Distant Blood (7 page)

“Rufus,” I answered.

“Ah. Uncle Mutt's marionette. Rufus is okay, but he's not one of the world's great thinkers.” Deborah paused at the second-floor landing, one hand on an ornate orb of wood on the staircase. “And have you made the acquaintance of Aunt Sass yet?”

“No, but we've heard quite a lot about her,” I answered.

“You can't hear about Sass—one has to experience her.” Deborah's grin was wry, but I thought I detected a flicker of pain across her features. “Aunt Sass glues this family together.”

“Blood can be as sticky as glue,” Candace offered unexpectedly. A quick glance told me she was studying Deborah intently, perhaps to see if the mention of blood rattled her.

Apparently it didn't. “Isn't blood what holds a family together?” Deborah shrugged. She sauntered up the steps; I figured she'd misinterpreted Candace's comment.

The third floor held several bedrooms—Deborah indicated her own guest quarters were down the hall, and Aunt Lolly's room was here as well. “She likes to be close to heaven,” Deborah observed while opening a door and gesturing us inside. “Here's y'all's digs. Hope they're comfortable.”

The room was nice, furnished with antique pieces and a braided navy-and-gray rug. Some undetermined wild-flower—lavender in shade—stood in a vase. A mirror, one crack scarring its surface, sat mounted on the wall like a diseased eye. A window opened up to a view over the bay. A small bathroom and large closet completed the room.

“I hope you like it. This is a room I used to stay in when we'd visit when I was little. I asked Uncle Mutt to give it to
y'all special. I wanted y'all to feel welcome.” She smiled warmly.

“Thanks very much,” I said. “I'm sure we'll be really comfortable, Deborah.”

“We want you to be, Jordan,” she said softly. “I mean, I'm sure this is very odd for you. It's odd for us, as well. The family, I mean.” A sudden grip of inarticulateness made her flip her palms up, then down. “I don't have the words. I'm so very fond of Uncle Bob Don. I just am glad to know you've found him. I know he'll be a wonderful father to you.”

My throat felt tight.
Found him. Wonderful father.

“You didn't tell us what you do, Deborah. Jordan's a librarian, and I run a little restaurant in Mirabeau. How about you?” Candace stayed close to me, watching my new cousin.

“Oh, I'm a nurse. In Corpus Christi. But I do get to visit Uncle Mutt and Uncle Jake a lot here at the house. Aunt Lolly I can do without.” She grimaced even at merest mention of her aunt's name.

“Nursing must be very rewarding work,” Candace proceeded. My tongue felt stapled to the roof of my mouth.

“Oh, it is. Listen, I need to get a few things done before cocktails and dinner. It's not dressy. Come as you are.” She started sidling for the door. “I am really happy to meet you both—”

“Deborah, listen,” Candace interrupted. “Would it be too much trouble for me to get my own room? I'd feel better about being here if I wasn't sleeping in Jordan's room, what with meeting his family and all for the first time.”

A prickle of anger contracted her eyes for a moment, as if Candace's request was a personal jab. Then her face softened and she said, “Of course. Bob Don had just said that y'all were quite the item, so I assumed—forgive my bad manners. There's an extra room at the end of the hall, Candace, and I'll make it up for you.”

“Oh, please, don't go to any trouble, Deborah. Point me in the direction of the sheets and I'll do the work.”

“Don't be silly. For a nurse, making a bed with fresh
sheets is second nature.” She rubbed Candace's arm kindly and gave me another smile. “I'll see y'all downstairs for drinks. Tom makes a mean margarita, if you like 'em tart.” Deborah left, closing the door behind her.

“I like her,” I said, sitting down on the bed.

“I like her, too,” Candace said, “and it worries me no end.”

“Why?”

“Because right now I don't want to like any of these people.” Candace sat next to me and draped her arms around my shoulders. “Because one of these people is sending bloodied letters to my baby. I don't want to trust any of them until we know who that is.”

“We're not sure it's someone here on the island,” I offered.

“Then who else? Someone who's
not
at the reunion doesn't want you here? That makes no sense. And I'm not letting you out of my sight until I know who that is.”

I smiled at her determination to protect me from harm. I'm six feet two, a hundred and eighty pounds, and exercise regularly—Candace doesn't even come to my shoulders. But I pitied the fool who crossed her.

“If you're not letting me out of your sight, hon, why'd you ask for your own room?” I stretched out lazily on the bed, allowing myself to relax for the first moment since setting foot on Sangre Island. I ran a hand down her spine.

She squirmed away, playfully slapping my hand away. “First, I don't give a crap about appearances. But second, whoever's terrorizing you—”

“They're not terrorizing me, I'm not scared of that fool,” I interjected.

She forged ahead. “—will be watching you like a hawk probably, looking for a way to strike at you. Me being down the hall gives us another vantage point to watch over your ass. When you're in your room, that hallway is
mine.
No one's going to get near your room without me knowing.” She swatted said ass when I stood and reached for her.

“So you're baiting the trap with me and just me, while you watch from a safe distance?” I teased.

“Something like that.” She pressed herself into my arms. Her breath was short and she began to trace a fine web of delight on my back with her fingertips.

I kissed her, and the world seemed far away. I wished this house was empty and it was only the two of us alone on this island, surrounded by the comforting arms of the sea. And that we'd never heard of Goertz millions, gore-speckled letters, or murdered sailors on a beach.

I THOUGHT I'D SEEN GRETCHEN WANDERING
out from the house toward the scrubby trees that freckled the island, but I wasn't quite sure it was her moving in the shadows of the branches. Tired of feeling like I was hiding away from my new kinfolks, I felt vast relief when Deborah knocked on our door and offered to escort us downstairs. She'd fixed up a room for Candace, just as promised. Her hug and her reassuring smile were so welcome, I felt a pang of guilt for harboring any suspicions about her being my hate-mail fiend.

We sauntered downstairs quickly to find that the promised cocktail hour had just begun. I had thought that the rest of the family might have come knocking on our doors to meet me, the latest curiosity, but they'd minded their distance. I felt miffed that even Bob Don had not been about, to play kind introducer, but he and Gretchen had both absented themselves. Perhaps my arrival was not such a big deal after all, but at my family reunions, the family actually tended to gather.

“Feel like the Christian heading toward the lions?” Deborah joked as we went downstairs. Candace laid a hand on my shoulder, behind me on the stairs.

“A little,” I confessed.

“Don't be fretful,” Deborah counseled. “I mean, as families go, we're not so”—she paused, casting about for the correct adjective—”bad. I guess. I suppose I'm just used to them. Ignore them if they get tiresome.”

Or threatening
, I silently added. I put my smile firmly on, wiped my damp palm on my khakis, took Candace's hand,
and followed my cousin Deborah into my great-uncle's large den. I realized I wasn't exactly sure how she and I were cousined. She'd referred to the infamous Sass as “Aunt Sass”; there must be another sibling of Bob Don's that Deborah was daughter to.

It was a handsome room that spoke of an interesting mind. Books lined the walls, many worn with use. A collection of globes lay scattered around the room, so that the world always seemed in easy reach. A stag's head crowned a stone fireplace and its glassy eyes surveyed the assemblage. Drawings of old ships, with careful calligraphied notations, hung next to the stone fireplace. A reproduction of a Republic of Texas battle flag hung in framed honor near the window, complete with singed bullet holes. Bob Don and Gretchen were talking with Tom in the corner.

We entered the room as Tom nonchalantly announced “Deb's gone to fetch them”—presumably in answer to a question of Bob Don's. I wondered if this was what a foster child dumped into a new family felt on his terrifying first day. I could practically sense their communal gaze hone in on me.

Go ahead. Look me over. Candace's other hand closed around my arm. I knew she meant well, but for a moment I wanted her to stand away. These people would be my kin and I needed to face them alone.
Which one of you charming folks sent me letters?

A man who had to be pushing one hundred sat bent in a wheelchair, eyeing me with undisguised curiosity. Another man, in his mid-forties, lounged in a chair, a glass of iced tea by his side. He looked remarkably like—but not identical to—Cousin Tom, and I deduced he must have been the other twin—Philip—that Bob Don had alluded to back in Mirabeau.

The silence held for an awkward interval, then Bob Don began earnest introductions. “Well, everyone, this is my son, Jordan, and his girlfriend, Candace.” He came and squeezed my shoulder with a reassuring hand. “Let's get the introductions started. Where on earth is Uncle Mutt—”

“Right here, Bob Don.” A tall, fit-looking fellow, in his
early seventies, but radiating the vigor of a man half his age, strutted into the den. His hair was solid gray and still thick. His eyes were a piercing green, and he riveted them on me as soon as he entered. Bob Don made a beeline for him, real happiness lighting his face.

“Goddamn, Uncle Mutt, you look good.”

Uncle Mutt extended his right hand and I could see it was mutilated—the middle two fingers were cleanly gone, giving his hand the look of a claw. Bob Don enclosed the three-fingered hand in a warm handshake that quickly transformed to a back-pounding hug.

“Bob Don, you goat. Still got that car lot you're wasting your time with?”

Bob Don laughed and I figured this was an old, standing joke between them. “Still selling most of the cars I can, Uncle Mutt.”

Uncle Mutt coughed dryly. “Best damn investment I ever made.” He shot a pointed look toward the lounging man I assumed to be Philip Bedrich. “As opposed to some other ventures I could name.” Tom's twin fidgeted, averting his eyes from the rest of us. I felt a spike of tension jolt the room, and Aunt Lolly stifled a nervous titter.

Mutt nodded at Gretchen. “How do, Gretchen?”

“Fine, Uncle Mutt, I'm fine.” She smiled around at the gathering. “I've been sober for nearly a year now. We wanted to surprise y'all.”

“I'm sure surprised,” the old man in the wheelchair cawed.

“Aunt Gretchen! How wonderful!” Deborah abandoned pouring margaritas at the bar and embraced Gretchen in a hug. “Oh, I'm so pleased for you!”

Gretchen hugged back, and tears of happiness filled her eyes. I glanced away, back toward Uncle Mutt.

He studied me with a frank stare. “So this is him? So this is your surprise boy, Bob Don?”

My face flamed red, I'm sure. Bob Don stiffened. “Yes, sir, this is my son, Jordan. Jordan, this is your great-uncle Emmett.”

Uncle Mutt moved to me, eyed me, and then embraced
me in a fierce bear hug. He clapped me hard on the back. I didn't really hug back. “Lord, son. Welcome to our family. Tickled to death to have you here.”

“Hello, Mr. Goertz,” I said when he released me, my usually laid-back rasp sounding stiff and formal. “Bob Don has told me all about you.”

“Only believe the stories that make me sound studly.” He took my chin in his three-fingered hand and examined my face closely. I didn't flinch away. “Goddamn it, you're a Goertz all right. Got my daddy's eyes, you do, and that thick blond hair.” I twitched and he released my chin, patting me on the cheek. “I know Bob Don's real proud of you and it's a pleasure to have you in the fold. Welcome to our family, son.”

“Thanks, Mr. Goertz.”

He grinned. “Don't call me that. I'm Uncle Mutt. And I'm mean as a junkyard dog when I get riled, so mind your manners.” He seemed accustomed to barking out orders and comments without being crossed. After giving my face another long appraisal, he offered his good hand to Can-dace.

“My goodness, boy, you can pick them. What's your name, sweetheart?”

I quickly introduced Candace and saw the same glint of appreciation in Uncle Mutt's eyes as I'd seen in Cousin Tom's. Apparently the Goertz men were roosters. As if I hadn't already known that.

“Honey, if you're as smart as you are pretty, this boy's made the choice of a lifetime.”

Candace blushed. Really. The woman who'd been a continual rock, who seemed unflappable by all the ups and downs of our lives, went red as a beet. She ran a fidgety hand through a lank of brown hair. I wasn't sure if she was flustered by the magnitude of the compliment or by the whole
lifetime
suggestion that lay underneath Uncle Mutt's accolade. Or maybe it was simply Uncle Mutt himself—his presence in a room was overwhelming. No wonder he'd been such a legendary ladies' man. So much for Candace being on guard.