Dust Devil (26 page)

“
Do
you want to talk about it, to tell me what’s troubling you?”

“
Sure,
why in the hell not? There’s no reason for it to matter to you
one way or another—except that I still can’t believe you
defended him that day.”

“
Defended
who? What day? What are you talking about, Bubba?” Puzzled,
Sarah joined him on the Victorian couch, slipping off her heeled
sandals, rubbing her aching feet and then tucking them up under her.

“
I’m
talking about Renzo Cassavettes, damn it! After all these years, that
son of a bitch has actually dared to come back here! I saw him today
in town. The nerve of that bastard! Can you believe it?”
Bubba’s words came tumbling out. “He murdered my little
brother, ran off to escape the justice he deserved, got away
scot-free and now has the unmitigated gall to show his face in this
town again! Well, some of us haven’t forgotten what he did.
We’ll
never
forget!
And one way or another, I’m going to make that fucking wop pay!
I should have killed him years ago, when I had the chance. Then
Sonny’d still be alive. He was the best of the Holbrookes. My
God. My father worshiped the very ground Sonny ever walked on. He
always called him the ‘golden boy,’ said Sonny was
brilliant, that he was going to be president of the United States
someday, another JFK. Hell, if you want to know the
truth,
I think that’s the only reason the old man ever went into
politics to begin with—some twisted way to honor Sonny’s
memory. Evie and I were never enough for him. We’ve spent our
entire lives trying to measure up—and failing. Because how
could we ever win? We were competing with a damned ghost! Poor Evie.
There’s nothing more pathetic than a daddy’s girl who
doesn’t have Daddy’s love and approval. Why do you think
she’s such a bitch, been married and divorced twice already and
is even now working on a third trip to splitsville? Parker Delaney
wasn’t dear old Daddy. Tommy Lee Archer wasn’t dear old
Daddy. And Skeets Grenville ain’t dear old Daddy, either.”

“
Sonny’s
death was an accident, Bubba. A terrible tragedy,” Sarah
insisted, not caring about Evie’s marital woes, but focusing on
his remarks about Renzo instead, a tiny, sudden flame of fear licking
through her at the thought that what had happened that day at the
quarry should all be raked up again.

“
That’s
what you said that day, too,” Bubba observed. “I’ll
never forget it. Shit. Knowing you, how you always root for the
underdog, you probably even believe it. But it’s just not true,
Sarah. Renzo Cassavettes deliberately shoved my little brother off
that rock, murdered him as sure as I’m sitting here right now.”

“
I
know that’s what you think, Bubba, but it was ruled an accident
at the inquest.” Sarah wanted desperately to believe the
inquest finding, because even now, she didn’t want to admit to
herself that deep down inside, she had always harbored a tiny but
terrible doubt about Renzo’s innocence that day at the quarry.

“
Yeah.
But let me tell you, there was something real funny about how that
inquest turned out, about my father’s behavior that morning.”

“
Funny?
In what way? What do you mean?”

“
Well,
at first, the old man was totally out of his mind with grief over
Sonny’s death, was absolutely convinced it had been murder,
pure and simple. He was so loony and in such a towering rage that he
smashed the glass in the gun case—didn’t even bother to
unlock it—and hauled out his thirty-aught-six and loaded it for
bear, yelling that he was going to blast Renzo Cassavettes full of
bullet holes, make him regret the sorry day he’d ever been
born, and so forth. Then, when he found out Renzo had fled, the old
man lit into Sheriff Laidlaw, punched him in the nose and shouted
that if he ever wanted to win another damned election in this town,
he’d better get off his fat, doughnut ass real quick and track
Renzo down and bring him back to stand trial. But of course, that
didn’t happen. And then, the morning of the inquest, Papa Nick
pulled up to our house, in that long black car of his, with that
bull-necked chauffeur, Guido, at the wheel. Papa Nick said he’d
come to pay his respects and offer his condolences on Sonny’s
death. Right after that, at the inquest, my father stood up and
apologized for all his recent actions and accusations, claimed he’d
been crazed with grief, that he knew Renzo had never murdered Sonny,
that it had all been an accident.”

“
And
you think Papa Nick somehow forced J.D. to say that?”

“
Damned
straight I do! Hell, everybody in town knows what Papa Nick is. He
probably told my old man he’d find
himself
wearing a pair of cement shoes and being pitched in a quarry if he
didn’t lay off Cassavettes.”

“
Still,
why would Papa Nick threaten your father, Bubba? Renzo wasn’t
anything to Papa Nick—at least, not so far as I ever heard
tell.”

“
Well,
you know how it is, Sarah. All those guinea bastards are related one
way or another, and they all always hang together, anyway, no matter
what. Besides which, it was always rumored that Cassavettes’s
father— his
real
father,
not Joe Martinelli—was a small-time mobster in the big city.
Maybe he used to do Papa Nick’s dirty work or something, so
Papa Nick felt he owed Cassavettes a favor. I don’t know. What
I
do
know
is that whatever Papa Nick said to my old man that morning caused him
to back off big-time. So I don’t care what was decided at the
inquest. Renzo Cassavettes murdered my little brother—and for
that, he’s going to pay.”

Silence
descended at that. Even though Sarah tried to convince herself it was
the whiskey talking, Bubba’s remarks nevertheless worried her.
Seeing Renzo again had stirred up old, painful memories for them
both. What else might his coming back to town incite? She had a
sudden, bad feeling about all this, a strange foreboding as she
remembered the dust devil she had seen dancing on the horizon the day
of Renzo’s return. In retrospect, it now seemed an ominous
portent, somehow. A fragment from the Book of Hosea echoed in her
mind:
They
have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.
She
shivered at the thought, for might it not be said that twelve years
ago at the quarry, she, Renzo, Bubba and all the rest had sown the
wind? Would they now reap the whirlwind?

“
Why’re
you shivering? It’s so hot outside that I know you can’t
possibly be cold,” Bubba murmured huskily in her ear, his arm
sliding around her shoulders, pulling her near. Obviously, now that
he had vented his spleen, his thoughts had turned amorous. “Except
that you’re always cold... cold and cruel to me, Sarah, when
you know how crazy I am about you. What more must I do? I’ve
done everything but stand on my head for you....”

His
mouth closed over hers, his tongue thrusting between her lips,
tasting of whiskey. It wasn’t the first time he had ever kissed
her. But tonight... tonight was different, somehow. Sarah was tired,
and her guard was down. So instead of pulling away, she let him kiss
her, feeling strangely as though dark, powerful, fatal forces over
which she had no control were even now rushing to take hold of her,
dragging her down into something terrible and terrifying. She clung
to Bubba as though to prevent herself from being sucked under by the
fearsome, unknown thing, and he set down his whiskey glass and
tightened his grip upon her. He was rich and handsome. He would keep
her safe, if not happy, if only she gave him the chance, she thought.
If only she could respond to him Unbidden, Renzo’s dark,
dangerously good-looking image rose in her mind, and suddenly, it was
he who was kissing her, entwining his fingers roughly in her mass of
long hair, sliding his palms over her breasts and up her stockinged
legs, unbuttoning her jacket and pushing her skirt up about her
thighs.

“
Sarah...
sweet Sarah,” Bubba groaned.

His
words—an echo from the past—jerked her abruptly, sharply,
back to her senses. Good God! What was she
thinking
of? What was she doing? The buttons of her short-sleeved suit jacket
were halfway undone; her lacy, front-closing bra was unfastened; her
breasts were bare. Crying out softly, she shoved Bubba away and
scrambled up from the sofa, her face ashen, her eyes huge, one
trembling hand crushing the edges of her jacket together tightly, the
other tugging down her skirt.

“
Damn
you, Sarah!” Bubba rasped, stumbling to his feet and taking an
ominous step toward her, his eyes narrowed with anger and glinting
with desire. “Damn you!”

Warily,
she backed away from him, stretching out her hand to hold him at bay.
“Please, Bubba. Please go. You’re drunk, and I—I
don’t want you to do anything we’ll both regret later.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. I—I
don’t know what got into me—”

“
Well,
I do, damn you to hell and back! I’m not so frigging drunk that
I don’t know when a woman is kissing me and thinking of
somebody else! There were three of us on that couch a moment ago,
when there ought to have been only two. Who is he, Sarah? Alex’s
father? Yes...yes, of course. That’s it, isn’t it? My
God! How could I have been so blind, so stupid? After all these
years, you’re still carrying a torch for him, aren’t you?
I thought you were cold, frigid, frightened of a man’s touch,
and just needed some time. But that’s not it at all, is it?
There’s fire in you, after all. It just doesn’t burn for
anybody but him.” Without warning, his reflexes as quick as
those of a snake striking despite his inebriated condition, Bubba
reached out and grabbed her, giving her a rough little shake, making
her gasp and quiver with apprehension. “Who was he?

Is
he?
Do you still see him? Damn you! Tell me his name, Sarah!”

“
No,
I won’t tell you anything! It was over a long time
ago
between him and me, and it’s none of your business, besides!
Let me go, Bubba. I want you to leave. Now.”

“
Fine.
I’m leaving. But I’ll be back, Sarah. So don’t
think I won’t. And one of these days, I’m going to find
out who he was....... and when I do, I’ll kill him. Then it’ll
be ended at long last, and I’ll drive him from your heart and
mind if it takes the rest of our lives for me to do it!” With
that Parthian shot, Bubba grabbed up his discarded tie and stormed
from the house, slamming the door behind him. His Corvette spewed
gravel in its wake.

Her
hands still shaking, Sarah quickly turned the dead bolt, then leaned
weakly against the door, feeling as though her knees were about to
give out from under her. She blamed herself for what had just
happened. She blamed Renzo Cassavettes, for had he never come back to
town, had she never seen him again, she wouldn’t have thought
of him while Bubba had kissed her. She would have emptied her mind
instead, forcing herself to think of nothing at all, as she had
always done before.

Finally,
after a long moment in which she struggled for composure, she poured
herself a glass of red wine, turned off the lamps and trudged
upstairs, pausing only to look in on Alex. To her relief, he hadn’t
been wakened by her altercation with Bubba, but was still asleep, his
long, thick black lashes crescent smudges against his still-chubby
cheeks, his beautifully shaped mouth parted a little. He suffered
from seasonal allergies, so his turned-up nose always had a tiny
crease across it from where he rubbed it.

The
sound of his gentle snoring filled the room. As always, the sight of
him sleeping brought a smile of love and tenderness to Sarah’s
face. No matter what, she would never regret having her son. The joy
he had brought into her life far outweighed the pain. Gently, she
tucked the top sheet more closely around him and settled his raggedy
old teddy bear, which he still refused to part with, more firmly in
his grasp. Then she continued on down the hall to her own room.