"It sounds like she was very happy with your dad,” Rachel said. "She loved all three of you very much."
"Yeah. I don't think I ever got over it, you know. Her dying so young. Emily... Emily missed the concept of a mother, but she was too young to really remember mom the way I do. The humor, the random singing, the way the sun would catch her hair and turn it from black to mahogany." Scott was quiet for a second. "I'm so glad your Aunt Rose started dating our dad, though. We were much older by then, but she soon became a second mom. Especially for Em. She really helped Em grow into herself."
"And then you lost her, too,” Rachel whispered. They were facing each other now, their bodies covered by the quilt from the chin down. Rachel could feel Scott's knees bumping hers. Her nose was just a breath away from his.
“Yep. Then I lost her, too. I can’t believe it’s been a year." Scott sighed. He shook his head as though he wanted to clear it. "I didn't expect it. Not all over again. Mom gone. Dad gone. Aunt Rose gone, too. You know, it's funny to wake up one day and find out that you're the adult now. I mean, it was so comforting to know that Dad or Aunt Rose or someone older and wiser was always around to talk to or be comforted by or just…be with. Now, suddenly, I'm it. I'm the head of the Tanner family. I hate it. I don't want it. It's scary being an adult. Nobody ever told me that. When I was a kid, I thought that you’d just wake up one day and know how to handle every single situation that could ever arise. Like all parents had a secret book explaining the universe or something. But, it turns out, my parents never did. They looked so big and confident and strong, but they probably felt just like me on the inside. Small and scared and just confused."
Small and scared and confused? Rachel had never thought of Scott that way. She remembered all the times she'd seen him in action — jumping into an ocean to drag out a drowning man or pouncing on a killer to wrestle him into submission or just simply walking on the beach with little Ollie on his shoulders. He hadn't seemed small or scared or confused to her then. He’d looked like he was the master of the universe.
"Is that why you're here, trying to salvage relations with Grandma Mallory?" Rachel asked.
Scott nodded. "Part of it, yeah. No matter what Emily thinks, I think we owe it to Ollie and any future kids to keep this line open. But, honestly, Grandma Mallory's a toughie. They don't make 'em like that anymore." He paused. "You don't talk about your parents much,” he said. "Or ever, for that matter. I mean, I hear a lot about your memories with Aunt Rose, but never really about your mom or dad."
"I keep my distance from them both,” Rachel said. "Life's easier that way."
"So you don't believe in this family-is-family-in-the-end thing like I do?"
Rachel shook her head. "I believe sometimes people are toxic, and its easier to cut them off completely than to keep them at a distance where they can still bite and bark at you. It's not a very popular opinion, especially when it comes to families, but it’s the truth. Besides, blood doesn't guarantee a bond. Only love does."
"So you agree with Emily, then? You think I shouldn't bother with Grandma Mallory and the rest?" Scott asked. His eyes were on hers, searching her face with a curious intensity, as though her opinion was the most important thing in the world. He bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes. "Tell me."
"She left you in a hot car when you were four, Scott. That's so dangerous. What's worse is she remained stubborn about it after, as though she'd done nothing wrong."
"It wasn't a big deal,” Scott protested. His eyes slid away from hers, focussing on a spot on the wall behind her. "It just... wasn't."
"Scott—“
"It was my fault anyway,” he said suddenly, his voice small.
"What?"
He nodded and bit his lip again. His face was suddenly different. Younger somehow, and full of fear. "I was the one who said I didn't want to go to the mall. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mom. I remember it. Grandma got mad and she tried to drag me out of the car, but I just screamed and shouted. So she got fed up and left me there. It was my fault."
"How can you say that?" It all made sense to Rachel, suddenly. Guilty. Scott felt guilty about what had happened.
"It's true,” Scott said. "My mom lost her family because of me, in a way."
"Scott..." Rachel's voice trailed off. He looked so miserable and lost and all she wanted to do was to wrap him in a hug. She trailed a finger across his cheek instead, feeling the rough stubble on it. "You know better than that. You were four years old.”
"I've carried it around with me, always,” Scott said. "The knowledge that it was my fault. And I can't bear to not make an effort."
"If someone left Ollie in the same situation, would you tell Ollie it was his fault?" Rachel asked.
"Of course not!" Scott looked horrified. "Ollie's just a kid."
"Exactly. So were you."
An obstinate sort of look climbed onto Scott's face. "That's different."
"Why? Because the rules are different for Sheriff Tanner?"
He laughed slightly. "It sounds stupid when you put it that way..."
"Of course it does,” Rachel said. "Because it is stupid and wrong to blame a four year old for an adult's actions."
"Still…I can't help feeling that if I'd only listened to my Grandma instead of throwing a tantrum, none of this would have happened. We would have grown up close to Grandma and our aunts and uncles. Em would have had them all. She was a pretty lonely kid, with only me and Dad around. She'd have been so much happier with aunts and a Grandma." Scott sighed. "I know it's stupid but... I can't shake it."
"It's stupid, but it's so you,” Rachel said. "Always noble, always the hero. Even now, you're putting yourself out there and meeting up with your family so that Em and Ollie might benefit. Scott Tanner, you're an incredible man."
"I'm a brat." He laughed, blushing a little. "Or, at least, I was."
"You're perfect,” Rachel scolded. "Don't say a word against four-year-old-you ever again because I will not stand for it."
His smile spread out across his face, warm and delighted. "Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?"
"I'll go back in time and I'll hug the daylights out of that little version of you, and I'll tell him he's the best boy in the world and that I love him,” Rachel said. "Just like I love you now."
It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it immediately. His smile, so warm a split second ago, suddenly froze. His honey brown eyes widened and then a shutter fell over them. His body, loose and relaxed was suddenly tense. Silence hung between them, becoming heavier and heavier as the seconds ticked by.
“I—“ Scott squeezed his eyes shut. "Rachel, I—“
She didn't say anything. A slew of feelings were attacking her organs — embarrassment, anxiety and hurt, all mixing together. Their first real date was only three months ago. Surely, it wasn't too soon to say the words? Even if it was... it had felt so natural to her. She'd been thinking of saying it for a while, but when she finally did, it had just come out. She hadn't calculated it or even wanted him to say it back. She hadn't thought about it at all.
Now that she did, the possibility that Scott didn't love her suddenly felt like a massive betrayal and an obvious fact all at once. They were just dating. It was all just casual to him. She was the one who was getting all serious and emotionally tangled up.
"It's late,” Scott said, his voice slightly strangled. "I'd better go."
"Yes,” she managed, knowing that she was seconds away from tearing up. "I'm getting sleepy. Goodnight."
"Rach—“ Scott tried to reach over and kiss her, but Rachel put a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently.
"Goodnight,” she said.
*****
Chapter 11
Dead Men's Tales
Dawn spread gently over the night sky, turning it first an inky blue and then shades of purple. Mulberry Mansion's kitchen, unlike the rest of the house, was not given to excesses. It was a chef's kitchen. The equipment wasn't necessarily expen
sive, but it was of very good quality and was neatly kept and well maintained. Rachel found herself admiring random artifacts like the stand mixer and the old-fashioned biscuit tins that now served as canisters.
Surprisingly, she'd fallen asleep from exhaustion only minutes after Scott had left her the night before. She woke in the morning with a heavy feeling in her chest and the desire to bake. Baking, after all, was the solution to all of life's problems. And if, in the end, the problem wasn't solved? Well, then you had a cake ready to help drown your sorrows.
"Rachel?" Aunt Paris gave a little startled yelp as she entered what she’d thought was an empty kitchen. She had on sweatpants and a loose top and her hair was damp and plastered to her head. She put a hand to her heart and exhaled loudly. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Oh, hi, Aunt Paris,” Rachel smiled.
"It's 5 am!" Aunt Paris exclaimed.
"That's when the bakers of the world begin their day,“ Rachel smiled. "After a while, the body just keeps its own alarm clock. I'm wide awake by five no matter how late I stayed up the night before.”
"You don't look like you slept at all, actually,” Aunt Paris said.
"I'd have to say the same about you." Rachel smiled.
Aunt Paris turned various shades of red then exclaimed, "It's this beastly murder! Nobody can be expected to sleep knowing that a man was killed just one room away! But never mind that. Mama hates having guests in the kitchen. She won't like you being here."
"Oh, I asked her for permission after dinner last night,” Rachel said. "I find baking soothes me and I knew I'd be up early anyway. Grandma Mallory told me I might as well make myself useful then. So I'm baking up some croissants for breakfast. What are you doing up so early?"
"Up so early... yes. Yes. Quite. Well, I... I woke up and felt a craving for some of that delicious strawberry cake of yours."
"There's leftovers in the fridge." Rachel smiled.
"Share some with me." Aunt Paris took out the cake and then rummaged around until she'd found two matching plates of blue and white china. She placed two generous slices upon these and then poured herself and Rachel each a glass of milk.
"Come. Sit and have some,” Aunt Paris said.
"Thanks." Rachel took the proffered plate and sat down.
"Mmmm." Aunt Paris closed her eyes as she chewed, a look of sheer ecstasy on her face. "Fantastic. Blissful. Decadent."
Rachel felt the warm glow she always did when someone reacted like this. Nothing beat seeing the look of utter satisfaction on a person's face. Words could be faked, but that expression certainly couldn't.
Digging into the cake with a fork, Rachel made sure to get all the layers before placing it in her mouth. The sharp, sweet scent of strawberries immediately invaded her nostrils, while a sugary symphony spread across her tongue. She'd chosen to use a cream cheese icing this time, and she felt it complemented the cake far better than the buttercream frosting had done earlier, adding a necessary tang to the rich cake.
Taking a sip of her milk, Aunt Paris said, "So Bethany invited you to stay over yesterday, is that true?" She tried to sound casual, but her words came out a tad too sharp.
"That's right." Rachel nodded.
"You're a lady detective of some kind?"
Rachel shook her head. "Hardly. But if it makes Aunt Bethany feel a little bit safer to have more people in the house, who am I to say no?”
Aunt Paris sniffed. "What's she got to worry about anyway? She’s probably the murderer."
"You think so?" Rachel was quite shocked by this blatant accusation.
"Oh, she's a money-grubbing little—” Aunt Paris paused. "Now, I don't mean to sound biased but…well…I don't like her. I used to, initially, but then I saw her true colors. She hasn't always been kind to my mother. A girl can't help but dislike someone who's rude to her mother."
Rachel shrugged. "It depends, doesn't it, on whether your mother was rude to her first?"
"Mama has a sharp tongue, but that's just how she is. She can't help it any more than a lion can help roaring,” Aunt Paris said. "Bethany should have understood, and been more respectful."
Rachel bit her tongue, not wanting to get drawn into this argument. "If you say so,” she said instead.
"Oh, I can see you don't agree.”
"Well, if every woman who was rude to her mother-in-law was a murderer, we'd have hardly any women outside of prison,” Rachel pointed out.
"It's not just that she's rude,” Aunt Paris said. She looked over her shoulder, making sure no one was at the kitchen door, and then leaned closer to Rachel. "She's the only one of us who had a motive."
"A motive?"
Aunt Paris nodded. "A pretty solid one at that."
"Why? What do you know that the others don't?" Rachel asked, leaning in.
"Well…" Aunt Paris cast another furtive glance at the door as though she expected someone to barge in any second. "A few months ago, I was making my way to the kitchen for a midnight snack, when I thought I heard some whispering from the parlor."
Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
Aunt Paris nodded. “And do you know what I heard? I heard Bethany. Whispering away on the phone!"
"Whoa."
"Exactly. A married woman on the phone that late. What other explanation could there be?"
"Well..." Rachel hesitated. "It could be a friend who needed advice or something. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"Oh, you are young and naive." Aunt Paris smiled and looked as though she had to resist the temptation to pat Rachel's head. "No. I got curious, see, and I crept up near the door to hear what she was saying."
"What was she saying?"
"The most horrible things about my brother, for one!" Aunt Paris exclaimed. "Whoever was on the other end of that phone, Bethany was feeding him a big sob story about how Jordan was so mean to her, how my mother was horrible, how she couldn't stand any of it anymore." Aunt Paris' face twisted into a scowl. "She even said that I — I — was a brainwashed stooge! Can you imagine? That my mother uses telepathy to control me!"
For a few moments, Rachel had been having doubts about whether Aunt Paris was telling the truth. This last sentence destroyed any doubt she had. Aunt Bethany had used those same words while describing Aunt Paris to Rachel, even if she had kept any ill-feelings about her husband to herself at the time.
"What was she saying about Uncle Jordan?" Rachel asked.
Aunt Paris shifted a little in her chair, looking uncomfortable. "Only that he was an ill-tempered husband."
"Do you think she lied?" Rachel asked.
"What does that matter? The point is that she's clearly cheating on Jordan! She even mentioned something about a divorce on the phone. Surely that’s…well…that's her motive!”
"It would be an excellent motive,” Rachel said, “if Uncle Jordan was the one murdered. But how does wanting to divorce Uncle Jordan translate into murdering Johnny Hayes?"
"Why, it’s obvious, isn't it? She had to murder Johnny because she thought Mama would find out about her leaving Jordan otherwise."
Rachel shook her head, confused. "What? Why? How would Johnny know?"
"Divorce lawyers cost money. If Bethany was using her money to contact one, Johnny might have found out."
"So, you're saying an accountant would go to a client to spill a different client's secrets?" Rachel shook her head. "Impossible. He'd lose his career over a move like that."
"Mama isn't a normal client,” Paris pointed out. "Mama is his career. Well, she was. She's got a lot of money, you know. She was Johnny Hayes' bread and butter, and you best believe he knew it."
"I find it hard to believe that an accountant would behave so disgracefully,” Rachel said.
"Oh, you have no idea." Paris laughed. "When I was twenty three, I used to have a certain amount of money fall into my account each month from a trust fund. Well, when Mama forbade me from a Euro-trip with my friends, I decided to start saving up some of that money every m
onth so that I could afford to go. I was planning to defy her. About three months into it, Mama called me in for a ‘conference’. Johnny left the room just before I entered. I knew immediately that he'd ratted me out. Mama tore into me for saving up the money! She'd guessed my intentions and asked Johnny to keep an eye out for unusual activity in my account. He reported right to her and poof went my plans to see London and Rome."
Rachel stared at her, horrified, but Aunt Paris laughed in merriment as though she'd just shared a joke.
"That’s…unhealthy, to say the least,” Rachel said. "It might even have been criminal on Johnny's part."
"The poor commit crimes, the rich only 'bend the rules’,” Aunt Paris said. "And Mama is rich. Very, very rich. Besides, she was just doing it because she loved me. I would probably have gotten cheated or kidnapped if I'd gone on that trip. I was too young."
"Twenty three is not too young,” Rachel said.
Aunt Paris laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
"But…so…you're telling me that your mother used Johnny Hayes as a spy to keep tabs on you? All these years? She must have used him to spy on Uncle Jordan and Uncle Sidney, too."
Aunt Paris rolled her eyes. "Look, all the money we have is hers anyway. She's the one who created our wealth. So she wanted to have some eyes on it. It’s no big deal. I don't understand why you're making such a fuss."
For the first time, Rachel felt like Aunt Bethany's allegations of telepathy weren't entirely implausible. From the little Rachel had seen of her, she had believed that Aunt Paris was a good, friendly person. So it scared her that Aunt Paris felt Grandma Mallory's behavior was merely normal. She couldn't seem to understand that it was a gross breach of privacy and probably some kind of crime.
"Bethany really loves that landscaping company of hers, you know,” Aunt Paris sneered. "More than any person alive, more than even herself. She didn't have kids — she had that company."
"She mentioned that it was originally founded by her father."
"It was just some two-client dinky operation,” Aunt Paris said. "Then my Mama poured in money and Jordan used his charms to attract clients. All of a sudden, it became huge. Bethany's father might have founded it, but my Mama and Jordan made it."
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