Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“Would you bring young'uns around this crowd?” Uncle Jake asked, drawing his blanket tighter around his legs. “I sure as hell wouldn't. Foulmouthed and ornery they are- and I don't mean kids.”

“Anyone got a mirror for old Jake?” Philip murmured from the safety of his chair.

“Well, maybe you and Candace will marry and have kids,” Aunt Lolly offered. She blew a puckered kiss at Can-dace, who stood talking with Deborah. “And then you can bring them to the island for a visit. Wouldn't that be grand?”

Deborah excused herself, and I saw a hot light of anger pulse in her dark eyes. Aunt Lolly rocked back on her heels, as though she'd scored a point in a child's game.

The gathering had thinned: Sass had departed in search of her son, Bob Don and Mutt had excused themselves for several minutes, and Gretchen had gone for a predinner stroll. I pardoned myself from the crowd and headed up to my room.

Candace might have planned to play bodyguard all weekend, but I believed in the direct approach. I'd fetch the profane epistles I'd received and produce them at the dinner table. Make a stand, and make it early. Whoever my correspondent was, let him or her know immediately that I wasn't going to be cowed. If the rest of the family was as shocked as I hoped they'd be, I'd smoke out the culprit early. And get on to the business of fitting in.

Fitting in? I stopped with my hands on the stair, halfway toward the third landing. Did I really want to do that with this clan? I liked Deborah and Mutt and felt ambivalent about the rest. But for Bob Don, I would have to make the effort. I didn't delve into analyzing what my attitude meant toward my relationship with him.

I began climbing the stairs again, but paused as I heard voices whispering below in urgency: “Don't walk away from me! I'm telling you, you better do something now. Now!”

Aunt Sass.

“Don't be silly. He's not a threat.” A voice I didn't know, male, younger, calm, with a slow rasp of a drawl not unlike my own.

“If you blow this-”

I stayed still, not daring to move, chastising myself for eavesdropping.

“You're overreacting, as usual. You've got way, way too many emotional triggers.” The man's voice sounded weary, as though he'd repeated this conversation before with Aunt Sass.

I emboldened myself and thudded my feet along the stairs, turning and heading down to the second-story landing. Aunt Sass stood frozen there, talking with a young fellow around my age. He had brown hair, with the trademark Goertz blue eyes. A band of freckles across his nose invested his face with a boyish air. His countenance looked oddly familiar, in the way that an actor sometimes will on the late show. You know you've seen him before but you can't place him.

I greeted Aunt Sass with a nonchalant smile that suggested that I hadn't heard a word of her demanded murmurings to the young man. “Hi, Aunt Sass. You're sure you don't mind me calling you that?”

“Of course not, honey. You're my brother's boy, after all.” Her lipsticked smile worked itself into broadness. “And I want you to meet your cousin. This is my son, Aubrey Keller. Aubrey, this is Bob Don's long-lost boy, Jordan Goertz.”

Aubrey flailed my hand with an intense grip. His smile lasered me. I was under a mortar barrage of enthusiasm. “Jordan! Absolutely great to meet you! Welcome to the family.”

I returned his handshake with a little less verve-after all, I wasn't fueled by a nuclear reactor, and Aubrey apparently was. “Thanks, Aubrey, it's nice to meet you, too. But, Aunt Sass, my name's not Goertz. It's Poteet.”

“Poteet? You're not using Bob Don's name?” Her eyes narrowed and her voice fell back to a whisper.

“No, I'm not,” I answered, trying not to sound defensive. Not acknowledging Bob Don, I realized belatedly, might seem boorish to my new relations. I pressed onward. “My name's always been Poteet and I just decided to keep the one I grew up with. Seemed easiest.”

“Of course.” She smiled again and I wondered if joy ever evoked her grin. Aubrey's smile seemed warmer if a tad saccharine. I wondered again where I'd seen him before.

“Excuse me, I need to wash before dinner.” I pardoned myself and went up the remainder of the stairs. I didn't tarry to find out who Aubrey and Sass were arguing about-but an unpleasant tickle at the base of my spine suggested it might be me.

I'd secreted the heinous communications in an interior lining of my suitcase. I retrieved them and carefully placed them in the inside pocket of my seersucker jacket. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. Whatever big proclamation Mutt had planned would be eclipsed by my announcement. I wasn't about to be intimidated by bloodied Hallmark cards. I'd teach these folks to try to bully Jordan Poteet.

Or, perhaps, I reflected, I wouldn't have to make the accusations myself. If I told Uncle Mutt what'd been happening, he'd explode and he could play bad cop. He'd even be more likely to spot the culprit than I would. The Goertzes were obviously much more likely to be browbeaten by Mutt than by me. I congratulated myself on the excellence of my idea. Unless they were one of those families that stuck together through sick and sin. Probably not, given the sniping over cocktails.

I headed back downstairs, to find that the gathering in the den had spilled out onto the wraparound porch, where the family watched the setting sun turn the Gulf waves molten with light. The den had emptied, except for Rufus Beaulac lolling in a chair, drinking beer and watching a Rangers baseball game on a huge television.

“Where's Uncle Mutt?” I asked.

He waited until the batter swung and missed before he answered. “Off in the kitchen, helping the cook.” He giggled. “Yeah, he's probably helpin' her slice and dice and julienne-fry. Can't hardly lose no more fingers, can he?” Rufus was either well on his way to inebriation or fancied himself damn funny. His comment produced a gale of laughter, but only from him.

“And which way's the kitchen?”

He gestured with the beer can. “Go back through the entrance hall, the big dining room, then to your left. Kitchen's back there.”

I followed his directions, ambling through rooms full of antique furniture, all arranged with a careful eye to give the entire house the rough ambience of a hunting lodge. The dining room was large, as befitting houses of its era, and I gently pushed on the service door that led to the kitchen.

I saw them before they saw me-Uncle Mutt talking softly, his voice cajoling, his hands on the soft shoulders of a young woman who was stirring food in a pot. She leaned slightly back against him and laughed at his whisper.

“No, Emmett,” I heard her say clearly, her voice a sweet bell. She could not have been over twenty-five. I could not see her face, but her hair was long and ebony, tied back in a ponytail.

He laughed quietly and whispered again, rubbing his palms against her smooth hips. I could imagine the heat of her body. She laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder as he wrapped both arms around her.

I stepped back out of the kitchen, an intruder in a private moment, letting the door ease back into place. Uncle Mutt murmuring sweet nothings to a woman a third his age? No wonder this family was so god-awful tense. And I thought I knew, with a blush, exactly what his momentous announcement might be.

Supper was excruciating. Not that the food was bad; hardly so. The pork tenderloin was tender and delicately spiced, the green beans freshly steamed and brimming with flavor, the marinated carrots chilled and tangy, the salad crisp, the wines Texas-made, dry and flavorful.

But I expected a family dinner to be convivial, a chance to laugh and hear time-honored stories that are customarily retold at these gatherings. The web of love that meshes a clan together should shine at these moments, even when relatives sometimes don't always get along.