Distant Blood

by Jeff Abbott

  “So where is it, Philip?” I demanded.

  “How the hell should I know?” Philip snapped. But his eyes had acquired a cunning look that made my spine tense. “And if I returned the damned book, why would I get rid of it later? No logic required to make accusations here. Jordan, you don't make sense. Not a surprise, though.”

  “Maybe you'd get rid of it,” I said, “if you thought I'd seen you slip it back onto the shelves. Missing, it can't be dusted for fingerprints.”

  “This is insane.” Philip stormed toward me, but Mendez intercepted him. “Okay, fine, look at me. Motive and opportunity, right, isn't that what all criminals need? I don't got either. Why would I want Lolly dead? You need a motive, asshole, and I don't have one. I loved my aunt.”

  I didn't think Lolly was half as loved as some kin proclaimed her to be, but I kept my mouth shut. Jake prodded Philip with his cane.

  “You're a liar,” Jake hissed. “I know you didn't love Lolly. You ain't got love for nothing in your heart but green and silver.”

  “This from a man who snarls at little children,” Philip shot back, but his voice had transformed. He sounded desperate, cornered. “What the hell would you know, old man?”

  “Lolly told me,” Jake pronounced. “She was afraid of you. Of what you'd do to lay your hands on your inheritance just a tad sooner.” Uncle Jake whacked at Philip again with the cane, incisively and hard. Philip fairly jumped back.

  “Mr. Zimmerhanzel.” Victor Mendez stepped forward, and I wanted to say: About time. Are you going to let them snipe at each other? Of course you are, Lieutenant. You might just learn something.

  Uncle Jake's eyes blazed at the young officer, who didn't seem the least bit cowed by the old fellow's malevolent glower. “You're wasting our tax money. Are you gonna arrest Philip or stand there and let the grass grow?”

  “You seem awfully eager for an arrest to be made, Mr.

  Zimmerhanzel. Why is that?” Tricia Yarbrough crossed her arms.

  “Because Philip's guilty as sin,” Jake retorted. “He stole money from Mutt before, and I don't see Jordan's got any reason to lie about what he saw in this library.” He poked the air with his cane. “You're the law. It's your job to exact justice. If you won't, someone else will.”

  “I don't abide vigilantes in my county, Mr. Zimmerhanzel,” Mendez said, and for a sick moment I thought I saw a light of amusement in his eyes as Uncle Jake postured as the family avenger.

  “Uncle Jake! I can't believe you're turning on me this way,” Philip managed to utter. Jake studied the ornately sculpted handle of his cane.

  Mendez didn't relent on Jake: “Why did you think Mr. Bedrich wanted to get his hands on an inheritance? Is he a beneficiary under Mrs. Throckmorton's will?”

  “Him? In Lolly's will? Fat-ass chance.” Uncle Jake laughed. A finger of dislike crept up my spine. “I think she planned on leaving everything to Deborah, Aubrey, and Tom.”

  Deborah stiffened next to me in obvious surprise and I saw Tom, who'd so far kept his tongue, jerk from staring at his brother to staring at Uncle Jake. Candace leaned an arm behind me to touch Deborah's shoulder, and my cousin twitched nervously. Aubrey didn't visibly react.

  “She couldn't. She wouldn't,” I heard Deborah whisper.

  Jake laughed at the reaction his announcement caused. “But that ain't the real money in this house. Old Philip's after Mutt's money. He needs it bad to pay off his gambling debts. He done hit me up already for a loan. Those fellows who break legs ain't inclined to wait until Mutt here kicks off.”

  “I do not have gambling debts,” Philip argued.

  “Not what Lolly said!” Jake retorted.

  “That makes no sense, Jake. Why kill Lolly, then, if he should've tried to kill … me….” Uncle Mutt collapsed into a chair. Wendy knelt solicitously at his side. He breathed heavily for a moment, then stared at his nephew.

  “Is that it, Philip? You were gunning for me and poor Lolly got in the way? She took the poison intended for me?”

  Philip's assurance finally collapsed. “For God's sake! Listen to yourselves! Uncle Jake—Uncle Mutt—this is me! You think I killed someone? You think I killed one of us? For holy God's sake!” The enormity of their accusations buckled Philip's knees, and he sank down onto the ottoman in front of Uncle Jake. The old man trembled, as if cognizant of the wounds he'd inflicted, then covered his face with his hands.

  “Why'd you go and have to do an ornery thing like this?” Jake asked, his voice barely a whisper. He became silent and kept his fingertips pressed against the wrinkled plain of his forehead. “Poor Lolly. Innocent Lolly.”

  Tricia Yarbrough cleared her throat. “We still don't know that digitalis was involved. Mrs. Throckmorton could have simply had a heart attack.” She scanned faces: mine, Mutt's, Deborah's, Jake's, Philip's. “Aren't y'all getting a little ahead of yourselves in casting accusations? Anyone here got something they want to share?”

  I felt a sick tug in my gut. They're casting accusations because they 're sure the digitalis will show up in her body. Why wouldn 't they just glue their lips shut if they had any real doubt? They're covering their butts.

  Philip stared at Jake, still stinging from his uncle's accusation. He then whirled to face his twin brother. “Tom? Tell them, tell them I couldn't do it!”

  Tom Bedrich leaned against the corner bookshelf, his haggard face drawn into a frown. “I don't know, Philip. I don't know you anymore. Any of you.”

  “You're my brother, for God's sake!”

  “That ceased to count for much years ago, Philip.” Tom's voice chilled me, devoid of fraternal affection.

  Aubrey interjected, “I don't think any accusations should be leveled at my cousin without an attorney present. Philip, let's get a lawyer here if you're going to be questioned by the police.”

  Philip didn't take Aubrey's advice as support. His appeals crescendoed in anger and fear as he jumped to his feet. “I don't need any damned lawyer. Because I didn't do it, and there's no evidence to support a claim that I killed Lolly, or tried to kill anybody.”

  I forced myself to speak again, dread making an accommodation in my heart. I was playing every trump card I had, and I wasn't even sure of the game. I wanted to whisk Bob Don out of the study, squire him away to a private room, and shake the truth out of him about whatever demons haunted this family. Instead I forged ahead, exposing the fractures in our family tree. “Philip. I heard you and Wendy talking. Out at the cemetery.”

  The quiet in the room was as dense as the quiet of those tombs. Philip glared at me with a shining light of pure hatred. It shone for one sickening moment, then he safely eclipsed it by closing his eyes. Wendy stood from where she'd squatted by the grieving Mutt, an insensate lump to the arguments raging around him.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Wendy said flatly.

  “I went for a hike. I was by the crypts when y'all came down there and had a little confab. About getting hold of some of Uncle Mutt's money.”

  Wendy laid a possessive hand on Mutt's crown of gray hair. He seemed to hear my words, but he hadn't yet formed a reply to them, looking at me slack-jawed.

  “I still don't know what you're talking about, Jordan,” Wendy said.

  “I don't talk to Wendy but to say hello and ask what's for supper,” Philip offered, after a quick sidelong glance at his partner in crime. “Why the hell would I be jawing with her out in a goddamned cemetery?”

  “So no one would hear or see you,” I replied, determined not to let them evade me.

  Wendy shook her head. She reminded me of a chessboard's queen, idly glancing down at a helpless pawn. “Your facility for lying is amazing. But since none of us know you, I don't suppose we should be surprised.”

  “Know me? What does anyone know about you, Wendy?” I countered.

  My challenge didn't faze her. “Perhaps you'd explain to Lieutenant Mendez and Judge Yarbrough why you were sneaking around Lolly's bedroom this morning.”

 
; She was right about my facility for lying. “I suspected Lolly might be sending me the hate mail. I wanted to find some evidence to support my theory.” The fib slid out of my mouth with surprising smoothness. I closed my mouth before I could elaborate further on my falsehood. I didn't glance at Deborah. Or at Bob Don, who Wendy claimed to have spotted as he exited from prowling the room while I hid in the closet. Until I knew why Bob Don was in that room—what secret did he have? I could hardly ask him about it in this room full of accusing faces.

  “And just why did you suspect Lolly?” Wendy continued. Her hand played insolently in the gray of Mutt's hair, like she was stroking a pet. Mutt watched me with stony eyes.

  Great. My mind fumbled for an answer.

  “Well, I saw how hateful she was to several of you at the dinner when she died—” I began, but then an unexpected ally leaped to my defense.

  “I asked Jordan to go into Lolly's room,” Gretchen said, standing on shaky feet, her eyes crimson rings in her face.

  “Well, it speaks,” Philip muttered. “Who uncorked the bottle?” Real venom stained his voice.

  “Philip, shut up and sit down,” Mutt ordered. Some of the regular steel was back in his tone. Philip attempted a brief scowl but sank onto the ottoman by Uncle Jake. I glanced at Bob Don, who glowered at Philip with undisguised loathing.

  “I didn't know then Lolly had been sending those hateful scribblings to Jordan. But after she died, I was so upset, and I wanted a keepsake of Lolly's. I asked Jordan to fetch it for me. It was then that he found the other card that Lolly intended to send him.” Gretchen smiled winningly at Lieutenant Mendez. I had practically forgotten he was in the room. “He didn't tell me about it until this afternoon.”

  “What keepsake did you want?” Mutt asked. “I don't like the idea of someone pawing through my poor dead sister's belongings….”

  Gretchen raised her hands in mock supplication. “I know, Mutt, I know it's tacky of me. But Lolly told me once she'd kept the wedding photos of my first husband Paul and me, and I wanted them back. I asked Jordan to look for them.”

  “Why didn't you fetch the photos yourself?” This, surprisingly, from Deborah. She looked scared to death, her hands folded tightly against her chest, as though ready to shiver in the July heat.

  “Probably too fucking drunk to do it herself,” Philip said, and Bob Don launched himself off the couch. I hadn't known he could move quite so fast. For a big man he bolted like lightning. He seized Philip's already much-handled shirt in his hands and shoved his cousin over the ottoman. Philip went down like a fallen oak, splaying out at Uncle Jake's feet and cane.

  “Mr. Goertz!” Lieutenant Mendez shouted, pulling Bob Don back. I reached for Bob Don's arm, but he flinched violently away from my touch. I slowly lowered my hand, feeling Aunt Sass's eyes mock me.

  “You did it, you spiked her drink. Goddamn scheming punk!” Bob Don pointed down at Philip, who was trying ineffectually to scramble to his feet. Finally Tom assisted him.

  “Great,” Philip snapped. “Now you're blaming me for Gretchen's binges.” He glared at the assemblage. “She's hit the sauce again. Dead drunk this afternoon, and Bob Don and Jordan and Sass and Candace would just as soon we all not know.”

  “My soda was spiked.” Gretchen leaned against Sass and Sass put a protective arm around her. “I didn't intend to drink.”

  “Aunt Gretchen, you should probably avoid confrontation right now. Let's you and I go discuss your relapse,” Aubrey offered, but no one paid him any heed.

  “Crooning the same old tired song of the boozer, Aunt Gretchen,” Philip taunted, undaunted by Bob Don's anger.

  “Philip. Use your brain,” Gretchen said, her tone eerily calm. “If Lolly was poisoned, someone slipped it into her food or drink. Someone basically tried to poison me the same way. Except with alcohol.”

  Silence cocooned the room as the family weighed the implication. I wanted to sink down onto the couch—my head throbbed with tension—but my feet felt coated in concrete.

  Gretchen turned to Mendez, a half smile lighting her face. Her lips trembled. “We're not a very nice family, Lieutenant, full of shiftless bums, mean old men, crazy women, and my first husband was a murderer. So where you gonna start?”

  WE'D EACH BEEN BANISHED TO OUR ROOMS AS Lieutenant Mendez and Judge Yarbrough continued their investigation and interviews. I could only imagine what game plan their minds had concocted after hearing such poisonous talk. Accusations, counteraccusations, slander, grief, hatred—we all needed to be flown to the nearest tabloid talk show and unleashed on the audience. They wouldn't know what the hell hit them. Or perhaps we could become sponsors for a lozenge company as we screamed our throats raw at each other.

  At least Mendez had seen fit to begin his interrogations with Philip, everyone's most likely suspect. I stood against the window, watching the sun begin its decline toward the sea. Clouds surged above the ocean, as dark and foreboding as the fear in my heart. It was as if the weather reflected our moods. The light no longer dappled the waves; the air smelled sour with the rank odors of the sea. The sky, so unsullied earlier, had shrouded itself with heavy black thun-derheads. Rumbles, growing closer, made the wood beneath my feet shiver. If you don't like the weather in Texas— especially on the coast—wait five minutes, because it's sure to change. The Gulf is a cauldron for sudden, harsh storms. I watched as a flurry of boats hurried toward Port Lavaca and Port O'Connor.

  The smudge that marked land's end, across Matagorda Bay, beckoned. I wanted to leave and I could not. Yarbrough had declared a quarantine on travel and none of us were daring to break it. Her words had made it clear that while no one was getting their Miranda rights read, no one was above suspicion. And what would flight suggest aside from guilt? Anyone who knew truth in this sordid matter would do well to come forward and not hide it. I wondered if a family as sundered as this one seemed could still cloak each other. The Goertz family huddled together against truth like it was a cold, driving rain.

  I felt a sharp tang of fear for Bob Don. He wasn't going to trust me with his secrets; he wasn't going to let me help him.

  A knock sounded at my door, softly. “Come in,” I called.

  Gretchen entered, shutting the door firmly behind her. “I wanted to see if you're okay,” she said.

  “You surprised me. Lying like you did to protect me.”

  She didn't answer at first. She sat on the corner of my bed, curling her legs beneath her like a cat. “You and I have to stick together, Jordan. We're the outsiders here.”

  “Outsiders?”

  She smiled a half smile of shaky resolve. “We're Goertzes, all right, but we're not quite up to snuff. Didn't you hear how hard Lolly was on everyone at dinner? And those are the real family. How do you think you and I ranked in her eyes—the family drunk and the unexpected illegitimate child?” She ran a hand through her permed, graying hair. “We're distant blood—not quite part of the family, but still there.”

  “When Lolly was ragging on Aubrey about his book— about the various characters he could discuss—she said the family slut, and she looked right at you.” I sat down next to her on the soft quilt. “Why is that?”

  “Jordan, I—” she started, then stopped. “I've caused a lot of grief to this family. I'm sure most of them wished I'd never come along.”

  “I'm sure that's not true,” I offered. “Deborah and Sass obviously care about you.”

  “Do they? I marry a Goertz and leave him for his brother. I drove a wedge between two men who should have been the closest of friends but who became the most bitter of enemies. I destroyed Paul's life, and Lolly could never forgive me for it. She was always hateful toward me. She told me once it was fitting I was a drunk. I deserved it.”

  “You can't feel guilty about leaving Paul. You had to do what was right for you.” I touched her shoulder, and she didn't flinch away. “No one can begrudge you your happiness.”

  “Happiness? I've given little joy to myself or to anyone el
se.” She massaged her forehead, a tired expression furrowing her brow. “Do you know what guilt is, Jordy? Real guilt, the kind that never lets you sleep or eat or think for a long stretch of time. It hovers near your shoulder, like a little devil whispering in your ear.”

  I attempted comfort. “You said you didn't give happiness to people. But you made me happy today. When you stuck up for me.”

  Gretchen Goeitz looked hard into my eyes. All the old discord between us seemed to have happened a century ago as we sat together on the bed listening to the wind crescendo around us and the first patters of hard rain slammed against the windows.

  She took my hand, for the very first time, and her palm felt cold against mine. A thin sheen of damp covered her fingers and they trembled in my grasp.

  “You must know. You must know how much he loves you.” Her voice sounded small, like a child's whisper.

  “He doesn't want me here. He won't trust me—”

  “He's so afraid of losing you. He knows now, what with Lolly's threats against you, her death—he should never have brought you here. He doesn't want you to pay for our sins.”

  “Sins?” I leaned in closer to her, our noses and mouths nearly touching. Our voices were mere murmurs.

  “Do you love your father, Jordan? Do you?”

  I took a long, shuddery breath. “I'm still not used to thinking of him as my father—”

  She stilled my talk with her cold fingertips. “Enough analysis. Enough posturing. Enough denial. Push has come to shove. His life may depend on this. Tell me. Do you love him?”

  His life may depend on this. Her fingers felt icy against my lips, her palm smooth against my jaw. I pressed my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth. “Yes,” I managed to croak. “Yes, I love him.”

  Gretchen closed her hand around my face and for one moment I thought she would kiss me. Her eyes were half-closed and she breathed slowly, her mouth open, her breath smelling of mint gum.

  “I want to help him, but he won't let me. Why?” I whispered.