Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

His use of my first name suddenly changed the air in the room-and I felt the need to vent and was glad Mendez had picked up on my frustration. “Fine. Something's wrong here. First I get these abusive letters. Then I get to sit through a dinner that's so thick with tension it's practically on the menu. Lolly verbally attacks the entire family, Mutt tells us he's dying, and Lolly drops dead.” I shook my head.

“I keep thinking this family isn't exactly knit together right. Something's off in the weave, so to speak. And Uncle Mutt-”

“Mr. Emmett's done lots of good works for folks in this county,” Mendez interrupted. His expression hardened. “There's no need to cry murder until we get the autopsy results. I assure you, if someone's murdered his sister, we'll find out who did it.”

“Even if it was a family member?” I asked.

“Especially if it was a family member,” Yarbrough interjected. “Thank you for your statement, Jordan.” She gathered her papers up and rattled them into order.

Mendez stood and gestured toward the cards. “I'd like to keep these for evidence.”

I nodded. “And I'll bag up my clothes for you.”

“Let me know if you get any more threatening messages, Mr. Poteet,” Mendez said. The interview was over.

I stood to leave. “One question-are y'all going to tell people my uncle's dying?”

Mendez's eyes met mine and I saw sadness in them. “Mr. Emmett's business is his own. Not mine, as long as he's not breaking the law.”

“Absolutely,” Yarbrough chimed in. Real pain flashed across her face briefly, as though news of Mutt's death was a physical prod to her. I wanted to ask Tricia Yarbrough what Mutt was to her-but I didn't.

I dabbed my tongue on my dry lips. What I was about to say might make me a traitor in Bob Don's eyes, but I couldn't hold my silence. “Tonight-at the dinner table- Aunt Lolly mentioned there'd been another murder in this family. Years ago, Bob Don's brother killed his wife. Did you know?”

Mendez's expression told me he hadn't. Yarbrough's told me she had. Neither commented-I saw Yarbrough give Mendez one of those I'll tell you later looks.

Dismissed, I left the room feeling just as ill as when I'd arrived. I went upstairs, pulled off my sour-smelling garments, donned a robe, and hurried back downstairs to the front porch. One of Mendez's investigators bagged my clothes and gave me a receipt for them. I could see a dark body bag being loaded on the Coast Guard helicopter. Lolly.

Mendez came up behind me. “One of my men will be spending the night here, Mr. Poteet.” He gestured toward a compactly built officer who stood near the porch swing, all spit and polish. “You let Deputy Praisner know if you need anything, all right?”

“Of course.” I paused. “Your leaving an officer here overnight suggests maybe you don't think Lolly's death was of natural causes.”

“Don't conjecture so much, Jordan. Leave that to us.” Mendez turned abruptly and went back inside. I stood for a moment, watching the helicopter in which they'd placed Lolly's remains.

Deputy Praisner fixed a baleful eye on me. I bade him good night and went back inside, desperate for a shower. As I passed Mutt's study I could hear his voice raised in anger, followed by Tricia Yarbrough's calm alto. Mendez spoke a few indistinct words, then Mutt railed again. I headed up the stairs, suddenly and tremendously tired.

On the way up to my room, I stopped by Bob Don and Gretchen's room-everyone had turned in for the night, dulled with shock over Lolly's death. I knocked. I heard someone shuffling out of bed and then the door opened a hair.

“Son,” Bob Don said, opening the door and stepping outside. He eased the door shut behind him, but not before I saw Gretchen curled into a fetal ball under the covers. “How you?”

“I'm fine. Okay. How are you?”

“Holding up.” He gestured at the shut door. “Gretchen's awful upset. You can imagine.” He shrugged. “Just can't believe that Lolly's gone. Just can't believe it.” His voice shook. “And Uncle Mutt's dying-” He didn't finish his sentence.

He almost looked like a little boy, his usually perfectly big-styled blond hair a messy mop, his blue eyes baggy with restlessness. I reached out, awkwardly, for him. I pressed my fingers against the fabric of his pajama top, feeling the roundness of his broad shoulder beneath. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. That was from some old poem about family, wasn't it? “I am so sorry, Bob Don. So very sorry.”

He touched the back of my hand with his own. “Thanks, son. It means the world to me that you're here. I'm so grateful.”

I wanted to tell him about my conversation with Mendez-about my fears, about my suspicions, about the hateful diatribes I'd received in the mail. But I couldn't, not now. His grief was too fresh to bear further wounding. Morning would be here soon enough. And I still reeked of Lolly's puke.

“Uh, do you want to talk?” I offered. I did not reach out to him often, but I could hardly be reticent now.

“I need to get some rest,” he muttered, and broke away from my grip. “I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

“All right. In the morning.” He retreated to the bedroom and shut the door. I stared at the doorknob, listening to the quiet of the old house. My imagination made me hear a footfall along the darkened hallway, and I hurried to the stairs, to the comfort of my own room and a long hot shower.

From my bedroom window, I listened to the waves lapping across the bay. The helicopter had risen like a gargantuan bug several minutes ago, arrowing toward land. Moonlight silvered the water, making the wind-gusted swells resemble trenches of metal. I thought again of those brave Texans aboard the Reliant, their ghosts entombed beneath the waters. I felt isolated.

I wondered, for a brief moment, if this was how someone surrounded by a moat felt if they didn't have a key to the drawbridge.

A knock rapped at my door and I murmured, “Come in.”

Candace came in, bedecked in cutoffs and a T-shirt from the Bonaparte County Fair. She looked absolutely adorable in them and I felt a grin, for the first time in hours, tug at my mouth.

“Hey.” I kissed her softly. “How you?”

“Okay. Awful tired. How are you feeling, sweetie?”

“Don't use that word, please.” I shuddered.

Candace clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God. Sorry.”

I wanted to go a few minutes without thinking about Aunt Lolly. Horribly selfish of me, but I'm only being honest. I tried lightening the conversation. “Look at you, running around kissing boys at midnight. It might be a family scandal. You might get your own chapter in Aubrey's book now. And whatever would dear Aunt Sass say?”

She brushed a tendril of her chestnut-dark hair off her face. “I don't care what that old biddy says. What a terribly cold woman she is, Jordy.” She sat down cross-legged on my bed. “Her own aunt dies and she hardly changes expression.”

I shrugged. “People show grief in different ways. You want to stay with me tonight after all?”

“Is that how you show grief, mister?” She smiled, then frowned. “Oh, God, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. How are you really feeling, sug?”

I lay down on the bed and she cradled my head into her lap. I closed my eyes. “I don't know what I should feel. Bob Don seems shocked, Gretchen's acting devastated. I know that Lolly was my great-aunt, but she came into and left my life in a matter of hours. I don't feel sad so much as shocked. She was pretty awful to Deborah.”

“Yes, she was.” Candace gently stroked my hair. “She didn't strike me as a happy woman.”

I groaned. “Poor old thing.”

“So you think she just had a heart attack?” Candace's voice was measured.