by Jeff Abbott
I allowed him to embrace me, my skin feeling soiled at his touch. He patted my back in a mockery of grief.
“I would've enjoyed seeing your child born, before I die,” Mutt whispered in my ear. “I am so sorry.”
God, he sounds sincere. Is Tom wrong? Maybe it isn't Mutt.
Over Mutt's shoulder, Tom stared at me in unabashed horror.
“Maybe it was food—something they ate,” Jake attempted again, misery clouding his usually acid voice.
“Candace didn't eat anything but crackers today.” I fought the urge toward bitter laughter. “Food made her feel ill—being pregnant and all.” I shook in barely contained rage.
“I believe you can put the gun away now, Uncle Mutt,” Tom said. “No need for it in the first place.”
Mutt released me and glared at Tom. “You don't think it's wise for someone to be armed? Especially around you, after you go and attack Jordan here?”
“Why don't we all just go lock ourselves in our rooms?” Tom suggested. His wry grimace only made his lip bleed again. “Until the phones work. That way no one else'll get hurt.”
“No one else is getting hurt,” Mutt intoned. “There's a logical explanation for what happened to poor Aubrey and Candace, and we just have—”
“Listen to yourself!” I screamed. And I mean, screamed. My control collapsed. I made my throat raw with those three words. “There is only one explanation, and don't you dare insult my intelligence. They were poisoned. Someone meant to kill Aubrey, just as they killed Lolly. Why are you holding on to this fiction that nothing evil has happened here?”
No one answered.
I didn't know which one I wanted to throw up against the wall first. I steadied my stare on Mutt and didn't look at Tom. “Maybe Aubrey found out something he shouldn't. Family secrets seem to lurk in every nook and cranny in this house. Do you care to comment, Uncle Mutt?”
Mutt breathed and did little else. His eyes looked like flat mirrors, reflecting only the world passing by him. He closed his eyes, once, and opened them, settled firmly into his lie. “No, I don't.”
My lips clenched. I had liked him, genuinely felt cheated of all the years I'd been denied his company. In my eagerness, I'd wanted to see myself in him.
He had committed the original sin in concealing Paul's death. But who'd committed the sins that followed? I'd taken three steps toward Mutt and his hand tightened on his gun. He stared at me and finally offered a thin smile.
“You don't understand this family, Jordan,” he said.
“I understand you all too well. Silence for any crime. Wrap the guilty, protect them from justice.”
“No—we protect the innocent!” he snapped. “You may be of our blood, but you don't know us. You aren't one of us yet.”
“I don't want to be.”
“You are one of us. You've taken Bob Don as your father. You're obligated to help him—as you would any of us.” A slyness underlined his words.
“I don't want to see harm come to anyone—but I won't idly stand by while other people are killed. I won't be you. I won't protect a goddamned poisoner.”
“You're in the family circle now, son.” Mutt began his litany again. “And that brings with it certain responsibilities—”
“A code of silence?” I challenged. If I was going to deal with the devil made flesh, I had to be seen as a peer, not a peasant. “Wrong.”
“You don't know the damage you'll do,” Jake intoned, looking at me with life-bright eyes.
“Don't you dare to speak to me about damage, Jake,” I shouted.
Mutt spoke with quick decisiveness, his eyes never leaving Jake's withered face. “Hush, Jake. Tom, take your own advice. Go lock yourself in your room, if you're of a mind.”
Tom shuffled toward the door, then stopped. “Jordan? Will you be okay?”
I didn't want him to leave me alone with these two, but I couldn't manufacture a plausible reason. They'd hear the fear in my voice. “Of course I'll be fine. I'm sorry about the fight, Tom.”
“Me, too,” he mumbled, and he left.
“Waste of a brain,” Jake opined. He sniffed into a handkerchief as raggedy as he was.
“That boy's heading for grief.” Mutt offered me a wavery smile. “So what'd you two fight about?”
I chose my words like steps in a minefield. I thought I'd read the situation clearly enough to hazard a ruse. “I'm afraid I wasn't very kind toward Philip. Tom defended his brother.”
“In the grandest Goertz tradition. Yet misguided.” Mutt moved me gently toward the couch and we sat. He nestled the gun in his palms. A precious jewel.
“Grandest tradition? You mean family first?” I ventured.
“Yes. Always, family first. Isn't that right, Jake?”
Jake made a snuffling noise of agreement.
“Yet someone in this family turned on Aubrey. And Can-dace. And Lolly.”
A rattle of thunder pounded the island. The glass on the study doors wavered in their panes. I half wished one would shatter, and the bracing air of the Gulf would invade. The air inside this house felt too worn with use, too thin to support life. Our breaths seemed weighed down with the heaviness of the lies riding on them.
“Jordan. We've known terrible tragedy under this roof, yes we have. I think you're wrong to believe anyone wanted to harm Lolly. I still believe it was a simple heart attack.”
Jake broke the silence. “Mutt, stop! You got to accept the possibility them tests gonna show my heart medication in Lolly's body. She could have taken her own life, crazy as she was getting.”
Mutt stared at the carpet.
I swallowed. “Jake's right. Yet Aubrey and Candace are struck with symptoms remarkably similar to what killed Lolly.”
To my amazement, Mutt attempted a new dodge. “Okay, say Lolly killed herself. Maybe she took the poison in cranberry juice before dinner. Maybe she poisoned that pitcher of juice before she died, and what happened to Aubrey and Candace was just a terrible accident. I've no idea how long it was in the bar fridge. Do you know, Jake?”
“Hell, no.” Jake answered. “Lolly was the only one drank the stuff regular. I never cared for the tartness of it.”
Insane. So this is how it is. Maybe they find traces of digitalis in Aubrey and Candace and the blame falls squarely on poor dead Lolly, who left a trap behind for the living in a pitcher of juice. Where is Mutt getting this much digitalis? He might 've been swiping Jake's pills for months, one every few days so as not to arouse suspicion. Or maybe he got it from the plants in the greenhouse? I'd wandered through the greenhouse, but I frankly wouldn't have known a digitalis-containing plant if it'd bit me.
“Your theory—forgive me, Uncle Mutt—sounds a little farfetched.” I sounded frighteningly mild. I watched his gun. If it had been in my hands, Mutt would be on his knees, sobbing, while I pressed the muzzle against the soft gray hair around his temple and ordered him to confess.
“You think one of us is capable of murder?” His eyes looked bright and shiny in their faked shock.
“Paul Goertz was a murderer,” I said quietly. “Anyone can murder, Mutt. Trust me on this.”
“Jordan.” Rufus spoke from his silence near the bar. “I known your uncle Mutt for a damned long time. He ain't lying to you. There ain't no murderer here.”
“Paul was sick,” Mutt said. “And Lolly was sick.”
I ignored his assertion. “Family circles. Codes of silence.” I glared hard into Mutt's bright blue eyes. “I can keep a code. If I get what I want.”
Mutt stared back at me for what seemed like an eon. He did not breathe. Finally, he closed his eyes in hard, sad resignation. “Rufus, would you please take Uncle Jake up to bed? He needs his rest.”
“Rest my ass,” Jake retorted. “I ain't sleeping any with this storm howling.”
“Jake, please. Let me handle this discussion with Jordan. Go get your rest.”
“I ain't sleeping. But Rufus can warm me up some milk in the kitchen, if you've a nee
d for private talk.” Rufus helped him to his feet.
“You might want to use canned milk, Uncle Jake. Safer that way,” I suggested coldly.
Jake didn't answer, and the two of them shuffled out of the room. Mutt stood and began to pace, slowly, across the worn tapestry of the Persian rug. His shoulders bowed as if bent.
I'll bend those shoulders when I break your back. I steeled myself for the performance I had to give now. Can-dace was depending on me. I could not bear to look into her face, see the misery my family had inflicted on her, without saying: This person did it. This person hurt you. And I exacted payment.
“You know,” I said, “you're defending your own sister's murderer.”
He stopped and shook his head. “No. If poison was involved, Lolly killed herself.”
“You expect me to believe we have a suicide followed by two attempted murders? Please.”
“That's right. Your father bragged you had quite a hand in solving crimes. Ironic.” He smiled thinly at me and I fought an urge to slap him across the room.
“I'll keep my silence about what happened to Paul,” I said. Fake puzzlement crossed his face and I blew it away with soft words. “I know my father killed Paul in self-defense, and the lot of you covered it up to protect him. It doesn't sound to me like Paul was any great loss to humanity.” I kept my voice steady, feeling the weight of Mutt's unrelenting stare on my face. “But one of you who kept that secret is willing to kill to keep it still. For some reason, one of you feels threatened. By Lolly, by Aubrey. Why don't y'all come forward together, confess? Then the murderer has no reason to kill.”
“This little story of yours is enthrallin', Jordan. Makes no sense, but—”
“I have proof Paul didn't kill himself. I've found it. And I'm betting it's proof Aubrey had. I have reason to believe he had possession of it before I did.”
“What proof?” Mutt demanded, a half smile on his face. “I'd like to see the proof that can make fiction reality.”
“I'm tired of sparring with you.” I stood. “You're a coward, Uncle Mutt. You're dying soon, so what does it matter what happens? I'm going to know, whether you help me or not, who poisoned Candace. Who tried to kill her, who killed my baby.”
The most horrible silence I'd ever heard in my life was the pause before he spoke. “I can't help you,” Mutt answered. His words sounded like a whisper of farewell.
I wanted to pull the skin from his bones. Instead I made my smile thin and measured. “Then I can't help you. I'll have to give the authorities the evidence I've got. Oh, I'm sure that Paul's murder of his wife and his threats to Gretchen and Pop will be considered. My father may not get into too much trouble. Or he may go to jail. But whoever's committing these murders loses their motive, now and forever. Maybe you won't go to prison since you're terminally ill, and no one's going to put a man Jake's age in prison. But Pop and Sass will have to answer for what they did. And so will anyone else who knows who doesn't tell.” I tinged my pronouncement with more bravado than I felt. I winced inwardly at the humiliation Pop would feel if his actions were brought to light. But that pain was nothing compared with what Candace had endured.
Hard, hard choice. But in the cold light of reason, not a choice at all.
Mutt breathed, not speaking. “You won't do this to your father. Not after you just found him.”
“Yes, I will. Because protecting him is the same as protecting the poisoner. I won't do it. I can't. He killed my child.” My actor's mask cracked on those words, and the hate and anger I felt glided through. Mutt saw the truth of it.
“Oh, God,” he moaned. The gun still dangled in his mutilated hand. I pointed at it.
“Are you going to shoot me? You can't kill me and explain it away with a dramatic suicide or poison left behind by a dead woman.”
He glanced at the gun, then at me. His hand shook.
“It's Philip.”
A chill prickled my skin. “So you say. Convince me.”
Mutt carefully placed the gun on the bar and his shoulders sagged. “He's obsessed with ruining me, with exacting revenge on me. And now he's screwing the entire family.”
“Tell me.”
“He—I let him manage some of my finances for a while. It was a tremendous mistake. He lost everything I entrusted him with. Fortunately, I was prudent in how much I let him handle.
“At first I thought it was simply bad management, poor investment choices. But it wasn't the stock market taking an unexpected dip. Philip stole the money.”
“I don't understand. Why didn't you report him—”
“He's blood. Blood counts to us. And I couldn't just turn in my nephew.”
“So you let him walk scot-free. And gave him a chance to steal from you again. With Wendy dipping her hand into the till, too.”
“No. Wendy's on my side. I suspected with my death practically being a circled day on Philip's calendar, he'd be after what money he could get out of me, 'cause there's nothing for him in my will.” He shook his head at my scowl. “So I got Wendy to approach him, pretend that she could land some of my money if he'd tell her what investments she ought to suggest to me. He fell for it, and I started to move my money around, just like tossing a ball to a dog so he don't chase a cat.”
“This is crazy. Why would he want to hurt Lolly? Or Aubrey?”
“Lolly committed suicide. I ain't telling you that again, boy.”
At that moment I feared him. Implacable anger limned his words. I still found his premise ridiculous, but the heat in his tone suggested Lolly, even if suicidal, was not the only unbalanced member of the family.
“Okay, say Lolly killed herself and her death has nothing to do with Philip. Then why would he try to kill Aubrey?”
“Codes of silence, remember? Say nothing?”
“Just tell me.”
“Aubrey ran away from Sass when he was a teenager. He went to Houston. He got involved in the drug trade, as a runner. He ain't real proud of those days.”
“Good God.” Aubrey, freely dispensing advice, trying to place a mental Band-Aid on the emotional wounds we dared to show. I wondered how much human wreckage he'd seen in his days of coke and roses.
“Philip was dealing drugs, trading a lot with the other stockbrokers in town, the lowlifes who thought they were big shits. Aubrey made a delivery to Philip, not knowing his own cousin was a dealer.”
“As things go, that's not so bad.”
“Perhaps.” Mutt didn't appear convinced. “But it gets worse. Aubrey found out Philip was dealing to Tom—his own brother. Tom was nearly dead from snorting coke. And Philip was still dealing it hard to him.”
My throat felt cold. “Feeding his own brother's addiction?”
“Yes. Philip's the most heartless animal on this planet.”
“Yet you're willing to protect him.”
Mutt shook his head. “Aubrey probably was going to write all about Philip in his new book. Philip was never arrested, never suspected as far as I know, of dealing drugs. He'd lose his business, his freedom, if this all came to light.”
Mutt turned to me, his arms open wide. “See? See how it has to be? I don't want this known. What's the point?”
“The point? How about making Philip pay for what he did?”
“When Aubrey finally broke free of that life, and went home to Sass—he told her about Tom. Sass called me, and I got Tom the hell away from Philip and got him into treatment. I done saved Tom's life, not that he's ever shown much gratitude.” He sniffled, and lightning flashed in the window like an explosion of light. I imagined a bolt piercing the bay's skin of water, burrowing into the murky depths like God's own finger.
“You're lying to me,” I said in a clear, calm voice.
“No”—he shook his head—”I'm not. God's truth, Jordan.”
“Then why do you even have Philip here? If he stole from you and he peddled dope to his own brother, why do you invite him?”
'Tom and Philip have made their peace. They're brothe
rs again. That's probably why Tom and Aubrey have been so crossways, Aubrey trying to make life more difficult for Philip.” Mutt saw the disbelief in my eyes. He coughed. “Why do I have your father here, when he shot his own brother to death?”
“That's different!”
“No. No, it ain't. I have Philip here because this way I can keep an eye on him. And I can hope he changes his ways.”
“Aubrey and Candace are paying the price for your hope.”
He wouldn't look at me.
“You still think Lolly killed herself—after you saw Philip slipping that book about digitalis poisoning back on your shelf?”
“I didn't see that. You did.”
I still didn't believe him. The truth was near the skin of what he said, but he was holding back. “And how do you explain Brian's death?”
Mutt looked genuinely puzzled. “Brian? That was an accident.”
“Brian knew his father didn't commit suicide. And somehow, that proof came to Aubrey. Now what the hell does any of that have to do with Philip?”
“Brian drowned. He was just a kid, nobody would've wanted to hurt him,” Mutt said. His skin had gone snow pale and the corners of his mouth whitened as he frowned. “For God's sake, Jordan. I'm awful sorry about what happened to Candace. Philip's to blame, and that's all there is to it. Now I've told you, and you know now.” His voice grew low. “You deal with Philip as you want. There ain't no cause to be digging up the past. It's just gonna hurt your daddy more.”
I stood and walked past him. The gun still lay on the bar. I hefted it in my hand and turned so Mutt was clearly in the barrel's sights.
“I can believe some of what you say. Philip selling dope and stealing money, Tom letting drugs ruin his life, Aubrey running away from home. But you're only telling me a half-truth. It doesn't all fit together, Mutt, and that's not enough.”
He raised one eyebrow. “You going to shoot me?”
I ignored his question. “Do you think we're all idiots? Oh, no doubt Jake and Sass have kept their silence. When Paul vanished, I'm sure people thought it was for the best— the wife killer's taken his own life, he can't hurt anyone, his children don't have to bear the shame of a trial and such. Maybe even when Brian died, folks thought it a terrible accident. And when Lolly collapsed across the table, it was a little easier to say: she was nuts, she sent insane letters to me, she thought her dog was her husband reborn. So she had a heart attack or must've killed herself. Aren't you sick of the long list of lies?”