by Amy Vansant
“Right. CI means confidential informant. Anyway, Towline lied like he breathed if it kept him out of trouble.”
“Why did they call him Towline?” asked Declan.
“Well, Smiley, glad you asked.”
He glowered at Seamus, who ignored him. He imagined it would take more than a glare to frighten his beefy uncle into behaving.
“The other guys on the boat he worked called him Towline because he was so full of bullshit he had to tow it behind him.”
Charlotte laughed and looked at Declan.
“Is that your nickname?” she asked. “Smiley?”
Seamus opened his mouth to answer but Declan cut him off.
“No.”
Charlotte took a sip of her wine. “So you think Al is lying about something?”
Seamus shrugged. “I’ve found people will sometimes tell little lies to make themselves feel better about the big lie they’re hiding. The whole ‘I imagined a girl on the road’ story sounds fishy. Towline used to do that. Tell us about a crime, leaving out the parts that incriminated him.”
“So you think Al really did hit her and buried her? Or you think he knows more than he’s saying?”
“Either, neither, both. Can’t really say.”
Seamus rubbed the tip of his beer bottle with his thumb and stared at it, as if deep in thought. After a moment, his head snapped up and he looked at Charlotte.
“Wait; what did you say Al said this girl was wearing?”
“A white shirt and a red belt.”
“That’s right, but not the belt… Why would he notice a belt, in the dark, drunk?”
“What do you mean that’s right?” asked Declan. “How would you know what she was wearing?”
Seamus took drink from his beer, eyes staring at the floor.
“Seamus, how would you know what she was wearing?”
“Because I saw her that night.”
“What? You never said that before!”
Seamus stared at his bottle, silent. Declan put down his wine glass to keep from throwing it at his uncle. He took a deep breath, composed himself and refocused.
“Tell me now,” he said, his voice steady and flat. “All of it.”
Seamus sighed.
“After my brother ran off, your mother and I had a thing. She was pretty messed up and I felt bad for her. I guess I was trying to comfort her and things went too far. I fought it for almost a year, but…she meant something to me. She did.”
“And you saw her the night she disappeared?”
“Things were getting serious. She’d been dating another guy and she told me she was breaking it off with him. We were going to make a go of it. I was going to adopt you, the whole thing.”
Declan swallowed. Having Seamus in his life after his dad disappeared might have changed his life. At the same time, he was infuriated at the idea Seamus had taken advantage of his mother during a difficult period. Even more so that he’d never mentioned it.
“Go on.”
“Erin stopped by; it was pretty late, maybe nine or ten. She told me she was going to see this other guy and end things with him. She was wearing a white blouse and a skirt. A jeans skirt. No belt that I remember and I’ve got an eye for details like that.”
“So, she left and that was the last you saw of her?”
“Yes. I should have gone with her. I…”
Seamus trailed off and looked away.
“You, what?” asked Declan.
“I loved her. What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me what happened to her.”
“I don’t know!” Seamus jabbed at the air with the hand that held his beer. “She left and I never saw her again. I didn’t know the other guy. I didn’t know anything that would help the police. I got scared my brother’s criminal history would keep everyone, especially the police, from believing me. You have to understand, the Bingham name was mud around here after all the shit your dad pulled trying to feed his drug habit. I did what I could and then I moved to Miami to be away from it all.”
“You never told the police she was seeing someone?” asked Charlotte.
“I told the police she’d been dating someone, I just never told them that she and I were involved. I didn’t want them pegging me for the jealous boyfriend. I didn’t want them wasting time investigating me. She hid the other guy’s identity from me, afraid I’d be jealous I guess. I had nothing. After she disappeared I asked around. No one knew she was dating someone, me or the other guy. Erin wasn’t a big talker.”
Declan rubbed his face with both hands and swept back his hair. He wanted to scream. The answer to all his questions seemed so close, yet this new chance had already come and gone over a decade earlier.
“Could she have been seeing Al?” he asked Charlotte. “What else did Al say?”
“Nothing, really, and I doubt they were dating. You know how you said you got your height from your mother’s side? I don’t know how tall she was, but Al is barely over five feet.”
“Erin was tall. Five-nine, five-ten. Your height,” said Seamus.
“He’s also wildly devoted to his wife,” added Charlotte. “I once heard him refer to them as two chunks of ricotta in the same cannoli.”
Declan’s lip twitched. “Ew.”
“Yeah. Even two meatballs on the same spaghetti seems more romantic. He was a plumber, not a poet.”
“Or two pepperoni on the same pizza.”
“Two spoons in the same gelato.”
“You two have issues,” muttered Seamus.
Charlotte glanced quickly at Declan and then looked away.
“Anyway, my point is, Al and your mother would be an odd couple. It isn’t impossible, but when Al told me the story I didn’t get the impression he knew your mother. He was connecting his shaky memory with the disappearance of a woman he didn’t know.”
“He should tell the police his story,” said Seamus.
“I took Al right across the street to Sheriff Marshall and he told him everything he told me, so it’s on the record now.”
“That’s good,” said Declan. “That’s something.”
He looked at Seamus. His wordplay with Charlotte had been a welcome distraction, but frustration and anger began to ooze though his veins like slow, black blood.
Seamus met his gaze and then turned to Charlotte.
“You said you had two things?”
Charlotte nodded. “Frank let me know he got the autopsy report.”
Declan’s eyes grew wide. “What did it say?”
“Frank?” asked Seamus.
“Sheriff Marshall,” said Charlotte. “He’s like my unofficial uncle.”
“Good thing he’s an unofficial uncle,” muttered Declan. “Less chance he slept with your mom.”
Seamus’ eyes flashed with anger.
“Let’s not do the passive aggressive thing, huh, boyo?” he barked, sitting forward. “You want to hit me, hit me. I told you I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t tell you about your mom and me, and sorry I couldn’t protect her.”
Declan stood. Seamus stood with him. The mix of rage and sorrow roiling in Declan’s chest made it hard for him to focus as he stared at his uncle, unsure of what to do. He felt like a teenager again. He’d been an angry kid after the death of his mother. He’d gotten into fights and hung out with the wrong crowds. He’d spent the last seven years reinventing himself only to have his hard-earned poise dissipate as quickly as a Florida afternoon rainstorm. He was an angry teenager again. Staring at his uncle, he longed to focus his pain into one punch…he longed for the release.
“I’m sorry,” said Seamus, his voice low and soft. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Declan looked away, focusing on the steady ticking of his kitchen wall clock.
Breathe.
After a moment, he released his fists and sat down. Seamus sat as well.
“I want to see the autopsy report,” said Declan.
“Frank plans on sharing th
e full report with you tomorrow,” said Charlotte. Her voice sounded timid. Declan realized his behavior must have taken her by surprise.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding a lifted palm towards her. “I’m sorry if I upset you. It’s been a weird couple of days and I nearly took it out on the wrong person. I’m sorry to you, too, Seamus.”
“No worries,” said Seamus, patting Declan’s knee. “I understand more than you know.”
“Touching the knee is pushing it.”
Seamus withdrew his hand. “Sorry.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” said Charlotte. “For what it is worth, you’ll know everything in the report tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t really need a report to tell me she was dead. I knew it.”
He stared at the floor for a moment and then looked up at her.
“Sorry. Go on. Anything else?”
“They found a chip in her rib that could have been caused by the bullet.”
“So that rules out Al, too,” said Seamus.
“Probably. But there was one odd thing. They said there was a bunch of scratching around the chip.”
Seamus scowled. “What does that mean? What kind of scratching?”
“Frank didn’t know. He said there was a sizeable chip missing and scratching that didn’t look like it was related to the bullet striking the rib.”
“Something that happened over the years?” asked Declan. “What about that dog?”
“Katie mouthed her jaw and skull, but they didn’t uncover the rest of the body until long after she was locked up next door.”
“I wish they’d offered some ideas about what caused it. I can’t help but think that’s an important detail.”
“They didn’t know and Frank didn’t speculate.”
Declan sighed.
“So, do you want me out?” asked Seamus. “I understand if you do. I can get a room somewhere until I find a place.”
“No,” said Declan, deflated, his anger gone. “It’s a lot to take in. Maybe you and Mom would have been great together. I don’t know. I was a kid. This whole situation is just bringing old frustrations to the surface. I’m sure you did what you could.”
“I did. It’s what drove me to work with the police in Miami. I never stopped asking questions, but I never found anything that led me to your mother. Part of me thought maybe she just…”
As Seamus trailed off Declan saw his uncle’s eyes shining wet with tears.
“You thought she might have left you?”
Seamus nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his arm.
“Yeah. I thought maybe the other guy had talked her into running away with him.”
Declan nodded. “Sometimes I thought she left without me, too.”
Seamus sniffed. “Are we supposed to hug now?”
“We can skip it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have more information for you,” said Charlotte.
“Oh, I appreciate everything you’ve done, you’ve been great,” said Declan. “Sorry about our behavior.”
“Especially the sappy stuff,” added Seamus.
“Maybe once you read the whole report you’ll see something that rings a bell.”
“Yep,” said Seamus, standing and slapping his belly. “If there are two things I learned in the life, it’s that they never make it easy for you.”
“What’s the second thing?” asked Charlotte.
“Never try to bathe a cat.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Well,” said Seamus, looking at his watch. “I have a date. Gotta go.”
“You have a date?” asked Declan. “You’ve barely been here for twenty-four hours. How can you have a date?”
“Actually, it’s with someone from your neck of the swamp,” he said, looking at Charlotte.
“From Pineapple Port? It’s got to be nearly nine. No one there is awake at this hour.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.”
“Would it kill you to put that in the trash?” asked Declan looking at the bottle his uncle had left on the table.
“Who is it?’ asked Charlotte. “You have to tell me who it is.”
Seamus opened the front door, caressing it with his fingers.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” he said in a low, sexy tone. Seamus winked and closed the door behind him.
Charlotte looked at Declan.
“Did he just feel up your door?”
“That was unsettling.”
She mulled Seamus’ oddness a moment longer.
“Do you know who it is?”
“Who?”
“His date!”
“No. He said he had a thing for older ladies, but that was about it.”
“I bet it was Jackie. They were canoodling outside the meeting. Damn. If I brought this gossip to Mariska and Darla they’d bake me muffins for a month.”
Declan laughed. “I promise to tell you as soon as he tells me, but I demand twenty percent of the muffin haul.”
“Ten.”
“Fine.”
“Yea! Thank you.”
Charlotte clapped her hands with glee, but stopped when she detected Declan’s smirk.
She nodded towards the front door. “Are you two close?”
“Seamus and me?” Declan’s crooked the corner of his mouth, causing a dimple to flash to life. “Funny you should ask after how we acted tonight.”
“It was a little tense there for a second. I was afraid I’d have to dive out of the way to avoid becoming collateral damage.”
“We wouldn’t have swung at each other.” He swirled his wine and watched it kiss the lip of his glass. “Probably.”
Charlotte pictured the men squaring off in her mind. Part of her found it thrilling. The way Declan’s arms flexed as he clenched his fists, the little bulge along his jaw line as he grit his teeth… When had this primal urge to watch men fight developed? The emotion in the room had erupted so suddenly. It was as if Declan had morphed from a smooth, cool vampire into a snarling werewolf at the first sign of trouble.
The muscle in Declan’s biceps twitched as he swirled his wine.
Charlotte wanted to touch it.
She felt her face grow warm and she looked away, certain that he could read her mind and worried her thoughts were moving from PG-13 to R.
Am I under obligation to give him a parental warning?
Every time she saw Declan he seemed more attractive. Maybe she was just thrilled to find someone who wasn’t thrown at her by one of the Pineapple matchmakers. While she’d often daydreamed about bumping into a handsome stranger at the food store, she’d never imagined she’d meet someone over a grave. Especially one in her back yard.
Declan moved to sit down and she snapped back to the issue at hand. Namely, Declan’s hands. She was staring at them. They were so perfect; long and tipped with buffed, manicured nails that said, “Hi there, I take pride in my appearance.” They combined nicely with his old khaki shorts, which added, “not that I’m vain or anything” to the conversation. What if he had swung that beautiful hand at Seamus? He might have broken a knuckle. What if they’d started grappling and he got all rumpled and sweaty. What if he’d had to take off his shirt…
“Are you counting something?” said Declan.
Charlotte realized she’d starting ticking on her fingers how many months it had been since her last date. She’d hit seven by the time Declan interrupted.
“Uh…” Charlotte grabbed her glass from the table to keep her hands still.
“No,” she said, the number nine screaming in her head.
Nine? Really?
“I —”
And how long since…
Declan’s tawny-speckled eyes locked on her as he waited for an explanation. She liked the little divot above his lip. What was that called? She’d have to look it up. She liked the way that divot created the inverted arch in the center of his lip, and the way the curve echoed the curve on either side of his mout
h. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that little divot on anyone’s face before? He wasn’t the only one who had one, was he?
She casually touched her finger to her own upper lip to be sure she had that arch as well.
She did.
That’s good.
It would be difficult to find a self-help group for people without lip arches.
“Sorry,” she said. “My mind wandered.”
“That happens a lot with you.”
Charlotte took a sip of her wine to drown the strange googily feeling in her stomach and chest.
“About you and Seamus,” she said, straining to return to their conversation. “I meant, did you keep in touch?”
“On and off. Not long after Mom disappeared he offered to take me Miami, but he couldn’t really afford a kid. I think he was counting on Mom’s insurance to help, but the insurance company delayed it for years. No body.”
“So your grandmother raised you.”
“Yep.”
“Sounds like we have that in common. Well, first my real grandmother and then grandmothers by proxy.”
“That’s right, you never explained to me how you ended up the youngest girl in Pineapple Port. But first, can I get you some more wine?”
Charlotte looked at her glass, surprised to find it empty.
“Sure. Thank you. I’m not keeping you up am I?”
Declan laughed. “It isn’t even nine yet.”
“Sometimes I forget not everyone goes to bed at sundown.”
Declan filled her glass and splashed a bit in his own.
“Okay. Tell me your tale.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell…” She stared at the freshened wine. She wanted to pick it up. Was it too soon? How long should I let it sit before I can start drinking again without appearing desperate for it? She wanted something to do with her hands…
Uh oh.
Declan was looking at her again with that expectant and oddly penetrating glance.
“Um…well, my father died when I was a baby. My mother died when I was eleven. Cancer. I ended up with my grandmother in Pineapple Port. Then she died not long after that.”
“But who took care of you?”
“Pineapple Port. Mostly Mariska and Darla. Mariska was my grandmother’s best friend.”
“One of them adopted you?”
“Not officially. I think Frank handled the details, shuffled some paperwork. I’m not sure. They arranged it so I could continue living in my grandmother’s house, but when I was younger I slept over at Mariska’s quite a bit. It was like having a mom who lived next door.”