"We can't prove that. There could have been a problem we don’t know about or he might prefer to work at night so he can have the place to himself.” Doran preferred that, himself. “We need more evidence than a midnight stroll across an empty parking lot to get a conviction."
"Sleeping under their roof making you go soft?"
"Hardly." If that wasn't an understatement, he didn't know what was.
“Incoming…. more company just arrived for the party.” Thunder boomed and static crackled. Doran closed his eyes and listened to the faint sounds of Quinn adjusting the equipment. “Christoncrutches!” Quinn exclaimed.
“What?” Doran sat up so fast that he felt dizzy.
“I gotta be wrong,” Quinn muttered. “Dev, come by the office tomorrow morning and look at this.”
“Look at what?”
“Gotta get back to work. Come by the office first thing tomorrow.” Quinn cut the connection.
Heart racing for a new reason, Doran stared at the cell phone. In the distance, thunder boomed. Would the storm soon encompass him? If so, it might give him an opportunity to check out the house and grounds. He got out of bed and quietly dressed in black.
Chapter Ten
Kelsey came down to the den, turned on the gas fire and some soothing music, then settled onto the loveseat's navy and yellow shantung strips, with her feet tucked up, she leaned against a fat cushion and opened a history book on the Byzantine Empire. Outside, a storm approached, and upstairs, Devlin Doran slept in the next room. ‘He reached Byzantium by the inland route, choosing the Bosporus crossing…’ If this didn’t put her to sleep, nothing would. Thunder rumbled and a distant door slammed shut. Kelsey burrowed against the pillow and concentrated on the book.
The den’s sliding doors slammed open and Ramsey stalked into the room. Kelsey jerked in surprise, then ran her finger down the page, to find the paragraph she'd been reading. After, she noted it, she looked up at Ramsey, but he stood spine stiffly toward her, hands to the flames flickering in the fireplace. She couldn’t tell if the tension he exuded was due to anger or worry.
The last thing she needed was Ramsey's negative emotions, but even one of his diatribes about the accident was better than the frustration of imagining a replay of her bath – one where Devlin had shed his clothes and joined her beneath the bubbles instead of back out of the room as if his eyes had been assaulted.
A Bach fugue began playing softly in the background, underscored the harshness of her brother’s breathing. She inhaled deeply and caught the scent of the nearby arrangement of white roses. Memories of her grandmother and relaxing summer days spent in the garden edged into her consciousness.
Someone cleared their throat. Martha stood in the doorway. Ramsey turned, his expression just as disgruntled as she felt. Martha's face was even sourer as she carried Grandmother Rose’s heirloom serving trap onto the room and plopped it onto the coffee table hard enough to rattle the three porcelain cups. “I guess no one could sleep tonight,” Kelsey said. “Martha, is something bothering you?” She knew better than ask her brother the same question.
Outside, thunder boomed. “No,” Martha snapped.
Kelsey peered over the ornate silver coffeepot flanked by matching sugar and creamer to see if Ramsey knew what was the matter with Martha. He gave a slight shake of his head, then sat down on the opposite loveseat and poured himself a cup. A drop of water in the damp hair over his right ear shimmered, as it reflected the firelight.
“Is it decaf?” Kelsey asked.
“Yes,” Martha growled. Oblivious to the soothing flames and arrangement of pewter frames, she began pacing in front of the fireplace.
Without being asked, Ramsey filled all three cups. Kelsey twisted a napkin and wondered how long it would take the two of them to tell her whatever was bothering them. Through the window, lightening illuminated the garden and Kelsey shivered. Thunder boomed; for a fraction of a moment, the lights dimmed. The storm must practically be overheard.
Martha paused long enough to close the thick curtains.
"What’s wrong?” Kelsey asked.
Martha bit her lip and shook her head. What if her parent’s boat had sunk? Dread crept through Kelsey. What if Grandfather had suffered another stroke?
“Did someone die?” Ramsey demanded, as if reading her thoughts.
Kelsey held her breath. Martha shook her head. With her handkerchief, she dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye. Kelsey exchanged a concerned look with Ramsey. He motioned for her to give it a try. Dear Lord, last time Martha had been this bad, Grandma Rose had died. Kelsey swallowed a lump of rising terror.
“I should have said something sooner.” Tears tingeing Martha's tone and she shuddered. “I didn’t think it was important. Not then, but when Mr. Doran said –“ She put a hand over her mouth, unable to go on.
Kelsey rushed to Martha. While uttering soothing sounds, Kelsey hugged her surrogate mother. She ushered Martha to the sofa. It felt odd to have their rolls reversed.
As Martha’s tears saturated her left shoulder, Ramsey staggered to his feet. Even the collapse of the World Trade center hadn't had this devastating an impact on Martha. What could Devlin possibly have said in the brief time Martha had been around? She tried to recall his comments, but the odd cadence of Ramsey’s pacing made it impossible to concentrate. Finally, he stopped, but he stood looking down at them, weight balanced on his good leg, cane gripped in a white knuckled hand.
“Martha, you’re more than our housekeeper,” Ramsey said. “You’re our proxy mother.”
Martha straightened, wiped her eyes and looked up at him. Without Martha’s body heat, Kelsey’s shoulder felt chilled.
Ramsey glanced at Kelsey, willing her to speak.
She took a deep breath. “Exactly.” Kelsey hugged Martha. “We love you. We don’t know what we’d have done if it hadn’t been for you. You’re the one we relied on. You helped us through losing our mother, first day of school jitters, puberty and learning to accept Jacquelyn.” Ramsey’s expression told her she was blathering and to get back to the point. Kelsey softened her tone. “Please tell us what’s wrong. We want to help.”
Instead, Martha surged to her feet. For a moment, it looked like she was going to sprint out of the room, but she dodged around the coffee table to the fireplace, then grabbed the mantle and held on, as if she needed the cherry wood’s support. The clock chimed the half hour. Kelsey glanced at it 12:30. Inwardly, she groaned at the thought of how little sleep she'd get. But, like Grandma Rose always said, ‘people came first’.
Martha put her hand to her heart. “It’s Zoë.”
“What is it this time?” Ramsey’s tone sounded resigned. Since getting his law degree, he’d been the one Martha called to bail Zoë out whenever she got arrested for: drunk driving, indecent exposure and everything else, which embarrassed Martha, which explained her brother’s presence and his mood. “Has she been arrested for soliciting, again?” Ramsey glanced at Kelsey. “Just asking.” He colored.
Of course the charges would probably be legitimate, but they’d never say so to Martha. “Ramsey MacLennan, how could you suggest such a thing,” Kelsey played her well-rehearsed part. “I know Zoë dresses in a less than sophisticated manner, but it’s her style." Kelsey cleared her throat. "I’ve always wished I could be more like her. More carefree."
“I didn’t say it would be a valid arrest,” Ramsey protested.
Martha sighed. “You don’t need to make excuses for her. Zoë is what she is ... She’s a product of her heredity.” She daubed a tear. “Long ago, I realized that I couldn’t change her genetic heritage and if I kept trying, I’d completely alienate her.” The admission seemed to wring every ounce of starch out of Martha. She staggered back to the navy and yellow striped sofa and slumped onto the seat, as if she wished it would consume her.
“But Martha. She’s your daughter." Kelsey knelt in front of Martha and took her hand. "Your genetics are wonderful. Do you know how many times I�
��ve wished you were my mother?” Kelsey paused, but Ramsey motioned for her to continue. “I always thought Zoë was lucky to have you. Jacquelyn is so shallow." She felt her nose wrinkle with distaste. "I don't know what father sees in her.”
Ramsey shook his head as he limped behind Martha’s seat, where he traced exaggerated curves in the air. Then leaning over, he messaged Martha’s shoulders. “What Kel said goes for me, too. You’ve always been here for us, when we needed advice. Let us help you.”
Martha covered her eyes and shook her head. “This is hard. So hard.” She blotted tears with her soggy handkerchief, then turned and grasped Ramsey's hand and bowed her head. “I never told you, but Zoë came to see me the night of your accident.”
Kelsey took a deep breath. “I’m glad something positive came out of that.” She wet her lips. “Maybe now she’ll accept our family for what it is instead of what she wishes it was.”
Ramsey gave her a quick nod, as he patted Martha’s fingers.
“Not your accident. Ramsey’s.” Martha’s voice was barely legible.
Kelsey blinked in confusion. Hadn't Zoë come the day following the horrid wreck? Her gaze locked with Ramsey’s. His look held a warning to let him handle this. “Surely, you can’t believe Zoë caused my accident,” he said.
Martha made a miserable sound that told them that was exactly what she thought. Ramsey looked as if he'd been blindsided.
“She’s a lot of things, but she loves us and she’d never do anything to hurt us." Kelsey glanced at Ramsey for confirmation. He gave a curt nod. “Besides, she doesn’t know anything about cars and she sure wouldn’t get greasy or risk breaking a fingernail.” But it was unnerving to discover she’d been around each of their cars before each of the accidents. More unnerving than the fact that Devlin had been present at her two catastrophes.
“You’re right, she’d never get dirty," Martha said. "At least not that way.” Martha dabbed her eyes, but it did nothing to stem the flood of tears. “I can’t believe she’d allow her jealousy to–“ Martha shook her head and closed her mouth.
“Zoë isn’t easy to understand.” Kelsey sighed and perched on the arm of the yellow loveseat. “She never was.” She twisted her fingers together and wished she’d been the one to think of rubbing Martha’s back. Wished Ramsey would rub a few kinks out of her own aching spine. Martha’s shoulders shook so hard that Ramsey nearly lost his grip. His expression urged Kelsey to say something to calm Martha. What could she say? What would make things right? “I wish father had made things right.” Kelsey cleared her throat. “I’ve always thought he was wrong for not marrying you.”
Tears poured silently and unheeded down her cheeks as Martha stared at her. “Do you mean that you think Winston is Zoë’s father?” Martha’s tone sounded incredulous. Kelsey nodded. Martha looked over her shoulder at Ramsey. He nodded, too. Martha shook her head, her expression suffused with amazement. “All these years.” She shook her head, again.
“Are you trying to tell us you and Dad didn’t, uh...” Ramsey paused, as he tried to think of an appropriate word. His eyes begged Kelsey to find a polite way to phrase the impression they’d always held.
“No,” Martha said, vehemently. “Never.”
“But you two have always loved each other,” Kelsey said. They had, hadn't they? Or had her childish wish for a normal family made her see something that wasn't there?
“Not in a romantic way.” Martha chewed her lower lip, then sighed and looked her in the eye. “It’s a symbiotic relationship where both of us benefit." Some of the starch went back into her spine. "Winston didn’t father Zoë.” She took a deep shuddering breath, then slowly exhaled. “I was raped.”
“Jesus!” Ramsey’s face paled. “Do you know who it was or were you mugged?”
“This isn’t something I want to talk about or think about.” Martha looked everywhere, but at their faces. “And after all these years, it doesn't matter.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “I mentioned Zoë because I think she’s involved in this.” Her voice cracked.
“I hope you’re wrong,” Kelsey said. But Martha was probably right. Zoë always did stupid stuff because she wanted people to like her, though it never did any good. Worse, she always got caught. Kelsey cleared her throat. “Annoying as Zoë can be, and paternity aside, I’ve always thought of her as my sister and I’m not going to change now. I can’t believe a sister would try to kill her brother.” Not that she couldn’t understand someone considering it.
Ramsey pursed his lips and blew her a kiss. “I love you, too.” He turned to Martha. “What makes you suspect Zoë?”
Martha tweaked a rose from the arrangement next to the sofa, and twiddled it between her fingers as if the most pressing problem in life was finding the perfect spot for the flower. Martha picked off a less than perfect petal, twirled the stem, then picked off another petal. Zoë had spent her life on the edge. At eleven she broke into the liquor cabinet and got drunk. When confronted, she’d thrown up all over the front of Grandma Rose’s favorite Chanel suit. Martha picked off two more petals. At her prom, Zoë had stripped and danced naked on the banquet table. And most recently she’d stripped nearly naked on her front porch.
Embarrassing as Zoë’s behavior was, it didn’t make her a murderer.
Martha yanked the rest of the petals off the rose and tossed the stark stem onto the serving tray. “Something someone said.”
Kelsey frowned. “What did Devlin say?”
“It wasn’t so much what he said.” Martha swallowed audibly. “It was the connection I made. Until then, I never thought about the fact.“ She looked at Ramsey, pain and misery in her expression. “Your car went out of control just after you left here and you left just after Zoë.”
If Zoë had been at Beja Flora, why hadn't she said so when she showed up the following afternoon? Why had Zoë specifically said that Martha had phoned her and told her to come, if she was already here? Something simply wasn’t right. But what? Zoë always stayed with her, appearing without warning. If she had been here, then left, where had she spent the night? “Surely that was just a coincidence,” Kelsey said, though she didn't believe it any more than Martha obviously did. “Why don't you try some of the advice you gave me? Just cry it out. It really does help.”
Martha looked like she wanted to disagree, but the tears cascading down her cheeks, made it impossible. She covered her face with trembling hands. Kelsey moved over to her and stroked her back. "That's it. Let it all out."
Ramsey shifted from foot to foot, looking as if the tears were harder to bear than anything else he'd recently endured.
Martha cried until there were only dry sobs. Eventually even those ended and her breathing evened out. By that time, Ramsey was long gone. Kelsey settled Martha on the sofa and tucked a blanket around her, then took the serving tray and tiptoed out of the room. As she walked past a window, she saw lights glistening off rain-washed foliage, but the storm was past.
When she entered the kitchen, Ramsey was seated at the round oak pedestal table, a cobalt stoneware cup half full of chocolate sat in front of him. If he’d put any marshmallows in the brew, they were long since melted.
“I thought you’d gone up to bed,” she said.
He shook his head. She placed the overloaded tray down on the green marble counter next to the stainless steel sink. “Want some company?”
He gestured to the vacant seat across from him, with a ‘take it or leave it’ flip of his wrist. Kelsey sat down across from him and studied his haggard expression. “Still can’t sleep, huh?”
He shook his head. “How about Martha? Did you get her to bed?”
“She fell asleep in the den.” He nodded and twisted his mug between his fingers. “Do you believe-“
“No," he interrupted, "I think you hit bulls eye when you said she’d never break a nail.”
Kelsey blinked twice. “I was thinking about the rape thing. I think she knows who, but won’t say.”
Ramsey
grunted then raised his mug and took a hefty swallow. When he plunked the solid cobalt mug down, semi-gelled chocolate clung to his upper lip like a stale mud mustache.
“I had the oddest phone call today,” Ramsey said. “Mandy Caruthers –
“My nutty neighbor?”
He nodded. “Mandy called to make certain I was okay. She said that Mattie, Mike and Mark had camped out in their tree house and seen the boogie man sneak into your garage.”
Kelsey shook her head. “Kids. They told me about that at the hospital, too, except then, it was some alien monster.”
“They must have seen Zoë come home.”
“Could be.” Kelsey shrugged. “Mark told me, ‘He was big and black all over ‘an had a big-ole thing over his eyes like he was either blind or he was ‘protectin’ people from his laser vision’.” Ramsey chuckled at her imitation. “Poor Mattie sounded like he was still scared.” Kelsey shrugged and added, “Mark thought it was like one of those bounty hunters from Star Wars.” She grinned. “I think Mandy needs to control how much time they spend watching TV.
“Jen used to dream of things like that.” Ramsey sighed. “I miss her so much.”
Kelsey put her hand over his and squeezed. “We all do.”
An hour later, Ramsey still rotated the half-full cobalt stoneware in slow circles. The only difference was that the chocolate’s surface had developed a shiny sheen.
Kelsey sighed. “I don’t know what to think.”
Ramsey pushed his mug away. “I always thought Martha and dad had a thing going, too.”
Kelsey chewed her lower lip. “But Martha never lies.” Ramsey tilted his head to one side as if wondering whether this conversation was going to be a replay of the one they’d already batted around. Kelsey didn’t want to go there. “Who do you think raped Martha?”
Ramsey opened his mouth as if to answer, then frowned. “Perhaps a better question is why she let him get away with it.”
A zing of shock surged through her. Martha had never let either of them get away with anything, no matter how confessing embarrassed them. Why would she allow someone to get away with such violence as rape? “What makes you think he did?”
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