Monarchs

by Rainey, Stephen

  "Maybe you should let me be the judge of that."

  "You know," David said, "we're not legally obligated to answer your questions, but we've all been more than cooperative. If you want to complicate things needlessly, I'll be happy to call my lawyer. I'm sure Will Garner wouldn't mind stopping by to chat."

  Chief Flythe's glare would have staggered Courtney where she stood, but David merely raised an eyebrow, evidently expecting an answer.

  "No," he said at last, looking as if, for a penny, he would spit at the younger man's feet. "I don't suppose that's necessary." As he turned away, his jaw working back and forth furiously, his eyes fell again on Courtney. "I'd like to recommend, Ms. Edmiston, that you don't leave Fearing too soon. You may yet be able to shed some light on this situation."

  "I doubt that."

  "We'll see." His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her. "Well. I appreciate your cooperation, ma'am. You've been helpful."

  As if on cue, Arlene appeared at the door to the front hall, gave Courtney a quick, reassuring smile, and said to the chief, with exaggerated courtesy, "If you'll come this way, sir."

  As he left, Flythe's eyes lingered on Courtney, his expression thoughtful. He ignored David, whose imperturbable gaze followed him out the door. As the chief's footsteps dwindled in the hallway, David sent Courtney an apologetic look.

  "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'd have forewarned you if I'd had a clue he was coming."

  "I can't believe that man was killed," she said, shaking her head, still half-stunned. "But I can see why the police would question us. They know about the fight."

  Jan's eyes remained locked on the door where the chief had exited. "That bastard. It wouldn't surprise me if he had something to do with it — just so he could try to pin it on us."

  "I can't believe a cop would do that. No matter how corrupt you say they are."

  "I'm not sure I'd put anything past Mr. Flythe there," David said. "That was his car there last night, no matter what he says."

  "You're sure about that?"

  "Very."

  She thought for a moment and said, "You know, if we had gone to the police last night — whether the chief was there or not — they'd have gotten our side of the story first. It would be harder for him to blame anything on you."

  "Courtney, it wouldn't matter one way or the other. He would just make it out as me being all the more brazen. But don't worry — either of you. He can't pin a thing on me. He just wishes he could."

  Jan gave her brother a stern look. "He'll dig deep."

  "Then he'd better watch where he steps." He glanced quickly at Courtney. "I just mean he'll end up stumbling into a lot of empty holes. There's nothing to find."

  "Do you know exactly what happened to him? Hank Surber?"

  For a second, David's confidence seemed to waver, and his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly toward the ceiling. "It's curious. His body was…disfigured. His brother found him outside their house this morning."

  "Hanging from a tree," Jan added. "Impaled on a broken branch."

  Death had brushed Courtney too closely before, never more horribly than when it had taken her daughter. But now, as Jan and David both held her in their stony gazes, it seemed closer and more menacing than ever before — as if it hid in the room with her, lurking in the deepening shadows like something sentient and cruel.

  She excused herself and returned to her suite, something cold and implacable following at her heels. When she closed herself in her room and turned her eyes to meet the murky, mocking stare of the woods on the other side of her window, frigid fingers closed over her and, for an interminable time, caressed her body until she was a shivering, weeping wreck on her bed.

  Jan appeared at her door at dinnertime, and though Courtney had initially decided to skip the evening meal altogether, the little salad she had nibbled on at lunch had scarcely held her, so she reluctantly accompanied her friend to the dining room, anticipating making quick work of whatever Arlene had prepared before retreating again to her tenebrous sanctum. However, once she sat down and sampled Arlene's remarkable chicken and dumplings, a strong appetite kicked in and kept her at the table for two full servings. Fortunately, Martha came down only long enough to fill a plate and shoot her a few soul-searing scowls before returning upstairs. Jan and David displayed few outward signs of anxiety, though did she notice the two of them occasionally exchanging contemptuous glances. Jan obviously had issues with her brother's handling of the current situation.

  After dinner, against her better judgment, Courtney allowed Jan to drag her to the great room for drinks, while David retired to his studio, ostensibly to attack a new composition he had been struggling with, though Courtney guessed that, under the circumstances, he had little desire to spend any more time than necessary with his sister. Jan confirmed this as they broke into a bottle of Aglianico.

  "He's become so cold in the past few days," she said, with a hint of her old candor. "Ruthless, even. I know he's been under pressure, with the Surbers coming down on him all at once. But it worries me to see him become so coldhearted. Like the way he cut Hank with that knife. It's hard to feature David doing anything like that."

  "But he did get us out of a damn bad situation," Courtney said. "Men like the Surbers, I doubt they would understand anything less dramatic."

  She snorted derisively. "I'm sure he did what he thought was best. To me, it seems like the perfect way to ensure that they'll retaliate."

  "At least one of them won't," Courtney said, taking a sip of her wine and studying Jan's expression.

  Jan frowned gloomily. "No matter what those men have done, I wouldn't have wished a horrible death on any of them."

  Courtney took a deep breath and another sip, hesitant to speak her mind with Jan already plainly upset. However, she could not back away. "You know, I've seen how you both react when the subject of Aunt Martha's Monarch comes up. You say there's nothing to it, but the subject obviously makes you uncomfortable. Tell me the truth about it."

  For an instant, Jan's eyes turned hot with anger, but they cooled just as quickly. She sighed. "Courtney, what do you think there is to it? It's an old story. Do you honestly believe there could be more to it than that?"

  "After what I've seen and been through, I know there's something going on that's beyond anything I've ever experienced. Like my 'sleepwalking' last night. That was not normal, and there's no way I can accept that Martha wasn't somehow responsible."

  "Courtney, you had a strange experience, and because you don't understand it, you want it to be someone's fault. Look, I know how big a change all this is for you. Don't think I'm not one-hundred-percent sympathetic. But I can't accept that my great-aunt somehow mesmerized you and sent you out to be destroyed by something from a folktale. Do you understand my reasoning here?"

  "Of course I do. How do you think I feel? Maybe I'm going completely crazy. But I've seen you, Jan — you and David both. When you told me how Hank Surber was killed, I could see it in your eyes. You both were thinking of Martha. You were."

  Jan rolled her eyes in exasperation. "If anything, it's that these things appear to validate her crazy point of view — to someone who doesn't know better."

  "You mean someone gullible. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

  "You know I don't mean that about you."

  "Tell me this, then. Who do you think was responsible for killing Hank Surber?"

  "How would I know that? The Surbers probably have more enemies in this town than we do. It doesn't have to be about us at all."

  "Earlier, you were ready to blame the cops. Were you serious or just upset?"

  Jan sighed. "Mostly upset. On the other hand, I'm not sure I'd put it past Chief Flythe. Ever since Mom and Dad died…"

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Let's just say he and the Surbers are cut from the same mold."

  "Are you telling me he's in on trying to extort money from you?"

  "Not directly. But he knows what the Sur
bers are up to. David thinks they intend to cut him in to keep him looking the other way."

  "Jesus," Courtney groaned. "You know, it seems to me the best thing you could do is move somewhere else. Why do you even stay here?"

  Jan gave her a long, curious look. "This is our home. Nobody drives us out of our home. I guess you wouldn't understand. You've never had the kind of connection to a place that we do."

  "Still, if this life is making you unhappy, wouldn't you want to try to build a new one somewhere else? Something better than this?"

  "There isn't anything better than this," Jan snapped. "Not for us."

  Courtney lowered her head. "I'm sorry. No, I guess I don't understand."

  They fell silent for a time, and she could feel Jan's wall coming up again, cold and unyielding, her mental focus turning to something deep within herself. Courtney was tempted to bring up her night with David, just to see whether it would buttress the wall or bring it tumbling down, but it seemed perhaps too cruel, given Jan's sensitivity about the subject. Still, David was her brother, not her husband, and his decisions hardly required her approval.

  For that matter, neither did hers.

  Then, as if reading her thoughts, Jan turned to look at her coolly. "You know, I warned you about getting involved with David. Nothing good can come of it."

  "We're not exactly 'involved.'"

  "It doesn't matter what you call it. You know I'd do anything in the world to help you. But if you're not going to listen to me, then you're on your own."

  "Of course I listen to you," she said, knowing how lame it sounded. "I'll admit I turn a little weak around David. But I'm a big girl. You don't have to be worried."

  "If that's what you think, you've got another thing coming."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because he's my brother."

  "Earlier, you asked me to trust that he's got my best interests at heart. Was that wrong?"

  "Not wrong. But maybe I should qualify that. He isn't about to let someone outside the family take advantage of you. That doesn't mean he wouldn't."

  "That's kind of harsh, isn't it?"

  "Just realistic."

  "Believe me, I trust you. It's just that he can be very…persuasive…when he wants to be."

  Jan laughed humorlessly and poured Courtney another glass of wine. "Oh, my dear, you have such a gift for understatement."

  Chapter 10

  As Courtney stepped into David's studio, she felt as if she had entered a tomb in which the things that lay there were not quite dead. The air was cool and sharp with the tang of solvents, and the paintings that lined the walls appeared to her grotesque, even though she could not positively identify the subject matter in most of them. Against her will, she found herself sharing Aunt Martha's disdain for David's talent, such as it was.

  She had been just about to retire when he came down and invited her to view his latest work. She reluctantly agreed, earning a dismayed look from Jan, and had accompanied David upstairs, but now she rather wished she had declined. The coal-dark hues of virtually every canvas lent a gloomy ambiance to the entire gallery, even with the bright studio light blazing above David's easel near the back of the room. Indeed, many of the pieces resembled nothing more than splotches of thickly layered pigment, as if David had stood at a distance and flung globs of paint at each canvas. Yet, at the same time, certain of the compositions appeared to reveal half-hidden faces, others of strange, alien vistas, rendered in broad, abstract strokes. It was the oddly organic aspect of so many of the paintings that she found unsettling.

  "Straight from your dark heart," she said softly, gazing at the nearest painting, the subject of which resembled nothing so much as a child with a huge, insect-like head, complete with bulbous, multifaceted eyes, nestled in a pool of curdled black ink. "Your aunt is right. You're no Norman Rockwell."

  "Thank you," he said with a little smirk. "That means a lot."

  She moved on to look at a few others and stopped when she came upon one that she found bizarrely recognizable. "That's Jan, isn't it?"

  He nodded. The portrait, if one could call it that, showed a solitary figure surrounded by spindly, charred-looking tree trunks, all standing against a twilight backdrop filled with swirling, Van Gogh-esque stars. The face, too large in proportion to the body, distinctly bore Jan's features, the eyes downcast and mouth arched in a dismal frown. The impression of terrible loneliness seemed almost corporeal, and though Courtney hated to imagine her friend in this light, somehow the painting captured her essence more profoundly than a photographic image.

  "Is she truly so unhappy?"

  "Ever since Mom and Dad died — and then Phillip, her fiancé — she's suffered terribly. Very quietly, of course. You know how she is."

  "I knew she was planning to get married, but she never told me much about Phillip. What was he like?"

  "I didn't know him well either. He was from Elizabeth City. They met at the hospice. His grandfather died of cancer there."

  "She never told me how they met. The way she talks now, you'd think she wouldn't dream of leaving here to marry someone."

  "Believe it or not, he was planning to come here to be with her, not vice-versa."

  "Really?" Her expression darkened. "I trust he was an honorable person? I mean, he wasn't looking to take advantage of the family wealth or anything. Was he?"

  David stared at the painting. "As I said, I didn't know him well, but something about his character struck me as…how shall I put it? Somewhat dubious."

  "And he died in a car crash?"

  "A month after Mom and Dad. On the same road, not far from here."

  "Strange coincidence."

  "Yes."

  "You know, I've begun to wonder if there's any such thing as coincidence anymore." She watched him staring at the painting of his sister and saw pain lurking in the shadows of his gaze. "So what did you want to show me?"

  He smiled wanly, beckoned her with one finger, and led her to the easel near the back of the room, on which a large canvas rested. As she stood before it, her stomach knotted as a miasma of emotions began to seethe, hot and cold, tepid and ardent. It took several seconds for her to realize she was staring into a mirror, one that reflected her all the way to her soul.

  "How did you…?"

  "Photographic memory," David said, tapping his forehead. Then he pointed to a tabletop next to the easel, where she saw a couple of photos of Jan and her together, taken during their college days. "And a little help from Kodak."

  "That's completely amazing," she said, looking up at the canvases that lined the wall. This portrait was so different that she could scarcely believe the same artist had painted it. The image was starkly realistic, yet rendered in soft, broad strokes, her face a brilliant sun amid one of his ubiquitous dark environments.

  The work of a modern Goya.

  On the canvas, her head, shown at a three-quarter angle, was slightly lowered, her eyes looking pensively outward — not at the viewer but somewhere beyond. Her face wore a sullen expression, yet in her eyes and tightly drawn mouth, she could see rage, deeply buried but smoldering, as indisputable in the pigment as it was in her spirit. She also saw gentleness, and a yearning to return to a long-lost innocence.

  Any competent artist might have captured her image superficially, but David could not have rendered her energy, her passions, with more intimacy if his brushes had worked in her own blood.

  "I don't know what to say. It's incredible."

  "You like it?"

  "I don't know if 'like' is the right word. I'm…stunned."

  "Close enough." He chuckled. "Thought I'd try something different. This is what came out."

  "This is what you've been struggling with the last few days?"

  "Since the day you arrived."

  "I'm stunned."

  For a time, he gazed at the portrait with her, his eyes indicating he was pleased with her reaction. Naturally, he would be; in the short time he had known her, he had discove
red her strengths, her vulnerabilities, her passions. No one before him had ever done so — at least, none so readily.

  Only by virtue of the fact he was Jan's brother.

  Now, when he stepped behind her, put his arms around her shoulders, and brought his lips to her neck, she merely stood there, neither responding nor pulling away. For a moment, he hesitated, perhaps puzzled; then one hand slid down her arm, around her waist, and pulled her body toward his, his lips working their way down to her shoulder. She feared his bite and nearly withdrew when his teeth brushed her skin. But they did not assail her, and as his tongue began to work gently but persistently on her flesh, her ambivalence gave way, and she melted into his embrace, gripping his arms as they encircled her, arcing her head back so his mouth could work on her slim throat.

  His fingers roamed over her, gently but assuredly, and she luxuriated in his touch, keeping her hands on the backs of his arms, never releasing them to explore his body. She offered no resistance when he began to pull her toward the back of the studio, but when she saw a neatly made single bed, tucked into a corner behind a wall of easels and shelves of art supplies, her legs locked, and she finally pulled away to look into his eyes.

  "Is this what you brought me here for?"

  "I brought you here to share something I hoped you would appreciate."

  "I trust you mean the painting."

  He gazed at her with rare earnestness. "Yes, I mean the painting. But my feelings for you. I was beginning to think you appreciated them, too."

  "I do appreciate them." She inhaled deeply to summon a little dose of courage. "Your painting shows that you grasp me pretty well. But I don't grasp what's inside you, David. You're selfish. You've got rage in there too — I probably recognize that better than anyone. But you're closed up tight. I don't know the real you."

  His eyes remained inscrutable. After a time, he nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. But it's only been a few days that we've actually spent time together. And I do have a certain advantage on you."