Distant Blood

by Jeff Abbott

  Great tactic, I chided myself. Such an approach implied Lolly was murdered, and we couldn't know that with certainty. Considering her mental problems, swallowing a lethal dose of digitalis medication by her own hand was still the most likely explanation. Or Mutt was right, she simply had a heart condition she'd kept secret. Perhaps the note to call Jake's doctor was for her own health concerns, not his.

  I stood and stared out my window, watching the heavy swells of water in the bay. The wind gusted hard for a summer day and I hoped no hot-weather storm was in the offing. The air felt restless, the breeze more an intrusive brush than a gentle caress. Clouds draped the sky, but they were kind and white, edged with a hint of gray, not threatening. The wind smelled of salt and the ocean's own timelessness.

  I wondered when Uncle Mutt would be back and fretted about him. His insistence on going alone to deal with the administration of Lolly's cremation troubled me. One of us should have demanded to accompany him. It was a heavy burden to bear alone.

  I stood at the window and leaned against the pane. I could tell Candace we didn't have to worry—my torturer was dead. It didn't lessen the odd grief I felt over Lolly's demise. Instead, I felt like the questions I needed answered had widened and deepened in import. Lolly wrote venom, and Lolly died.

  I saw movement on the beach, and from the shade of a palm tree Candace and Deborah strolled idly onto the boat dock. Deborah pointed at the careening gulls that swooped and glided above the waves. I saw Candace shade her eyes with her palm, the wind tousling her hair like a lover's rough caress. Deborah put one hand on Candace's shoulder and I saw them both laugh at some private joke.

  I liked Deborah—had liked her from the first moment I met her. I was glad that she and Candace became quick friends. But I still wanted to know why Deborah had snuck into Lolly's room. I couldn't dismiss her presence there as easily as I could Bob Don's. I admit to personal bias.

  A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I knew it wasn't Candace come to mend fences, so I didn't give a particularly hearty “Come in.”

  Aubrey stuck his head in like he expected it to get chomped off. “Hi. Got a second?”

  “As long as it's not for getting in touch with my inner Neanderthal, Aubrey.” I sat down and gestured toward a chair. “What's up?”

  He ignored my rudeness, settling down with a folder and, to my dismay, a laptop computer.

  “Heading off to do some work on your book?”

  He smiled. “It's a nice day and I thought it would be good public relations to retire to the porch and woo the muse. Let everyone see that I've nothing to hide—and no one here has anything to worry about—in writing this book about families.” He paused for a moment. “Listen, Jordan, I'm sorry my mom went off on such a tear. She's just very blunt and plainspoken.”

  “I like plainspoken, Aubrey. I just think that your mother's having a hard time accepting me into the family.” Hurt flared in his eyes and I tried to soften the blow. “Look, I know I was a big surprise to y'all. But that's not my fault. I'd like to make the best of a difficult situation.”

  “Yes, so would I.” He drummed fingers along his computer and his folder of notes. “I know I can irritate people with my theories on human interaction, but I mean well. No one seems to understand that.”

  I blinked. Here was Aubrey, who claimed to have anodynes for every emotional trauma, and he didn't have the first clue as to dealing with people. “Aubrey, you can't continually tell folks how to fix their problems. No one wants advice all the time. Sometimes they just want to vent and not be told what to do about their sadness or disappointment. Or anger.”

  “Did you read my last book?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I'm sorry, if I'd known you'd written it before I came here I would have. Bob Don didn't mention he had an author for a nephew.”

  “Well, then, maybe you'll let me donate a copy to your library, and send a signed copy to you? I'd like to, since we haven't gotten off on the best foot.”

  Kindness had been a rare treat since I arrived on the island, and I thought: You've judged him too quick, too harshly. But then I—being a terribly bad and suspicious person—remembered the heated whispers I'd heard between Sass and Aubrey on the staircase after my arrival. But if I kept jumping at every conclusion that presented itself, I'd break a leg. I offered my best smile to my cousin. “Of course, Aubrey. I'd be delighted to have a copy of your book.”

  “The new one's going to be even better. I'm doing audio-tapes, videotapes, and a CD-ROM to go along with the text—taking therapy and self-awareness into the multimedia age.” He fixed me with a catlike stare that showed him to be his mother's son. “It must have been quite an experience to discover Bob Don was your father. The very idea of it just drips with potential personality destabilization. Such a basic challenge to your identity. Do you think you'd ever care to talk about it?”

  So much for cousinhood without strings. Apparently my private life was destined to be a track on a self-help tape from hell. At that moment I forged my plan for dealing with Aubrey and his psychobabble. I would play stupid. After all, I was blond, so my slowness would be expected by those with less developed cerebellums. Aubrey qualified.

  I sugared my voice, acting as though I'd suffered a sudden 1Q drop, and gave a slow, vacuous blink. “Well, sure, Aubrey, if you want me to. I'm not sure I'd ever really know how to describe how I felt.” If I'd had gum in my mouth, I'd have popped it. I gestured at the laptop. “You want to take notes with that?”

  He was not a clever boy. “Oh, that'd be great, Jordan. How's about now?” He had the laptop open and powered on before I could blink, his hands poised above the keyboard to record my innermost longings and tortures.

  “No.” I meandered back toward the window. “Maybe we should talk about how we feel about Aunt Lolly's death, since that's so much more recent a pain.” I did feel pain— and confusion and a sick fear—over Lolly's death and I put the wound into my voice.

  “Well, sure, of course, if you like,” Aubrey burbled. I suspected he just wanted to get family members talking for his latest self-analysis project. If we had to start with irrelevant topics, that was a necessary sacrifice to get those jaws moving and emotions flowing.

  I sat down. “Was Aunt Lolly very loved in the family?”

  Aubrey laughed. “I don't mean to sound cruel. Of course we all loved her. You can still love a dog after it bites you, but you'll never feel the same about it entirely.”

  “I got a sample of Lolly's teeth at dinner. She certainly chewed you and Deborah up.”

  Aubrey shrugged. “She had a lot of mental problems, if you ask me. The family won't admit it.”

  I didn't tell him Jake was already admitting away. “Mental problems? But she was Jake's caretaker.”

  A snort was Aubrey's only reply for a long moment; he seemed to be considering his answer carefully. Finally he offered: “Taking care of Uncle Jake could impair anyone's emotional health.”

  “So why not just get Jake a nurse?”

  “Uncle Mutt wouldn't hear of it. Said family always takes care of family.”

  “Yet he hires Wendy and Rufus.”

  “True. And I suppose Lolly was happy enough, taking care of Jake. It kept her out of mischief.”

  “You didn't like Lolly much, did you? Let's cut to the honest chase here.”

  Aubrey rolled his tongue in the hollow of his cheek. “I loved her because you're supposed to love your relatives. But no, I didn't like her much as a person. She didn't like anyone—except Uncle Mutt. And Sweetie, of course. I think she used to have a few friends over on the mainland, but I don't think she'd been doing much with them lately.”

  “Did you talk to her often?” I remembered her note to call Aubrey on her pad.

  “Sometimes. She'd call Mom and I'd take the message. I've been living with Mom for the past few months.” He seemed embarrassed, as though I might criticize him. Since I'd moved home myself, I wasn't about to tease him for his living arrangements
.

  I pressed on: “These mental problems you mentioned— did it go along with her fixation on her dog?”

  My new cousin smiled slyly. “There's two schools of thought. Some of us believed Lolly had real problems. Others—like Philip and Mutt—think it was all a little charade.”

  “Charade?”

  “Sometimes we wondered if Aunt Lolly was having a big joke on us all—pretending to be just an amusing amount of crazy.”

  For a moment my dumb act was the real thing. “You're saying she faked believing that Sweetie was Uncle Charles back from the dead? And any other eccentricities she had?”

  Aubrey nodded. “Well, it's one theory.”

  “Why? What would be Lolly's motivation?”

  “Attention. Power. Aunt Lolly was a control addict from time immemorial. She liked everyone's lives just the way she had arranged them.”

  “I still don't understand.”

  “If everyone in your family believes you're a little crazy, they go out of their way to accommodate you. They don't disagree with you often, if at all. Everyone views you as a sad case to be coddled.” Aubrey smiled at the shock on my face. “I understand your mother has Alzheimer's. I'm terribly sorry. But wouldn't you say it's true that your mom's condition—her craziness, for lack of a better term, and don't take offense—dictates a lot of how you live your life?”

  I didn't answer him immediately. “So Philip thought she was pretend crazy. Who thought she was truly ill?”

  Aubrey shrugged. “Me. My mother. Probably Uncle Jake, they had a rocky relationship. And even though Lolly raised her, Deborah has never had a good relationship with Lolly. She's convinced Lolly was sick.”

  “But Lolly was taking care of Uncle Jake. If anyone thought she was mentally ill, she had no business being his caretaker,” I said. “Him being at her mercy …”

  For the first time Aubrey laughed and I had a sneaking suspicion there might be a likable fellow lurking underneath the sugary platitudes. “Uncle Jake's not half the invalid he appears to be. Sure, he's got the heart condition, but he's very sharp and active still.”

  I recalled Jake wielding his cane with youthful vigor. Aubrey might have a point. “So, by acting the family loon, Lolly might've gotten whatever she wanted?”

  “But I'm not sure her stakes were very high. Uncle Mutt, of course, indulged her to a fault. She's always had the twins at her beck and call. And although I'm sure you find it hard to imagine, my mother was once devoted to her.” I saw anger flash in his eyes for a moment and I wasn't sure if the emotion was directed at Sass—or at Lolly's memory.

  “I'm sorry your mom and I started off crossways,” I said. But I remained unconvinced of this alleged devotion— when Lolly was dying, Sass had stood by the window in frosty observance.

  He saw the doubt in my face. “My mother's buried more people that she loved than most ever will. Death's not a stranger to her. That doesn't mean she deals with it well.”

  “Death is hard. Always,” I ventured. “Your mother—she kind of blew the whistle on the plans for your book, didn't she?”

  Aubrey fidgeted. “Yeah, well, Mom sometimes drinks too much. And shoots off her mouth.” He fumbled for words and didn't quite look me in the face. He tapped idly at his laptop's keys. “My success as an author's been a bit hard on her.”

  “Let me ask you a hard question, then. That empty bottle of Jake's medicine—do you think Lolly could have poisoned herself?” I tensed for a retreat, but Aubrey didn't falter. He shook his head.

  “Suicide in front of your family would be the ultimate form of control. Will any of us ever forget her now, forget her last moments on earth? I won't, and neither will you. Her death wasn't an anonymous one in a hospital bed while she wasted away from some pernicious disease. She branded herself on our brains, she put our memories in a death grip.” He paused so his fancy words would sink in. “But—there's no reason for someone like Lolly to take her own life. She was too much in love with it, with herself, with the little role she'd carved out in the family. Jordan, if poison was involved, I'm sure she was murdered.” He held his breath, as if deciding whether or not to say more. Finally he shut his mouth and stared at me, his words hanging in the air like a family's ghost.

  Temptation put the words she sent me poisonous letters on my tongue, but I didn't speak. I wasn't quite ready to confide in anyone other than Uncle Mutt. Aubrey might actually be okay, but he was as an smooth as an eel's skin and I didn't trust him fully.

  “Murdered,” I murmured. “By one of us. It wouldn't be the first time a murder's occurred in this family, would it? Your—our—uncle, didn't Lolly say he killed his wife—”

  A rap at the door startled us both. Before I could bid the visitor to enter, Aunt Sass pushed the door open, eyeing me with frank distaste and her son with some surprise.

  “There you are, Aubrey. I've searched half the house looking for you. We need to talk.” My presence in my own room was not acknowledged.

  “Sure, Mom,” Aubrey said, his voice soft. “I was just having a nice chat with Jordan.” He gave me a sidelong glance, hushing me from continuing my question.

  “Well, yes, of course,” Aunt Sass hemmed. She glanced at his laptop and folder of notes. Some of the fire seemed doused in her and I wondered if she'd gotten a lecture from Bob Don as well. Finally she let her gaze drift toward the general vicinity of my face. I didn't smile or look apologetic. “We'll see you at lunch, Jordan. Come along, Aubrey.”

  My cousin got up and followed his mother out of my room without a backward glance, clutching his computer and his papers to his chest like a tardy schoolboy. I shut the door after them and sat down on the corner of my bed.

  My head hurt. I'd planned on duping Aubrey, but wasn't sure I hadn't been duped myself. He believed Lolly had been murdered. Did he express that belief solely to see people's reactions to the horrifying thought of willful poisoning? He certainly wanted to dissect me for one of his chapters. (I imagined I'd be the case study for “Patient Reacts to His Own Illegitimacy.”) I wondered if for a moment I'd seen the bright and capable man that lived behind the psychobull. Aubrey might be direct on center. Which meant we had a cold-blooded murderer in our midst. But he'd offered no single suspect, and no concrete motive.

  He'd clammed up quick enough when his mother entered the room. If he suspected her—he'd never have admitted his own doubts about Lolly's suicide. So did he have another suspect in mind, one he didn't wish to discuss before his mother?

  I returned to the window. Candace and Deborah still stood out on the deck, Deborah tossing bread crumbs to the circling, cawing gulls. Candace flung another handful of torn crusts to the flock and they swooped down to scoop up the treats.

  Animals always put Candace in a good mood. (I hoped obnoxious scavenging birds fell into the cuddly category, at least for today.) Maybe she'd talk to me and I could apologize—and perhaps make my point of view clearer. I don't like fighting with my love.

  I hurried down the stairs and saw no one except Philip lounging in the library. I politely knocked and stuck my head in the door; he glanced up at me with utter disinterest.

  “You're not out enjoying this beautiful day?” I asked.

  “My aunt just died. I believe I'm allowed to mope.” He looked away from me, rubbing a thumb across his knuckle.

  “I'm sorry, Philip. I just looked outside and saw how pretty it was and I'm afraid I forgot myself.”

  “It's all right. It's not like you knew her or loved her. Why should you care if she's gone?”

  I walked in so he had to look at me. “You're right. I didn't get the time to be close to Lolly. But I'm terribly sorry that she's dead.” I sat on the ottoman across from him, forcing him to either be unusually rude or to look at me. He glanced at me with his blank, bone-white face. “Were you very close to her?”

  “Lolly didn't have any kids of her own. She couldn't. She'd tell you about it if you gave her half a chance, like her barrenness was a suitable topic for casua
l conversation. She just never gave much thought to propriety.” Philip shrugged. “I guess I loved her in the way you're supposed to love relatives.” He glanced at me as though to assure me I did not yet fall into that category. His words were an eerie echo of Aubrey's. “She and I understood each other, we got along. She wasn't like Uncle Mutt.”

  I paused for a moment. “He's not exactly shy about sharing one's personal troubles with others, is he?”

  Philip shook his head. “Learn from me, cousin.” He made his final word sound vaguely dirty. “Don't ever turn to Uncle Mutt if you're in trouble. He'd just as soon crucify you as help you.” He got up and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from an elegant silver pot. He didn't offer me a cup.

  “I take it you had some financial trouble you needed Uncle Mutt's help with.” I was inching onto shaky ground here. It was none of my business.

  “You're a clever boy, to have noticed,” Philip slurped at his coffee and went for the quick diversion. “Tell me, what do you think of our joyful little tribe?”

  “Hardly joyful now.”

  “No, I suppose not. Lolly dead—I just feel numb.” I heard the creak of leather as Philip settled back in his chair. I plucked a book off the shelves at random and began to page through it.

  “Can't stay away from books, huh?” Philip asked. “You probably do make for a good librarian.”

  “I try to do a good job.”

  “So what're librarians pulling down as salaries these days? High teens? Low twenties?”

  I shrugged at the derision in his voice. “It's not an occupation anyone enters for money, Philip.”

  “Probably helps that Bob Don is rolling in cash, huh?”

  I slowly replaced the book—a biography of Civil War hero Dick Dowling—on the shelf. “Bob Don's a generous man.”

  “And I heard Gretchen bragging to Aunt Sass that your little girlfriend's got a mighty thick wallet.”