You Can't Escape (9781420134650)

by Bush, Nancy

  “Oh, that’s right. The chief kept that little tidbit back, although it’s an open secret, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard. I went out to Summit Ridge to find where the first victim was located, and I practically stumbled on the cemetery. You call it the old Benchley Cemetery. Virginia Fowler, whose property it’s on, said it was for the Benchleys too.”

  “You met with Virginia?” he asked.

  “Dance and I talked to her this morning. Here’s the thing. She said she’s never heard of the Treadwell Curse. She blamed Mom’s disease on the Benchleys. Pretty much blamed everything on the Benchleys, as a matter of fact.”

  In a whisper, Jennie said, “Could we talk a little softer?”

  Jordanna gritted her teeth. She didn’t really give a damn who heard, but she dropped her volume. “I feel like people are talking in circles. I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard of the Treadwell Curse, either,” her father admitted. “I know the Benchleys have had their share of physical ailments, in what acts like a genetic disease, though it’s never been proven. Sometimes mental illness is inexplicable.”

  Jordanna stared at him. “You’ve never heard of the Treadwell Curse.”

  “No.”

  “Mom’s disease,” she said again.

  “Your mother had seizures from a car accident when she was young. Her father always blamed himself, but it was really the other driver’s fault. Gayle didn’t have what the Benchleys had. You knew this,” he reminded her, looking at her as if he wasn’t certain she was all there.

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve never heard this.” Jordanna was flabbergasted.

  “Well, I’ve never heard of this Treadwell Curse.” He regarded her patiently. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From practically everyone. It’s . . . a saying,” Jordanna insisted.

  “Who’s everyone?” he asked.

  Jordanna looked to Jennie, who was staring at Dayton, as if mesmerized. “You know it,” Jordanna accused. “When we were in high school, I got teased about it. People would talk behind my back.”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, tucking in her shoulders as if she were going to fold in on herself.

  Jordanna felt a flash of anger. The little liar. “We all talked about it,” Jordanna said. “I just talked to Rusty Long about it. And Kara knows. Emily knew,” she added flatly.

  Her father glanced around, his expression pained. He leaned closer to her. “I’ve got something to say, that I’ve wanted to say for a long time. This isn’t the place for this conversation, but since you’ve chosen the venue, I’m going to take my opportunity.”

  All of a sudden Jordanna wanted to bolt. If he was going to talk about Emily . . .

  “Don’t look at me that way,” her father said heavily. “You’re a reporter now. You look for facts, right?” When she didn’t respond, he went on, “Something I’ve never told you, something your mother and I didn’t want advertised, is that Emily was part Benchley. She was abandoned, and we adopted her. We didn’t sincerely believe the Benchleys had this debilitating disease, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She was a beautiful baby, a beautiful girl. Gayle and I didn’t think we could have children, but after Emily, we had both you and Kara.”

  “You’re saying Emily was adopted?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He drew a breath. “I know what you think happened between us, but it’s not the truth. That night wasn’t the first time Emily had come into my bedroom. She was always a sleepwalker. She climbed in bed with us all the time when your mother was alive. It wasn’t anything . . . inappropriate.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jordanna said tonelessly.

  He lifted a hand, silently asking her to wait until he was finished. “It’s true that Emily became more sexual as she got older. I don’t think she could help herself. I wasn’t paying enough attention after your mother died. We were all grieving for her. You, especially,” he said, shooting her a quick look. “Emily’s deterioration got away from me. She was having hallucinations, acting out. I prescribed her antipsychotics, but she wouldn’t take them regularly.” He hesitated. “I told you all this before, but you wouldn’t hear me.”

  Transference. “I heard you. I just didn’t believe you.”

  “I don’t know where this Treadwell Curse came from. Maybe because of Emily? It was clear something was wrong those last few months before she died.”

  This was too much information. A shift in perception that was almost too hard to make. No Treadwell Curse? How could that be? She’d lived with the term most of her life. But where had she heard it first? Emily . . .? Kara . . . ? Rusty? Nate Calverson? Martin Lourde? She realized distantly that everyone she was naming had been a high school kid at the time, open to suggestion and innuendo, ready to believe the worst of their fellow man in a way that adulthood generally washes away. Had she completely misunderstood? How could that be?

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, jumping to her feet just as the waiter came by to take their order.

  Her father waved the girl away and said urgently to Jordanna, “Stay,” reaching out a hand to her.

  She pulled back slowly until he was forced to let her go. “No, thank you.” She was being inordinately polite. Sick with guilt and unsure in a way that made her feel nauseous. Was this the truth, then? There was no Treadwell Curse? No sexual abuse against her sister? Had she shot her father in error?

  “Dayton!” Emily had screamed. Was that because she’d been shocked awake from her sleepwalking? As surprised as Jordanna had been to find herself in her father’s bed?

  Jennie said, “Oh, don’t run off.”

  But Jordanna needed to leave, time to process. She turned abruptly, nearly knocking over Jennie’s almost-empty glass of orange juice. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Jordanna . . .” Her father’s resigned voice reached her ears, but she was already to the vestibule, her lungs feeling as though they would burst if she didn’t get air. She ran outside into late-May sunshine and half stumbled down the front steps.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She caught herself on the porch rail before she fell onto the sidewalk. She felt as if she were sinking, like those few seconds when an elevator drops before your body catches up. She’d prided herself for so long on being right in a world that was wrong. It was dizzying. It was like having an out-of-body experience, she was so inwardly focused.

  Drawing a breath, she managed to look both ways before crossing the street. Her RAV was directly across from her. She took two steps forward before it came to her in a rush.

  Immediately, she stumbled back up the steps, grabbing the rail, telling herself to calm down, get a grip. Then she headed back inside and swept past the smiling and surprised menu-girl and back to the table where her father and Jennie were staring glumly at one another.

  “Aunt Evelyn,” Jordanna said, when her father saw her, his eyes brightening.

  Instantly, his expression grew wary. “Evelyn?”

  “She didn’t have any children because she was a Treadwell. She didn’t want to pass on the rogue gene. I’ve heard her say that.”

  Her father just stared at her, so frozen that even Jennie grew worried and reached across the table. “Dayton?” she asked in a quavering voice. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said brusquely, coming to himself.

  “Aunt Evelyn knew about the Treadwell Curse,” Jordanna stated firmly.

  He bent his head, seemed to want to say something, but in the end he merely pressed his lips together and stayed silent. Jordanna took that as an affirmation and turned to leave, but her father’s voice caught up with her, “You should really talk to your aunt.”

  She turned back. “Why? What’s she going to tell me? That I’m wrong? She said she didn’t want children because she was a Treadwell.”

  “I don’t believe you heard her correctly.”

  She was sick of his careful tone. “Why?” When he
hesitated, she said, “Just say it!”

  “She did have a child, Jordanna. Emily is her daughter.”

  “Hey.”

  He whipped around, surprised by the voice almost in his ear. He’d been parked down the street, waiting for Jordanna to come out of the hotel. Suddenly she had, but as soon as he’d started his engine, she’d gone back in and he’d had to switch it off again.

  He turned now to look at the man who’d come up to the driver’s side of the truck. Abel Fread. “Yes, sir?” he asked politely, his heart thudding. Had Abel seen what he was doing? Did he know he was watching Jordanna?

  “You seen Chase around?” he growled.

  He had to remind himself that Abel was a good man, a God-fearing man, because he suddenly wanted to choke the living shit out of him.

  “Nope.”

  “You see him, you tell him to bring my daughter back, or I’m gonna castrate him.”

  He had nothing to say to that.

  Abel’s eyes narrowed. “I’m coming up to your place. Want to see that stallion you put out to stud. Heard you might be sellin’ it.”

  “Who told you that?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t matter. Stands to reason. Your place in foreclosure, and all. Gotta be lookin’ for income somehow.”

  A knot built in his chest. Abel’s a good man. He’s in God’s favor.

  “You goin’ back now?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop in and wait for ya, then. Got some time. Meet ’cha there.” He ambled away toward his own truck, a new black Ford F-150.

  He felt a roar building in his chest. He gazed at the front door of the hotel in blank fury, then switched on the ignition and headed back to the farm.

  With her father’s bald announcement still ringing in her ears, Jordanna drove back to the homestead. She’d left almost as soon as he’d told her Emily was Aunt Evelyn’s, completely discombobulated all over again. How many more secrets did her father have in store?

  As she walked along the wooden planks to the back door, she texted Kara again. Call me. I really want to talk to you. Inside the house she went straight to her laptop, switching it on, waiting for it to flicker through its wake-up routine.

  Emily was abandoned. . . .

  What was the truth about the Treadwells and the Benchleys? So many half-truths and tantalizing glimpses, but nothing of substance. Why hadn’t anyone been straight with her?

  Would you have listened? When you were just trying to survive after Mom’s death? Would you have believed anything anyone told you?

  She stared at the computer screen. The cursor flashed at her like a warning. She was tired. She hadn’t had enough sleep, but she wouldn’t change the way the night before had spun out for the world.

  You’re in love with him.

  “Fat lot of good it’ll do me,” she said aloud, though a part of her wanted to believe that everything was going to work out beautifully . . . that they would plan a life together . . . work together . . . spend endless days together.

  Shoving the laptop onto the bench, she sank down on the couch and covered her face with her hands. The next twenty-four hours were going to be hell . . . and that was if he made good on his promise to return as fast as possible.

  Dance leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His head faintly throbbed, but it was nothing like before. He’d taken some more aspirin this morning, but he was through with the pain pills.

  He and Rafferty had made desultory conversation for most of the ride to Portland, but the last twenty miles they’d fallen into companionable silence. He hadn’t wanted to leave Rock Springs, but he was tired of his own dependency. He needed his car, and his phone, and to set things right with the Saldanos, as much as he could.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll go to the bank,” the detective said when he dropped Dance off at his house.

  Dance nodded. He expected to be driving himself, but he would figure that out in the next few hours. Rafferty seemed reluctant to let him go, possibly thinking he’d disappear on him again, but he waved and walked toward the front door.

  He had a hot moment of memory about making love to Jordanna, and he smiled faintly. In the hospital all he’d wanted was to get out and figure out who’d bombed the Saldanos and why. He hadn’t expected to actually meet someone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a truly romantic thought, and this kind of sexual jolt of recall.

  He was inserting the key in the lock when the door flew inward. Carmen glared at him, a virago in a tight black dress, her hair swept into a messy bun, dark eyes flashing. Her hair reminded him of Jordanna, but that was where the similarity ended.

  “So, you’re alive,” she said, as if the idea offended her.

  “You’re back from Europe,” he answered mildly.

  “We’ve been worried sick about you, and you just waltz in here like nothing’s happened.”

  “I’m not waltzing,” he pointed out, lifting his cane.

  She looked like she wanted to rip it from his hands. “You owe me an explanation. I hired a goddamn private eye to look for you! Where have you been for the last week? And who is she?”

  Her fury was like a blast of heat and it made him feel tired. The thought of trying to get past her and work his way up the stairs was a daunting one. “I’m going to sit down,” he told her, brushing past her to the living room. The headache that had been a minor annoyance was now starting to pound. She followed after him, shivering with some suppressed emotion. “Go ahead,” he invited, giving her a rolling wave. “Get it all out.”

  “Bastard,” she spat.

  It was funny how quickly he didn’t like himself when he was around her. They’d fallen into such an ugly relationship.

  He waited, but she couldn’t seem to come up with anything further. He’d hoped he would have a little time before this showdown, but this was her house, too. These uncomfortable moments just made it even clearer that it was time to move on. Past time, really.

  “Who is she?” she asked again, having pulled herself back from the brink of out-and-out fury.

  “I assume you’re referring to Jordanna. She’s someone I’m working with,” he said carefully. The last thing he wanted was to drag Jordanna into his problems with Carmen.

  But Carmen was already there. “She was in this house. In our bedroom. Wasn’t she?”

  “You and I don’t have a bedroom anymore. This is why I should have moved out. Come on, we’ve been divorced since—”

  “She was in your closet. I looked through your things because I didn’t know where the hell you’d gone! She got you those clothes!” She threw a disparaging arm out, encompassing his sweats and Nike shirt. “I recognize them. Was she in your bed, too? How many times, Jay, or can’t you remember?”

  He stared at her, doing an internal check on what was really going on, a tactic he automatically employed when he was faced with an angry interviewee. People say one thing and mean another. “The first time I met her was at the hospital.”

  “Bullshit, honey,” she said, falsely sweet. “You sent her here and she went straight up to your bedroom closet and packed for you. She didn’t even bother with any other bedroom. Just beelined for yours. She had to have been here before.”

  “How do you know she went straight up to the bedroom?” he asked slowly.

  Color ran up her neck to her face. “I guessed, okay? Stands to reason, since it wasn’t the first time she was here. The point is, how many times did you bring her here? How long have you been fucking her?”

  His own temper flared, and he climbed back to his feet, walking toward the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded. “Where are you going!”

  He hoped to hell Rafferty was right and she’d had his SUV returned. He wasn’t going to bother with his clothes. Ten minutes of Carmen was more than he felt like dealing with, and it was a relief when he found his Highlander parked in the garage, side by side with her Mercedes.

&nbs
p; “You’re just going to leave?” She’d followed him to the garage and stood in the doorway, wild with disbelief.

  “You wanted us to pretend we were still married while you figured out how to tell your family. Now they know, so there’s no reason for us to live together one more minute.”

  “My father doesn’t know,” she said quickly.

  “Yeah, I think he does.” He climbed into the vehicle, inserted the key in the ignition, and revved the motor. She was still talking, trying to be heard above the engine, but he’d closed his ears. He pushed the button for the garage door. In the time it took for it to raise, she was at his driver’s window, banging on it with her palm.

  “Jesus, Carmen,” he said, rolling it down.

  “You told him?! You told him.” She was damn near hyperventilating.

  “The police told him. Now step back. I don’t want to run over your Christian whatever-the-hells.”

  “Louboutins, you asshole.”

  But she drew back and he reversed into the alley, then aimed for the road in front of their house. He could feel the strain on his injury, but it was his left thigh and the pain was tolerable. Her dark gaze followed him as he drove off. It was a relief when he turned the next corner and he was out of sight completely. Looked like a hotel was in order for tonight.

  As he drove, he dug out the car charger from the glove box and plugged it in. Then he finagled the wire into his phone. It took a moment or two, but then he saw the screen light up. Hallelujah. Now he could contact Jordanna and Max.

  Boo stared at Abel Fread with fear. Why had he come to their farm? Why was he staying and staying and staying?

  Buddy had pulled in behind Abel and stomped out of the car. He was really, really mad, but Abel didn’t care.

  “Somethin’ dead around here,” Abel said, almost the moment he angled out of his shiny new truck.

  Boo didn’t want to look, but he did. His eyes just slid toward the barn and Abel saw it.

  “What the hell you got there, boy?” Abel asked Buddy.