by Peg Herring
Dunbar’s voice took on a slightly harder tone. “It took some persuasion, but I was eventually successful. I believe your mother realized that her life would not be a long one.” He frowned slightly. “I am not certain that I did her justice, but I focused on your welfare. Everything I have done since learning of your existence, I did hoping it was best for you.”
He shifted in his chair before beginning again. “Once more, I suggest that you leave your personal history at this point. You need know no more, and I fear that further explanation will hurt more than it helps. Trust me, Brodie, and live your life looking forward, not back.”
The screen went blank again, and Bud pressed the PAUSE button. “Wow.”
“You didn’t know this?”
“That Brodie was Leland’s kid? No.”
“Would Mr. Dunbar have contacted Leland to tell him he had a daughter?”
“I doubt it. Leland cheated his own mother, stole one of our boats, and ran away with the cash Gramps kept in his desk drawer.”
“Does Arlis know Brodie is Leland’s daughter?”
“No way. She was not happy about Brodie coming to live with us. And Leland would hardly have shared the news of a pregnant girlfriend with her.”
“If he even knew this Jeannie was pregnant.”
Scarlet picked up the will Bud had brought along. “Leland gets the old family place in Canada.”
“Yeah. Arlis talked Gramps into that. She claimed he would need a place when he’s too old to do disaster relief anymore. He can’t come back to the States, so she asked that he get the land in Canada. Said it was as much hers as Gramps’ since it belonged to their parents.”
Scarlet seemed to be only half listening. “If Leland knew that Brodie was his daughter and Mr. Dunbar’s heir, might he take her there, to the place in Canada?”
Bud looked incredulous. “To get his hands on her money?”
Scarlet shrugged. “You know him. I don’t.”
He looked around the room as if trying to escape the inevitable conclusion. “It’s not beyond him. Leland sees nothing but what he wants. The psychological term for people like him is sociopath.”
“That’s terrible!”
“It’s hard to apply that term to someone you once knew well, but it fits.” He paced the room, trying to assimilate the new information. Stopping, he asked, “If Leland is the bird watcher Brodie saw, he was here the day of the funeral. Why didn’t he just show up, hug his mother, and say, ‘I’m back’? The statute of limitations has got to have run out on what he did a decade ago.”
“But would he know how you would react to his return?”
“Right. I wouldn’t have let Brodie go with him until I’d done some investigating.”
Scarlet smiled grimly. “You never believed in St. Leland?”
Bud’s smile was equally grim. “I was the guy below him in the pecking order, the kid he could take advantage of. I always found it hard to believe all that stuff about Leland’s philanthropic rebirth.” He tapped the will with a finger. “The place in Canada would be a perfect place to hide out, though.”
“You think he’s headed there?”
“That might be where he’s been the whole time.”
“Of course. If he’s been living in Canada, he could easily have driven here when Arlis reported Mr. Dunbar’s death.”
Bud’s face took on a faraway look. “Or sailed.”
“What?”
“The boat we saw last evening. It seemed familiar, and now I know why. It was exactly like Gramps’ wooden sailboat that Leland stole. It’s been re-painted, that’s all.”
“And it was heading north.”
“He takes Brodie, leaving evidence that throws off the search for her.” Bud turned off the TV.
“Wait.” Scarlet seemed to need time to absorb the conclusions they’d come to in the last few minutes. “This is a lot to take in. A birdwatcher who is really a kidnapper who is actually a relative?”
“What exactly did Brodie say about the guy?”
Scarlet’s eyes turned up and to one side as she recalled. “She said he was taping bird calls with a small recorder.” She frowned, searching her memory. “And he didn’t look the nature boy type.”
He spread his hands, indicating that it was obvious. “Because he wasn’t after birds.”
“But he could have taken Brodie then. Why wait?”
“Maybe he didn’t have time.” Bud started down the stairs. “Let’s get something to eat. We’ve got things to do.”
Scarlet followed, her mind full of questions. “Where could he have hidden a boat where the police search would not have found it?”
“A place I’d forgotten about, but I’ll bet Leland hadn’t.”
Breakfast was still laid out in the dining room, and different aromas arose as Bud peered into warming trays. “Have you ever seen the old boathouse?”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
Bud found scrambled eggs and set the cover aside. “A guy could hide a boat there.”
Arlis came in, and Bud shot a warning glance at Scarlet. “Good morning, Aunt Arlis.”
“Bud. Miss McMorran.” Arlis went to the sideboard, poured some hot water into a cup, and began thumbing through the choices of tea available.
“Arlis,” Bud’s tone was casual. “Did you talk to Leland yesterday?”
She looked at Bud quizzically. “Yes. Why?”
Taking some toast from the warmer, Bud fashioned two portable breakfasts: toast, egg, and bacon sandwiches. “How did he take the news of Brodie’s disappearance?”
“He doesn’t know yet, poor thing, but he will be devastated. I tried to phone, but it’s often difficult to get through, and of course he’s very busy with his work. Still, he’s always interested in what goes on here.” She gave Bud a beaming smile. “You are all very important to him.”
“Even Brodie?”
Arlis removed the teabag and laid it on a small plate. “Of course, Leland doesn’t know Brodie. I’ve told him—” She backed up and went a different route. “Lately he’s taken some interest in her, I think. Lately he’s asked me all sorts of questions.”
“About her studies, things like that?”
“Oh, yes. Now that William has passed, he is interested in how Brodie will adjust. Of course we all feel sorry for the girl, who has lost the only person in the world who—” She thought better of that sentence as well and switched gears again. “I told Leland about Miss McMorran’s plan to take Brodie out to look for insects yesterday. I thought it was a bit too adventurous, but Leland said it was just the thing to take her mind off her troubles.”
“So he was interested in the spider hunt.”
“Yes. He even asked me where you expected to find these insects.”
Bud noted Scarlet’s averted eyes and guessed she found it hard to ignore Arlis’ repeated reference to spiders as insects. A teacher is a teacher, even in the midst of a crisis.
“We’ve got some things to do this morning, Aunt Arlis, so please excuse us.” Handing one of the sandwiches to Scarlet, he said, “Here. We can eat on the way.”
EXHAUSTED FROM STRESS, lack of sleep, and trying to decide what to believe of Leland’s story, Brodie dozed. Her last waking thought was that it might be nice if Leland was her dad. Wouldn’t it?
“JEANNIE, THE KID LOOKS HUNGRY. What can I give her to eat?” A man Brodie had never seen before leaned over her as she sat on the tattered couch that served as her bed. He backed away, nose twitching, when her odor registered.
The answering voice was muffled. “There’s some Doritos on the counter.”
“Shouldn’t she have cereal or something?”
Jeannie’s face did not turn from the pillow. “She likes Doritos.”
“But kids need milk and stuff.” A snuffle was all the response Jeannie gave. The man leaned toward Brodie again, his whiskered face curious. She held herself very still, not knowing what would happen next. Some of them were nice. Others threatene
d her when she cried, and still others joined Jeannie in tormenting her in small ways, finding a three-year-old’s rage hilarious.
This guy seemed okay. Turning, he went to the kitchen. “There’s some dried cherries in the fridge and some little cans of apple juice.”
“Yeah, my neighbor bought her that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The old guy gives me the creeps, watchin’ what I do and shit. But he’ll always babysit her if I need to go somewhere, so I’m nice to him.”
“Think she can eat those cherries? I wouldn’t want her to choke or nothing.”
“Go ahead and give ’em to her.” Jeannie’s tone was flat, as if her daughter choking was of no concern at all. The man handed Brodie a plastic bowl half-filled with dried fruit and then opened a juice box by stabbing the foil seal with the attached straw.
“Here, kid,” he said gruffly. He left her there with the food and went into the bedroom, closing the door. Brodie concentrated on her breakfast of cherries, Doritos, and juice, ignoring the sounds from the room where her mother and this week’s lover lay together.
Chapter Seventeen
“SEAMUS! SEAMUS!” Mildred’s voice was like an ice cube running down his spine. Actually, Bud’s spine.
“Quiet!”
Bud stopped dead, and Scarlet looked at him in concern. Seamus’ host could probably not decipher Mildred’s words, but he reacted with shock at the commotion inside his head.
“I know, Bud’s probably awake,” Mildred continued, “but you have to know that the guy who has Brodie is her father, Leland Voorhies.”
Seamus did not answer, unwilling to upset his host any further. He had been trying to absorb that very fact, wondering why Dunbar had not seen fit to mention it.
“Go to Leland.” He kept it short, trying to minimize the effect on Bud, whose brain struggled to cope with what sounded like bursts of static between his ears.
“I can’t,” Mildred answered. “Brodie’s very upset, and I need to help her through this.”
Her self-righteous tone made Seamus want to shout, “What happened to the woman who promised to do whatever I said? What happened to her agreement that we were here to gather information, not to interfere with the living?” For that matter, he added bitterly, what had been so attractive about Mildred that he had ignored his instincts in the first place and brought her along?
AFTER LELAND’S REVELATIONS, Brodie returned to her bunk and feigned sleep, trying to make sense of the present situation in terms of what she knew of the past. Memories of her earliest years came mostly in her nightmares, with Jeannie playing the starring, scary lead. Jeannie had hated having a kid. Jeannie had blamed Brodie for all sorts of things she did not understand. Crying was bad. Talking was bad. Calling Jeannie “Mommy” was forbidden. Life with Jeannie had been far beyond her understanding. She had learned early to keep quiet when possible and to attack when keeping quiet didn’t work. For some reason, her childish rage amused her mother, and the worst of Jeannie’s moods dissipated when Brodie threw a fit.
Jeannie had good acting skills. She could fake motherly concern when the occasion demanded, toting her daughter around on one hip and crooning endearments when she went out on the streets to beg. Brodie learned early on not to believe that those times were real.
She had known kindness from a few people: a neighbor called Amos with a bushy beard and a raspy voice called her “sweetie” and made sure she had something to eat most days. Even some of Jeannie’s boyfriends had been good to her, although the nice ones never stayed long. She did not recall anyone called Daddy, and she had never seen the bird watcher before a few days ago.
She must have dozed for a while but woke feeling that someone had said something to her. Cher was asleep, her mouth slightly open and one ham-shaped leg hanging off the narrow bench. Someone was moving on deck. Leland was probably getting ready to cast off.
The hatch was open, so she went on deck. All sign of the previous night’s storm was gone, and the lake seemed welcoming and serene.
“Hey, Brodie.” Leland sounded almost shy. She gave him a weak smile and sat down to watch him get under way. He unscrewed the anchor from the lakebed and motored briefly to get to deep water. Then he set the sails, moving efficiently from the tiller to the bow, bare feet sure under him despite the movement of the boat. Once they were on the course he had charted with a GPS, he took a relaxed stand, holding the tiller extension in one hand and looking at the expanse of water ahead. After a few minutes he removed his cap, ran a hand through his hair, and slapped the cap back into place, screwing it slightly to settle it.
“You wonder why I wasn’t there for you.”
Brodie said nothing. She hated people who talked about being “there for” someone or knowing “where you’re coming from,” making emotions into rooms a person could walk in and out of.
Leland scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Here’s the thing. I ran into some trouble and had to leave Michigan. I couldn’t let anybody know where I went, not even Jeannie. I guess you came along after that. She didn’t know what to do, so she gave you to Uncle Will to raise. Because the old...man never told Mother who you were, I never knew I had a kid.” He smiled. “But when I saw you on the ledge, everything got clear. I knew why he took you in. Just like with Bud, he couldn’t stand to let a relative of his suffer.”
Leland’s expression grew serious and his voice took on a teaching tone. “Bud’s all about money, Brodie. Well, money and women. That girlfriend of his will find herself out on her ear someday.” He looked up at the wind indicator, adjusted the tiller slightly, and turned back to her. “He’s going to want to control you, Brodie, and I don’t think that’s right. Shouldn’t your dad help you decide what to do, not some guy you hardly know?”
When Brodie did not speak her thought—I don’t know you, either—he said, “Cher didn’t like my idea when I went back that first day and told her about you. She said you’d never see my side of things. But I think blood is thicker than water, you know? I think you’re smart enough to figure out that your dad is the person you should be with, not some guy who lives in Chicago and doesn’t even care about you or the house and all that.”
She tried to look agreeable, knowing her only chance for escape was to lull these people into believing she was on their side. At her forced smile, Leland grinned reassuringly. At least he was smart enough not to pressure her for an immediate answer.
As Brodie watched Leland’s confident movements, she compared her image of Saint Leland to the real version. Arlis’ misunderstood son had been the old woman’s main topic of conversation since she could remember. “Leland is working with AIDS babies in Ethiopia,” she would announce, or “Leland plans to go to Sri Lanka again and work for Doctors Without Borders.” Brodie had noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm from Gramps when the subject of Leland arose, but Arlis had never seemed to get it. She updated the family on her son’s activities as if everyone waited with bated breath to hear his latest exploits for Truth, Justice, and the American Way.
According to Arlis, Leland had made one mistake and spent the last decade making up for it. His only purpose now, she insisted, was doing good.
This guy did not strike her as that type. Not only did Leland not have the air of serenity she expected from a holy man, Cher seemed a person unlikely to associate with a do-gooder of any sort. Neither did this man strike any chord in her, the way she’d always thought a parent would. Brodie had often imagined her dad, who would be a lot like Gramps. His eyes would light with affection when he looked at her, his long-lost daughter. Leland had a definite air of selfishness about him, the same air she always sensed in Arlis.
And Bud? Was what Leland said about Bud true? Shelley often shook her head when she spoke of his many girlfriends, the model from Denmark, the assistant district attorney, the Channel Ten reporter, but she never seemed really disapproving. Actually, Brodie didn’t recall any stories about Bud’s conquests in the last year or so. M
aybe he was starting to settle down, as Gramps had always said he would someday.
Bud had never paid much attention to Brodie; that was true. But as she considered the cause, she found it might have been a lot of things: their age difference, Bud’s busy life in Chicago, even the small army of crawling things she had put into his bed when he returned home from college all those years ago. She knew, looking back, that she had acted from jealousy. Bud was the one person in the world Gramps loved as much as he loved her, and Brodie had wanted to punish him for it. Also for being smarter, more attractive, and less crazy than she was.
Bud had offered to help with her money—that was true. But he’d made it sound like something they would do together. Still, she reminded herself, being nice to someone who just inherited a ton of money was very likely to come from selfish motives.
But then, here was her supposed father, being nice after ignoring her all her life. Had he really not known she existed? Despite his charm, Brodie did not trust the guy. Whether he was really her dad or not, she suspected that more than having his daughter with him, Leland wanted to get his hands on the money Gramps had left her. Maybe Bud wanted that too, control of all the money, not just most of it. Some people were like that, unwilling to give up even a penny, but Gramps trusted Bud. On the subject of Leland he’d been silent, which for Gramps meant he disapproved. She had to defer judgment for a while, Brodie decided. She needed more information to make an informed decision. Gramps was gone, but she would not forget what he’d taught her. How else could she pay tribute to his wisdom?
BUD AND SCARLET took the golf cart as far down the shore as they could. Past the viewing point, the sandy beach gave way to a swampy spot with dense foliage that grew right to the waterline: birch, jack pine, and cedar so tightly packed they choked each other, resulting in spindly, ragged-looking trees. Equally dense undergrowth had sprung up between them, hardy weeds and bushes that grew waist high, sporting thorns, burrs, and plenty of tiny, intertwined branches.