Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“No. It's not entirely true. Tom and I care about my brother, still.”

“Tom?”

“I know you think he's a hair-trigger temper, but he's a good man at heart. He was always so good to Brian. Tom's sure-” And her voice broke, as though recognizing the betraying tone of confiding in me.

I changed tactics. “There wasn't anything suspicious about Brian's death, was there?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Of course not. Of course not! There couldn't be, it was only the family that was here-”

“Just like last night? When Lolly dropped dead?” I grabbed Deborah's arms and pulled her close to me. “You don't believe your aunt committed suicide, do you? Or had a simple heart attack?”

She averted her face from mine. “I don't know what to believe. She was a sick woman, you know that.”

“Tell me about your brother. What was he like?”

She broke away from me and fled to the window, leaning her head against the rattling pane. More thunder sounded, counterpoint to the building wind. “Please don't make me talk about Brian. Please.”

I surrendered, realizing I'd rudely overstepped the bounds of decency in pressing her for information. “Deborah, I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you.”

“Well, you do.” She pivoted and glared at me. “Meaning well, though, I'm sure. You're awfully busy prying into your new family's past. Ever think you might be ignoring Candace?”

I didn't answer her immediately. “Did Candace complain to you?”

“Jordan. She's a wonderful girl and she loves you so. And I know you love her. Why don't you just take her and leave? The police can't possibly suspect you in Lolly's death-”

“They might.”

“Now you're manufacturing excuses. Are you staying for Bob Don's sake?”

“In a matter of speaking,” I answered carefully. I turned to leave. “And if I stay, Deb, it's because, as strange as it seems to me, y'all are family now. And I've never abandoned family in crisis. Never.”

She didn't say anything as I left.

Candace wasn't in her room, and she wasn't waiting in mine either. Damn. I glanced at my closet and, against my will, a prickle of goose bumps raised themselves along my flesh.

Something's up there.

I took a steadying breath. Don't be ridiculous.

“Counting clouds?” a voice boomed behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to find Philip glaring at me, lounging against my doorway, his arms crossed casually across his chest.

“No, just thinking.”

“Thinking, Jordan? Like about how you can screw me over next?” His face darkened and he spoke so softly I could barely hear him over the gusts hammering against the house.

“I'm not trying to screw you, Philip,” I retorted.

“Oh, really? So you just manufacture these lies about me for idle amusement?”

“I didn't lie about what I saw. Or what I heard.”

His tone harshened, the old cadence of the schoolyard bully. “You don't want to fuck with me.”

“Or what?” I shot back, feeling a creeping weariness set into my bones. “I'm not the least bit afraid of you, Philip. And if you've committed murder, I'm going to see you go down for it.”

“Ah. The big detective,” he mocked. “I don't suppose it ever occurred to you that- if we had a copy of Bitter Money -I looked at it because I saw Lolly die and I recognized the symptoms of digitalis poisoning?”

“I didn't know you were well-read.”

“You can be snide with me all you want, Jordan. But I didn't murder my aunt, and I didn't plant those pills in your room.”

“Even if you didn't kill Lolly, you're trying to steal from Mutt. You-”

“Why don't you use that vaunted brain of yours? Let's say I did return the copy of that damn book so no one would see it. If you and Mutt hadn't been in the library, I wouldn't have had to be secretive. Think about it.”

I opened my mouth and then shut it lest flies nest.

“You suspected Lolly had been poisoned like the wife in Bitter Money, and Uncle Mutt killed his own sister?”

“You're not the only one who might play Holmes.”

“All right, Sherlock. Why would Mutt kill Lolly?” My eyes narrowed. “And why are you suddenly confiding in me?”

“I would never make the mistake of confiding in you,” he snapped. “You jump to too many conclusions and you act way too impulsively. I'm just asking you, before you go off half-cocked again, to sit and watch the cars go by.”

“Cars? You make no sense.”

He grabbed my arm. He was surprisingly strong and yanked me closer to him. I tried to wrench my arm free, but Philip held me in a relentless grip.

“I'm only warning you for Bob Don's sake. I don't think you're really worth sticking my neck out for, but I'm gonna. You're his kid and he loves you something fierce. So just listen to me. Stay out of this goddamned mess, stay as far away from Uncle Mutt as you can, and go home as soon as you're able.” His slow, languorous drawl had speeded to a brisk pace, kept low to a harsh whisper. His eyes were chips of cobalt in the dim light from my bedside lamp and his heavy face resembled smoothed, implacable marble.

“Let go,” I said distinctly, not bothering to hiss as he had.

He released his vise, and an expression of resignation crossed his face. I yanked my arm away.

“Don't lay a hand on me again, Philip,” I said.

“I won't. I won't bother to warn you again.”

A nervous rap sounded from the door frame, and Aunt Sass stood there, watching us both. “Uncle Mutt's called a family gathering. Downstairs, in the library.”

“With Professor Plum and the candlestick?” Philip joked. No one laughed. He turned without another word and brushed past her.

She watched my face, her own expressionless. “Don't tell me Philip rattled you? I thought you lacked nerves. Or feelings.”

“Of course not.” I started toward the door, not willing to suffer her company. She pushed a hand, hard with rings and nails, against my shoulder.

“My brother claims you and he have settled your differences. Says y'all are truly father and son now.”

“And I'm sure it galls you.” I kept my voice low. I wasn't about to let Sass steam me again.

“Make sure it works out. Don't renege on your promise. I don't want to see my brother hurt any more.”

“Yes. Your support is just the kind he needs.” I moved past her.

“And be kind to Gretchen. No one wants her upset and drinking again,” Sass called to my back.

I turned slowly. Her smugness was practically a low art form. I wanted to tell her I knew all about her family's filthy secret and see if she could squirm. But I held my silence as close as a lover. I didn't answer, just looked at her, and eventually she wriggled under my gaze, crossing her arms in discomfort.

“Why do I believe Gretchen drunk and Bob Don unhappy truly wouldn't matter much to you?”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Do you think they don't deserve to be happy?” After all, he killed your other brother. Shouldn't he pay? But I kept my thoughts to myself.

“I declare there's something wrong with you,” she muttered, pushing past me in her own retreat. I followed her down the stairs to the clan gathering.

The study was funereally quiet. It looked like a room that belonged in a far more placid house. Books stood lined per-fectly on the shelves, patiently awaiting interested readers; a crystal vase of lilies stood on a side table, mournfully drooping in shallow water; the television was tuned to a sports channel, muted. Baseball players moved between the points of the great diamond, the crowd celebrating silently as the runners headed home. The collected Goertzes ignored the excitement on the screen.

I found Candace sitting with Deborah on the couch. Tom stood moodily by the windows, close to the hammer of rain pounding the panes. He did not even look at me as I came in. Philip and Sass, my favorites, stood near the fireplace, heads leaning close together. Wendy roamed the room, bringing drinks. Aubrey stood on the opposite side of the room from Tom, watching the assemblage with guarded eyes. Jake sat in his customary chair, staring off into the air, his face creased with sadness. I wondered if he was finally beginning to mourn for Lolly.