Distant Blood jp-4

by Jeff Abbott

  “This charade-it isn't grief!” He stared around the room. “Has anyone here cried? Is anyone sorry's she's dead?”

  “Oh, Aubrey,” I heard Gretchen murmur. “Don't. Don't.”

  “How dare you ask such a question!” Uncle Mutt stormed. “How dare you ask if I'm sorry my sister's dead!” Aubrey didn't flinch.

  “Did you gather us here just for a toast, Uncle Mutt?” Tom quietly asked. “Or was there something else you wanted?”

  “I-” Uncle Mutt fell silent. I thought-oddly-he was unprepared for the question. Tom sipped at his drink and I saw mud ingrained deeply around his fingernails.

  “How generous Jordan is,” Aubrey said. “I see he toasted Lolly. After she sent him those despicable letters.”

  “Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” Can-dace snapped. “God, Aubrey, you're like an endless self-help tape.” I glanced at her. She was not usually irritable-at least with anyone but me. Her skin looked flushed, and she sipped at her cranberry juice while scowling at Aubrey.

  “It's called forgiveness, Aubrey,” I added, before he could lay into Candace. “I forgive Lolly for what she did to me. I'm in an awfully forgiving mood these days.” I didn't glance at Pop, but I figured a hint of a smile might be on his face.

  “How fortunate for the rest of us,” Sass observed from her perch.

  “Stop this bickering,” Uncle Jake said. He rubbed at his chest, a faint wheeze issuing from his mouth. “Y'all make me tired. Too tired. Tell Lolly to get my pills.”

  Deborah stood and hurried to him. “Aunt Lolly's not here, Uncle Jake.” She glanced at Mutt, who also went to his uncle's side.

  “Good God, don't all hover,” Jake said. “I'm okay. Just… I'd like to get to bed. Take my pills.” Deborah eased the old man up to his feet, and Tom pushed past Mutt to take Jake's other arm. Sass tried to help, but Jake waved her away. “I don't need a damned parade, Cecilia. Deb and Tom'll manage. Good night, all.” He made an absent gesture of farewell, and the rest of the family bade him a quiet chorus of good nights as he left, propped up by Tom and Deborah.

  “Maybe we should call a doctor for him,” Sass suggested.

  “Deborah'll take good care of him,” Mutt said. He went to the bar and refilled his glass with a sloppy pour of bourbon. Wendy stood behind the bar, watching him-and us-with arms folded, wrapped in her own silence.

  “What'll you do with Uncle Jake now that Lolly's gone?” I asked. “He's been worried you'll ship him off to a nursing home.”

  “Hell. I ain't gonna shove poor Jake out on an iceberg, if that's what you mean. Goertzes take care of family. Always family.” He turned back from the bar and I saw he was a little drunk. Mutt favored himself with another big swig of bourbon and raised his glass once more, as though one awkward moment wasn't enough. “Here's to Lolly. Our Lolly.”

  The second salute was met with less enthusiasm. I felt fidgety, as though I was sitting through a too-rehearsed play. As the others reluctantly quaffed their drinks I stood for my own toast.

  'To other absent kin,” I said, tipping my beer bottle toward Mutt. “To Brian. May he rest in peace.”

  The storm intensified outside, or else the sudden, shocking silence in the room made it seem louder.

  “Sit down, son,” Pop said from his chair. Gretchen's face paled.

  'To Brian,” Aubrey murmured, downing more of his juice. He shifted from foot to foot, as if uncomfortable.

  “Toasting dead children is horribly shameful.” That was Sass's contribution.

  “You're right,” I shot back at her. I didn't know if it was the beer warming my veins, but I felt sick and tired of the hypocrisy seeping through the rooms.

  “I guess you know about the tragedy of Brian,” Mutt answered. “And I don't appreciate you making light of it.”

  “I certainly am doing no such thing, Uncle Mutt.” He wasn't the only one who could frost his voice. “I feel sick and sad I never got to know my cousin Brian. I feel cheated. He sounds like he was a great kid.”

  “He was.” Sass made a coughing noise. “He was a wonderful, kind boy.”

  Philip stared at the floor. Aubrey turned away and downed the rest of his drink. Pop put an arm around Gretchen's slumping shoulders. I glanced again at Sass. To my amazement, she was crying, fat tears rolling along her rouged cheek.

  What did you know-the beast could weep. I wanted to say, I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's gone. But I didn't. I said nothing.

  Aubrey leaned against the back of the chair Uncle Jake had vacated. “Maybe we should go check on Uncle Jake. Tom might've buried him. You know Tom's been roaming around the island with a shovel?” Aubrey looked excited. His skin was flushed, his eyes wide, and he dragged a hand across his lips. I saw with distaste a ropy string of drool stuck to his hand.

  “Shovel?” Mutt said. “What the hell for? Ain't no buried treasures on Sangre.”

  “So what is buried here, Uncle Mutt?” Aubrey persisted. I turned to stare at Mutt. Of course. If I could gather suspicions in a matter of days-what of Aubrey, or Tom, or Deborah, who'd had years to think and reflect on the events of that long-ago night?

  “Nothing. Nothing,” Mutt said.

  I glanced back at Aubrey, just as his eyes rolled and he fell away from the chair. His knees buckled and he collapsed bonelessly, his head striking the rug, his empty glass of juice shattering on the hardwood floor. He gasped in hard breaths and began to retch, moaning.

  Sass, Gretchen, Pop, Philip-the whole room rushed to his side, crowding around him, and Gretchen began screaming out for Deborah to hurry back down. Her voice was like a banshee's to haunt one's dreams. Aubrey's face, slick with vomit, turned toward mine as Sass tried to ease him into a more comfortable position. His pupils were huge, like black holes of death.

  The broken cranberry juice glass lay at my feet.

  Oh, no.

  I leaped toward the couch as Candace stood and, cradling her stomach, folded to the floor. I seized her arms in mine and pulled her close to me. Her skin felt clammy against my hands. The thump of her heart against mine seemed thud-dingly slow.

  “I'm sick,” she said, and vomited across my back. I grabbed her and headed for the bar sink, shoving Mutt and Wendy out of the way. I fumbled for a glass of water, forced it down her. She threw it back up, over my fingers, shuddering. Okay, maybe vomiting was better, to get whatever filth was in her system out of her. I shoved my fingers into her mouth, doubling her over the sink, and felt another warm rinse of bile cascade past my hand.

  “Get some mustard,” I hollered at Gretchen. “Mix it in water.”

  Across the room, I saw Philip stand up from kneeling next to Aubrey, a look of disbelief on his face.

  Pop rushed to the bar, holding on to Candace's side. I pulled her head back, mopping at her face, screaming at my father to get Deborah. Candace stared up at the ceiling, as though looking for the entrance. Her breath shook.

  “No, no,” she gasped. “Jordy! No!”

  “Baby, we'll get help,” I said. “You'll be okay.” I glanced at Pop. “Call 911, and get the boat. We've got to get them to a doctor!”

  Pop stumbled for the phone.

  “Jordan.” Wendy stood behind me, and she stepped around to support Candace's other side. Wendy's face, usually emotionless, was now crumpled with shock.

  “Oh, no,” Candace moaned, her damp fingers squeezing mine numb. Hard cramps doubled her over, and I couldn't see her agonized face. “No. Please, not the baby. Not the baby.”

  20

  It was over.

  I sat on the floor outside of Candace's room, banished for the moment by Deborah. I could hear quiet noises of movement inside as Deborah tended to her patient. Blood- Candace's and that of our child-slicked my hands and I stared at my reddened, trembling fingers. Outside, the wind continued its angry roar, but it was a mere whisper compared with the rage I felt inside.

  I didn't even hear Pop approach and kneel down on the floor next to me. He didn't speak, he just wrap
ped awkward arms around me, ignoring my bloodied state, and I hugged him back fiercely. I thought tears would come, should come, but I felt empty and barren inside. But Pop's hold was comforting, and he smelled like a dad should, of mint and bourbon and sweat.

  After a minute he spoke. “How's she doing?”

  I managed to speak, my voice not sounding like my usual raspy drawling baritone. It sounded like the voice of an old man. “The bleeding's stopped. She's resting. She's still showing some effects from the poison, but Deb induced vomiting with warm mustard water and she said she thinks she's going to be okay.” I could hardly make my mouth form the next words. “She was pregnant. And she hadn't told me. Our baby is gone.”

  “I am so sorry, son, so very sorry,” Pop whispered into my hair.

  “The phones?” I asked.

  “Still down. The storm-” He didn't finish his sentence.

  “Then a boat. We've got to get her to a hospital-”

  “Son.” He pulled away and his blue eyes stared hard into mine. “We can't take a boat out in this mess. It should pass soon, we'll get her and Aubrey more help-”

  “I can't just sit here!” I bolted to my feet. “We have to get her help! Deborah can't do everything-” I gestured helplessly toward the shut door.

  “You listen to me!” Pop grabbed me and shook me hard. “Jordan. Deb has done everything she can. But we can't call for help right now, and we can't risk taking a boat out in this storm. We could swamp in minutes, and what good is that?” He squeezed my arms. “The phones could be back up at any minute. We'll keep trying, we'll get them help.”

  I steadied myself. The last thing Candace needed was me hell-bent and foolish. “How's Aubrey? Deb left Candace for a while to tend to him.”

  “Not good. He drank more of the poison than Candace did. But he's holding on. Sass and Gretchen are with him.” Pop's eyes teared, and I realized Aubrey mattered a lot to him.

  “Oh, Pop, I'm sorry.” I embraced him. “I know you're worried sick about Aubrey, too. I hope he's okay.”

  “Sass-said she hopes Candace is all right.” Pop averted his face. “I know you and Sass haven't gotten along. She's just a tad protective of me.”

  “I don't want to talk about her,” I said abruptly. “Okay?”

  “Gretchen said she'll be up in a minute, she's worried sick about poor Candace.” Pop tactfully changed subjects. “She'd have been up here, it's just that Sass needed more help with Aubrey-”

  “I understand, Pop.” I turned from him and leaned my head against the wall. The door opened and Deborah slipped outside. She looked exhausted, dark bags sagging beneath her eyes. Her hands were clean, but I could see the red tinge of blood still on her knuckles and her unpolished fingernails.

  “Deb?” I asked. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She's resting, and the vomiting has stopped. The bleeding hasn't resumed. But I don't know what poison was used, and I don't know what else to do. Just treat the symp- toms as I can.” She leaned against the door. “She needs a doctor, Jordan. Is the phone working yet?”

  “No,” I said. “And Pop says it's way too rough to risk a boat right now.”

  “A rough boat ride might do more harm,” Deborah said softly.

  “Can I go back in now?” I asked.

  “Yes. But she needs to rest. She needs someone with her at all times, in case the symptoms worsen.”

  Gretchen came down the hall then, looking as weary as the rest of us. Her eyes were reddened from weeping.

  “Oh, God,” Pop said. “Aubrey?”

  “He's still with us. Sass is asking for you, Deb.” Gretchen leaned against her husband.

  “I'll go check on him. One of y'all stay with Candace.” She hurried down the hallway. I watched her leave.

  “Pop, stay here a minute, would you?” I turned and went into her room.

  One lamp was on, and it cast a harsh light across the pallor of Candace's skin. She breathed slowly, and I saw a thin stream of drool issue from her mouth. I wiped it away with a towel by the bedside. Her eyes lay half-open and I brushed her hair back with my hand. She smelled of vomit. I pulled the sheets back and stared at the towel jammed between her legs. Three more, soaked with blood, lay crumpled in the corner. Deb had been in a hurry. I didn't want to think about what might lie inside. Hands shaking, I picked up the towels and moved them into the bathroom. I didn't want Candace to see them.

  She had been poisoned and she'd lost a lot of blood. Her skin was cool and clammy to my touch. I brushed her cheek softly and her eyes opened, her pupils huge and dark, the blue of her irises barely circles around the blacks.

  “Baby?” I stroked her face with one hand.

  “Daddy?” Her eyes shut again.

  “No, sweetheart, it's Jordan. I'm here.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled harshly, and another cascade of spit oozed from her lips. I wiped it away. “Is the chickory on yet? You know you gotta drink chickory when you're in New Orleans.”

  I grimaced. Whatever substance had nearly killed her also painted illusory pictures in her mind. “No, baby, the coffee's not on yet. I'll go make you some, though.”

  “Um. Those damn birds sure are making a racket.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “I'll make them be quiet, sugar.”

  She licked at her lips and shrugged away from my touch. “Fucking birds'll wake up the baby.” A dark flush colored her skin and she bent to her side, retching. The heaves were dry and I held her until they subsided. She rolled back over on her back and grew still, her breathing a little more even.

  “Candace?”

  She sniffed once and didn't answer, slipping into sleep. I sat and watched her for five minutes, dabbing at the saliva that slicked her chin. When her sleep seemed even, I went back out into the hall. Gretchen was murmuring to Pop in a soft, reassuring voice.

  “Gretchen? Would you mind sitting with Candace for a minute? She's resting a little more comfortably now.”

  “Sure, hon.” She broke away from Pop and regarded me for a moment. Then she surprised me with a fierce hug. “It's going to be all right, Jordy. It will be.” Then she broke away from me and went into Candace's room, easing the door shut behind her.

  Pop stared at me with bleary eyes.

  “You tell me why. Why would anyone hurt Candace?” I asked.

  “I don't know-” he began, and a hard fury seized me. I whirled and grabbed his shirt hard.

  “Enough fucking secrets!” I hissed. “I found Paul's jewelry in the attic. I know you killed him.”

  His jaw worked. “Wha-what?”

  “I know Paul came here after he murdered Nora. He intended to kill you and Gretchen. You killed him in self-defense. And the whole family conspired to cover it up. Y'all forged his suicide note that Mutt found, or pretended to find. Y'all dumped his body somewhere, here on the island or out in the bay-but kept his jewelry. I found it.”

  “Oh, God, oh, God,” Pop whimpered. He stumbled away from me, but I didn't release his shirt. I heard the rip of fabric. He stared at me with frenzied eyes.

  “I can hazard a guess at what happened here tonight. Aubrey's writing a book on screwed-up families, and God knows he's got himself an unbelievable case study here. Maybe he found out the truth about Paul's death. Maybe someone decided Aubrey knew too much, and had to be gotten rid of, like he wasn't anything more than a fucking insect.” My voice cracked. “And Candace made the mistake of drinking cranberry juice out of the same pitcher. Goddamn it, you tell me who did this.”

  Pop sobbed. I eased my hold on his shirt, my heart pounding. If he didn't tell me-

  “I don't know,” he muttered.

  “You were in Lolly's room this morning. You took something out of Sweetie's bed. Was it Paul's jewelry? Is that where she'd hid it?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about, Jordy-”

  “You listen to me. If you don't tell me, it's over between us. I will walk away from here, and you'll never see me again. You will be out of my heart and ou
t of my mind.” Words, fueled by grief and anger, poured from me like foulness from a suppurating wound. “I'll even leave Mirabeau. Candace and I will go and you'll never see us again. You tell me what's happening here.”

  His entire face trembled. “Oh, God, I never wanted you to know. My brother-my bruh-bruh-” He wept then. He wept like a man possessed by a demon and then shown the face of God. We sank to the floor together in our embrace, his head turned away so I couldn't see his tears. Gretchen opened the door and stared at us. I shook my head at her and she retreated back into Candace's room.

  I let him cry, then wiped his face with the bottom of my T-shirt. After his sobs subsided, he stared at the colorful patterns of the Persian rug on the floor. I cradled Pop's heavy jaw in my hands and turned his face to mine.

  “I will still love you, no matter what you did,” I whispered. “No matter what. But this isn't going to continue. I'm not going to let whoever's behind this misery get away.” He tried to pivot his face away and I wrenched it back, squeezing hard. “Where does it end? My child will never be now. Candace and Aubrey may die. Lolly's already dead. You tell me who this is.”

  “I honestly don't know. Honestly, believe me.” He blinked. “How did you know what I did?”

  “Gretchen told me. She's known ever since Paul died.”

  His blue eyes, bloodshot, widened. “She knew?”

  “Yes. All these years, she knew. And she still loved you.”

  He made an unintelligible sound.

  “What happened that night? Tell me.”

  “I-we were all here. Mutt was beside himself at the thought of a killer in our family. He was deeply worried about Deborah and Brian, how this would affect them. We had buried Nora here 'cause she had no people of her own. I didn't want to believe Paul had killed her. He and I hadn't gotten along since Gretchen divorced him and married me. I'd tried, but he wouldn't. I couldn't help but feel as though Nora's death was somehow my fault-if I'd gotten sense into Paul, or if I'd just stayed away from Gretchen-Nora never would have come into our family, never would have died.” He dragged the back of his hand across his face. “Nora was a fine woman, a good person. She didn't deserve to die like she did.”