Wrecked Palace

by Catherine Cowles

  I sucked in a breath and couldn’t seem to let it out. As if any movement, even an exhale, would stop Griffin from speaking.

  He turned the glass in nonsensical circles on the counter. “You know people sold information about me. Mostly lies. Some of them were beyond ridiculous. I didn’t care so much about those. It was the truths that cut. In a matter of months, the little bit of sanity I’d built for myself crumbled.”

  Griffin swallowed, seeming to struggle to find the right words. “First the accountant found out my uncle was siphoning off money from my trust fund. Apparently, he thought he deserved to be paid for the trouble of taking care of me.”

  “What a dingleberry,” I muttered.

  Griffin’s brows rose. “Dingleberry?”

  “It’s become a recent favorite word of mine for jerks of the worst variety.”

  His mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile. “Well, my uncle was that. But even after he went to prison, I was still hanging on. I met a girl. For the first time since my family died, I felt like I had a person, you know?”

  I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat. I could see in my mind a younger Griffin, not even yet twenty-one, and all alone in the world. I knew how that felt. It was terrifying, and it made you desperate to grab hold of anything or anyone that made life feel a little more stable. “I know.”

  “I thought we were happy. Maybe we were for a time. But that reporter got to her. I still don’t know how, exactly. Maybe it was money. Maybe he convinced her that she’d actually be helping me deal with what happened.” Griffin’s eyes met mine. “Jen always wanted me to talk about my family. But I wasn’t ready. I know it hurt her. I hurt her.”

  He looked away, back to his untouched glass of water. “A month after my uncle was sentenced, I found that reporter in my apartment. Jen had given him the key. I found him going through a box of mementos. I still don’t know if Jen knew about the box or if the reporter had just found it by luck. But I lost it. I’d never lost it like that. He snapped a photo of me, and I decked him. He hit his head on the corner of my nightstand. Was unconscious for three days. People said I was a monster.”

  “You’re anything but a monster,” I snapped.

  Griffin’s gaze came back to me, and he shrugged. “Maybe I have a little monster in me. I punched that guy who was an ass to you at the store.”

  I grinned at the memory. Kenna’s ex-boyfriend had shown up at The General Store a couple of months ago and had made a scene. He’d been cruel, and when he turned that vicious streak on me, Griffin had laid him out with a single punch. “Am I supposed to be offended by that?”

  “It could’ve ended badly. I could’ve really injured him. But the look in your eyes… I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore.”

  My breath caught in my lungs. It turned out Griffin paid attention far better than I’d thought. He could read every expression that crossed my face before I had the chance to hide it. “Maybe it makes me a little bit of a monster that I’m glad you hit him.”

  Griffin took a step closer. “I guess we’ll just have to be a little monstrous together.”

  My heart rattled against my ribs as he moved in even closer. His eyes locked with mine, freezing me to the spot, burning a hole inside me. And just as he leaned in, the kettle let out a shrill whistle. I jumped a good foot into the air and scrambled to take it off the heat.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’ll just fill this cup and take it up to bed. Thank you for the tea. And the cameras. And—and—” Griffin caught my elbow, forcing my gaze to his. “And for making us safe.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Sleep well.” And with that, he was gone. The kitchen was empty, and I was alone. But my forehead burned where his lips had been, and I didn’t think I’d sleep a wink.

  26

  Griffin

  I stared up at my ceiling as if it could somehow magically send me off into unconsciousness. But my ceiling had never been very good at that. Instead, I was hyperaware of every noise in the house. Every settling creak or gust of wind against the windows.

  An hour or two ago, I’d heard the faint sound of light footsteps. I’d climbed out of bed to see Ava and Mia opening the door to Caelyn’s room. “Can we sleep with you, Cae Cae?” Ava had asked shyly. Caelyn had, of course, welcomed them in.

  Maybe I’d been wrong, and it would take a lot longer for the girls to recover from their ordeal. They’d refused to take separate bedrooms, and now they were sleeping with Caelyn. My hands fisted in my sheets as Mia’s tear-streaked face flashed in my mind. The gash on Caelyn’s head. The way Ava’s hand trembled as she took mine when we walked down the street to my truck. The only one who seemed to be holding it together was Will. But I had a feeling he was simply locking things away. I’d taken that route before. And it never ended well.

  I threw the covers back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and heading for the door. Lying around wasn’t going to change a damn thing. I needed to move. If I stayed still in this state, my skin began to itch.

  As silently as possible, I made my way downstairs and towards my office. I brought the computer to life, scanning through the different camera angles. All was quiet. I swore I could still smell a hint of Caelyn’s shampoo in the air. Something floral that I couldn’t identify. That smell brought it all back. How she’d felt in my arms. The silk of her skin beneath my lips.

  I gave myself a good shake. It wasn’t the time. Caelyn had been through too much. I needed to be a friend and support for her, nothing else.

  I straightened from my spot at the computer and headed for the far bookcase. The whole back wall was covered in shelves, but one was a little different—a project that my father had installed in the house. He was by no means paranoid, but he was cautious. He knew people wished my family harm. Or who would’ve loved to kidnap one of us for ransom. So, he did everything he could to keep his family safe.

  I gave the side of the shelf a little tug. It swung out. I slipped inside the small room that led to another door. Next to it was a keypad. I punched in a six-digit code and heard the lock turn. Pulling the second door open, a light automatically flickered on. The bulbs that illuminated the staircase gave off low, ambient light. Just enough to see where you were going, but not enough that it would expose its location to someone in the office if the lights were off.

  I made my way down the stairs to the small basement. There were a few cots, some camp chairs, and a wall of emergency supplies. Most of the food needed to be disposed of when I came back, but I’d replaced some of it. I had a decent stash of snacks and water. And there was a secondary landline that allowed for calls out if someone ever did break in.

  It had been months since I’d been down here. But everything was still in its place. And there was plenty of room for all the current residents of the farmhouse. In a few days or a week, when the kids had settled, I’d show them the safe room. Teach them to memorize the code. Show them how to use the phone.

  Just having the plan helped somehow. It was another tool in my arsenal to keep them all safe. I shut off the light and climbed back up, emerging into my office.

  I settled behind the computer, opening an internet browser this time. I hated when people searched for things about my life on the internet. It wasn’t that I wanted to be asked about it either, but there was something about the anonymous action that felt like a violation. Yet that was exactly what I was about to do to Caelyn.

  There were things I needed to know so I could be prepared for all the possibilities she might be facing, though. Details I didn’t want to force her to go through again. So, I typed in her father’s name: Sean O’Connor. A laundry list of hits appeared on my screen.

  Some results had nothing to do with Anchor and Caelyn. But far more did. I clicked on an article from a Seattle newspaper. The trials had taken place there. The cases a little too big-time for our small chain of islands.

  I skimmed the words. The reporter seemed to have been covering t
he case from beginning to end. More people were involved than I’d originally thought. More than a dozen arrests and eight convictions. Most of the sentences were in the five to ten-year range. People who had been involved in the drug trafficking ring that Sean was embedded in.

  It sounded as if there were more than a few that the prosecutor hadn’t had enough evidence to convict. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to those people and to the network of cookers and distributors. They hadn’t just disappeared. Maybe they’d simply gotten better at hiding their movements.

  My mind couldn’t help but jump to the possibility that it was one of those people making trouble for Caelyn. But it didn’t make sense. If they really blamed Caelyn and her siblings for their testimony, wouldn’t they have started the harassment sooner?

  My gaze caught on a photo in the article. The woman in it looked more than just a little worse for wear. Her face seemed to sag with the weight of her actions. Chrissy O’Connor. Did she have enough hate and bitterness in her to throw a brick through her children’s window?

  It was so far from anything I could imagine. I knew people did horrible things. Hell, I’d experienced more than my fair share of it. But I couldn’t wrap my head around a mother being so vicious. Maybe it was because my own had been so caring. My chest burned at the thought. With the question that always haunted me. Why them? My parents and sister weren’t perfect, but they were good, kind, generous people. Why did we lose them when this endless list of cruel and violent criminals went on to live long and happy lives?

  I clicked out of the browser. It had been a mistake to go down that rabbit hole. I didn’t need the darkness of the thoughts swirling around in my mind right now. Because I’d been swallowed by that darkness before. And it had taken me years to get out.

  I stood, locking the computer screen. I was still itchy, needing something, anything to do. Normally, I’d work on the farmhouse. Letting the physical exertion work out all the tension and anxiety. But now I had a full house of people who would wake if I did that.

  I glanced at the clock. It was a little after six. The kids got up around six-thirty. Breakfast. They’d need breakfast. And that would give me something to do with my hands. An activity to beat back the monsters pounding on my door.

  I strode to the kitchen, coming to a stop in the middle of the space. I didn’t have the first idea of where to even start. Ingredients. I went to the pantry, pulling out a loaf of bread. Toast was easy. I could handle toast.

  I set it on the counter and went to the fridge, surveying the contents. Most of it was packaged meals Caelyn had left. But there wasn’t enough for all of us. I did have a carton of eggs and some cheese.

  My dad had been the master of cheesy eggs. Every Saturday morning, he’d be in charge of the kitchen. He’d turn up the oldies station and sing off-key as he cooked, Beth and I sitting on the counter and watching him work.

  I had the sudden and burning urge to make those cheesy eggs for Caelyn and the kids. To grab my portable speaker and find some oldies to play. But I’d draw the line at singing. That was taking it a step too far.

  Pulling out the eggs and cheese, I shut the door with my foot. I moved from cabinet to cabinet, grabbing everything I could possibly need. Pan. Cheese grater. Salt and pepper. Bowl. I pictured my dad, the steps he took every Saturday morning. But the image, the details of it, were fuzzy. I could see his face clear as day, but his hands were out of focus.

  I muttered a few choice curses under my breath. Curses for losing yet another piece of him. And it was my own damn fault. Because I hadn’t kept their memory alive. Instead, I’d stuffed it down for far too long. Because every time I thought of them, I’d been flooded with the pain of them being taken from me. So, I’d turned it all off. The good and the bad. And I’d learned too late that losing the good was far worse than remembering the bad.

  I cracked an egg on the side of the bowl with a little too much force. Pieces of shell went flying into the bowl. “Dammit.” I reached for a towel and ended up sending the whole thing crashing into the sink.

  “What’s going on?”

  I spun at the sound of Caelyn’s voice, my hands covered in eggshell and goo. “I, uh. Hell. I was trying to make cheesy eggs, but apparently, I’m not cut out for the job.”

  Her lips quirked up. “Cheesy eggs, huh?”

  “My dad used to make them. Every Saturday. I just thought it might be nice to make them for you guys.”

  Caelyn’s expression softened. “I love that you had that. I bet I would’ve liked your dad. I happen to be a big fan of cheesy eggs.”

  I could see it. Caelyn in the kitchen cooking with my dad. She and my mom giving him a hard time. She would’ve fit right in. I cleared my throat. “He would’ve loved you.”

  She crossed to the sink, picking up the bowl and rinsing it out. “Then the least I can do is make some cheesy eggs in his honor.”

  And that’s what we did. Caelyn walked me through her process and as she did, that picture of my dad became a little clearer. The image of his hands less blurry. Caelyn was a miracle, giving me back my family without even knowing it.

  27

  Caelyn

  “You’re sure you feel up to it?” I surveyed Ava’s and Mia’s faces. I had already called Mr. Walters and asked for the day off because I assumed the girls would want to stay home from school. To rest, recover. I should’ve known better.

  Mia nodded as she ate her last spoonful of cheesy eggs. “If I don’t go to school, then I can’t go to gymnastics with Katie. I don’t want to miss it.”

  Ava stood, taking her plate to the sink. “I have a book report I need to turn in.”

  Will eyed me from across the table. “I’ll stay home.”

  I crossed my eyes at him. “Sorry, pal. You’re stuck in boring old history today.”

  He shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  Griffin chuckled as he stood and picked up Mia’s plate. “I would’ve tried, too. I hated history. Always got the dates for stuff mixed up.”

  My eyes caught on something as he grabbed Mia’s silverware. Colorful string woven in a rainbow pattern. I tried to swallow the lump of emotion. It was no use. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

  “Oh, boy. What now?” Will asked as he looked at me incredulously. “How in the world can you be getting teary about history class?”

  Griffin was in front of me in a flash. “What is it? What’s wrong? Does your head hurt?”

  “No. No. I’m fine.” I quickly wiped at my eyes, giving him a watery smile. “You’re wearing Mia’s bracelet.”

  He glanced down at the string on his wrist. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Good. It’s good,” I croaked.

  “It’s the best,” Mia said, hopping off her chair.

  Griffin gave me a wary look. “I can never tell with your tears. They’re really disconcerting.”

  I burst out laughing, and Will shook his head. “I keep telling her she needs to get plugs.”

  I pointed my fork at Will and then Griffin. “You’re both on my you-know-what list. I can’t help when they surface.” I took pity on the slightly fearful expression still on Griffin’s face. “Most of the time, they’re happy tears.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he muttered.

  I pushed back from the table, shaking my head. “Who knew the thing that would stop men dead in their tracks, scare them worse than anything else, was just a few tears.”

  Griffin chuckled. “You know how to get me.”

  We moved through our morning routine with ease. As if we’d all been cleaning up and getting ready for our days together for years. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Everything with Griffin always just seemed to fit. And the kids flourished under his attention. But I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when we had to leave.

  I dropped off the last of my brood, making sure they knew they could call anytime if they were worried or scared or overwhelmed. Then I simply sat in the elementary school parkin
g lot. Mr. Walters had already asked Max and Molly to cover for me at the store. I had the day totally and completely free. When was the last time that had happened? I honestly couldn’t remember. And I didn’t have the faintest idea how to spend it.

  The last thing I wanted was to make a nuisance of myself at the farmhouse. Griffin had already opened his home to us when he was used to solitude. I texted Parker.

  Me: Any updates?

  It had barely been twelve hours, but I kept hoping for a miracle. That they’d found the perpetrator and they were in jail. That it was a band of kids who had gotten out of hand, but after a scare, they’d learned the error of their ways. Something.

  Parker: Nothing yet, but we’re working on it. It’s going to take a while to process all the evidence. You holding up okay?

  My shoulders slumped. Time was the thing working against us the most. Because the longer this took, the more opportunities this invisible person had. I shivered, feeling suddenly very exposed in this half-empty school parking lot.

  Me: I’m fine. Thanks for everything you’re doing.

  I looked like I’d been in a car accident, and my head felt like there was a marching band playing inside, but I wasn’t going to share that.

  Parker: I’ll update you as soon as we have anything.

  But I didn’t want to wait around for evidence processing or trying to track down every neighbor in a four-block radius. I had some questions that I needed to have answered for myself. I started my SUV’s engine and headed for the ferry.

  Normally, ferry rides from island to island were relaxing. I’d get out of my vehicle and go sit on the top deck, taking in all the beauty around me. This time, I stayed put. I let my vision go fuzzy on the line of cars in front of me. I played the arguments back and forth in my mind. But I kept settling on one thing. I had to see her.