Blood Vines

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Friday, March 12

8:45 P.M.

Alex sat huddled under a blanket on the end of her couch, unable to get warm. After leaving Treven Sommer, she had climbed into her car and driven aimlessly, on roads that wound through picturesque towns, past rolling hills dotted with sleeping vineyards.

Traffic had occasionally slowed to a crawl, then opened back up, with no particular rhythm.

No wonder she was cold, Alex thought. She’d driven with her window down, using the sting of the cold breeze to connect her to the physical while her mind raced with the events of the day.

“We can’t help who our parents are.”

“You want to know what your mother was, Alexandra? You want to know so bad, I’ll show you.”

“Stay away from my sons.”

Alex shivered and huddled deeper into the blanket. Needing reassurance from someone who had known her mother, she had called Rita Welsh at her home, then the library. She learned that Rita had retired and moved to Oregon to be near her grandchildren. They refused to give her a forwarding address or phone number.

She thought again of what Wayne Reed had said to her: “Stay away from my sons.” What would Wayne Reed think if he knew what she and his son had shared?

Maybe he did know. Maybe that was part of the reason he had passed along her mother’s sordid story. And why he had been so hateful to her.

Reed. He hadn’t called, though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. A part of her wished he had. The part that enjoyed his company-both his character and the mind-blowing sex. But the other part thought it was for the best. Too much history. Too many secrets. His worldview too conventional, hers too unconventional.

History. Secrets. She turned her gaze to the framed photo resting on the table beside her. Her mother holding Dylan, smiling for the camera. Her standing there, beaming up at them both.

She reached for it and gazed at her mother’s image, pain curling through her. What were your secrets? What they’re telling me about you, is it true? Is that why you kept the past hidden from me?

She shifted her attention to other aspects of the photo. It’d been taken at Sommer Winery. The cave entrance, she saw, stood in the background.

She stared at the shadowy opening, her head filling with the memory of her vision from that afternoon. The flames licking at her. The smell of incense. Her very real response: fear and panic.

Alex fisted her fingers, determined not to succumb to either. Her mother hadn’t wanted Alex to remember. But what, specifically? Their lives here? The horrible loss of her baby brother?

Why? In an attempt to shelter Alex from pain? To shield herself from the painful reminders? Because of guilt? Fear?

Alex stopped on the last. Had her mother been afraid? For herself? Or her remaining child?

Her gaze refocused on the photograph, the shadowy cave entrance. Something happened in that cave. To her. Something awful-horrible and frightening.

Something fighting to get out.

Dear God, she thought. Had the terrible thing happened to her? Or had she witnessed it happening to someone else?

Dylan.

Her phone vibrated and she jumped. She answered, voice shaking.

It was Reed. “Hey. I said I’d call.”

She thought back; that morning felt like a lifetime ago. She struggled to remember what he’d said, how they parted. She couldn’t.

“I’m on your front porch. I’ve got a pizza and some beer. If you’re in the mood for some company-”

She was. She tossed aside the blanket, hopped to her feet and hurried to the door. All the reasons why they shouldn’t be together evaporated as she swung the door open. She wanted him. She needed to be with him. Now, this moment.

He stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his hip. “I brought my favorites, Boont Amber Ale and a ‘Works’ pie from the Red Grape.”

Wordlessly, she took the six-pack and set it on the entryway table, then relieved him of the pizza box. She dropped it, then pushed him up against the door.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered against his mouth. “Just… be with… me.” She tore at his clothes, yanking his shirt over his head, greedily struggling with his belt, fumbling in her hurry.

He lifted her and turned them around so her back was pressed against the door. “Hold on, baby,” he said, then speared into her.

She cried out, digging her nails into his back, arching and bucking against him. Waves of pleasure washed over her, mingling with the events of the day. Stay away from my sons… you want to know, Alexandra… she hung herself in grief…

Flames licking at her. The smell of incense. The howling of creatures.

Alex fought the memory. She tightened her legs around Reed’s waist. No… no… I want this…

Crouching down, surrounded by underbrush, shrubbery. Hiding. The voice. The angry words she can’t make quite out-

But then she does. They ring clearly in her head. Clark’s words. Clark’s voice.

“You want to know so bad. I’ll show you.”

A cry spilled past her lips. She realized she was crying.

“Alex? My God, are you all right?”

She blinked. Reed was breathing heavily, looking at her strangely. He’d stopped, his body already cooling.

“Did I hurt you? Sweetheart-”

“No.” She began to tremble and rested her forehead against his. “Hold me. Please, just hold me.”

He carried her to the living room; together they curled up under the blanket. For a long time, they lay like that, neither speaking. Clark’s words replayed in her head. Words he had spoken today. In anger. In an implied threat.

Were they words from the past as well? Dear God, what was happening to her? Alex wondered. Was she jumbling together the past and the present? Or was she descending into mental illness?

“You ready to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

What could she tell him? If she shared everything, would he take her seriously-or think she was unstable, just like her mother had been?

Nothing she’d done since meeting him indicated otherwise.

Reed’s stomach growled loudly. Saved, she thought, and tipped her face up to his. “Your pizza,” she said. “I forgot all about it.”

“Me, too.” His stomach grumbled again.

“Liar.” She eased out from under the blanket. “I’ll reheat it.”

“Don’t bother.” He caught her hand. “You ready to talk about it?”

“Can I have a little more time?”

He smiled lazily up at her. “They’re your secrets. Take all the time you need.”

A short while later, they sat on the floor eating the cold pizza and sipping on the warm beer. She’d slipped into his shirt; him his jeans.

“Good pizza,” she murmured, reaching for a second slice.

“The best.” He popped open another brew. “I had an interesting day. Max Cragan’s house burned down.”

“What?”

“Somebody torched it.”

Flames. Surrounding her. The tentacles reaching for her, licking at her flesh.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked. It crossed her mind that she was glad they had been together. “Nothing. It’s just so… shocking.”

He frowned. “And that’s it?”

“Yes… who would do that? It’s so cruel.”

“Cruel,” he repeated. “That’s an odd way to think about it.”

Alex looked at him. “Because of Angie. She must be devastated. Losing all those… memories.”

“She was.” He fell silent a moment. “I spoke with Cragan’s primary care physician today. He couldn’t completely rule out Max being strong enough to hang himself that way, but doubted it.”

“He was murdered,” she said softly. “And his home burned down. My God.”

“The Coroner established Cragan’s time of death as between eight thirty and ten thirty P.M. You spoke with him during that time.”

“Yes. He called me around nine. I showed you my cell’s call register.”

“That you did.” He watched steadily. “Where were you that night, Alex?”

“Home. I told you that.”

“Alone?”

She flushed. “Yes, alone. All night.”

“No calls other than Cragan’s? No visitors?” She shook her head. “Didn’t run an errand?”

“No.” She frowned. “I’m confused. Why is this important?”

“You may have been the last one to speak to Max.”

“Not the last. He hung up with me to go to the door. I heard the bell ring.”

“So you say.”

She made a sound of disbelief. “I showed you my call log. I told you what happened. We made an appointment to speak the next morning. He said someone was at his door and hung up. He thought it was Angie.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It could have been anyone.”

“Yes,” he said softly, “it could have.”

She realized what he was saying and stiffened. “Why would I hurt Max? I hardly knew him!”

“I didn’t say you did, Alex. Just doing my job.”

“Were you just doing your job a half hour ago? When you were fucking me?” She scrambled to her feet, bringing the blanket with her. She stripped off his shirt and threw it at him. “Get out.”

“Alex-”

“I felt safe with you. Until now.”

“Don’t you see, you’re at the center of it all? Everything that’s happened leads back to you.”

“Not everything. In case you’ve already forgotten, I had an alibi for last night. I was in bed with you. Helping you do your job.”

“Alex, you could be in-”

“Get out,” she said again. “Whatever was going on between us is over, Detective.”