Distant Blood (39 page)

“I think it was hidden in Lolly's room, in Sweetie's bed. Wendy said she saw you there—”

He shook his head firmly. “Then she's lying. I never was in that room.”

I swallowed. “The murderer must be Sass, Mutt, or Jake, then.”

Pop coughed. Misery clouded his face. “But Gretchen found out. You found out. Maybe one of the other kids did, too. I mean, you said that's why Aubrey got poisoned, because he knew something.”

I closed my eyes. Aubrey's cold chatter during the family gathering, idly challenging:
You know Tom's been roaming around the island with a shovel?

I hugged Pop close. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you.”

“Son—” he began, but I stood.

“I need to go check on Candace. And Aubrey.” I paused, my hand on the door.

Gretchen sat quietly by Candace, who slept. I watched the gentle rise of her breath and watched Gretchen's fingers laced with hers.

“She's sleeping,” Gretchen said, not looking at me. “She seems better. Deb may have saved her life.”

I went and kissed Candace's forehead. “Will you stay with her while I attend to some business?”

“What—where are you going?”

“I'm making sure no one else gets hurt, even if I have to blow this family apart to do it.” I touched Gretchen's shoulder. “Bob Don's going to be okay. He is.”

“I don't want him to get in trouble for what he did—” she began, and I pointed at Candace.

“See her? That's the price of secrecy in this family. The price of wronged pride. No more, Gretchen. You or I or Pop could be next.”

She gulped. “Yes, of course, I'll stay with her. I'll take good care of her, Jordy.”

“I know you will. Thank you.” I gave Candace a final look before I shut the door behind me.

I went downstairs to Aubrey's room. Deborah stood outside, testing the hallway phone. She slammed it down in disgust.

“Phone still dead?” I asked.

“Yes. Goddamned storm. Goddamned island.” She rubbed her eyes with her hands.

“How's Aubrey?”

“Holding on. He's not conscious and his vomiting has stopped. But his heart rate's slow, and I don't have anything to give him for it.”

“Was it digitalis, like Lolly?”

“I don't know. Some of the symptoms are similar—the vomiting, the clammy skin, the delirium. But I don't think either of them got a dose the size of Lolly's.”

I didn't speak.

“I can't be sure what they were given.” Deborah leaned against the wall. “I need to check on Candace.”

“She's sleeping, and she seems to be resting better. Gretchen's with her.” I took Deb's cold hand in mine. “You've saved her life. Thank you.”

“Oh, Jordan.” Deborah's mouth set in a tight line. “I'm so sorry. So sorry about the baby.”

I swallowed. I had no words.

“I knew—she confided in me. When you saw us out on the dock. She was trying to find the right way to tell you.”

Bitterness welled in me. “Oh, God. She shouldn't have worried about it. She could have just told me.”

“She was concerned about how you'd take the news of being a dad. You were already dealing with so much with your own father. I think she was just biding for a better time.”

“How far along was she—”

“About six weeks. And Jordan, don't be upset with her. Please. She didn't want you to feel trapped.”

“Oh, God, I'm not upset with her.” But a secret place in my heart froze. Why couldn't she just have told me? I was sick of secrets, sick of shadows. Part of me wanted to tell
Deborah the horrible truth about her father; let one more secret end here. But I held back. It was a dreadful message to deliver, and I decided those responsible needed to confess their crimes. Uncle Mutt was going to sing like a canary before I was through.

“May I see Aubrey?” I asked.

Deborah nodded. “I'll go check on Candace. Just go on in. Aunt Sass is with him.” She squeezed my hand and went up the stairs.

I rapped on the door. A voice called, “Come in.”

I slipped into the dim room. Aubrey lay under the sheets, a sheen on his flushed face. Like Candace's, his room reeked of vomit, a sickening perfume scenting the air. Aunt Sass sat by his bed, dabbing at his lips with a cloth. She glanced up at me then stared.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was curiously blank, drained of its usual verve and sarcasm.

“How is he?”

“He was hallucinating earlier. Now he's asleep. I don't want to think he may not wake up.” She turned back to her son's form. “Candace?”

“The same. Perhaps not as bad. She didn't drink as much as he did.” I pulled a chair up to the opposite side of Aubrey's bed. Sass watched me for a long moment, then turned away.

I went to his closet—no tennis shoes there. I checked on the other side of the bed, aware of Sass's eyes on me. A scuffed pair of white leather sneakers lay on their sides. I examined the bottom of one; the tread was similar to the print left in the attic's dust.

So Aubrey had been the one sneaking around the attic. And the one who'd hidden Paul's jewelry, and probably the one who took it from Lolly's room while I hid in the closet. So why had Wendy lied for him?

Sass wiped at her son's mouth, although I couldn't see any spittle had formed. “Mutt says we can't take a boat yet. Have to wait for the storm to break.”

“Mutt doesn't run this family anymore,” I said softly, and her hand jerked along Aubrey's lips.

She made no answer, so I pressed on: “Don't you think he's pulled the strings long enough on you all?”

“I don't know what you mean.” Her eyes locked on Aubrey's sleeping, flushed face. His breath seemed a bare whisper.

“If Deborah didn't get the poison out of him soon enough, he'll die. His heart will fail.”

Her glower raked across my face. “Why do you say such horrible things to me?”

“Tell me who did this to him, Sass.”

“I don't know,” she snapped. “If I did, I'd settle the score.”

“Really? You knew Bob Don killed Paul and didn't seem to hold a grudge.”

She exhaled in a long, slow sigh. “Get out of here. I don't know what you're talking about.”

“End this charade now, Sass. Silence has brought this family nothing but pain. It's put Lolly in her grave. And it may put Candace and Aubrey there, too.” At this, she shuddered.

“No, he's going to be okay. My baby's going to be just fine.” She uttered her assurance with a strident tone.

“You know, if you and I were ever on the same side, we could kick serious ass,” I murmured, and she sobbed. I sat as her crying intensified. Aubrey moved restlessly in his doze.

“He knew, didn't he? He found out about the cover-up cooked up between the elder Goertzes to protect Pop for Paul's death.”

Her lips narrowed in answer.

“And someone found out he knew. And decided to shut him up. Except Candace got taken out along with him.”

“I'm sorry about your girlfriend, I hope she's okay—”

“She might be. But she lost our baby.” Sass's face drained of color and she made a noise in her throat. “My baby's lost. Your baby might be lost, too. Is all this worth your silence?”

“I don't know who did this to him. I don't know who killed Lolly.”

“Do you have a suspicion?”

She shook her head. “It could be any of them.”

“What's the bad blood between Aubrey and Tom?”

“I don't know. They always got along fine until Aubrey came back from being a runaway. I think Tom disapproved of Aubrey's mistakes.”

I stood. “I believe I'm going to have a few words with Tom.”

“Maybe—maybe you could just let this alone,” she whispered. “Aubrey's doing better, I think, and I'm sure Can-dace will be fine. You can leave and never come back, and I'll be sure Aubrey stays away and keeps his mouth shut. No one has to know your father killed Paul.”

“And no one has to know you covered it up?” I took a step back. “You're more worried about your own skin than you are about your son's.”

The accusation wounded her and she stiffened. “That's not true.” But her eyes didn't linger near me, or near her unconscious son's face.

“No wonder he ran away.” I headed for the door. “Where are the notes for his book, Sass? His laptop?” I gestured at the empty desk near his bed. “Did they get up and walk away?”

She evaded my question. “What're you going to do, Jordan?” Sass challenged. “Tell your tale to the police? Lead them to Paul's body? You have no evidence. And if you blow the whistle, your father might be tried for murder. Is that what you want? Huh? Answer me!”

I hesitated by the closed door before I turned back to her. “Who said anything about the police, Sass? Mutt's convinced the police to leave us alone. I'm not so sure I'm interested in law as much as justice. I don't need the police for that.”

“Then you're just like the rest of us. No worse and no better. I shouldn't have called you a mistake. You're a Goertz, through and through.” She sank down next to her son and began to stroke his face with hard caresses, as though she could pour her own life's energies into him.

I shut the door on her and her words. Tom and Mutt had questions to answer.

AS I WENT DOWN THE STAIRS, A JAB OF PAIN IN
my own stomach nearly floored me. I realized I hadn't eaten a bite since lunch. I needed to keep up my strength, although eating food of any sort in this house seemed risky. I'd find some canned soup—or other safe comestible—in the kitchen, and fix dinner for myself, Pop, Gretchen, and Deborah. Hell, maybe I'd even fix something for Sass. And perhaps Aubrey and Candace could be helped by food.

I skirted past the voices in the study. I could hear Jake and Mutt arguing loudly. Apparently Jake had been retrieved from his bedroom with all the panic and had found a second wind to bicker with Mutt. I hurried to the kitchen, finding it deserted. I busied myself with pots and pans. Grilled-cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup should be safe, I reasoned.

My eyes stung; the combo was a favorite lunch of Can-dace's. I tried not to think about her—about the baby—too much. Not out of selfishness. It's just that I didn't want to be crumpled into a fetal ball, too consumed by grief to act. Or avenge.

I didn't have the luxury of remorse right now. The knot I felt in my guts would have to wait for a better time to unravel. When Candace and I could mourn together.

My shoulder blades itched as I worked, as though Sass's words had left a spike in my back. Just exactly how did I propose to bring this poisoner to justice without exposing Pop as a killer? Even though I knew he'd shot Paul in self-defense—or even by accident—the family had conspired to cover the death up as though it'd been the most heinous fratricide ever committed. What if the police and the courts
viewed Pop's actions as homicide? By continuing to pry into the past, I might be sending my father to prison.

I emptied the tomato soup—its tanginess nipping at my nose—into a pot and turned on the heat. The soup resembled sour, thick blood and again I fought back thoughts of Candace. Red. Reddish soup, reddish blood on her legs, on my hands. I remembered last Valentine's Day—the scattering of red rose petals on my bed, our laughter at my silly antics, which seemed so far away.

I belonged by her side.

I wondered: if I did nothing, would anyone act? Lolly was dead. Aubrey and Candace might die. And with a mad poisoner in the family, would any of us truly be safe?

I was risking my father's freedom by proceeding with an investigation. But I was letting a murderer get away, scot-free, if I didn't intervene. I slathered butter on bread, stuck cheese in between, and began to grill the sandwiches, the heat from the stove offering a little comfort as the storm continued to rage.

“Smells good,” a voice said behind me. I hadn't heard Tom come into the kitchen. He stood by the refrigerator and fished a can of cola from its depths. He glanced at the makeshift dinner I was preparing. “And very smart, too, Jordan. Cheese and bread and canned soup. Safe and difficult to tamper with.”

“Have you given the subject of poisoning a lot of thought, Tom?” A cold anger threaded through my body as I watched him lounge against the refrigerator. He popped open his Coke and took a long draw.

“Well, Gretchen came down and said Aubrey and Candace seemed to be improving—”

“Candace was pregnant. She miscarried.”

My words struck like a slap. His mouth gaped. “Jesus Christ, Jordan, I'm sorry. Holy hell.”

I moved away from the stove and toward him. “You nearly beat Aubrey to a pulp today. And when you were putting Jake to bed tonight, he mentioned you'd been digging around the island. Is there some connection there, Tom?”

He stiffened and his pale specter's eyes locked on mine. “I had nothing to do with Aubrey's poisoning.”

“Then who did?” Only a chopping block, with a score of magnetically attached kitchen utensils dangling above it, separated us.

“I don't know.”

“Why were you pummeling Aubrey earlier today?”

“It's a private matter between him and me.”

I shook my head. “Wrong. No private matters left, Tom. Not after murder and attempted murder.” My skin felt white-hot as I stared at him. Why wouldn't he tell me the truth? “If you hurt Candace—if you killed my baby—there's no place on earth you'll be able to hide from me, Tom.”