Distant Blood (15 page)

He watched the brown pelican soar toward the beach. “Well, Lord no, not really, else I would've said something to Mutt.” But he didn't look at me while he made this statement.

“I suppose you wouldn't have any reason to keep quiet if you were afraid for her,” I said softly.

He harrumphed. “Listen, sonny. Lolly was a right pain, but she took care of me pretty good, and she was family. I
didn't want to see nothin' bad happen to her.” He coughed. “But now that she's gone, I just gotta make sure that I ain't stuck in no home. People die in those places, and wouldn't surprise me none if I got another good ten or eleven years to live. Long as Mutt takes the time and sets aside the money to make sure I'm cared for, and that none of them dadburn relations of mine can touch that money or dump me someplace I don't want to be, I'll be as fine as frog hair.” He smiled at me and there was little joy in his grin. “You're a nice boy, ain't you? Put in a good word for me with Bob Don and maybe Sass.”

“Of course.” I found myself suddenly wanting to be free from Uncle Jake's company. His tone of voice lingered between cajoling and threatening. I'm not cowed easily, but a malevolent air hung about the old man—in the devious sparkle of his eyes, the creaky grin, the discolored teeth. God, what kind of care
did
Lolly give him—his dentures really needed a good scrubbing. I stared back into his murky eyes and wondered if I'd caught a glimmer of thought:
Get the mail I sent you, boy?
I blinked. My imagination was running rampant.

“I'd surely appreciate it.” Downing the rest of his juice, he handed me the empty glass. “You think you could fetch me some more of that?”

“Sure,” I answered. “You want anything else?” He shook his head, and I turned to leave.

I paused at the door. “Can I ask you a question, Uncle Jake?”

“I reckon.” He peered up at me, shading his eyes with his palm.

“Your heart medication bottle was empty when Tom found it. Were you running low? We need to be sure we get you some more Digoxin.”

“I appreciate the concern, Jordan, but you don't got to worry. Mutt's getting the prescription refilled while he's in town today.”

“Oh, well, good. I guess you have to keep a careful eye on how much Digoxin you've got left.”

“Nah,” he huffed. “I just left that up to Lolly. She brought
me the med'cine, my only job was to swallow. Now, how about that juice? A fellow gets parched sittin' out here watchin' the water.”

“I'll get you your juice,” I said, “but if you don't want anything else, I think I'll take a turn around the island.”

“Don't go,” Jake said. His voice came close to imploring. “This island ain't made for wandering about. I always think it has a smell of death in the air.”

I froze by the door. “Isn't that a little melodramatic?”

He gestured toward the spit of sand by the dock. “You see that beach? That's where them Mexicans slaughtered them boys.”

“Slaughtered boys?” I heard my voice ask.

Jake smiled with the glee of a natural-born gossip. “Yeah. Right down there. When it became obvious the
Reliant
was sinking, the Texan captain stuck all the youngest crew members—most of 'em just teenagers—into a dinghy and sent 'em onto the beach. The Mexicans corralled them after the
Reliant
had gone down and cut those boys' throats, every last one.” His eyes glimmered at the thought. “That's why they call this island Sangre. For blood. They said the blood ran so thick on the beach you could hardly see the sand.”

I suspected the account was an exaggeration, but I felt a cold tremor at the image. “That's horrible.”

“Whoever told you,” Uncle Jake wheezed, “that this island was a nice place?”

“Speaking of death,” I began, “what about what Aunt Lolly alluded to last night? That Deborah's father killed his wife, then himself? Bob Don never mentioned that his brother was a murderer.”

“Would you?” Jake snapped. “God, you're dense.”

“I'd tell my son,” I snapped back. My time with this unpleasant old man wore my nerves thin.

“Well, we ain't like you.” Uncle Jake turned back in his chair to stare out at the beach. “You gonna fetch that juice or not?”

“Uncle Jake. Please tell me—”

“No.” He glared back at me. “No, boy. Any of this
family's shame ain't your concern. If you think it is, you best get off this island and never come back.” And Jake Zimmerhanzel turned his back on me, to watch the eternal ebb and flow of the sea.

Breakfast was a far more subdued meal than dinner, and I felt sick relief when the final fork clinked against the last plate. Sass—whose hangover was apparent in her tired face—apologized for her sharp tongue the night before (“I behaved terribly, and I'm sorry”). She tried desultory chitchat, but when Aubrey shepherded the conversation toward his theories regarding group convalescence from emotional trauma, she shushed him—and everyone else stayed quiet. Wendy obviously knew how to cook to Texan tastes: migas (eggs scrambled with salsa), crisp bacon, hash browns, grits topped with a decadent amount of butter, and homemade biscuits as tender as a poem. I was horrified at my appetite, considering the tragedy of the past day. But I was hungry and saw no point in pretending that I wasn't.

Candace didn't make an appearance, and I felt unease at her absence. Gretchen, who looked as if she'd hardly slept, saw that I was disconcerted. She assured me she'd checked on Candace, who was sleeping late. Bob Don took a seat next to me, gently squeezing my shoulder in greeting. I wanted to ask him about Uncle Jake's statements, but couldn't—this was neither the time nor the place.

The only noise for a long while was the murmurings among the family, the ping of fork against china, the soft slurping of coffee. I watched Uncle Mutt survey the gathering, like a lord eyeing his serfs. A palpable sense of control flowed from him, and his eyes were now clear and unmarked by weeping. He'd lost his sister, he was dying himself—but he seemed hewn of rock, stable in any tempest that might arise. I felt the force of his own personality intruding on the edges of mine. No wonder he was the undisputed patriarch. I found myself unable to look at him for long. A glance told me he was watching his kin and I wondered if he was divining which of them—if any—might be responsible for the threats mailed to me.

“Is that deputy still here?” Sass asked, idly buttering a biscuit.

“Yeah. I offered him some breakfast, but he declined. Never heard of one of them Praisner boys passing up a meal,” Uncle Mutt answered.

An embarrassed silence followed.
Couldn't blame him
, seemed the unspoken sentiment.
After all, we might have a mad poisoner in the house.
The thought, even if hanging in the air above our heads, didn't seem to dent appetites.

Bob Don sat next to me during the meal, but he didn't respond to my icebreaking overtures. I felt a sick worry stick my heart. What was going on with him, with this family?

“I'm heading into Port Lavaca this morning,” Uncle Mutt announced, “and I'm going alone. I got to see to Lolly's funeral arrangements. She asked in her will to be cremated, and to have her ashes scattered into Matagorda Bay. I'm going to have a memorial marker put up for her in the family cemetery here on the island. We'll have the service as soon as we get her—remains back from the Travis County coroner.” Mutt wiped his mouth thoughtfully with his napkin. “I assume you'll all stay for the service.”

“Now, Uncle Mutt, none of us brought funeral clothes,” Sass admonished.

“You gonna head all the way back to Houston, Sass? Hell. Wear what you brought. Lolly didn't stand on ceremony. Ain't gonna make a bit of difference to her.”

“Uncle Mutt,” Sass replied, one sculpted eyebrow raised, “there's a wrong way and a right way to do things. It would be disrespectful for us to scatter poor Aunt Lolly all looking like a bunch of beachcombers. We'll all need to head into Port Lavaca to get some clothes—”

“Sass, you've always worried about every meaningless thing under the sun. That's how you acquired so many husbands,” Mutt said. Sass opened her mouth to retort—I saw a clear glint of indignation in her eyes—but she opted for diplomacy.

“Sorry, Uncle Mutt. I know you've got plenty on your mind as is, and I didn't mean to speak harshly.”

He softened as well. “If y'all want to go into town and buy black clothes or whatever, feel free. But that'll keep till I get back.”

“Why can't we go with you, Uncle Mutt? Or take the other boat?” Deborah asked plaintively. “I agree with Sass, we want to look nice for poor Aunt Lolly's funeral—”

Poor Aunt Lolly? After the verbal beating Deborah had suffered at her aunt's hands? I watched my cousin cast her eyes down toward her plate. Her fork trembled as she poked at the remains of her eggs.

“Because I said so, Deb. You can go into town later.” He stood and walked out of the dining room, hollering at Rufus to make sure the boat was ready for him to take.

“Well!” Sass exploded (safely, after Uncle Mutt had left and could be presumed to be all the way down to the beach). “If this don't beat all. Uncle Mutt is obviously becoming mentally impaired due to his unfortunate brain cancer. One only wonders what other dreadful lapses of judgment await us.” She drummed long, painted nails on the tablecloth, watching as Wendy began clearing away the dirtied plates. “Of course, why don't we all retire to the study to discuss the matter? I'd prefer not to debate family issues in front of Mutt's domestics.”

“Honestly, Sass, don't be such a rotten snob,” Bob Don snapped, real irritation tingeing his voice. “Excuse my sister, Wendy. She must've left her manners on the mainland.”

“I don't pay her any heed, Mr. Goertz,” Wendy answered primly, removing the plates from in front of Deborah and me.

“You'll have to soon, sweetheart,” Sass purred. “Changes await us all.”

Wendy ignored the jab and went into the kitchen, noisily dumping the flatware in the sink. She didn't return.

“Sass, you should be ashamed!” Bob Don stormed. I believe Bob Don to be one of the most even-tempered men I know, but anger colored his cheeks. “Why do you loathe that poor girl so?”

“I wonder,” Aubrey offered delicately, “why you'd take up for some stranger and attack your own sister, Uncle Bob
Don? Perhaps you've got some unresolved childhood rivalries you'd care to discuss?”

Bob Don gave that comment all the consideration it deserved. He kept his gaze firmly on his sister. “Well?”

Aunt Sass would say no more in the dining room, but she herded Bob Don, Aubrey, Philip, Gretchen, and me into the library. Tom had never appeared for breakfast and Deborah had joined Uncle Jake on the porch. I suddenly realized this gathering smacked of a family powwow and unease burrowed into my bones.

Sass shut the library doors and peered through the gap to be sure she wasn't being overheard. She whirled back to face her brother. “If you can't see that little tramp is about to unzip Uncle Mutt's fly, you're blinder than a fence post.”

“Oh, Sass dear, I think you might be overreacting just a teensy little bit,” Gretchen said.

Sass stared at her sister-in-law like Gretchen had just leaned over and spat on her patent-leather shoe. “Gretchen, honey, I know you've been in a stupor the past several years, but now's the time for unblurred vision. That little whore is after Uncle Mutt's money, and it's just clear as day that she's gonna get it if we don't stop her.”

“I think you're overestimating Uncle Mutt's affection for Wendy,” Bob Don said in a tight voice, “and I'd thank you not to speak to my wife that way.”

I recalled Uncle Mutt's warm embrace of Wendy, her soft laughter as she leaned against his shoulders, the air of intimacy that surrounded them. Apparently Sass had witnessed a similar scene, or suspected amour between lord and cook.

“That's okay, Bob Don,” Gretchen quickly said, eager to make peace. “Sass didn't mean anything by it, did you, hon?”

Sass smiled. “Of course not, sugar. We're all just tickled pink over your recovery. I'm so proud of you I could bust.”

I pressed my lips closed. After all, I had no designs on Uncle Mutt's money; it was none of my business. But I would not want to see Bob Don's inheritance threatened. I'd tell him privately what I'd seen between Wendy and Mutt; I wouldn't give Sass the satisfaction. Dislike for her boiled up
in me; how did Bob Don and she spring from the same gene pool?

Sass sat and crossed her legs demurely. “Now let's get back to the problem at hand—Wendy.”

“She's no doubt searching for a father figure,” Aubrey volunteered, “and what we need to do is replace her Electra-complex attraction to Uncle Mutt with—”

“Aubrey, hush,” Sass said, the voice sounding automatic. I could see the pattern: Aubrey speaks, Sass shushes. Not a bad system, if it worked.

I silently took a chair. I thought that Sass convened us all to talk about Lolly's death; but my great-aunt wasn't even being mentioned. I couldn't say, with clarity, that grief permeated this house. Oh, Gretchen looked devastated, Bob Don seemed dulled, but the others—it was almost as if Lolly's death were a minor incident of the weekend, as unfortunate as a broken fishing reel.

“Mother.” Aubrey didn't surrender easily. “All I'm saying is find Wendy someone else to target. Shift her sights off Uncle Mutt.”

“Wonderful, darling, are you volunteering?” Sass rolled her eyes. “I suppose not. Regardless, Wendy doesn't want Mutt as a man.” She examined her polished nails. “She wants his money.”

“I don't think she's the only one overly worried about money,” I blurted. I didn't have any undue affection for Wendy, but watching Aubrey and Sass connive over Mutt's cash made me queasy.

“Well, well, well.” Sass pursed her lips into a wicked grin. “Long-lost son finally shows his true colors. I wondered how long it'd be until you were sticking your hand in the till.”

Bob Don started to defend me, but I stepped willingly into the line of fire. I don't take abuse. “Listen. I don't give a crap about Uncle Mutt's money. I don't have any claim on it. I may be a blood kin but I certainly don't have the years and years of having a relationship with him that y'all do. But he's a grown man, and what he does is his business. Not yours. Doesn't he deserve a little happiness in the last
months of his life? Are you worried about his heart or his wallet?”