Tea and Tomahawks

by Dahlia Dewinters

  Don’t Say a Word

  By

  Dahlia DeWinters

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.

  Senior Editor: Leanore Elliott

  Cover Art: Dahlia DeWinters

  Images provided by Dollar Photo Club

  Copyright Dahlia DeWinters, 2015

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Grandmother wants me to come stay with her. She writes she hasn’t been well for a time and she thinks this might be...” Annalise let the sentence trail off. She folded the letter, written on thick, creamy stationery, and slid it back into the envelope. Rubbing her fingers over the embossed A, she waited for her husband’s response.

  Richard turned to the window to hide his sneer. The old bat wanted to keep them captive at her dusty mansion while she wasted away in front of their eyes. Crossing his arms, he eyed the little Johnson boy riding his bike on the other side of the street. The little brown boy wobbled on the two-wheeler and then lost his balance. A cruel smile replaced Richard’s sneer as he watched the boy crying on the sidewalk and holding his bloodied knee. He turned to confront his wife. “What does this mean for us?” he snapped at her, knowing it would ramp up her constant anxiety.

  Annalise flinched at his tone. “I should go, Richard. She wants me there.”

  “What you’re saying is she doesn’t want me there.” It was no surprise to him. The old woman had never liked him and didn’t hesitate to let him know.

  His wife wrung her hands together. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You have work, things to do.” She gnawed at her generous bottom lip. “I thought it would make it easier for you without me around for the summer. And...” Annie sighed and brushed away an errant tear. “…She is dying.”

  Richard snorted at his wife’s maudlin sentimentality. Her tears over her Grandmother were nothing to him but another soft spot to exploit. “She’s dying every summer, Annie. What makes this summer so damned special?”

  He marched over to his wife and stood over her, pleased at the way she shied away from him. After only a few years of marriage, he had managed to break her so thoroughly that he could do anything to her. She belonged to him mind, body, and spirit. Impatient with her mewling, he wrested the letter out of her trembling hands and opened it to read it for himself.

  “Dearest AnnaLise.” He forced his voice into a higher, creaky register, imitating the voice of an old woman. “As you know, it is summer again, and the hot weather has me feeling poorly. I do wish you would come and see me. We could sit together on the porch and sip lemonade.” Richard made a disgusted sound and slapped the letter on the desk in front of his wife. “I suppose she wants you up there to introduce you to some eligible bachelors.”

  Annie kept her gaze down. “No, Richard.” Her voice was quiet and non-confrontational. “She just wants my company is all. I haven’t seen her in almost two years.”

  He twined his fingers into her mass of relaxed curls and yanked her head so that she faced him. Ignoring the tears that sprang to her eyes, he squeezed tighter. The best thing about his wife wasn’t her looks, her body or her money. No, her best feature was how easily he could bring her to tears.

  “No one asked you to think about anything, you conniving little bitch. I know your Grandmother doesn’t like me. How do I know she doesn’t have someone up there for you to meet?”

  Annie licked her lips. “Richard,” she gasped his name and swallowed before she spoke again, “Grandmother believes in our marriage. She would never do anything to destroy it.”

  Bullshit. The old broad hadn’t even come to the wedding. If she believed in their marriage, then why hadn’t she released the millions she was sitting on to her only granddaughter? He hadn’t married her for her looks or her talent in bed; for that he sought company elsewhere. “Don’t contradict me, Annie.” He released her hair.. “You know how much I hate that.”

  Her head dropped. “Yes, Richard,” she whispered.

  He considered her bowed head for a moment and listened to her pathetic sniffles. Annie had never been good at hiding her emotions, which made her such an easy subject. The hurt on her face when he’d slapped her on their honeymoon had been such an arousing rush that he had taken her right then and there, tearing the fragile silk and lace she wore in his savagery.

  After, he had threatened her that if she told, he would kill her and her family, starting with that old geezer Grandmother of hers. She had nodded and ducked her head just like she was now, her fingers twisting around each other as she fought back tears. And just to prove he meant what he said, he made her give him a blow job with the shreds of her ruined wedding dress draped around her.

  He stalked into the dining room and poured himself a quick shot of Scotch. Good old Grandmother, always on her last legs to entice them up for the summer. He poured himself another shot and paused with the glass halfway to his mouth, an idea forming in his mind.

  Maybe she could be on her last legs this summer. Old, weak legs that would tumble her down a flight of stairs and break that brittle neck. Then her only grandchild, his lovely wife, would inherit all those old, dusty millions.

  Richard finished the liquor with a satisfied smile on his face. It would work. No one would suspect the dear grandchild, and even if she knew anything, Annie wouldn’t tell. She knew better.

  Glad to have a plan, Richard strolled back into the parlor where Annie still sat, waiting. He lay a hand on her shoulder, pleased when her body tensed under his touch. “I think we can manage to visit your Grandmother this summer, Annie.”

  She peered up at him with trusting eyes. “Oh, Richard. Thank you so much.”

  Any other wife would have jumped up, given him a hug. She did not. Richard frowned upon spontaneous displays of affection. “You can give me a hug. I know how much you appreciate it.”

  Annie stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck and gave him a brief squeeze. “Thank you, Richard.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, a satisfied smile stretching across his lips. “Give your Grandmother a call to let her know we’re coming.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The drive down to the Cape was easier than expected for a summer Friday afternoon. As they crossed over the canal into the town proper, Annie glanced over at the seafood restaurant that had marked the beginning of her summers on the Cape as a young girl. She gripped her straw purse with both hands, fighting to contain her excitement. A whole summer on the Cape with Grandmother Lise. Two months without the cold blue eyes of her husband watching every single move she made. He would come on the weekends, and she was grateful she would be without his presence most of the time.

  Annie let the seatbelt cradle the side of her face and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. Once upon a time, she had considered herself so lucky to have caught the eye of Richard Collins. His rakish, devil-may-care attitude helped her shed her awkwardness. He was affectionate, charming and crafty enough to keep his mean streak under wraps until she had married him. How stupid of her.

  “What are you thinking about?” He placed his hand on her thigh and let it linger there.

  The heat of his palm leached through the thin summer skirt she wore. At one time, it would have warmed her, now she shuddered under his touch. Annie opened her eyes and forced a smile. “I wonder how it is now
. The last time I was there, there was dust everywhere.”

  “I’m sure she’s gotten it into shape for us.” Richard flipped on the turn signal and guided the convertible off the main road. “You said she was pleased we were coming.”

  She pressed her lips closed against the words she wanted to say. When she had mentioned Richard would be coming along for the weekend, her grandmother’s tone had hardened. Although the invitation had not been rescinded, she knew Grandmother was displeased. But what could Annie do? What Richard wanted, Richard got. Though he would never admit it, he wanted her Grandmother’s home and everything in it. Women didn’t have a monopoly on gold-digging.

  Five minutes later, they drove up the long driveway. Annie sucked in her breath. The house looked much better than she remembered. It occurred to her Grandmother might not be kidding about this being her last summer. The roofs on the two turrets were brand new, and the stained glass windows glinted in the late summer sun.

  The house itself had been repainted a dark terra-cotta with forest green porch posts. The sagging wooden steps had been repaired and welcomed them with gleaming forest green paint. Annie smiled with delight. The house looked like it did when she was young.

  The tires crunched on the semi-circular gravel drive. Even before the car had come to a complete stop, Annie was out and up the seven wooden steps to where Grandmother Lise was sitting on the porch.

  “Grandmother!” Annie bent to embrace the old woman, surprised at how fragile she felt.

  To her, Grandmother had been a pillar of strength, the warm place she spent her summers between boarding school semesters and where her parents dropped her when they went on their traveling stints. Grandmother had always been there, smelling of lemon mint and verbena.

  “You made it. Early too.” Grandmother Lise pushed herself out of the dark green rocking chair. Her grip was firm on Annie’s arm as they walked to the edge of the wrap-around porch. “I see you brought that good-for-nothing husband with you,” Grandmother said in a low voice.

  “I told you he was coming.” Annie sighed.

  Grandmother had lived in northwestern Florida most of her adult life before moving to New Jersey and didn’t take too kindly to “the white folk”, as she called them. Strange coming from a black woman’s mouth who now lived in one of the wealthiest areas on the Cape. Most of her neighbors were “white folks.”

  Richard stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, jingling his keys in his hand as he looked at the house and the surrounding lands.

  Appraising it. Judging its value. Just like he judged me. Annie pressed her lips together, drawing strength from Grandmother’s hand around her arm. He won’t have much longer for that. Annie blinked, surprised at the thought that popped into her head. Why would she have thought that? She took a deep breath, savoring the rich, floral fragrance of the honeysuckle that bordered the porch. The smell of the small white flowers calmed her.

  Richard stepped backward to look at something and the rays of the sunset caught his blond hair, turning it a reddish orange.

  Next to her, Grandmother Lise sucked her teeth. “Nothing good about that one,” she muttered. “Pure evil.”

  “Grandmother, please.” Annie patted her arm, hoping to calm the old woman. “He let me come to visit you. Be nice.”

  Her grandmother nodded even as her expression was set in a grimace. “I’ll be cordial, little Annie. Nice is not in my vocabulary for the white folks.”

  If Richard heard the exchange, he gave no indication. He climbed the porch with her luggage and his overnight bag and set them both down. “Hello, Grandmother Lise.” His posture was stiff and formal. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, and he waved his hand at the mosquitoes that swooped to nip at him.

  “Hello to you, Richard. Pleased that you would bring my AnnaLise all the way up here.” She didn’t smile.

  “Glad to do it.” Richard nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  The tension between the two of them was as thick as the shrubbery surrounding the porch. Grandmother Lise had never taken to Richard and had shown her disapproval by skipping the wedding. Two years later, the feeling hadn’t changed.

  Annie made a move to wander away to see if the bleeding hearts were still there, but Grandmother held fast to her arm.

  “So you’ll be staying too?” Grandmother sniffed. “Room enough, I reckon.”

  “Only for weekends.” Richard gave her an easy smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to do at the office.”

  “Sure you do.” Grandmother waved a hand, indicating the end of the conversation. “Take the luggage up. Top of the stairs is the bedroom.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Annie decided to take a nap after the long drive, leaving Richard on his own to explore. He wandered through the old house, surprised at how well the home was kept. Using his phone to take pictures of several well-preserved antiques, he determined the old crow was worth a lot more than he first thought. He paused to wipe perspiration from his forehead and did some quick calculations. This house, its contents, plus the land...she had to be worth at least five million or more.

  The telltale thump of the old lady’s cane on the hardwood floors announced her impending arrival.

  Richard ducked into the parlor, hoping she would pass him by on her way to her bedroom. Old people slept in the afternoon, right?

  The parlor was much more cluttered than the other rooms, and the furniture was unmatched. Against one wall was a brand new ivory silk chaise, a marked contrast to an old, faded brocade couch and a rust-colored overstuffed chair. Wandering in farther, he pushed open one panel of a dusty curtain to illuminate a huge marble fireplace dominating the end of the room. On the mantel, there were necklaces of glass beads, silver rings and oddly enough, a tomahawk. Richard rolled his eyes. Probably an offering to ancient gods or some voodoo nonsense.

  Above the mantel was a large painting. It looked like acrylic paint on velvet. He wrinkled his nose. Flea market crap masquerading as history. When he got his hands on this house, he would turn it into a masterpiece. He would get rid of all the garage sale trinkets and highlight the good stuff. With all the antiques here, the home would be a showplace. He grinned. Rent it out, give house tours. He would make a mint. The only obstacle was the old woman. Once she was gone, Annie would go along with anything he said.

  “You like the painting, boy?”

  Lise’s rusty voice startled him. Steeling himself for her ever-present sneer, he turned to face her. “It’s nice,” he offered, unwilling to spark her ire by telling her what he thought.

  “Nice, my foot. You think it’s cheap. Don’t lie to me. I can read you like a book.” She shuffled into the room to ease herself down in the overstuffed armchair. “So, what’s the real reason you brought my Annie up here?” She squinted at him. “What do you want?”

  “Can’t I bring my wife to visit her grandmother?” He stretched his lips in a false smile and moved closer to the painting, feigning interest. “It’s beautiful here in the summer. Where is Annie, by the way?”

  “Upstairs, resting.” Grandmother cleared her throat. “You been working her over?”

  “What?” Richard turned around too fast, and the room swam for a moment. Had Annie told?

  “I said, you been working her too hard?”

  “Oh, no, no.” He gave a fake laugh, itching to get away from the woman’s scrutiny. There was something knowing in those faded brown eyes, something he wanted to get away from, fast. Richard turned back to the painting. Better to look at it than the old prune-faced bitch. “What’s this supposed to be?”

  Lise sucked her teeth, a derisive sound not lost on him. The old woman’s hate was as thick as the humid summer air. “Seminole Wars, boy. Something they don’t teach in the school.” She harrumphed. “Don’t want to tell the real truth about how the white man did the dark man wrong.”

  Richard took a closer look at the painting. White males and females knelt or lay on the ground, hands raised in defensive or
pleading postures while the darker skinned Seminoles and Blacks either beat them with fists or with tomahawks. Blood puddled on the dirt. In the background, the house and barn burned.

  Despite the heat, he shivered. He hadn’t known Grandmother was so bloodthirsty. It wasn’t exactly a painting you would expect to see in an old woman’s home. “That is interesting,” he managed.

  Grandmother nodded. “Sure is. Maybe you’ll learn something during your stay here.”

  He laughed again, but this time it was against his fear. “I heard you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  Lise lit a cigar. “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  ~* * * *~

  A clap of thunder woke Annie from her afternoon nap. Yawning, she sat up in bed and stretched. Outside the Irish-lace curtains, the rain poured down in buckets, typical for a summer storm. It had been hot and humid, and the rain served to cool down the day for the evening. Annie swung her legs out of bed and padded over the thick Aubusson rug to the adjacent bathroom. Though the house was at least fifty years old, her grandparents had updated everything a few years before her grandfather died. She twisted the cold tap and splashed her face. The cool water banished the remainder of the sleep cobwebs.

  Her hair was a mess. She dried her hands on the thick white towel and did her best to arrange the long, brown tresses into something that resembled order. The humidity had already begun to take its toll on her beauty salon hairdo, and she fretted about how she was going to keep it fresh. Perhaps there was a beauty salon in the neighboring town.

  The acoustics in the house were funny. She could hear Richard and Grandmother talking somewhere in the house. Glad they seemed to be getting along, Annie walked back into the bedroom to explore a little. With the rain beating down, the day was dark and gray. She switched on the lamp on the corner of the hulking mahogany dresser and opened the top drawer.