Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“I'm sorry, Philip. I just looked outside and saw how pretty it was and I'm afraid I forgot myself.”

“It's all right. It's not like you knew her or loved her. Why should you care if she's gone?”

I walked in so he had to look at me. “You're right. I didn't get the time to be close to Lolly. But I'm terribly sorry that she's dead.” I sat on the ottoman across from him, forcing him to either be unusually rude or to look at me. He glanced at me with his blank, bone-white face. “Were you very close to her?”

“Lolly didn't have any kids of her own. She couldn't. She'd tell you about it if you gave her half a chance, like her barrenness was a suitable topic for casual conversation. She just never gave much thought to propriety.” Philip shrugged. “I guess I loved her in the way you're supposed to love relatives.” He glanced at me as though to assure me I did not yet fall into that category. His words were an eerie echo of Aubrey's. “She and I understood each other, we got along. She wasn't like Uncle Mutt.”

I paused for a moment. “He's not exactly shy about sharing one's personal troubles with others, is he?”

Philip shook his head. “Learn from me, cousin.” He made his final word sound vaguely dirty. “Don't ever turn to Uncle Mutt if you're in trouble. He'd just as soon crucify you as help you.” He got up and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from an elegant silver pot. He didn't offer me a cup.

“I take it you had some financial trouble you needed Uncle Mutt's help with.” I was inching onto shaky ground here. It was none of my business.

“You're a clever boy, to have noticed,” Philip slurped at his coffee and went for the quick diversion. “Tell me, what do you think of our joyful little tribe?”

“Hardly joyful now.”

“No, I suppose not. Lolly dead-I just feel numb.” I heard the creak of leather as Philip settled back in his chair. I plucked a book off the shelves at random and began to page through it.

“Can't stay away from books, huh?” Philip asked. “You probably do make for a good librarian.”

“I try to do a good job.”

“So what're librarians pulling down as salaries these days? High teens? Low twenties?”

I shrugged at the derision in his voice. “It's not an occupation anyone enters for money, Philip.”

“Probably helps that Bob Don is rolling in cash, huh?”

I slowly replaced the book-a biography of Civil War hero Dick Dowling-on the shelf. “Bob Don's a generous man.”

“And I heard Gretchen bragging to Aunt Sass that your little girlfriend's got a mighty thick wallet.”

“And your point is what, Philip?” I turned to face him, my arms crossed.

He dabbed a coffee-stained napkin at his lips, which were oddly red, like a woman's. “Must be difficult, being around folks that got plenty and you ain't got diddly.”

“It doesn't bother me none, Philip. Does it bother you?”

The words jolted him. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I'm just curious as to why you'd take all that guff from Uncle Mutt about your wasteful financial habits. Could it be you really, really need him to bail your ass out of the fire?”

He glared at me with undisguised contempt. “Maybe I do. But at least I've got every right to his money. You don't.”

“I don't want his money-”

“Save it for morons like Gretchen and Bob Don.” He laughed. “You don't fool me for one blessed second. In fact, I'm not the only one who'd like to see some DNA proof or the like that you're really a Goertz. After all, we just got your word and Bob Don's. And while he's stupid as the day is long, even he might be able to cook up a scheme to get his hands on more of Mutt's money.”

I leaned down and seized his collar, yanking his deadweight up from the chair. My strength surprised him-and me.

“Listen,” I said softly to him. “You ever say anything bad about Bob Don again to me, and I'll clean up the floor with your ass. He's not a liar. And neither am I.”

“My, my, physical threats. How very unlibrarianlike of you.” He met my stare with his own, his blue eyes lightless like pebbles in a stream.

“Give it up, Philip.” I turned to leave, tired of his innuendo and threats.

“You're not going to win, Jordan.”

I paused by the door. “Win what? I told you, I'm not after Uncle Mutt's money. Get that through your thick skull.”

Philip stood, straightening his polo shirt where I'd pulled on it and tucking a hand over the heavy, ugly, braided gold chain at his neck. “Don't cross me. It's a real serious mistake.”

“Are you threatening me?” I asked in a low voice. I almost hoped he'd say yes; my fist ached to throw a punch into his sneering face.

Philip Bedrich smiled softly. “Famous last words, cousin. Famous last words.”

I stormed down to the beach, anger cours ing through my marrow. I despise bullies of any sort and I particularly disliked Philip. So much for cousinly accord. He'd struck a sore spot with me and I'd seen he knew so in his beady, damp eyes.

I felt hot shame that Philip might have detected any vestige of greed in my face. I was here for Bob Don's sake; and no one else's. How could I have known that Uncle Mutt was dying? No one-

I stopped dead in my tracks, nearly stumbling over the sand-gritted balloon of a beached jellyfish. Philip implied that I'd come here for the sole reason of cajoling my way into Uncle Mutt's will. But how was I to know his will would be put into use soon? I couldn't. No one knew that Mutt was dying-or did they? Had Philip known? Was that why he was willing to endure Mutt's jabs, knowing that they were destined to end soon? The thought gave me definite pause.

And the hatred that oozed from this family: the venom of Aunt Sass, the callow threats of Philip, the deliberate spite that flowed from Aunt Lolly during her fatal dinner-why? Some force, unseen, warped this family as surely as an inexorable weight warps a support. I self-indulgently had supposed that it was simply me, the unwelcome bastard. But I suspected, despite Philip's baiting, that I was merely a bruise on the mortal wound of this clan. Thank God I had my sweetheart here to help me, to talk to me, to help me understand-

My God. I realized, with a jolt, that I'd brought the only guest to this reunion. Philip, Tom, Aubrey, Sass, Deborah- why didn't they bring their significant others, their Can-daces-to a gathering of the Goertzes? Maybe they knew from experience no fun was to be had on this island.

Why not? After all, the beach where I stood was the site of mass murder. I felt a cringe in my legs as I surveyed the beach, the remains of jellyfish scattered about like victims of a more recent massacre. Did those boys from the Reliant cry and beg for their lives, or did they stare straight ahead as the blades sliced open their throats and their blood ran like a crimson tide? The sand felt seductively warm beneath my feet; I didn't have to dwell on the dark past. The day was beautiful and the relaxing whoosh of the surf reminded me I was supposed to be on vacation, viciousness and death and secrecy aside.

I skirted the littered jellyfish corpses and headed toward the dock. Mutt's second boat, the Little Brutus, bobbed in the waves. He'd taken the boat Rufus had ferried us over in to Port Lavaca.

I could see Deborah and Candace still standing on the edge of the dock-but Candace stood with one hand on Deborah's shoulder, her head bowed with some great weight. She was crying.

Sudden pain nipped at my heart. I can't bear to see women weep, and Candace's rare tears always drain me. I suspected I was the source of her distress and a hot flush of guilt crept up my face. I didn't mean to make her cry. We'd argued, but surely not intensely enough to evoke weeping. My throat dried and I stood still, unsure if I should encroach on her private moment. She might not want my brand of comfort.