Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  “Uh-huh,” Mac said. “I live with you, Dad. I know when you’re being weird. Did somebody else get killed?”

  “Just—” he said in exasperation. “I’ll talk to you later, OK? Go on and terrorize your cousins.”

  “I do not terrorize,” she said with dignity. “I lead.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, cracking a smile at last. “Go do that.”

  UNDESERVING

  All right, the killer thought again and again. It’s all right. It’s going to work out. Henry’s dead, you’re not suspected, and the money’s right there.

  It could have been so much better, though. Everyone knew that Hallie hadn’t been home for five years, and that Henry had said he’d disinherited her.

  The only problem was, he’d said that too long ago. The will had been dated only six months previously. If only Henry had died sooner.

  It had been so easy, really, hadn’t it? Just a little nudge to help fate along, because Henry had deserved to die. Just like Hallie didn’t deserve to inherit all that money for doing nothing but live in town rent free for six months with a ridiculous amount of money to spend. She’d always been closed off and secretive. Uncaring. All these years without a single visit. Selfish. Like father, like daughter.

  If she didn’t stay, she didn’t inherit. Simple as that. And all the money would go . . . elsewhere. What had she said when the will had been read? “I’ll need to think about it.” Who needed to “think” about whether they wanted millions of dollars?

  She didn’t even want it. She sure didn’t deserve it. And she already had the house, set on four prime hilltop lots, not to mention all Henry’s possessions. That was worth a million, easy. A million dollars for somebody who hadn’t even cared enough about her father to go see him once in five years or be on time to his funeral? A million was more than enough.

  It really wasn’t fair.

  FAMILY PARTY

  When Jim walked into his mother’s kitchen, all hell had already broken loose.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Cole was standing smack in the middle of the room, facing away from Jim as he came through the door, but you could hardly miss the way the boy’s fists were clenched at his sides, or the tone of his voice. “How come I had to find out who my dad is in front of everybody? That it’s him? What right did you have to keep that from me?”

  “Whoa,” Jim said, and his brother whirled to face him, his mouth tight, two spots of red flaring on his pale cheeks. “Whoa,” Jim said again. “Settle down. Sit down.”

  “I won’t sit down!”

  “Yeah,” Jim said calmly. “You will. You’ll sit down and remember that that’s your mother.”

  Cole was still scowling as he stalked across the room, pulled out a chair with unnecessary force, and dropped into it across from his mother and next to Anthea. Vicki was sitting up stiffly, posed like a doll, as if she might break if she moved. Tense, the same way she’d been for the past week. And now Jim knew why.

  Jim sat beside his brother, his movements deliberate and controlled. De-escalating the situation, it was called, and it had never come harder.

  “So, hey,” Anthea said into the silence. “At least we know why you’re good at math, Cole.”

  Cole glared at her. “You think this is funny?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Well, maybe a little. In a cosmic kind of way. Sort of a best-case/worst-case scenario, wouldn’t you say? I mean, you’ve basically won the lottery here. Let’s be real.”

  “But everybody’s going to say that Mom—” Cole began, then stopped at a look from Jim.

  “This would be the ‘worst-case’ part of it,” Vicki said. Her head was high, but her neck muscles were taut. Anthea put a hand out and gripped hers, and Vicki turned her own hand over to clasp her daughter’s. “He wasn’t a good man,” Vicki told Cole. “That’s about all I’m going to say about him. I can’t change the fact that he was your father, or that you’ll have to deal with it. But you aren’t him. You’re the same person you were this morning before you knew. A good student, a good son, a good friend. You care about people. You aren’t him.”

  “That’s right,” Anthea said. “Plus, you’re thinking about what everybody’s going to say. They’re going to say, ‘Dude, you’ve got a million bucks! Party’s at your house!’ And you’re going to say, ‘Excuse me, but I think you’re forgetting my superlative discipline and focus on my academic career. Also, I’m in Math Club.’”

  Cole actually smiled a little, and Jim said, “Anthea’s right.” He hesitated, then went ahead and said it. “I know how you feel, because I felt exactly the same. I realize you think I’m this, ah—”

  “Tight-ass,” Cole muttered. “Hard-ass.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jim said. “Although I prefer ‘disciplined.’ I was mad that we were poor, and that I didn’t have a dad and everybody knew it.” He didn’t look at his mother. “Jealous, too, so I guess that’s different. Especially of the Jackson boys, because they were my cousins, but they had all that stuff I didn’t. A dad. A farm. Money. Respect. I carried a whole sack of attitude around with me until the Army and Maya shaped me up. Know how much good that attitude did me?” He held up a hand and made a circle with finger and thumb. “Zip. And, yeah, people are going to wonder. They’re going to gossip, and they’re going to make comments, or maybe just shut up when you come into the room. For a while, until something more interesting happens. They’re going to be jealous, too. But so what? That’s always true. People will always say what they want and think what they want. Anybody worth knowing, though, is going to keep judging you the same way as always. On who you are.”

  It was a lot of talking for him. Practically a commencement speech. He hoped it worked.

  “That sounds good.” Cole had his thin arms wrapped across his chest now. “But it isn’t that easy.”

  “Nope,” Jim said. “I didn’t say it was going to be easy. It’s going to be hard sometimes, especially the next few weeks. But you’ve got at least three houses full of people you can talk to about it. People who feel exactly the same way about you as they always have.”

  “That you’re a moron,” Anthea put in helpfully, and Cole laughed, a quick, startled sound. “But cute,” Anthea added, reaching out her hand and messing up his hair. “Good news. Chicks like cute, shaggy-haired blond guys, especially when they’ve got a little jingle in their jeans.”

  “Which you won’t see much of at all until you’re eighteen and start college,” Vicki put in. “By the way. That’s what the trust says.”

  Cole’s expression was almost comical. “What?”

  Jim laughed. “Oh, man. Busted. What kind of rig was it?”

  Cole grinned sheepishly. “Jeep. Black.”

  Jim shook his head. “Unreliable vehicle, the Jeep.”

  “Not if it’s new,” Cole said. “Warranty.”

  “Now, see,” Jim said, “there’s that brainpower. That’s on the plus side of the deal.” He glanced at his twin. “They got something in that trust about cars?”

  “At the discretion of the trustees,” Anthea said. “Mom and I took a quick look. We’ll go over it,” she told Cole. “It has to do with getting accepted to college, not getting kicked out or put on probation, summer jobs, maintaining your GPA, and a lot of other depressing things that pretty much rule out Brazilian supermodels in Jell-O-filled hot tubs. Just as one example,” she added at a frown from her mother.

  Cole sighed. “Man, that’s depressing. Do you think people will know by school on Monday?”

  Anthea considered. “Mm . . . depends. I won’t talk about it, and Hallie won’t, either. Bet your life. Neither will Bob, of course. Client information is privileged. But I’m guessing it’ll get around anyway, eventually.”

  Cole said, “That guy, you mean. He’s my uncle, I guess. And she’s my aunt.”

  “Yep,” Anthea said. “Dale and Faye Cavanaugh. He’s all right. She’s not. But you know what they say. You can pick your nose, and you can pick your frie
nds, but you can’t pick your family. Alas.” She smiled ruefully at her younger brother. “If you could, there’d have been times I’d have chosen a different twin. Somebody I could’ve shared clothes with. But you know what I’d do?” she went on more seriously. “I’d get proactive. Talk to your buddies. Put it out there. Tell them about it, let it get around town right away. Then you’re not all tense, waiting for it to come out. You put it out there, and you have the power. Always better to be in the driver’s seat.”

  Cole glanced at Jim, and he nodded. “Yep. Good idea.” And tried not to think about Hallie. Sitting over there alone, trying to digest all this. Wiping the fingerprint dust off the surfaces of her father’s chilly, trophy-filled house, trying to get up the guts to tackle the blood in the den. You can’t pick your family.

  As if Jim’s thoughts had conjured her up, Cole said, “That girl’s my sister. My half sister.”

  Anthea said, “Yep. And she’s my best friend. You got lucky there. Hallie’s great.”

  “How come I’ve never met her?” Cole asked.

  “Because she didn’t like her dad,” Anthea said. “Your dad.”

  The words hung there. Your dad.

  “Wow,” Cole said. Overwhelmed.

  Jim knew the feeling. “You know what I’d do right now if I were you?” he asked. “I’d ride my bike over to Aaron Clayborn’s house and play some video games. Casually drop the subject of your millions into the conversation, if you want, like Anthea says, to start the ball rolling. But get out of here and go do something else. Your life’s still the same, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You’re still the same guy. Same family. Same friends. Same house. Same lousy wardrobe.”

  Cole stood up. “Yeah. OK. I will.”

  Vicki hadn’t said anything for ages, Jim realized. Now she stood, her movements slow. As if she’d grown older, somehow, in these past hours. She came around the table, took hold of her son, and wrapped him in a fierce hug. He stood stiff for a moment, and then his arms went around her.

  She stood back at last, her hands on his shoulders, and said, “So you know. I’ve always been glad I had you. From the moment you were born, I’ve wanted you, and I’ll never stop loving you for who you are. Which is my son. Nothing that happened or could happen would ever change that.”

  Cole nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Yeah,” he said, turning away. His voice came out choked. “OK. I’ll just—I’m going.”

  The back door banged, and he was gone.

  “OK,” Anthea said. Vicki sat down again, but Anthea got up. “I feel like we need tea,” she said. “Anybody else want tea?”

  Jim stared at her. Tea? “It’s hot,” he pointed out, just as his mother said, “I would.”

  “No tea,” Jim said. “I’ll take a glass of water, though, since you’re up. I’d take a beer or three, actually, if I wasn’t a better person than that. But I’d sure take a sandwich.”

  Anthea stood at the sink, filling the kettle. “Better get up off your lazy butt and make it then. I’m not your servant.”

  Jim sighed and stood up. “Ben’s a poor, unfortunate soul.”

  “Isn’t he, though?” his twin said amiably. She was older by fifteen minutes, and she’d never let Jim forget it.

  Jim was slapping mayo onto bread and opening a couple cans of tuna fish when Anthea said, “So. Mom. Tell me our dad was a secret billionaire, will you, and that Jimbo and I don’t inherit until we’re thirty-five. Make my day. I can cope with the public disapproval.”

  Jim shot a look at his sister, but she was pouring hot water into cups like her life depended on it.

  “You know who your dad was,” their mother said. “Rusty Calhoun, ranch hand and bum.” She’d sat Jim and Anthea down on their sixteenth birthday, handed them their birth certificates, and told them about him. Now, she was telling them more. “If he was a thousandaire, it was a good month. He was still better than Henry Cavanaugh, even if he did run out on me when I was pregnant with you two and never amount to a hill of beans afterwards. I never did too good in the man department.” She murmured a “thanks” as her daughter set the cup of tea in front of her, then said, “Good thing that isn’t an inherited trait. Ben’s a good man.”

  “By the way,” Jim told his sister, “I dumped Mac on him.”

  “Yeah,” Anthea said. “I figured.” She sat down beside her mom, and Jim brought over the sandwiches and some carrot sticks he’d tossed into a bowl, then went back for plates.

  “You’re waiting for me to tell you about Henry,” Vicki said. “And I know I have to. I was going to tell Cole some, too, but I was going to wait until he was eighteen.” She picked up half a sandwich, then set it down again. “I knew it would be rough. You were so mature, Anthea, when I told you two, and your dad wasn’t right here in town, and he wasn’t a horrible person with a legitimate child he actually gave a damn about.”

  “And I wasn’t mature,” Jim put in, “but I had a sister to talk to.”

  “Yes,” Vicki said. “You did.” She was still looking down at the table, but now, she faced the two of them, but didn’t start talking. She was always feisty, always quick with a comeback, but not today.

  Jim said, “I think I should tell you that Henry’s house cleaner told me he was more than inappropriate with her. And that goes nowhere. Her business. But I think you might need to know, Mom.”

  Vicki closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh. Poor woman.”

  “She has kids,” Jim said. “She needed the job.”

  Vicki nodded, her face bleak. “I should tell you two,” she said. “But it sounds like you already know. Not a whole lot you can do when the sheriff’s in the guy’s back pocket.”

  “Not anymore,” Jim said. Everything in him was curled up hard and tight. In the past, he could have taken that motivation into combat with him and put it to use. Now, that option wasn’t available.

  “No,” Vicki said. “Not anymore. And he paid me off. Child support. Eight hundred a month if I’d leave his name off the birth certificate. Which I did, because I was stupid.”

  Jim thought back to all the night shifts his mom had worked, all the peanut butter sandwiches they’d eaten. “But . . .” he began.

  “I saved most of it,” Vicki said. “I was always afraid he’d decide to cut it off, and I wanted to save it for Cole, anyway. It was his.”

  “But you could have taken him to court,” Anthea said. “Requested a DNA test, and then the support would have been court ordered, and it would have been a whole lot more than eight hundred a month.”

  Vicki looked at her daughter, the weariness evident in her blue eyes. “And had Cole find out? Have had to tell him the story of what his dad was, and what he did? Anyway, Henry could’ve fought that forever. He could’ve broken me. And Cole.”

  “Or you could’ve broken him,” Jim said slowly. “Hurt him bad, anyway. No statute of limitations on rape, if that’s what we’re talking about.”

  “Let’s say it wasn’t my choice,” Vicki said, meeting his gaze with her head high. “And don’t you dare tell Cole.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jim said. “Not happening.” Yeah, that wouldn’t mess the kid up much.

  “Besides,” Vicki continued, “it would’ve been his word against mine. One guess how that would go. Impossible to prove.”

  Jim set the rage aside for later. It wouldn’t do any good now. And if he wished with all his heart that Henry were still alive so he could beat him half to death, and the hell with the job? Well, he wished lots of things. “That’s why he didn’t give me a hard time when I came back, though, isn’t it? Why I got the deputy job? I thought I’d have to work over in Washington. That he’d have blackballed me in Idaho.”

  “Yes,” his mother said. “That was why. Because I heard he was putting some pressure on, down at the sheriff’s. And I told him to back off. I didn’t know what he had against you. Now I’m guessing I do. That you did something with Hallie—to Hallie—that you didn’t tell me about.” She didn’t l
ook one bit happy about it, either.

  Anthea said, “Wait. Henry tried to blackball you, Jimbo? And let’s go over the terms of that will, please. Because I’m not getting your part of it.”

  Jim said, “You don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” she asked. “This is way too many secrets. Just tell me, all right? Let’s get it out there.”

  Jim said, “Not just my story to tell. If you don’t know, I guess we’ll leave it there.”

  PAST IMPERFECT

  Hallie was all the way up on Arcadia Ridge before she realized that she should have bought groceries on the way. Or stopped for a sandwich, maybe, since her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating in her father’s house, especially after everything she’d learned today. She pulled a U-turn and headed back again, ending up with a chicken salad from Taco Bell at the Eastside Mall, which she ate sitting in a plastic booth that looked across the parking lot toward Safeway. A family walked by, mom and dad swinging their toddler daughter between them before the dad lifted the little girl up to put her in the seat of a grocery cart. Nice if you could get it.

  She should be thinking about everything that had happened, but once again, she was blank. Empty. Overwhelmed. So instead, she set it aside, chewed her way determinedly through half the salad, tossed the rest, and headed out.

  When she rolled her suitcase through the front door of the big house for the second time, it actually didn’t feel quite as bad. The air still had a metallic taint, but nothing was a surprise anymore, not even the bear. Not even the will. Not even her . . . brother.

  She hadn’t locked up or bothered to reset the alarm. Somebody could clean out the whole damn place as far as she was concerned. They were welcome.

  She started to dump her purse on the hall table, then avoided it at the last second and dropped it on the floor instead, because the table was still gray with dust.

  Change. Clean. Maybe groceries, she told herself. Oh, duh. Kitchen. She went in there to check it out, found a stash of energy bars in a cupboard, and opened the wrapper on one, munching as she checked out the fridge.