Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

Tom's eyes widened. “You do? What?”

The jewelry of Paul's I'd found stashed in the attic was my only trump card, and I wasn't quite ready to trust Tom enough to toss it on the table. I hesitated and he saw the fear shine in my eyes.

“What the hell,” Uncle Mutt's voice boomed from the dining-room door, “are you boys doing in here?” I whirled to see his mutilated hand pointing in accusation, the angry glare on his face, and the pistol he carried at his side, his fingers drumming restlessly against its dark skin.

“Looks like y'all been tusslin' some,” Mutt said, watching us both with stony eyes. “I thought I heard a crash, but I just figured it was the storm. Didn't expect to find you boys tearing up my kitchen. So what's the problem?”

I inhaled restorative air. “No problem. Just a misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now.” I eyed his sidearm. “No need to break out the artillery, Uncle Mutt.”

The kind, cajoling grin he'd shown me in our times alone-the times when I believed I'd bonded with this lost uncle-was gone. In its place was a hard smile, one that did not suffer fools or shine upon the unlucky. “Why you boys resorting to fisticuffs? Jordan, you got a bruise coming up on your face gonna be as purple as a plum.”

“I'm fine. Like I said, it's a misunderstanding.”

“It's my fault, Uncle Mutt,” Tom interjected. He straightened and sniffed, wiping the blood away from his mouth. “I'm real sorry.”

“Shut up, Tom.” Mutt favored me with a pitying glance. His eyes glinted with amused malice. A shudder of horror ran up the back of my legs and I leaned against the counter. “You sure you okay, Jordan?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” I answered. Tension made my mouth taste of old pennies.

“You sure you not back on the powder, Tom? You look a tad hyper.” Mutt glanced at me, his smile broadening. “See, Jordan, ol' Tom likes to take a toot now and then. It's been an ongoing problem for a while. He done lost a job over it and I had to make a goddamned big donation to an aquarium in Florida to get him another job.”

Tom didn't look at me. “I'm clean, Mutt. And I've been clean for years.”

“So why you so excitable tonight?” Mutt asked. His tone, idly baleful, didn't make me believe he expected a serious answer.

“Uncle Mutt, aren't you going to ask how Aubrey and Candace are?” I shaded my voice with a calmness I didn't feel.

“Son, I was just up there checking on them. They're both holding on, God bless them.” The thought of Mutt near either Candace or Aubrey made my blood run hot. He didn't exactly gesture with the pistol, but it moved in his hand. “Why don't we head into the living room and have a nice chat? Jordan, you want some ice for that bruise?”

“No, thanks. I'm fine.” An ice bag sounded like heaven, but I wasn't about to let Mutt minister to my needs. Mutt stepped back from the door, and not looking at each other, Tom and I went back to the study. Each stride felt like a step further out on the plank.

I'm making a deal with the devil, I decided as Mutt escorted Tom and me into the study. I thought the rest of the family would be massed here, waiting-but the room was empty, except for Uncle Jake. Apparently retrieved from his bed by all the commotion, he sat huddled under a robe and a quilt, his long fingers splayed out across his face as he dozed in the deep of the leather chair. His skin looked as frail and creased as old paper. Rufus stood by the window, watching the tempest paint its fearsome beauty across the night sky.

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

“Showing some sense of self-preservation,” Jake muttered from his cocoon of fabric. “I think everybody's headed off to their rooms to wait out the storm.”

I noticed Mutt hadn't relinquished his firearm yet. I would have to be very, very careful in what I said. I didn't speak but went and sat on the couch, feeling soreness and exhaustion vie for control of my body.

“Jordan, I promise you, soon as the phones are back up, we'll get help here. Or we'll get the boat out as soon as the storm lets up, whichever comes first.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say. The words felt dead in my mouth.

Mutt fidgeted. I kept my eyes on the gun.

Jake snorted. “You're making me nervous waving a goddamned firearm around, Emmett. You don't need that thing.”

“Uncle Jake.” Tom finally spoke. “For God's sake, someone tried to kill Aubrey and Candace-”

“Oh, hell,” Jake answered. “Maybe they just got food poisoning. Wendy ain't the cleanest cook around.”

“It's not food poisoning, Jake,” I answered. I hesitated for a second, then plunged on: “Candace was pregnant. She miscarried.”

“Oh, my God,” Jake breathed, covering his face with his wrinkled hands.

Mutt walked toward me, his face working. “Deborah didn't tell me. Oh, God, Jordan, I'm so sorry.”

I allowed him to embrace me, my skin feeling soiled at his touch. He patted my back in a mockery of grief.

“I would've enjoyed seeing your child born, before I die,” Mutt whispered in my ear. “I am so sorry.”

God, he sounds sincere. Is Tom wrong? Maybe it isn't Mutt.

Over Mutt's shoulder, Tom stared at me in unabashed horror.

“Maybe it was food-something they ate,” Jake attempted again, misery clouding his usually acid voice.

“Candace didn't eat anything but crackers today.” I fought the urge toward bitter laughter. “Food made her feel ill-being pregnant and all.” I shook in barely contained rage.

“I believe you can put the gun away now, Uncle Mutt,” Tom said. “No need for it in the first place.”

Mutt released me and glared at Tom. “You don't think it's wise for someone to be armed? Especially around you, after you go and attack Jordan here?”

“Why don't we all just go lock ourselves in our rooms?” Tom suggested. His wry grimace only made his lip bleed again. “Until the phones work. That way no one else'll get hurt.”

“No one else is getting hurt,” Mutt intoned. “There's a logical explanation for what happened to poor Aubrey and Candace, and we just have-”

“Listen to yourself!” I screamed. And I mean, screamed. My control collapsed. I made my throat raw with those three words. “There is only one explanation, and don't you dare insult my intelligence. They were poisoned. Someone meant to kill Aubrey, just as they killed Lolly. Why are you holding on to this fiction that nothing evil has happened here?”

No one answered.

I didn't know which one I wanted to throw up against the wall first. I steadied my stare on Mutt and didn't look at Tom. “Maybe Aubrey found out something he shouldn't. Family secrets seem to lurk in every nook and cranny in this house. Do you care to comment, Uncle Mutt?”

Mutt breathed and did little else. His eyes looked like flat mirrors, reflecting only the world passing by him. He closed his eyes, once, and opened them, settled firmly into his lie. “No, I don't.”

My lips clenched. I had liked him, genuinely felt cheated of all the years I'd been denied his company. In my eagerness, I'd wanted to see myself in him.

He had committed the original sin in concealing Paul's death. But who'd committed the sins that followed? I'd taken three steps toward Mutt and his hand tightened on his gun. He stared at me and finally offered a thin smile.

“You don't understand this family, Jordan,” he said.

“I understand you all too well. Silence for any crime. Wrap the guilty, protect them from justice.”

“No-we protect the innocent!” he snapped. “You may be of our blood, but you don't know us. You aren't one of us yet.”

“I don't want to be.”

“You are one of us. You've taken Bob Don as your father. You're obligated to help him-as you would any of us.” A slyness underlined his words.