by Nora Roberts
“What facts would they be?”
Gerald sighed. “Hannibal Bodeen is a dangerous man, undoubtedly ill in his mind. Such things come down in the blood. Now, I have every sympathy for the child, make no mistake, but there’s no changing what is.”
“Is this ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’? Or is it ‘As a twig is bent so it grows’?”
Irritation flickered over Gerald’s face. “Either is apt. Victoria Bodeen lived in that house, under his hand, too long not to be bent by it.”
“Under his hand,” Cade said carefully.
“Figuratively, and I’m afraid, literally. Many years ago, Iris Mooney, Victoria’s maternal grandmother, came to see me. She wanted to sue the Bodeens for custody of the girl. She said Bodeen beat the child.”
“She wanted to hire you?”
“She did. However, she had no proof of this abuse, no substantiation. I have no doubt, had none then, that she was telling the truth, but—”
“You knew,” Cade said very quietly. “You knew that he was beating her, putting welts and bruises on her, and you did nothing?”
“The law—”
“Fuck the law.” He spoke in that same deadly cool voice as he got to his feet. “She came to you for help, because she wanted to take a child out of a nightmare. And you did nothing.”
“It was not my place to interfere with the blood family. She had no proof. The case was weak.” Flustered, Gerald rose as well. He was unused to being questioned or looked at with such disgust. “There were no police reports, none from social services. Just the word of a grandmother. If I had taken the case, nothing would have come of it.”
“We’ll never know, will we? Because you didn’t take the case. You didn’t try to help.”
“It was not my place,” Gerald said again.
“It was your place. It’s everyone’s place. But she got through it without you, without anyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have personal business.”
He walked out quickly. Upstairs, Cade knocked on his mother’s door. It occurred to him that there had often been closed doors in this house, barriers that required a polite request before they were removed. Manners forever took precedence here over intimacy.
That would change. He could promise himself that. The doors of Beaux Reves would be open. His children wouldn’t have to wait like company for an invitation to enter.
“Come in.” Margaret continued to pack. She’d seen Cade drive up with that woman and had been expecting him to knock. She assumed he would ask her to change her mind about leaving, would attempt to reach a compromise. He was a deal maker, she mused, as she laid tissue paper between precisely folded blouses, as his father had been.
It would give her enormous satisfaction to listen to his requests and offers. And refuse them all.
“I’m sorry to disturb you.” The prologue came automatically. He’d said the same thing countless times when admitted to her rooms. “And I’m sorry you and I find ourselves at odds.”
She didn’t bother to look over. “I’ve made arrangements to have my luggage picked up this afternoon. I will, naturally, expect the rest of my belongings to be shipped to me. I have a partial list of what is mine. It will take a bit more time to complete. I have acquired a number of possessions in my years in this house.”
“Of course. Have you decided where you’ll be staying?”
The smooth tone of the question had her hands fumbling, her gaze darting toward him. “I’ve made no permanent arrangements. Such things require careful consideration.”
“Yes. I thought you might be more comfortable in a house of your own, and somewhere nearby, as you have ties to the community. We own the property at the corner of Magnolia and Main. It’s an attractive brick house, two stories, with a well-established yard and garden. It’s tenanted at the moment, but the lease runs out in just over two months. If you’re interested, I’ll give the tenants notice.”
Staggered, she stared at him. “How easily you put me out.”
“I’m not putting you out. The choice is yours. You’re welcome to stay here. It’s your home, and can continue to be. But it will also be Tory’s home.”
“You’ll see what she is eventually, but she’ll have ruined you by then. Her mother was trash. Her father is a murderer. And she herself is nothing but an opportunist, a calculating sneak who never knew her place.”
“Her place is here with me. If you can’t accept that, and her, then you’ll have to make your place elsewhere.”
Sometimes, for some people, the answer was yes or no. It occurred to him that this time it applied to him as much as his mother.
“The house on Magnolia is yours if you want it. If, however, you prefer to go elsewhere, Beaux Reves will acquire the property of your choice.”
“Out of guilt?”
“No, Mama. I have no guilt for taking my happiness or loving a woman I also admire and respect.”
“Respect?” Margaret spat out. “You can speak of respect?”
“Yes. I’ve never known anyone I respect more. So guilt plays no part here. But I will see to it you have a comfortable home.”
“I need nothing from you. I have money of my own.”
“I know that. Take whatever time you need to decide. Whatever that decision is, I hope you’ll be happy with it. Or at least content. I wish…” He closed his eyes a moment, weary from maintaining the facade of manners. “I wish there was more between us than this. I wish I knew why there can’t be. We disappoint each other, Mama. I’m sorry for that.”
She had to press her lips together to stop their trembling. “When I leave this house, you’ll be dead to me.”
Grief swam into his eyes, swirled there, then cleared away. “Yes, I know.”
He stepped back, then quietly shut the door between them.
Alone, Margaret sank onto the bed and listened to the silence.
Cade gathered what paperwork he thought he’d need over the next day or two, and listened to his phone messages while he loaded his briefcase. He needed to check in with Piney, return calls from the factory, and run by a couple of the rental units. There was a board meeting the next day, but that could be rescheduled.
His quarterly meeting with his bookkeeper couldn’t. He’d just have to find a safe place to plant Tory for a few hours.
He glanced at his watch, picked up the phone. Faith answered, her voice slurred with sleep.
“Where’s Wade?”
“Hmmm? Down with a cocker spaniel or something. What time is it?”
“It’s after nine.”
“Go away. I’m sleeping.”
“I’m coming into town. Tory’s with me. She’s making noises about going into the shop. She doesn’t plan to open today, but I expect she wants to find something to keep her busy. I want you to keep an eye out, then go over and stay with her.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I’m sleeping.”
“Get up. We’ll be there within a half hour.”
“You’re awful damn bossy this morning.”
“I don’t want either of you alone until Bodeen’s in custody. You stick with her, you hear? I’ll be back around as soon as I can.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”
“You’ll think of something. Get up,” he repeated, then broke the connection. Satisfied, he carried his briefcase downstairs.
The first thing he noticed was that Tory’s plate was nearly cleared. The second was that she’d been crying.
“What’s wrong? What did you say to her?”
“Oh, stop fussing.” Lilah swatted him off like a fly. “She’s had herself a nice weep and she’s the better for it. Isn’t that so, little girl?”
“Yes. Thanks. I can’t eat any more, Lilah. I really can’t.”
Lips pursed, Lilah studied the plate, then nodded. “You did all right.” She glanced over at Cade. “Will Miss Margaret or the judge be wanting breakfast?”
“I don’t think so. My mother’s made
arrangements to leave this afternoon.”
“She going through with it?”
“Apparently. I don’t want you staying here alone, Lilah. I thought you might like to visit your sister for a couple of days.”
“I could do that.” She picked up Tory’s plate to carry it to the sink. “I’ll wait and see, if it’s all the same to you Cade.”
“I’ll check in later.”
“Best thing, her going. She breaks free of this house, she’ll be the happier for it in the long run.”
“I hope you’re right. You call your sister,” he said and held out a hand for Tory.
Tory got to her feet, and after a moment’s hesitation stepped over to press her cheek to Lilah’s. “Thank you.”
“You’re a good girl. Just remember to hold on to your own.”
“I’m going to.”
She waited until they were outside, in the car and driving down the tree-lined lane away from the house. “I don’t want a big wedding.”
Cade arched his brows. “Okay.”
“I’d like to do it as quietly as possible and as …”
“And?”
He made the turn onto the road. Tory glanced out the window toward the edges of the swamp. “And as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
How like him to ask, she thought, and turned to him again. “Because I want to start our life. I want to begin.”
“We’ll arrange for the license tomorrow. Will that suit you?”
“Yes.” She laid a hand over his. “That suits me fine.”
Smiling at him, she saw nothing, felt nothing from the marsh. Or what waited in it.
Faith strolled across to Southern Comfort when she saw Cade’s car pull up. She put on a big smile and hooked her arm companionably through Cade’s. “There you are. I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Forgotten?”
“Remember, honey, you said I could borrow your car today. Here you go.” She dropped her own keys in his hand and fluttered her lashes. “So sweet of you, too. Isn’t he just the best brother, Tory? He knows I have a partiality for his little convertible, and he’s always letting me borrow it.”
She nipped the keys out of Cade’s fingers, then gave him a big, noisy kiss. “Tory, I’m just bored silly with Wade so busy today. I’m just going to keep you company awhile, all right? I’m thinking of buying Wade one of those fat candlesticks you’ve got in here.”
Smoothly, she transferred her grip from Cade to Tory. “His place could sure use some fixing up. Well, you’ve seen it yourself, so you know. Looks like I’m going to be spending more time there, and I just can’t abide that primitive male decor of his. Car’s around the back of Wade’s building,” she called out to Cade, as she steered Tory toward the door. “It’s low on gas.”
With a last glance at Cade’s annoyed face, Tory unlocked the shop. “Was the car a bribe?”
“No, he didn’t trouble to offer a bribe. He woke me up this morning, so he’s got to pay a price. He wants us looking out for each other.”
“Where’s your dog?”
“Oh, she’s having a fine time at Wade’s.” Faith turned to the window and waved cheerfully to Cade. “Oh, he’s steaming. He just hates for me to drive this toy of his.”
“So naturally you drive it as often as possible.”
“Naturally. Got anything cold to drink? It’s hot enough to steal your breath out there today.”
“In the back. Help yourself.”
“Are you opening today?”
“No. I don’t want people today. So don’t be offended if I ignore you.”
“Same goes.”
Faith slipped into the back room and came back with two bottles of Coke. Tory had the music on low and was busy with glass cleaner and a cloth. “You might as well give me something to do before I do die of boredom.”
Tory held out the cloth. “You ought to be able to manage this. I have plenty of work in the back. Please don’t let anyone in. If someone comes to the door just tell them we’re closed today.”
“Fine by me.”
She shrugged as Tory went into the back, then entertained herself by rearranging stock to her liking, imagining what it would be like to run a shop.
Entirely too much work, she decided, too much trouble. Though it was fun to be around so many nice things and speculate who would buy what.
She found the keys for the jewelry case behind the counter and tried on several pairs of earrings, admired a bracelet fashioned out of a coil of silver and tried that on as well.
When someone knocked on the door, she jumped guiltily, and closed the display.
She didn’t recognize the faces. The man and woman stood outside the door studying her as she studied them. It was a shame, Faith thought, that Tory wasn’t open. At least customers would be a diversion.
Faith smiled brightly and tapped the closed sign. The woman held up a badge.
“Oops.” The FBI, she thought. An even better diversion. She unlocked the door.
“Miss Bodeen?”
“No, she’s in the back.” Faith took a moment to size them up. The woman was tall and tough, with short black hair and cool dark eyes. She wore what Faith considered a very unflattering gray suit and dead-ugly shoes.
The man had more potential, with curling brown hair and a square jaw with a sexy little dent in it. She tried the smile on him and got the faintest glimmer of response. “I’ve never met an FBI agent before. I guess I’m a little flustered.”
“Would you ask Miss Bodeen to come out?” the woman requested.
“Of course. Just excuse me for one minute. Y’all wait right here.” She hurried to the stockroom, closed the door behind her. “It’s the FBI.”
Tory’s head snapped up. “Here?”
“Right out there. A man and a woman, and nothing like those two on the TV show. He’s not half bad, but she’s wearing a suit I wouldn’t be buried in. She’s a Yankee, too. I don’t know about him. He hasn’t opened his mouth. Ask me, she runs the show.”
“For God’s sake, what do I care about that?” Tory got to her feet, but her knees were shaking.
Before she could steady herself, there was a brisk knock on the door, and it opened. “Miss Bodeen?”
“Yes, I—yes.”
“I’m Special Agent Tatia Lynn Williams.” The woman showed her badge again. “And this is Special Agent Marks. We need to speak with you.”
“Have you found my father?”
“Not at this time. Has he contacted you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him, or heard from him. He’d know I wouldn’t help him.”
“We’d like to ask you some questions.” Williams gave Faith a pointed look.
Instantly Faith scooted behind the desk to wrap an arm around Tory’s shoulder. “This is my brother’s fiancée. I promised him I’d stay with her. I won’t break my word to my brother.”
Marks took out his notebook, flipped pages. “And you would be?”
“Faith Lavelle. Tory’s going through a very distressing time. I’m staying with her.”
“You’re acquainted with Hannibal Bodeen?”
“I know him. And I believe he killed my sister eighteen years ago.”
“We have no evidence of that,” Williams said flatly. “Miss Bodeen, when did you last see your mother?”
“In April. My uncle and I went to see her. I’ve been estranged from my parents for a number of years. I hadn’t seen her since I was twenty, or my father, either. Until he came here, to my shop.”
“And at that time you were aware he was a fugitive.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you gave him money.”
“He took money,” Tory corrected. “But I’d have given it to him to keep him away from me.”
“Your father was physically violent with you.”
“All of my life.” Giving in, Tory sat.
“And with your mother?”
“No, not really. He didn’t have to be. I believe he batter
ed her in more recent years, when I wasn’t there. But that would be speculation.”
“I’m told you don’t have to speculate.” Williams glanced up, fixed her eyes on Tory’s face. “You claim to be psychic.”
“I don’t claim anything.”
“You were involved in several cases of abducted children a few years ago.”
“What would that have to do with my mother’s murder?”
“You were friends with Hope Lavelle.” Marks picked up the pattern smoothly, slid into a chair himself while his partner remained standing.
“Yes, very good friends.”
“And you led her family and the authorities to her body.”
“Yes. I’m sure you have the reports. There’s nothing I can add to them.”
“You claimed to have seen her murder.” When Tory didn’t respond, Marks leaned forward. “Recently, you enlisted the aid of Abigail Lawrence, an attorney in Charleston. You were interested in a series of sexual homicides. Why?”
“Because they were all killed by the same person, the same person who murdered Hope. Because each of them was Hope to him, at a different age.”
“You … sense this,” Williams commented, and drew Tory’s gaze.
“I know this. I don’t expect you to believe me.”
“If you know this,” Williams continued, “why didn’t you come forward?”
“To what purpose? To amuse someone like you? To have what happened to Jonah Mansfield dragged up again and my part in it thrown in my face? You know all there is to know about me, Agent Williams.”
Marks took a plastic bag from his pocket, tossed it on the desk. Inside was a single earring, a simple gold hoop. “What can you tell us about that?”
Tory kept her hands in her lap. “It’s an earring.”
“One of the things we know is you’re very cool under fire.” Williams stepped forward. “You were interested enough in the murders to gather information on them. Aren’t you interested enough to see what you can pick up, let’s say, from that?”
“I’ve told you all I can about my father. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find him.”
