Jan Burke - Bloodlines

“Too early to say much with any certainty,” he told her.

He turned at the sound of the library door opening. The butler entered with a bottle of expensive single malt scotch and two glasses.

“Thank you, Hastings,” she said, and the butler nodded and left.

“Past Hastings’s bedtime, isn’t it?” O’Connor asked.

She poured the scotch and handed one to him. “Do you honestly believe he would retire for the evening if I asked him to? If I’m awake, Hastings is awake.”

“Is that a blessing or a curse?”

“Mostly a blessing, although I never felt that to be the case when I was younger. But having a truly loyal person in your life is nothing to take for granted, so I’m more appreciative of him now.”

“Just one?”

“There are others. If you are wondering if I doubt Jack’s loyalty, stop wondering.” She laughed softly. “Perhaps not faithful, but loyal.”

“And you to him, in your way.”

“Yes, always in my way, isn’t it? Except now. Are you going to tell me the truth about what’s happened to him?”

He sipped the scotch, felt its smoothness on his tongue.

“Harold doesn’t mind you staying up all hours, drinking scotch with reporters?”

“Harold is supposedly in Dallas tonight, getting a good night’s sleep before meetings. He took his private plane to Las Vegas early Sunday, to meet ‘an associate’-or so he told me, which shows you just how dumb Harold thinks I am. At some point, someone may be able to discover which Nevada whorehouse he’s in, and tell him his daughter is missing and his grandson has been kidnapped. It will be interesting to see how long it takes him to come home. He will come home for appearance’s sake, of course. That will only make this all the more unbearable.”

He said nothing. She sighed and said, “And you still haven’t told me about Jack. The truth, Conn.”

Talking to her about Jack was a tricky business even when things were going well. He had never believed that Lillian was really in love with Jack all those years ago, but he had faith in the adage about women scorned, and he had no doubt that Jack had hurt her pride. Jack thought this was nonsense, and told him so.

Helen Swan complicated the picture, because Lillian and Helen were the closest of friends, and no one who liked Helen could avoid Jack, so Lillian had never managed to sever all ties to him. And Katy’s devotion to Jack was, Conn suspected, something Lillian envied.

And yet now, unmistakably, Lillian was worried about Jack. He wondered if he was too tired to have this conversation with her and remain aware of the pitfalls. He decided to risk it.

“I wish I knew the truth about what happened to Jack on Saturday night. He’s beat all to hell. You know how many fights the two of us have come out of together, but this-no matter what you or Old Man Wrigley may think, this was not the result of a brief brawl at a party. Someone tried to kill him, Lily.”

“What?” She set her scotch down with a thump. “What are you saying?”

“Just that. Someone literally tried to murder him. And there’s still a good possibility that their attempt will succeed, because he’s not a sure bet to survive this by any means. They beat him so badly he may lose an eye, left him in the marsh, and…” He took a deep breath, slowed himself down. “He was unconscious for a long time.” Think of the good things, he told himself, the signs that he’s not lost. “But this evening, he woke up a couple of times. He spoke. He’s still got his temper and his sense of humor, so I’m hoping that means…”

“…that he’ll recover without permanent brain damage.” Lillian finished the sentence for him. She averted her eyes from his, looked into the fire. “Does he know who did this to him?”

O’Connor shook his head. “No, and I’m hoping you might help me find out.”

“Me?” She looked back at him, surprised.

“Did you see Jack leave-the people who took him?”

“I’m afraid I was a little distracted at that moment. It was just as Katy and Todd were getting ready to leave with Thelma and Barrett. I tried one last time to talk Katy into staying. Useless. I blame Thelma. Thelma, damn her, enjoys spiting me, so she was going to make sure my party for Katy ended early. Thelma put pressure on Todd, Todd put pressure on Katy.” She looked away for a moment, then said, “I only caught a glimpse of Jack being carried out. I didn’t realize there had been a fight. Frankly, I thought he was drunk.”

“Who invited the men who carried him off?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t invite them. Harold claims they weren’t invited at all. However, Hastings tells me otherwise.”

“Oh?”

“Hastings said he wanted to shut the door in their faces, but that the big blond man had an invitation card, probably one of the ones we gave the Ducanes. Thelma insisted on having three dozen or so to extend to their friends.”

“Did Hastings recall his name?”

She hesitated, looking toward the library door, then said softly, “I worry that he may be getting a little deaf. It’s such a ridiculous name, he can’t have heard it correctly: Bob Gherkin. Like the pickle.”

O’Connor rubbed his chin.

“Do you know that name?” Lillian asked.

“No. But it makes sense that I wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t had time to really do any digging, but the way I figure it, what happened to Jack probably came about because one of the stories he’s written in the last few months has angered someone. Jack works the crime beat, and he makes plenty of enemies. At the same time, because he works that beat, he’s aware of almost every small-time hood in Las Piernas-sooner or later, most of them have been in a jail or a courtroom, if not both. Those are people I’d probably know, too, given the number of stories we work on together. But the networks these fellows establish can reach beyond the city limits, so if someone wanted to set Jack up, they’d use people he’s never seen before-otherwise he’d know who to connect them to, or smell a setup from the start.”

“But how could it be a setup? Jack wasn’t invited.”

“Yes, he was.”

“By whom?”

“Katy.”

Lily fell silent.

“Was something troubling her?” O’Connor asked.

“Many things,” Lily said. “She told me she wanted to divorce Todd.” In a bitter voice, she added, “Jack’s advice. I told her to try to work it out, for the baby’s sake. If she had divorced Todd, they never would have gone sailing…”

“Lily…you can’t blame yourself.”

“You’re wrong, Conn,” she said. “Indeed I can. Not just for this, either.”

“What are you talking about?”

She picked up her scotch and began sipping it. He thought she might not answer him, but then she said, “How much do you know about Jack’s car accident? The one in ’thirty-six.”

“I was just a kid. I didn’t know much.”

She laughed at that. “Right. You were the smartest little kid I had ever been around. You scared me. But I scared easily in those days, too easily.”

“You never acted scared.”

“Maybe a young boy couldn’t see that kind of scared for what it was. Jack could. But that’s not the point.”

“You were in the car, I know that much. I don’t think he would have told me you were, but I was such a shadow to him in those days, I suspected he was going to get together with you. So I came out here and waited over in your neighbor’s yard and saw you leave the house and get in the car with him.”

She smiled. “You were born to this business, weren’t you?”

“That or a job in espionage. Jack didn’t like my spying, but he also knew I wouldn’t talk about his personal life to anyone else. He told me I was never to mention that you were with him that night. He felt terrible, and knows you’ve never really forgiven him for getting in that wreck-that much I know.”