Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“I don't know. The medical examiner'll tell us, I suppose.” I explained to her about Lolly's body being shipped to Travis County for autopsy. I closed my eyes again, trying not to picture Aunt Lolly struggling, her face turning purple with the effort to draw breath. “If she just had a heart attack, why is a deputy spending the night on the island? They're certainly treating it as a suspicious death.”

“You aren't the least bit curious? I find it decidedly odd that Uncle Jake's heart medication was gone and Aunt Lolly has a sudden heart attack,” Candace said. Great minds do tend to think alike, cliches aside. I didn't answer and she thunked me on the forehead with her finger.

I decided to play devil's advocate, just as Mendez had done. “Maybe we shouldn't see murder everywhere we look. She'd just been told her brother only has a short time to live. Besides, why would anyone want to kill that poor old lady? She wasn't right in the head, as mean as that sounds. She couldn't have been a real threat to anyone, Candace.”

Candace was quiet for a moment. “I don't know. It just bothers me. Jake seemed awful surprised that all his medicine was gone.”

“Okay, let's say someone did poison Aunt Lolly. Who? Why? It seems to me far more likely that she died over shock brought on by Uncle Mutt's announcement than that someone slipped her a Digoxin overdose. And why wouldn't the rest of us be sick? She ate and drank everything that we did.”

“That's not true,” Candace said. “I think she was the only one who had red wine. Everyone else had white wine or beer or hard liquor. Except Gretchen. And Aubrey, who made such a big deal about being a nondrinker. And me. He and I both drank mineral water.”

I bit my lip in thought. “You're right. I wonder if the police know that-”

“They took what was left of her dinner and put it into an evidence bag,” Candace said bluntly. “I saw diem. Unless they were just foraging for leftovers. And they'll have her stomach contents to analyze-”

“This is insane,” I said. “She can't have been poisoned. It's just too crazy. Plus, wouldn't she have been stricken a lot earlier?”

“It might not have affected her immediately,” Candace argued. “I don't know how long it takes a medication like that to affect someone. Neither do you.”

“I did ask the justice of the peace-who seems rather friendly with Uncle Mutt-about how long it takes to get toxicology results. She didn't even blink when I asked.” I rubbed my eyes, weary. “If Lolly was poisoned, the police'll find out. And then we'll all be questioned till we're blue in the face.” I stood up, leaving the warm comfort of her lap. The breeze through the window felt as gentle as an angel's kiss.

“Of course, maybe Lolly wasn't the target.” Candace continued talking to my back. “Did you tell the police about your Hallmark cards from hell?”

I related my conversation with Victor Mendez to her. Candace snorted. “So he's not making a move until he knows for sure whether or not it was natural causes?”

“It's not an unusual course of action, sweetheart.”

“The hell it's not. You've gotten death threats. What's wrong with this man?”

“He's investigating a potential murder in possibly the wealthiest family in the county.” I shrugged. “I imagine he doesn't want to make any mistakes. Period. Assuming there's a link between my letters and Lolly's death is a fair jump on little evidence.” I turned back to the window, watching the maze of stars shine over the bay.

I couldn't get Lolly's purpling face out of my mind. I had seen death before, by violence, and I know its signature- the eyes dimming of light, the curl of the lip in shock and dismay that the final moments are here, the pallid wetness of the tongue in the open cave of the mouth.

I wondered what Uncle Mutt thought of his little dramatic moment now.

Candace stretched and crawled off the bed.

“Good night, sug. Get some sleep. I'll be watching your room from down the hall.”

“I know you fancy yourself as the new Emma Peel, Candace, but you need sleep, too. I'll be fine. I won't be able to sleep if I'm worried that you're not getting any rest.”

I kissed her tenderly, reveling in the warmth of her lips against mine. Someday I would be dead, like Lolly, and whatever afterlife awaited me might not include the gentle pleasure of a kiss. I broke the embrace and nuzzled the top of her head.

“I love you, Jordan.” Her voice was low against my chest, her lips a gentle motion against my T-shirt.

“I love you, too. I think I'll go down to Mutt's library and find me a book. I completely forgot to pack one. I'll stay up and read awhile.”

She slipped off toward her end of the hall while I tiptoed down to the staircase. The house was dark; the family had called it an early evening. I saw rods of light beneath doors, so I knew not everyone slumbered, but we were all modestly tucked in. I did not hear the sound of grieving from any room, and I shivered.

The library was poorly lit, one lamp casting an inadequate glow from a side table. I felt a bit like an intruder, so I didn't turn on the ceiling lights. Plus, I didn't want to disturb the taciturn Deputy Praisner on the porch.

I moved toward one of the bookcases, running a finger along the volumes. Nearly everything seemed to pertain to either Texas history or true crime. The latter category lacked any appeal, given the day's events. But I paused, looking down the spines of an entire shelf. Uncle Mutt had amassed a rather fearsome collection of murder and mayhem. I turned back to the history offerings. I began thumbing through a thin biography of the Republic of Texas's second president-and my hometown's namesake, Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar. “Hello, Mirabeau,” I muttered to myself. “Reading about you should knock me unconscious.”

A voice boomed from a corner chair, “Mirabeau Lamar? He was a right sorry man.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I reached over and flicked on another table light. Uncle Mutt sat in a plush leather chair, a glass of brandy nestled in his hand. I realized he'd been sitting silently in the near dark.

“Sorry, boy. Didn't mean to startle you.” Uncle Mutt's voice was low and raspy. “But Mirabeau Lamar was a turd. He would've killed ever' damn Indian in Texas with a snap of his fingers. Only smart thing he ever did was build the Texas Navy.”

“Oh, you didn't startle me,” I lied. “I just didn't realize that you were there.” I thumped the Lamar biography against my hand, suddenly at a loss for words.

“You may borrow the book, Jordan,” he said softly.

“I-I-” I realized my entire vocabulary had deserted me. I swallowed. “I didn't mean to be poking about in your library, it's just I forgot to bring anything to read with me and I couldn't sleep and so I…” I trailed off.

“Oh, for God's sake. You act like I'm radioactive, boy. You want to sit down and have a brandy with me?”

“Uncle Mutt-Mr. Goertz-I'm really sorry about your sister. I don't want to intrude on your grief. And I'm so sorry that you're sick…” My voice evaporated into the dark air.

“You're not intruding, son. And I told you not to call me Mr. Goertz. I'm your uncle, so you call me Uncle Mutt.” He mouthed his brandy, rolling the liquid in his cheek before swallowing. “I don't figure we've done much to make you feel comfortable.”

My God. He'd lost his sister tonight. He'd told his family he was dying. And he was concerned for my comfort? I wasn't sure if I felt touched or puzzled at his priorities. But then, I didn't know what a dying man's priorities were. “Please don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'm sure I'm still a shock to y'all.”

“We've faced far worse shocks as a family, trust me. And it ain't healthy for a dying man to sit in the dark, thinking about his death or anyone else's. So you'll have a brandy with me?”