by Nancy Bush
For the longest of moments I stood motionless, in a strange state of calm. I thought about checking Orchid’s pulse. I’d never been faced with a dead body outside the trappings of a funeral home or church and it was the oddest feeling. Birth seems so right and natural; death feels like a cheat.
But I didn’t check her pulse. I knew she was dead. Even if she’d risen up and started talking to me I would have told myself I was dreaming and known it was true. That’s how sure I was, and as it turned out, I was right.
Taking a deep breath, I turned on my heel and left the room. I walked right down the stairs and across the entry hall to the salon. Jazz was still with Logan somewhere, I presumed, because he wasn’t with the rest of the family.
Garrett frowned and said, “I thought you were getting Mother? Where is she? Is she still napping?”
A whole lot of sick answers whirled around in my head on that one. In fact a little burble of hysteria had formed in my throat. I’d often heard stress makes people laugh inappropriately. That’s exactly what I wanted to do, laugh and laugh and laugh. I just managed to hold myself back.
“What’s the matter?” Benjamin asked, searching my face. The guy was intuitive in a way the rest of his family wasn’t.
“It’s Orchid. She’s…dead.”
They collectively stared at me. “Dead…?” Roderick repeated. He looked at James, as if for confirmation.
I gathered my wits with an effort. “It looks like she fell against the mantel. She’s lying on the floor.”
“Is this a joke?” Garrett demanded.
“No.”
Their faces reacted with shock. James declared fiercely, “She’s not dead. If she’s fallen, she could be injured!”
As if there were some off-camera signal, they suddenly surged as one toward the door. I was the rock in the current as they swarmed past me. As soon as I was alone I went straight for the inch of port in the bottle, looked around for a cup, realized I was out of luck, then simply tipped the bottle back and gulped it down. I didn’t care if my stomach reacted now. I needed something.
Tears formed in the corners of my eyes and my nose stung, but the stuff did the trick. As soon as I was finished I felt stronger. Hair of the dog…time immemorial hangover cure and antidote for shock.
I heard voices in the hall: Logan and Jazz. They entered the salon and stopped short. “Where is everybody?” Logan asked.
“Where’s Nana?” Jazz followed up instantly. Then, “Is something wrong?”
“It’s Orchid…” We heard noises from upstairs. Raised voices. Logan turned and headed toward the commotion.
“Don’t,” I said, reaching a hand toward him. He hesitated, looking at me askance. Jazz grabbed my forearms and searched my face.
“Jane, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“Jazz, she’s dead. Orchid’s dead. It looks like she fell against the mantel. Hit her head. Maybe it was an accident.”
“Maybe it was an accident?” He looked shell-shocked. “Nana?”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
“Stay here,” he ordered, and he hurried out of the room at a half-run to join his family upstairs, Logan on his heels.
I sat down hard in one of the chairs. I understood that I was in a mild state of shock, but it didn’t help me pull myself together. I could feel a sense of guilt creeping in, as if Orchid’s death were somehow my fault. Irrational, yes, but I couldn’t shake it. What I wanted most in the world at that moment was to crawl beneath the covers of my bed, with my dog, and sleep for a week.
I wondered if they had any more port.
It could have been ten minutes, it could have been two hours, but in that weird interim while the Purcells dealt with the immediacy of Orchid’s death, William DeForest opened the back door and announced his arrival. I turned toward the sound, waiting for him to appear in the open doorway of the salon. My first thought was: So they did invite him. My second: The old bastard kept her from spending some last precious few hours with her family.
This less than charitable conclusion couldn’t be dislodged. I was angry with him. When William hesitated in the doorway, my lip curled. His natty gray slacks, white shirt, red bow tie and suspenders irked me. He was clearly puzzled at finding only me. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking behind him as if the Purcells were hiding just out of sight.
Injustice fueled me. Later, I would wonder if I’d taken temporary leave of my sanity, but in that moment I zeroed in on William like a tracking missile. I said, in a conversational tone, “What the hell were you thinking, keeping Orchid from her family? You knew she was having cognitive problems. You call yourself her friend. But it’s your fault she was missing these past few days. You did that. Nobody else.”
His look of surprise was almost comical. “Where is everyone? Am I late?”
“All your little secrets…all your machinations…what did it get you? Nobody trusts you. And what were all those little comments about the Purcells, implying that you knew all the secrets. Blah, blah, blah.” I scowled at him. “You’re not a friend of theirs. You never were.”
William did not know what to make of me. I was operating outside the limits of good taste and acceptable social behavior. He eyed me critically. “Are you drunk?”
“Orchid’s gone,” I said, my fury dissipating as fast as it had risen. “She’s dead.”
He blinked several times. I was spent. Even more bushed than before. I didn’t need port; I needed a bed.
He gulped. “What are you saying? What are you saying?”
Footsteps descended the stairs. I was glad. Let the Purcells deal with him. Let them explain it.
Dahlia entered first, her face blotchy, her eyes red. One look at her and William turned ashen. Stunned, he stared, nearly collapsing, then he headed for the stairs on wobbly legs. I should have felt sorry for him, but I didn’t. I knew it was a classic case of transference, but I didn’t care. I wanted to wring his lying, bow-tied neck. He wept as he climbed the steps and even that didn’t melt my ice cold heart.
Long hours passed before Jazz could take me home, hours while the Purcells digested the news and decided what action to take. A call was put through to 911, the police showed up, the EMTs arrived and Orchid’s body was taken away. Preliminary examination revealed what I’d already suspected: she hit her head on the mantel and fell to the floor. The head injury had probably caused internal bleeding in the brain, then death.
Once the body was removed and the authorities gone, Garrett had the bad taste to propose the idea of foul play. Cammie and Dahlia were horrified anyone could even think that was the case, but Garrett began trumpeting this idea as if it were fact. Satin kept her head bent and tried to become invisible. James stood by in silent, starey shock. Benjamin hung with Roderick, and they did find another bottle of port, which they kept out of Satin’s reach, by accident or design I couldn’t quite tell. For once Logan showed restraint. The shock of his great-grandmother’s death had deeply rattled him. He stood by Jazz, who kept his arm around his son’s shoulders.
I waited this out, staying in the background. My brain was too tired to think through the ramifications. The bottom line was Orchid was dead. The worry and fret about her health, mental acuity, and overall handling of the finances was now a moot point.
Eventually Jazz and I climbed into his BMW convertible and headed out. We were quiet on the drive to my place, neither of us having anything to say. When Jazz pulled up next to Dwayne’s truck and yanked on the emergency brake, he finally spoke. “God, I can’t believe she’s gone. She was my rock.”
I nodded.
“She was always championing me, and you know how much she loves—loved—Logan.” He swallowed hard. “I miss her already.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.
Opening the passenger door, I stepped into a starless evening, leaning a moment on the car door to catch my bearings. I looked up at the night sky, then at my cottage. The air was distinctly chilly. I could see a bluish flickering li
ght emanating through the slit that ran beneath the bottom of the living room blinds and the sill. Dwayne was probably lying on my couch, watching television.
“Jane?” I leaned down and peered in the window at Jazz. “That guy…your boss?”
“Dwayne Durbin.”
“Is he something more to you?”
“No.” I was positive. “He’s not so much my boss as my business partner.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.”
He half-smiled. “That’s the one good thing about today, then. You and me. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
I waved good-bye to Jazz then walked into my front room and greeted Dwayne with a bitten off, “Hi.” I wasn’t trying to be rude; I just didn’t want to go another round with him. I wanted whatever had happened between us to die a quick death.
Dwayne flicked me a look. “Hi.” He was lying on the sofa, one arm tucked under his head. Binkster was sitting with her back to the cushions, her front legs and head splayed on Dwayne’s flat stomach. The cone looked damn uncomfortable, and she held her stitched hind leg to one side as if it hurt, too.
“Binky,” I murmured, coming over to scratch behind her ears. I’d had a hard time calling her this at first. Too cutiepatootie. But now it sufficed perfectly as she twisted her head around to lick my fingers.
“She’s hungry,” Dwayne said on a yawn.
“I know. She’s always hungry.” My voice was full of love. Hearing it, I thought about the Purcells and how they looked at their various offspring. I had so much to tell Dwayne and I just didn’t know where to begin. Finally, I baldly came out with, “Orchid’s dead.”
“What?” Dwayne sat up in surprise and Binks shifted quickly.
The events of the night started to tumble out without any rhyme or reason. I needed Dwayne’s clear thinking and investigator’s mind. I didn’t want to worry about what last night had meant, if anything. I just wanted everything to be the way it had been between us. Dwayne listened in silence as I told him about finding Orchid and the Purcells’ varying reactions, then I backtracked and related my experiences at River Shores, trying not to leave out a single detail. Finally I ran down, finishing with the way I’d verbally attacked William when he’d walked through the salon door.
“I just wanted to kill him,” I admitted. “I was so mad.”
Dwayne snorted. “The seven stages of grief. Sounds like you skipped a few.”
“Grief? Shock, maybe. I barely knew the woman.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t get over thinking she was your responsibility.”
“Why does it always sound like you have all the answers? Why do you do that, Dwayne?”
My pique amused him. “I hear serious hostility, darlin’. You already attacked the poor old guy with the bow tie. Now you want to take a shot at me.”
“Poor old guy, my ass. And you don’t have all the answers. I’m beginning to realize that. You had me fooled for a while, but I know more now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he marveled.
“You, Dwayne. You! I’m talking about the way you act. This kind of know-it-all male crap that’s covered up with the ‘aw, shucks, ma’am’ bullshit always coming out of your mouth. I’m not listening to it anymore. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not listening to it.”
“You’re just mad because I teased you this morning.”
“Y’see? I hate that, Dwayne. I hate it when you provide all the answers. You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.” I was firm, my jaw tight.
“I know you’re all worked up because you wanted to know if we slept together and I wouldn’t give you a straight answer. I know that you can’t decide whether you want it to be true or not. I know you’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“I have not!”
“Oh, yes, you have.” He climbed to his feet, settling Binkster onto the couch. She propped herself up on her front legs, her head turning from one to the other of us, as if she were watching a Ping-Pong match. “You’ve been wondering if we did the down and dirty together, and you’ve been pissed ’cause if we did, you can’t remember. And you want to remember.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I said uneasily. He was getting way too close to me. This was a new side of Dwayne I wasn’t sure I liked. Yes, I’d poked and prodded at him, but now I was wishing I’d left well enough alone.
“Well, let me tell you something to ease your mind: No. We didn’t do a damn thing together.”
“I was naked when I woke up.” I looked into his face, wondering why he seemed so different to me. It was scary and a little thrilling. Don’t do this, Jane. Don’t find him attractive.
“’Cause I stripped you down. Not because I had designs on you, because there was blood all over your clothes.”
“What did you sleep in?” I asked, mouth dry, though I knew. I’d felt that bare leg.
“Not a damn thing.”
“And we didn’t have sex.”
“No.”
“Okay.” I didn’t mean to sound chastised, but I did. And a little disappointed, too.
“You wanna know why?”
“Because you knew I didn’t want to?”
He almost laughed. “Didn’t want to? Darlin’, you were all over me! Begged me to make love to you.”
“You are so lying!”
“Not a bit. I’m tellin’ you the God’s honest truth. I had to take a cold shower to keep from taking you up on the offer.”
“That’s not even true. Oh, sure. Make yourself the hero.” I backed up a few paces. He was too damn close.
“Y’know what I told ya? I said if you still felt the same way today, I’d take you up on it.”
“Well, I don’t. I never did. I do not intend to be fuck-buddies with you, Dwayne. Ever.”
“Fuck-buddies…” he repeated in disbelief, shaking his head. “Making it crass doesn’t make it untrue. You tried to seduce me, Jane Kelly. It wasn’t the other way around.”
Had I? Maybe…Things were pretty darn hazy. But his words were dredging up memories from the depths of my brain, little forgotten pieces that suddenly burst into technicolor focus: my lips searching for Dwayne’s, missing, me then laughing hysterically, trying again, managing a sloppy kiss, using my tongue…
I cringed inside. Oh, God. I had made a pass at Dwayne. “I don’t believe any of this,” I lied, mortified. “You’re making it up.”
“Nope.”
“You have to be.”
“C’mere,” he said. His face was grim and set.
I could see I’d made things worse. And there was nowhere to hide. Binkster gave a little yip and I glanced over at her. She wagged her tail and panted. I swear to God it was like clapping. She was enjoying the show.
“Okay, time out,” I said, breathing a little sanity into the moment. “I don’t know what we’re doing here. I’m willing to concede that I could possibly be a little bit at fault. I’ve had a hell of a couple of days. You’ve gotta admit that. I’m not thinking straight, and if I seemed friendlier than I should have last night, well, I’m sorry. I was drunk and upset and I don’t think I can be held completely responsible for my actions.”
“So, you admit you came on to me?”
I narrowed my eyes. “No…I’m saying I wasn’t myself.”
To my shock Dwayne put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me against the wall. His face was close to mine. So close that I could see the darker, indigo striations in his blue eyes. I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes. And Dwayne has some damn nice ones.
However, I hadn’t planned on getting this close to them. “What are you doing?” I asked tautly.
For an answer he pressed his mouth to mine. My heart rate zinged and I let out a funny little squeak. Dwayne was kissing me. And he was kissing me, but good. Hard and demanding. My breath caught in my throat. I was so stunned that I stayed froze
n, except my lips parted in dismay, or maybe invitation…it wasn’t clear.
I could smell him. Sort of a musky scent that seemed to reach right inside me. Dwayne’s eyes had closed and so did mine. There was just a brief instant, one of those sterling moments, when my mind chose between capitulation and outrage.
I sagged against the wall and Dwayne pressed himself against me. His tongue thrust between my teeth. I’m no great fan of French kisses. Half the time the guy nearly suffocates me with this wildly searching tongue. But Dwayne had it down right. His tongue slipped across the roof of my mouth. I wanted to damn near suck it down my throat. He tasted my teeth and my lips and simply kept going in a way that did me in. My mind was full of visions of grabbing him, rolling on the floor, wrapping my legs around him, stripping off our clothes.
I thought, succinctly: I want you.
It was about this time that I dimly noticed Dwayne wasn’t as involved as I was. His body had pushed mine to the wall, yet there was something calculated about this seduction, something distant on his part.
I strong-armed him away from me and came up for air. Dwayne took a step back. We stared at each other.
“You’re not into it,” I accused. Now the outrage was there. And hurt. This really took a shot at my desirability.
“I’m gettin’ there,” he said, his accent thick. “Tryin’ to hold back.”
“Why?” My chest rose and fell like I’d run a marathon.
“Didn’t want to rush the ending.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth. I realized he was struggling to hang onto his self-control. This was gratifying. But sanity was returning in a flood. I saw how much I wanted to sleep with him. I really, really wanted to sleep with him. But I didn’t like what would happen next. Our relationship would digress. We would fight like lovers instead of friends. It would be hurtful and awful.
But as I looked into his eyes I thought it might be worth it. “Goddamn it,” I muttered, my own gaze fastening on his lips. He read me right. A moment later we were kissing for all it was worth. This time, when he pressed his body to mine I felt his urgency.
My fingers scrabbled for the tail of his shirt. I yanked it away from his pants, my hands running up the smooth muscles of his back.