there is if you’re good at it. Mason and his brother are very good. But I don’t think Mason does it for the money. He finds the work . . . satisfying, I think.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy, psychologically speaking.”
Lucy closed one drawer and opened another. “We need people like Mason. And I’m pretty sure he was born to do that kind of work. Look, I’ve got to run, Mom. Lots to do today.”
“What, exactly, are you doing? I thought I heard a door close a moment ago, and now it sounds like you’re opening and closing doors.”
“I’m in Sara’s bedroom, getting things organized so I can pack up her belongings and dispose of them. She certainly accumulated a lot of stuff. Not to mention the antiques she kept after she and Mary closed their shop.”
“She lived in that house all her life. I don’t think she ever threw anything away. And do be careful when it comes to disposing of those antiques. Most of them will no doubt be valuable.”
“Dad said to bring in an estate appraiser.”
“Good idea. How long are you planning to stay in Summer River?”
Lucy opened another drawer and looked at a tangled heap of cotton and flannel nightgowns, most embroidered with flowers.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I took two weeks of vacation time from Brookhouse. It may take me that long to sort things out here. I need to do some work on the house to get it ready to put on the market.”