Jeff Abbott - Distant Blood

“Get Philip on the settee,” Pop gasped. “Tom, hurry. Get Deborah down here.” They lowered Philip down to the sofa and Tom sprinted up the stairs. In the dim light of my candle, which Jake had kept lit, Philip's wound didn't appear so grave-more of a deep bruise and a nasty laceration. It was clear the bullet hadn't penetrated his skull. But he was shockingly pale, and I started cleaning the clumped sand from around his face.

“Oh, Jordy, your hand,” Pop muttered. “I'll take care of Philip. That's a bad cut. Gonna need stitches. We got to get Deborah to look at it.”

“It'll keep,” I answered. “Oh, shit, Pop, Mutt did all this. That bastard-”

Deborah and Gretchen barreled down the stairs with Tom. Gretchen let out a little shriek at the sight of Rufus's body. Deb paused at Rufus, but saw he was dead. She pushed us out of the way to examine Philip. She began issuing orders to the others.

“Come here, Jordan,” Jake called. “Let Philip be. Deb'll take good care of him. Let me tend to that cut.”

“Go ahead, Jordy,” Pop ordered. “You got to be sure you got the glass out of there.”

“I was a medic in the war,” Jake said. “I know how to fix a cut.” He led me, as though I were a small boy, into the hallway and down to his room.

“Ever since I needed a cane,” Jake said, “Mutt put me in this downstairs room. But I like it.” He took my candle and lit another candle on a mantelpiece over a small stone fireplace.

It was a nice room. The furniture was oak antique; plants hung in profusion from shelves and the ceiling, like an extension of Mutt's beloved greenhouse. A beautiful writing desk stood in the corner and I remembered Mutt mentioning Jake had many pen pals. He'd have a hell of a story to tell now. Family pictures dotted the walls, most of Mutt at various ages. There were some of a man I recognized as a much younger Jake with a child.

“That's Mutt,” Jake said. He went into the adjoining bathroom. “Pretty child he was, just like you.”

I shivered in delayed shock, soaked and chilled. My hand was a bright flame of pain. “He's not pretty, Uncle Jake. He's a murderer.”

“I'd prefer not to ponder that right now,” Jake answered. His tone was mild, as though this were a normal framework for conversation. He lit another candle in the bathroom. “Got to keep candles around when you live on the coast. Hate to take a dump in the dark.”

Despite the horrors of the night, I managed to laugh. Not much of a laugh, but a laugh. I suddenly wanted to see and hold Candace very badly.

“Now get over to the sink and rinse out that hand good. I'll fix you up a bandage.” I obeyed him, standing before the sink and rinsing my hand under the cool cascade of water. I was still soaking wet, but the water from the faucet seemed kinder than the rain. Blood spilled from my hand in ropy threads and I gritted my teeth against the sting. Jake, peering into his medicine cabinet by candlelight, hummed and extracted a box of bandages, antiseptic spray, and surgical tape.

“Quite a dispensary,” I said. The cut hurt like hell and I hoped glass hadn't lingered in the wound.

“Always had to be prepared,” he muttered. “Lolly so damn clumsy she was always hurting herself. I tended her more than she tended me.” He moved behind me and out of the small bathroom, giving me some room. “Use a towel to stanch the bleeding, son. I'll get your bandage ready.”

I pressed my forehead against the mirror, still wincing at the slicing pain across my palm. The glass felt cool against my forehead, like a tonic. This was not how I expected a family gathering to end-in murder, betrayal, and such deep sorrow. I felt like curling into a ball and letting my exhaustion take me.

Mutt had killed Lolly and Rufus, tried to kill Aubrey. Who wouldn't he have destroyed to hide his past? And I had so wanted to believe in him, to trust him.

But something was wrong. Why try to kill Aubrey? If Aubrey had discovered Mutt's plot to fake a death and light out with a new identity, Aubrey would have told Sass immediately. They were too concerned for their inheritance not to. Some piece of this puzzle was still missing. I remembered the note on Lolly's desk pad to return Aubrey's phone call. Had she confided in him, then blustered at the dinner table when she realized he was collecting information for a book about screwy families? Then if Aubrey knew what Lolly knew, Mutt did have reason to kill him. But I could prove nothing now. I blinked in quivering fatigue.

“Jordan? You okay?” Jake's voice was gentle.

I wiped my nose with my good hand. “Yes.” I came out of the bathroom. Jake sat me down on his bed, steadying himself with his cane. He took my lacerated hand gently in his. He applied the bandage-already wet with medicine- to the wound with a hard strength, like he was pressing a flower into a memory book.

The antiseptic stung sharply and I cried out.

“There, there,” Jake soothed. “It'll ease the pain, make it go away.” He wrapped the tape around the bandage three times with surprisingly nimble fingers, sealing it tight. My skin felt warm.

“Thank you,” I said.

He touched my cheek with his knobby finger. “Oh, Jordan. This hasn't been a good weekend, has it?”

Again, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He patted my shoulder and glanced up at the pictures on the wall.

“Oh, Mutt,” Jake murmured, and I heard a distant lament in his voice. “I loved that boy like my own son.”

“He didn't love you, Uncle Jake,” I said. I swallowed. Exhaustion made my face feel numb, and my skin burned and tingled. I rubbed my cheek with my good hand.

“He loved us all, Jordan,” Jake said, and for a moment there was such tender affection in his voice for his nephew I couldn't shatter his illusion. I stood, holding my wounded hand close to my chest.

“Love? Is that what you call what he did?” I stared hard at Jake. “I'm sorry, Uncle Jake, but Mutt's not right in the head. He shot Rufus dead. He killed his own sister.” And what about Aubrey? a voice deep in me piped up.

Jake lowered his eyes. “He didn't mean to hurt Rufus. Rufus just didn't want him to take the boat and tried to stop him.”

“Jake.” I leaned close. My lips felt heavy and I had trouble forming the words. “Mutt isn't dying of cancer. He's been planning to vanish, fake his own death, and hide out on his money. He was going to abandon you.”

“How foolish you are, Jordan. He's gone to seek help.”

I blinked at this utter abandonment of logic. “He wouldn't have left Rufus if that were true.” I felt sick at my stomach and I sat down on the bed. “And-” Argue the other side of the coin. Say Mutt had no reason to poison Aubrey. Aubrey's book was going to get rid of Philip as a problem, right? So who tried to kill Aubrey and Candace? Sass wouldn't poison her own son, Mutt's gone off for his new identity. Who in the original conspiracy is left? Oh, my God. It can't be.

Jake stroked my hair softly. “I was blond like you, when I was a boy. You're a good Texas German boy, like me.” He laughed thinly. “Oh, I know you think Mutt's awful. But he fixes things. He's always made what's wrong right again in our family.”

Anger flared in me. I swallowed the nausea I felt. “No, Uncle Jake. He hides things. He makes sure everyone else hides things, too, until the truth explodes in your face.” I stood. “I know about Paul. I know what my father did. And I still love him. If y'all hadn't hidden Paul's death at the time-Pop probably would have gotten off with self-defense. Pop wouldn't have had such terrible guilt over all these years, Gretchen, maybe she wouldn't have drunk herself into a stupor, and Brian-” My throat, my lips felt coated with novocaine. I sat down roughly on the edge of the bed, my eyes round with surprise.