Thicker than Blood

by C. J. Darlington

  The display lit up and revealed Vince’s cell phone number. She picked up the cordless and sunk into her sofa. He needed to know where she stood. “Please don’t grill me.”

  “Of course not.” His tone was kind. Maybe this would go better than she thought.

  “You’ve got to understand my life with you is over,” Christy said. “I’m not coming back.”

  “Not even after all we’ve been through together?”

  “I’ve made up my mind, the same way I have about the books. I couldn’t go through with it.”

  “I noticed.”

  She tensed at his response, wishing he would leave it at that.

  “I’m up for trying again,” Vince said. “You’ll have plenty more opportunities. If you did as well as I imagine, Hunter will assign you more.”

  Christy took a gulp of sherry. She’d need the boldness it would bring if she was to get her point across. “No, I’m done. We’re done.”

  “You’re not looking at this right. It’s not about the books. I want us to be together. A team. Like we used to be.”

  “We were never a team, and you know it. You had your way no matter what I thought.”

  “I can change that.”

  “What did you think I was? Some kind of idiot?”

  “That’s not . . . that’s not it at all. I can’t live without you. I . . .” His voice cracked. “I can’t.”

  She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. He was making promises again, weaving a seductive web to catch her. But this time she knew his words were vacuous. As soon as she gave in, it would be back to what it had always been. Domination. Complete control over everything she did. Toward the end he was making her check with him before even going to the grocery store. “It’s over.”

  “Christy . . .”

  “No. I’m not arguing.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Can’t you just accept that I don’t want to be with you anymore?” She took another sip of sherry.

  “What did I do wrong?” Vince asked. “I gave you my home, my love . . . everything.”

  “Don’t even talk about love.”

  “But I still love you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. We could—”

  “You love yourself. No one but yourself.”

  “If you’ll give me a chance, I can—”

  “What? Change me? ’Cause that’s all you’ve ever tried to do.”

  He let out a long breath. “Is it the money? We can share our profits. We both know what’s valuable, and Hunter’s too dull to catch on.”

  “Always have to malign him, don’t you?”

  “I wonder why that bothers you so much.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Is that all he is?”

  Christy threw back the last of her sherry, then filled the glass again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re drinking, aren’t you?” Vince sighed into the phone. “Don’t you see what you’ve become? You’re a drunk.”

  He was doing it again—snapping from charming to cruel in one breath, and Christy was glad they were having this conversation over the phone.

  “I thought you were smarter than this,” Vince said. “Don’t you realize I can get you out of that dump you call an apartment?”

  She hesitated, which bothered her. “Our relationship’s over. Right now. If you don’t get that . . .”

  “Come back to me. We need each other.”

  “I don’t need you.”

  A moment of silence. All she heard was his breathing. “This is your choice,” he whispered. “Remember that.”

  There was something about the way he said it. What happened to the man she’d fallen for? She used to feel safe with Vince. Just his presence would set her at ease. But now he was scaring her.

  “Darling, you really should close your shades at night.”

  Christy turned around. The shade was open.

  “If some weirdo saw you all alone up there, he might get some nasty ideas.”

  “Just leave me alone, okay?” Her gaze fell to the street. A white car sat at the curb, engine running, headlights on.

  “Have a good sleep,” Vince hissed in her ear, then hung up.

  The car pulled away. A Lexus.

  Christy wrenched down her curtains and tried to breathe evenly.

  Chapter 10

  Not again. Hunter flattened his palms on the glass display case next to the register, his eyes locked on the empty right-hand corner. The case was like a jeweler’s, lined with green velvet and lit with a small aquarium lamp, and it was where the Barn kept their unique and rare finds to be examined by customers only upon request.

  The Hemingway was gone.

  He scrambled behind the counter. Last night he’d locked this case himself, and only full-time employees knew where to find the keys. Rooting through the books and papers on the counter, he hoped someone had carelessly left the title out in the open after showing it to a customer.

  It was nowhere.

  “Hunter.” His father’s bark came from across the room.

  He looked up, hoping desperation wasn’t written all over his face.

  “I need you in my office.”

  “Can it wait? I’m really busy.”

  “My office now, please.”

  Hunter started to fire back another protest but decided against it. Whatever it was, he’d be better served to avoid an argument. At least hear what Pop had to say. After that they could disagree as usual.

  He followed Pop through the door that opened into the Barn’s addition on the north side. Employees were the only ones allowed in here. The first floor contained a small kitchen along with Pop’s and Hunter’s offices. Above, on the second floor, was a three-room apartment. When he was young it was rented out, but now Hunter lived there. Pop and his stepmother resided in the stone farmhouse elsewhere on the property, out of sight from the Barn.

  Hunter followed Pop to his office. A lone Tiffany lamp shone from Pop’s desk, leaving much of the room in shadows.

  Vince sat in front of the desk puffing on a cigar. No surprise there. Vince and Pop often hung out together, sometimes at the country club golfing or at the tavern, doing the things Pop wished Hunter enjoyed. And even though smoking was prohibited in the Barn, Pop always made an exception for Vince’s cigars.

  Vince didn’t stand when they entered. The only sound was the chair creaking as he uncrossed his leg and recrossed with the other.

  Hunter waited for an explanation.

  “Tell him,” Pop said.

  “I have some information about Christy. Remember when Fletcher kept beating you to estates?”

  He gave Vince a small nod. For years Pop had an arrangement with a friend from college who was now an estate attorney. Pop’s friend assured the Barn first pick at estate sales, and in return for the favor, Pop promised to give his friend, also an amateur book collector of science fiction, all the books he wanted in that genre.

  Then Fletcher started beating them to estates. He’d managed to finagle his way to the books by contacting the families directly, bypassing the attorney altogether. By the time the Barn got there, the best books were already sitting in Fletcher’s store.

  “Christy was responsible for that,” Vince said.

  Hunter shot a glance at Pop, but he just stared at him.

  “She informed Fletcher each time she found out about an upcoming sale,” Vince said. “Then Fletcher would beat you to it.”

  “Where’d you hear this?”

  “She told me.”

  Hunter tried to keep his reaction even, but if this was true? “Explain.”

  Vince released a small cloud of cigar smoke. “He paid her for each legitimate tip. I don’t know how much. I was shocked when she told me, and I still can’t believe she did it.”

  “She wouldn’t,” Hunter said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. Or would she? She’d only been a cashier back then, makin
g close to minimum wage. An offer of a couple hundred dollars as a finder’s fee would tempt a lot of people.

  Vince leaned forward. “Christy wouldn’t lie to me.”

  Hunter smirked. Leave it to Vince to betray a confidence. “If you knew about this, why are you just now telling us?”

  Pop said, “Apparently informing Fletcher is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “I had to be sure,” Vince said. “I love her, and I certainly didn’t want to wrongfully accuse her. But the third time I saw her slipping a book out to her car, I had to speak up.”

  Hunter felt his insides jolt. “Wait a minute. I don’t believe this.” He wanted to sit down, but Vince had the only chair.

  “I wouldn’t have either if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Vince said.

  Hunter glared at Vince. The snake sure didn’t seem upset. And he supposedly cared about Christy? He almost seemed to be enjoying himself. “What proof do you have?”

  Pop sat down behind his desk and folded his hands in front of himself. “Hunter.”

  “I’m only trying to help here,” Vince said, giving Pop a look Hunter had seen all too often. If he’d rolled his eyes it would’ve had the same effect.

  “Pop, could we talk alone?”

  His father sighed and looked at Vince. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Vince said, smiling at Hunter as he left.

  Hunter closed the door and sat down in front of the desk where Vince had just been. The seat was still warm. Pop’s shoe tapped on the floor as Hunter struggled with what to say next.

  Pop didn’t wait. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not surprised you believe him. You always do.”

  “And you never do.”

  Hunter closed his eyes briefly. Here we go again. Another lap around the same old track, Pop defending Vince. “I don’t trust him.”

  “This is not about Vince.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No. And I think the sooner you get over your dislike of him the better.”

  “That’s all you think this is about? Me not liking him?” Hunter laughed in total frustration. No matter what he said, Pop never changed, and Hunter knew why. Maybe Pop would never say it to his face, but his father’s disappointment in him was obvious. He’d never been the kind of son Pop wanted. Pop wished he was more refined and ambitious like Vince, who was more interested in the money books brought in than the books themselves.

  Even when he was a kid, Pop had tried to mold him into a man he could never be, someone who shared his interests in sports and hunting. Pop never understood how any boy would rather be reading instead of tagging along with his dad on the golf course or watching the Super Bowl with the other guys Pop invited over every January.

  It wasn’t that Hunter didn’t try. He probably tried too hard to please Pop, and as he got older Hunter finally realized it would never happen. Enter Vince. Hunter’s older sister, Abby, had started dating him in college when Hunter was fourteen, and Pop and Vince immediately connected. Within months Pop offered Vince a job, and the rest was history. Abby finally got tired of being slapped around and she and Vince eventually broke up, but by then Vince could do no wrong in Pop’s eyes. He never even noticed how abusive Vince had been to his own daughter.

  It was nothing new to be arguing over Vince with Pop, but this time there was more at stake than a simple business venture Vince wanted to follow that Hunter didn’t agree with. This was about Christy. Hunter was the one who’d pushed to have her hired. Over the years he’d stuck up for her more than once to Pop. Perhaps in the beginning he did it for his own reputation, but now he did it for something more. Christy was the only person, besides Abby and his late mother, who seemed to understand him. And when she’d fallen for Vince, he’d kicked himself for not speaking up right away and telling her what kind of guy Vince was. Because of that, he was now watching his sister’s nightmare played out again. Only this time Christy was the girl Vince was manipulating. If Hunter could do something to make up for that, he would.

  “Ever considered he might be lying?” Hunter said.

  “He has no reason to.”

  Hunter stood and paced the room. “You want me to like him. I want you to open your eyes. Christy lived with the guy; now she moved out. Have you seen them interact? She’s terrified of him. Don’t you think he could be doing this simply out of spite toward her for leaving him?”

  “We’re talking about some very serious accusations. If she did anything close to what Vince is saying, we have a problem.”

  “I realize that, but you’re making assumptions without hearing her side.”

  Pop took a stack of papers out of a drawer and set them on the desk. He picked up a ballpoint and looked at Hunter. “You know I would have let her go before this. She isn’t reliable. Not even you can deny that.”

  “I still can’t believe she’s our problem,” he said, but his voice didn’t hold the confidence he wanted. He also couldn’t deny the missed days of work and the excuses she’d given that he knew weren’t true.

  “I suggest you find out,” Pop said.

  ***

  “Everything okay?” Christy said to Hunter, pushing a box of books away from the back door. She’d been clearing space in the storeroom for new inventory all morning, and she’d just noticed Hunter watching her from the doorway.

  He didn’t look happy.

  “Actually, no.” He said it without a smile or any other hint he was kidding around.

  She stopped, wiped her dirty hands together, and walked over to him. Something was definitely up.

  “I really don’t know how to talk to you about this,” Hunter said. “I just got through meeting with my dad and Vince. I’ll be honest with you. Vince accused you of some things I hope aren’t true.”

  “Like . . . what?”

  He scratched his head. “Remember when Fletcher kept beating us to the estate sales?”

  As soon as he asked the question Christy knew what was coming. It was as if she were suddenly in the path of a swooping fighter jet loaded with bombs. Running wouldn’t help her. Ducking was useless. She could only watch and wait for the moment of doom.

  “Yes” was all she could say.

  “He’s telling us that was your doing. I don’t want him to be right, but I have to know from you. Were you informing Fletcher about the sales?”

  Her first instinct was to deny it all. Let him have Vince’s word only; that might keep him at bay for a little while, but she knew sooner or later he’d find the truth.

  Christy couldn’t look at him as she acknowledged the question but turned her face away and nodded. “I wish I’d never done it. You don’t know how much. But everything was completely new, and I needed the money. I know that doesn’t make it right. I was the one who called it off after I got to know you and realized, truly realized, how it was hurting the store.”

  She went on apologizing, dredging up excuses for herself, somehow explaining, but Hunter’s expression cut those words short. Or more accurately, his lack of expression. Only the muscle in his jaw twitched once. It was sign enough his trust in her was shattered.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “That I found out?”

  Christy didn’t blame him for asking, but the question still sliced. “That I did it.”

  “I am too.”

  They stood three feet from each other, neither moving. Christy turned away from his wounded eyes, disgusted with herself. How could she have risked losing this friendship for money?

  Mixed emotions kept her from speaking. She’d dreaded Hunter knowing her past. Yet a part of her was deeply relieved it was over.

  Everything was finally out in the open. She had nothing more to hide. And one thing Vince didn’t realize was that by trying to hurt her in this way he’d freed her to finally speak up about what he was doing to the Barn.

  “Come with me,” Hunter said before she had a chance to tell him anything. r />
  It was a command. Christy followed him into the entrance room where he positioned himself in front of the display case and gestured for her to stand beside him. He pointed at the case. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hunter tapped the glass over the top right corner. “Something’s missing.”

  Then she realized what. She herself had been the one to display For Whom the Bell Tolls only two days earlier. “Did we sell it?”

  “No.”

  “I leave it out or something?”

  “It’s gone.”

  She knew what he meant, and her moment came. “I think I know where it is.”

  “Do you?” Vince said from behind them.

  Hunter grimaced.

  “I think so.” Christy whipped around to face Vince, but it would have been so much easier to tell Hunter when they were alone.

  Vince threw her a hostile smile.

  It was time to play her ace. “Vince needs to tell you,” she said to Hunter while boring holes through Vince so he would get the message she wasn’t backing down.

  “He already has,” Hunter said.

  She turned around. Vince confessed?

  “Why do you think I’m asking you about the Hemingway?”

  Christy stared at him, confused.

  Hunter went on, “Vince told us something even more disturbing than Fletcher. He says he’s seen you remove books from the shelves and hide them in your car.”

  “What?”

  “You expected me to stay silent forever?” Vince said.

  She felt like she’d been slugged. “I didn’t take anything from this place!”

  “It’s hard for me to believe you would,” Hunter said. “But—”

  “I swear it’s a lie. He’s lying!”

  “Christy,” Vince said in that patronizing tone she hated, “how can we believe what you say after what’s happened before?”

  She whirled at him and poked a finger at his chest. “You’re the thief. You’ve been stealing from this store for years!”

  “That’s enough, you two.” Hunter moved to stand between them. “Christy, I know it’s your word against his. But think about this. Vince wasn’t lying about the estates.” He sighed and looked back and forth between her and Vince. “Frankly, I don’t know what to think. But I do know we’re going to have to sort things out before I can have you working here again.”

  “You’re firing me?”