Love Lies Bleeding Read online

  “That’s okay . . . it’s . . . um . . . well . . . we’ve been busy lately. I’ve put in some pretty long hours, so I’ve been turning in earlier when I can.”

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “I’ll let you go so you can get back to sleep.”

  “No, really, it’s okay. What’s up?”

  “Nothing . . .” She hesitated. “I was just wondering how everything’s going.”

  There was a long pause on the line

  “Fine . . . good,” Dan answered cautiously.

  “Did you land the Schwitzer account?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is everything going well in the art department?”

  “About like normal,” he replied, not really answering her question.

  She plucked at the blanket and felt her desperation rise. “Having any problems with Marcus? Maybe I could give you some advice on how to handle him.” She tried to chuckle. “You know how those artsy types are. Always going off on a tangent and ignoring the client’s wishes.”

  “We’ve had a few disagreements, but not bad.”

  “Nothing like the time he wanted to use a purple-and-pink background in the ad for the sporting-goods company?”

  She heard him hesitate.

  “No, nothing like that,” he said finally.

  “That’s good. How about Ed? Is—”

  “Let’s not talk about the agency,” he said, cutting her off. “How are you doing? Are you enjoying the lake? Your dad said Jackson had spent a summer there when he was a teenager and loved it. That’s why he suggested they send you there,” he said, suddenly talkative. “It must be beautiful this time of year.”

  Sam thought about the darkness waiting outside the cabin windows, thought about what lurked in the woods ringing the property.

  “Oh, sure,” she lied. “It’s great up here; really, ah, peaceful.”

  “Is Jackson staying up there with you?”

  “No, he has too many patients to take the whole summer off. He’ll be driving up on the weekends.”

  Dan laughed. “We ought to know . . . it’s all about image, isn’t it. A plastic surgeon’s life has to be pretty hectic. All those women who want it nipped, tucked, and sucked.” His tone grew serious. “It’s good your dad’s hired someone to look after you while Jackson’s gone. It’s going—”

  “What?” she broke in, frowning. “Dad’s hired someone to stay with me?”

  “Ah, well,” he stammered. “Lawrence mentioned that they’ve hired a woman, a physical therapy assistant, to help you.”

  “A nursemaid,” she stated flatly.

  “He—he didn’t say she’d be living with you. I’m—I’m—”

  Sam sighed into the receiver. “Don’t worry, Dan. I’ll talk to Dad about it. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  “You won’t tell him I told you, will you?” he asked with a twinge of fear in his voice.

  “No.”

  Dan cleared his throat and his tone became stronger. “With you being alone during the week, I know he’s worried . . .”

  About her mental stability, she thought, filling in the blank.

  “He’s only trying to protect you,” Dan finished.

  Protect her? A realization hit her. “Dad told you not to talk to me about work, didn’t he?”

  “Um, well . . .” His voice trailed away.

  Dan always blushed easily, and Sam could imagine the pink infusing his pale face.

  “He wants you to concentrate on your recovery,” Dan blurted out. “He doesn’t want you to worry about what’s happening down here in Minneapolis.”

  “But, Dan,” she pleaded, “I need—”

  “I agree with him,” he forcefully interrupted her. “You know how much stress there is down here, and your dad knows that you don’t need it.”

  Great, everyone knew what she needed better than she did. She closed her eyes and shook her head. There was no point in arguing with him. Dan was a company man, and there was no way he’d ever go against Lawrence Moore.

  “He’s probably right,” she said, defeated.

  A soft chuckle sounded in her ear. “Lawrence is always right.”

  “Look, I’ve kept you long enough. Sorry for waking you.”

  “Not a problem, Sam. I miss you.” He paused. “One last thing—the paintings in my, er, your office?”

  “The cityscapes that I did in college?”

  “Yeah. Lawrence had your office redecorated—”

  “Really?” she asked, not hiding the irritation in her voice.

  “Yes, but he had a good reason,” Dan said, rushing in. “He wanted it to have a fresh look when you came back.” He hurried on before she could respond. “He suggested we donate them to the charity auction that they’re having for the Minnesota Museum of American Art, but I thought you might want them. I’ll ship them to you.”

  A thousand thoughts cruised through her mind, but she knew Dan wouldn’t understand them any better than Jackson or her parents did.

  “Thanks,” she said simply.

  “You’re welcome. I knew it was the right thing to do,” Dan said proudly. “You’d better get some sleep, Sam. Great talking to you,” he said before he clicked off his phone.

  “Bye, Dan,” she said to empty air, feeling like a door had just been slammed in her face.

  Chapter Two

  Anne Weaver never walked, she marched. Today, her long legs ate up the distance between her car and the small house she shared with her teenage son, Caleb. She stopped midstride as her eyes took in her yard with its thin blades of grass fighting for a toehold in the sandy soil and the white trim around the windows, badly in need of a new paint job.

  Where was Caleb? He should be helping her lug all these groceries inside. With a shake of her head, she hoisted the bags higher in her arms and mounted the steps of the porch. As she yanked the screen door open with one hand, her ears were assaulted by the loud voice of a TV announcer assuring her for only $19.95 his product could tackle any laundry problem she had.

  Guess she knew where Caleb was—plopped on the couch, his size-eleven feet dangling over the arm. That kid would lose his hearing if he didn’t start turning down the volume on the TV.

  Groaning, she continued her way down the short hallway to the kitchen located at the back of the house.

  “Caleb!” she yelled over the sound as she set the bags of groceries on the counter. “Turn the TV down!”

  The TV continued to blare.

  “Caleb!”

  “What?” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Jerking her hand to her chest, she spun around to see her son grinning at her. “That’s not funny . . . sneaking up on me. I could have had a heart attack,” she said with a stern look.

  Dressed in a navy T-shirt and cutoffs, Caleb rolled his eyes while his grin widened into a smile.

  Watching him, she was struck by how much he’d grown over the past year. Why, he could look her straight in the eye now.

  Her expression softened, and without thinking, she brushed a shock of blond hair off his forehead. “Where were you?”

  “Out in the garage,” he said, pulling one of the bags close to check out the contents.

  “And you left the TV—”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll shut it off.” Caleb lumbered out of the kitchen. A minute later, the living room fell silent.

  “Finally,” Anne muttered to herself while she unpacked the groceries.

  Returning to the kitchen, Caleb grabbed one of the bags again and started to rummage through it. “Get anything good?”

  Yanking the sack toward her, she removed a bag of carrots and waved them in front of his face. “These.”

  “Oh, yum,” he shot back as he foraged through another sack. “No chips or salsa?”

  “Carrots are healthier,” she said, placing them on the counter. She didn’t add the words and cheaper. Ever since that kid had hit puberty, it was impossible to keep food in the house. Anything in the fridge was
fair game, just as long as it hadn’t turned green and fuzzy. And even then, she suspected he scraped off the fuzz and ate it anyway.

  Caleb jumped up on the counter, his long legs dangling, and ripped open the bag of carrots. “So, are you excited about your new job?” he asked between chomps.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, opening the refrigerator and placing the ketchup next to the bottle of mustard. Moving the bottle of mayonnaise to the left, she placed a jar of pickles by the mustard. “I haven’t met the patient yet, only her father and fiancé.”

  Caleb didn’t speak for a moment while his mother rearranged the contents of the fridge. Finally, he broke his silence.

  “Why are you nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous,” Anne replied, glancing over her shoulder at her son.

  Caleb hopped off the counter and crossed the short space between them. “Hmm.” He pointed to the straight row of condiments. “Ketchup, mustard, pickles, mayo. All you’re missing is a hamburger and bun.” Placing his hands on his knees, he leaned forward and peered at the second shelf. “And here we have milk and Hershey’s chocolate side by side, then on the next shelf—”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, swinging the door shut. “I get it. I’m grouping again.”

  He relaxed against the fridge and cocked his head. “At least this time you didn’t alphabetize everything.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, she gave him a wry look before moving to the sink. She picked up the dishcloth and began wiping down the clean counter.

  Caleb followed. Laying a hand on his mother’s, he stilled her swift movements. “So? What’s bugging you?”

  With a sigh, she let go of the cloth and turned, propping a hip against the counter. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. “I don’t know . . . during my interview with Mr. Moore and Dr. Van Horn, I couldn’t help thinking that they were leaving things out.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe her injuries are more severe than they were letting on.” She gave a slight shrug. “The whole conversation was just ‘off ’ somehow.”

  He dropped a hand on her shoulder. “You worry too much, Mom.”

  “You know, Caleb, you would, too, if . . . oh, never mind.” She pushed off from the counter and walked over to her purse sitting on the kitchen table. Taking out her checkbook and pen, she quickly deducted the grocery check from her balance. With a frown, she slapped the checkbook shut and tossed it and the pen into her bag.

  “Not good?” he asked, noticing her expression.

  Feeling Caleb’s eyes still on her, Anne forced a smile. “Ah, it’ll be okay,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “I’d hoped Mr. Moore would offer more, but I’ll still be able to sock at least part of it into your college fund.”

  Caleb looked away. “What’s the deal with this lady?” he asked, snagging a handful of carrots. “Everyone at Esther’s was talking about her.”

  “Samantha Moore?”

  He nodded.

  “As she was leaving work, she was attacked in the parking garage by a group of young men—”

  “A gang?”

  Anne nodded. “It sounds like it. They really don’t know. She was beaten and, during the beating, sustained a head injury that put her in a coma. When she came out of it, she couldn’t give the police much of a description, but a security guard saw her attackers running away. He thought they were wearing gang colors.”

  She eyed her son. What if they’d been forced to stay in the Cities? In some crummy apartment. Would Caleb have been sucked into that life, too? The thought made her shiver. They’d been so lucky . . . her getting a job as a physical therapy assistant at the county hospital in Pardo and inheriting this house from her grandmother. It had been a struggle. Raising a kid alone. It seemed that there was never enough money, but they got by. And now, in another year, Caleb would be off to college to major in prelaw. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes she had. His life would be better, easier. She was determined to make it so.

  Lost in her thoughts, she missed the remark Caleb had just made. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Um, well.” He traced a seam in the worn linoleum with the toe of his tennis shoe. “I said I ran into Teddy Brighton today, and—”

  “Caleb!” she exclaimed, cutting him off. “That kid’s bad news. How many times have I told you to stay away from him?”

  “Jeez, Mom, he’s not that bad.”

  Anne’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringed bangs. “Really? Tell that to the Abernathys, Greg, Fritz Thorpe,” she said, her fingers ticking off each name, “the Mich—”

  Caleb grasped her hand to stop her. “It was just a harmless prank. No one was hurt.”

  “You’re right, no one was injured, but untying all those boats last summer and setting them adrift was not harmless.” She squeezed his hand that was holding hers for emphasis. “It not only inconvenienced those people, but their boats could’ve been damaged, floating around the lake like that.”

  “Mr. Brighton took care of it,” he argued. “He pulled all the boats back in and made Teddy apologize to everyone.”

  “Humph,” she snorted, releasing his hand. “One of these days, Teddy’s going to do something that his dad can’t fix.”

  “No, he won’t. He’s changed. I think military school straightened him out.”

  “I don’t care if that school named him student of the year, I still don’t want you hanging out with him.”

  “But just listen.” His voice took on a note of excitement. “He’s going to be up here all summer and his folks are letting him have a party in a couple of weeks. He asked me if my band would play—”

  “Caleb—”

  “Mom, come on,” he pleaded. “He said he’d pay us.”

  “Right. And you’ll be using the money to bail yourself out of jail.” She drilled him with her eyes. “Do you remember the last party Teddy had? The cops busted it and several kids got hauled in for underage drinking. You’re almost eighteen now. Soon they’ll be able to arrest you and print your name in the paper.”

  “Mom,” he argued in a determined voice, “it’s just a job. I won’t be partying with Teddy and his friends.”

  “You’d better not,” she said with a quick nod. “The Brightons have always let Teddy run wild, and I’m not—”

  “Look,” he interrupted, “it’s not only a chance to make money with the band. Mr. Brighton’s got connections and—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of connections?”

  Caleb dropped his head and wouldn’t look at her. “With a recording studio in Minneapolis,” he mumbled.

  Exasperated, she crossed the kitchen and, grabbing the dishcloth, began to furiously wipe off the counter again. “It’s a pipe dream. For every band that makes it, thousands don’t. I’m not going to let you throw away your education to go chasing after something that’ll never happen.”

  His head shot up. “You mean like you did?”

  Tossing the cloth in the sink, she whirled on him. “Yes. Exactly like me.”

  “But I’m good, Mom, really good.” Lifting his chin, he looked her square in the eye. “Even Mr. Thorpe says so, and you know how picky he is.”

  “I should’ve never sent you to him for piano lessons,” she muttered.

  “Wouldn’t have made a difference. Mr. Thorpe didn’t teach me guitar. I taught myself,” he replied defensively. “I can do it, Mom, I know I can. Just because you didn’t make it as a model in New York doesn’t mean I won’t make it as a musician. It’s different!”

  Fisting her hands on her hips, Anne glared at him. “We’re not going to discuss this now,” she insisted. “You still have another year of high school. You need to focus on school.”

  A mutinous look pinched Caleb’s face. God, she thought, he’s so young. He doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t understand how life can chew you up and spit you out.

  “I don’t want to argue,” she said, passing a hand across her forehead
. Dropping it, she turned and opened a cupboard door. “Dang it, I forgot bread.” With a sigh, she grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and fished out her car keys. “I’ve got to run down to Dunlap’s,” she said, referring to the small country store and gas station located two miles from the lake. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She glanced over her shoulder at Caleb, leaning against the counter, and stopped.

  His face still wore a defiant expression and his eyes were angry and hard. Without a word, he shoved away from the counter and brushed past her as he strode into the living room. A moment later, the TV blared.

  The argument with Caleb still troubled Anne as she pulled her car into the small parking lot at Dunlap’s and stopped. She hated fighting with him, but she couldn’t let him pursue this cockeyed dream. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she took several deep breaths. She had to play it smart. She knew from experience that the more she hassled him about going to college, the harder he’d resist her. It had been so much easier when he was four and she was bigger than him. When he didn’t listen to her, all she had to do was give him a “time-out.” Unfortunately, time-outs didn’t work so well with eighteen-year-olds. The sudden image of Caleb’s now-lanky frame folded onto his little desk chair that he’d used as a kid made her smile.

  Raising her head, she shut off the car and pocketed the keys. They’d work it out. Somehow she’d figure out a way to show him the foolishness of his plan. Somehow she’d convince him her way was better.

  The sound of cars whizzing by caught Anne’s attention.

  Dunlap’s sat at the intersection of two main highways. Head north and you’d wind up in Duluth . . . head west and you’d find yourself in North Dakota. It was a prime location and Esther Dunlap made the most of it. A grocery store/motel/gas station; she fleeced not only the local residents and vacationers with her inflated prices, but also weary travelers by offering something other than convenience-store fare. Homemade sandwiches, pastries, fresh baked pies, premium ice cream. So what if you paid twice what you would in a larger town? So what if the gas was at least a nickel more than at the Shell station twenty miles down the road? Esther had a corner on the market and she knew it.