Distant Blood

8

My dreams were unkind. In the darkness of night and slumber, I swam through the shattered hulk of the sunken Reliant, the current piloting me along. I drifted, breathing the murky water like air, among the tattered corpses dressed in makeshift uniforms. One revolved toward me in the ebb of moving sea and I saw with horror the decaying face was Uncle Mutt's. I jerked away from the sight, and the corpses began to close around me in an icy fellowship. I could see their faces clearly now-a misshapen Deborah; Jake, his countenance pecked by fish; a one-eyed Sass; and worst, a Bob Don who looked like a demon from some nether region, the lower half of his face rotted away. His arms stretched out to me in an obscene embrace, and I roused from the nightmare with a shudder.

I felt the momentary disorientation of waking in an unfamiliar place, then remembered where I was and the contorted look on Lolly's face as she died. I was thirsty, but a small boy's fear held me and I didn't want to get up from the bed to venture into darkness. I suddenly missed my parents very badly. Finally I fell asleep again, the bedding wrapped around me like a shroud.

I awoke with the sun. Rather than concentrate on my disturbing dream, I set my mind to replaying Philip stealthily replacing that book about digitalis poisoning among its less meaningful colleagues. Had I made a mistake? What if I'd spotted the wrong book? But I didn't think that I was wrong. I thought dear Cousin Philip might have some serious explaining to do, but I had no proof. Borrowing a book wasn't a crime.

The first rays of dawn shot through my window, and with no Candace to snuggle up to, the bed seemed a cold place. I pulled myself up, donned a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and stumbled down to the kitchen in search of caffeine.

I wasn't the earliest riser in the house. I found Wendy bustling about in the kitchen, getting ready to prepare a large breakfast for the family. Food always seems so inextricably linked with death; I remembered vast buffets of food brought by neighbors when my father died… but there were no neighbors on Sangre Island. Did anyone else share this family's grief? I knocked timidly on the door I'd already opened.

I had met her very briefly last night, but we'd hardly exchanged more than hellos. “Good morning, Wendy. I don't want to disturb your work, I just wanted to get some coffee…”

“Oh, hi, c'mon in,” she said. Her voice sounded tired, as though she hadn't slept well. I saw she'd already poured herself a large cup of cream-laced coffee and a cigarette sat burning in an ashtray, a plume of smoke rising from its cin-dery end. “Did you sleep okay, Jordan?”

“Not really.” I started looking in cupboards for a cup. Wendy quickly produced one, an old-fashioned big white mug. She filled it for me, offered me cream and sugar. The rich, comforting smell of French roast wafted over me like airborne nectar.

“The beach is beautiful in the morning, if you're of a mind for a walk. And this is one of the nicest times of the year to see all the wildflowers,” she said. I wasn't sure if that was a polite way of ushering me out of the kitchen, but I didn't want to leave.

“Thanks, but if you don't mind, I'd like to stay here and drink my coffee.”

“Suit yourself.” Wendy sat back down at the table, took a long draw off her cigarette, and sipped at her coffee. She regarded me with frank eyes. I remained quiet, sipping at the hot brew. She hadn't seemed inclined to engage in idle conversation, but since I'd made myself comfortable, she deigned to speak.

“Hard day for Mutt ahead.”

“I think he has harder-and fewer-days ahead,” I pointed out.

Wendy stared down at her coffee. “Each day brings us one day closer to our deaths. He's not going to think much about his own problems today. Dying people still grieve.” She shook her head and took a long draw on her cigarette. I thought her too young to have such a dark outlook; but I had no idea where life had taken her. Her journeys might have been far tougher than mine.

“He's a good employer?” I kept my voice neutral.

“The best. He's been a kind friend to me, and I will miss him terribly when he's gone.” She stubbed out her cigarette and quickly lit another. “I don't usually chain-smoke, but these aren't usual days.”

I studied her over the rim of my coffee cup. She puzzled me. She didn't speak with a noticeable Vietnamese accent, and she didn't have an easy Southern drawl like the rest of the household. I'd wondered if she was from one of the hundreds of Vietnamese families that had settled in fishing towns along the Texas coast.

I ventured forward with dark humor: “I guess not. An illegitimate son turns up, the family patriarch announces he's terminally ill, and his sister dies. If this is usual, get me the hell out of here.”

She didn't grin and I saw her face was vacant of the wear of laugh lines. Wendy Tran suddenly struck me as a woman who would smile sparingly.

“I'm curious,” she asked. “Just why are you here? Bob Don says you're his son, but you don't seem to act like a father and son yet.”

“We're not quite there yet.” I stirred my coffee.

“I figured he hadn't acknowledged you before because you were too embarrassing to him.”

“You must not know Bob Don well,” I countered. “He's a very fine man.” I felt a quickening anger fill my face. How dare she sit in judgment of Bob Don? “I'm here because I do care about Bob Don. He asked me to come, so I did.”

Wendy didn't comment immediately, but got up, refilled her cup, and offered the pot to me. I shook my head. “I seem to have hit your sore spot,” she observed without further comment. I had an uncomfortable feeling that said sore spot had been filed away for future reference.

“I take it you don't care much for Mutt's family,” I bludgeoned back in response. I shouldn't have felt ticked at her, but I did. She glided back to her chair and sat down, curling one leg beneath her.

“It doesn't matter what I think of the Goertzes. They're Mutt's family, he's my employer.”

“My charming aunt Sass wasn't kind toward you last night.”

“Sass drinks too much, and what she does is of no concern to me.” Wendy poured a dollop of cream in her coffee and watched the milky swirl for a moment before destroying it with a vigorous stir of her spoon. “Do you think I would pay one bit of attention to anything that woman says?”

My personal opinion was that Wendy would not forget a single utterance against her; even if her implacable face never gave a moment's reaction. I didn't venture that opinion, however. I glanced up to see that she was carefully studying my face, as though cataloguing each individual element in it. She caught my eye and didn't blink or look away.

I took a comforting sip of coffee. “How long have you worked here?”

“About a year. I was working as a cook for a caf6 in Port Lavaca and I hated it-it was a disgusting, greasy place. Mutt came in one day, had my meat loaf for lunch, and offered me a job on the spot.”

“Are you from the coastal bend originally?”

“No. From here and there. I wandered around a lot as a kid.” She stood. “If you don't mind, I need to get breakfast started. I've got biscuits to make and Jake likes his orange juice fresh-squeezed.”

“Sure,” I said, taking the hint. I quickly refilled my coffee and left Wendy to her work. I found the study deserted and used the phone to call Sister.

“How's it going?” was her first question.

I explained the night's events, interrupted only by Sister's occasional “oh my Lord.” When I was done, she sputtered, “Well, when do y'all get to come back home?”

“Don't know. Depends on what the autopsy shows. I can't figure it out, Sister. The authorities here know Mutt Goertz, know his family-and seem to think that maybe something's up. I can't put my finger on it.”

“Come home,” she said immediately. “They can't possibly think you had any involvement with this, you don't even know these folks.”

“Sister, I can't. Bob Don needs me and anyway, none of us can leave the county until the autopsy results are back. So says the justice of the peace.”

“This wasn't a good idea,” Sister blurted. “I knew it wasn't.”

“You were all for me coming here-” I fumed. “At least, you were after you and Candace confabbed in the cafe.”

“Well-” She sounded shamed. “Candace told me that Bob Don's uncle was awful wealthy, and we decided it couldn't hurt for you to get to know him…” Her voice trailed off.

“Sister. I can't believe this!”

“Oh, for God's sake. We didn't mean any harm. We just figured it was just as easy to love your new family if they were rich instead of poor. Don't get your drawers in a knot. And be mad at me, don't be mad at Candace.”

I promised her I'd call back soon, assured her again we were all fine, and hung up. Good Lord. I'd thought Candace had unblemished motivations in encouraging me to take this trip. She and I were due for a little chat when she arose this morning.

I ambled out to the porch. I heard a voice-unmistakably Uncle Jake's raspy whine. At the corner of the wraparound porch to the left of the front door, Aubrey had settled Uncle Jake down into a high-backed wicker chair. Or at least I thought Jake was settled down. No sooner did I step out onto the porch than Jake whacked at Aubrey's white-trousered leg and bellowed, “Goddamn it, Aubrey, let me be. You're fixing to give me a spell.”

Aubrey wasn't put off by a smack with a cane. I saw he was also holding the bereaved Sweetie close to his cheek, and he cuddled the hapless Chihuahua closer. “That's okay, Uncle Jake. Give in to your anger. You've lost your primary caretaker-,”

“And I'm about to lose the most irritating relative God gave breath to!” Uncle Jake poked at Aubrey again. “I don't want to hold Sweetie right now. And I don't want to get in touch with my wounded self or whatever blather it is you're spouting. I want you to leave me alone!”

“That's it, Uncle Jake. Vent. Then breathe. Then vent again.”

“Aubrey.” I came up and gently touched his shoulder. “Let's not get Uncle Jake excited. He's got a heart condition, remember?”

“Yeah! And no medication!” Uncle Jake added. “Are you trying to shove me into the grave, Aubrey?” He palpated his hand against his chest, as though suffering from the vapors.

“Uncle Jake's heart condition,” Aubrey answered icily, “is that he's forgotten what it is to have a heart!”

“Thffffffffffffft,” Uncle Jake replied, with his lips and tongue and dentures.

“Uncle Jake, you always hurt those who try to help you.” Aubrey crossed his arms, squeezing Sweetie protectively. The little dog's eyes rolled.

“Aubrey, you're a pain. Let me sit here and enjoy the morning. I probably got fewer than a thousand of 'em left to savor. You ain't helping my mood, 'cause I didn't sleep well.”

“Sleeplessness is common in a loss like this,” Aubrey said. “Especially when one is in denial of grief. Why, if you'd just let yourself cry, Uncle Jake, you'd dream with the angels.”

“Somebody gonna be acquiring angel wings real soon,” Uncle Jake replied.

“Listen, y'all!” I demanded. They glanced at me with real surprise. “Aubrey, why don't you go get Sweetie some breakfast? I'm sure he's feeling lonely for Lolly and I know he'd respond to you paying him lots of attention.”

Aubrey mulled over this new opportunity for therapy, murmured a polite “What a wonderful suggestion, Cousin Jordan,” and retreated from the porch, the unfortunate Sweetie in tow.

“Well, ain't you a smart one,” Uncle Jake chortled. “Better that damn dog than me have to suffer Aubrey's foolishness.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Oh, that plumb wore me out. I'm feeling a tad peaked. Do you think you could go fetch me some orange juice, nephew?” His voice had taken on a whine I freely admit to not caring for. But I wasn't about to deny an old man his morning pick-me-up. Even if I suspected his use of an endearment toward me was just to propel me faster toward the kitchen.

“Sure, Uncle Jake. I'll be right back.” I ducked back into the house, found Wendy hadn't started on the juice yet, fixed it myself with fresh oranges, and brought a glass back to Uncle Jake. He snatched it from me as soon as I handed it to him.

“Took you long enough,” he snapped, downing half the glass in a long swallow.

“Well, those oranges don't squeeze themselves,” I responded, a bit peeved. I don't mind doing jobs for folks, but I at least like to be appreciated. I reminded myself that Aunt Lolly had nursed Jake and that he needed watching over.

Uncle Jake watched me over the pulp-smeared rim of his glass. His eyes were a dark hazel, framed with sagging flesh. His mouth worked as he wiped the bits of orange from his teeth with his tongue. His face was gaunt and narrow; I thought he must have been loose-limbed and athletic in his youth. “You ever in the military, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“I'm a World War One vet. Whaddaya think of that, huh?”

“It's very impressive.”

“You know what it makes me, boy? Hard to kill.”

I blinked and leaned against the railing. “Excuse me?”

“I'm a tough old fart. Don't forget it.”

“I certainly won't. Is there a reason why you're assuring me of your indestructibility?”

“God. Now you sound like that clown Aubrey.”

“Sorry. I'm just trying to follow the path of your conversation.”

He snorted. “Just setting the record straight. Now that Lolly's gone, and Mutt'll be gone soon, I ain't gonna go into no dadburn nursing home. I got years ahead of me still. And I done made enough sacrifices for this family.” He glanced off toward the horizon, as though to reassure himself that Death wasn't charging forward to claim him early, having already scooped up Lolly. I shivered and he saw it, his eyes appraising me with cold calculation.

“You lived here with Lolly, is that correct?” I asked.

“Yep. For the past four years. Before that, we lived over in Corpus Christi.”

“I'm sure Mutt will want you to stay here,” I said reassuringly.

I could understand his fear. I have my own horror of nursing homes, from the time when my grandfather was forced into one. Our visits to him were painfully brief; a stench of guilt pervaded our family every time we stood and tried to make small talk in his dormitory-like room. We felt suffocated there; but what we felt could have only been a fraction of his suffering. He had loved and given and provided to us for his entire life, and the last years of it were spent rooming with a toothless crazy man from La Grange. My grandfather ate food cooked by other people; watched TV with folks he'd never seen before; spent his nights staring at the ceilings, lonesome for his own kin. Hi, you're sick and old and we don't need you anymore, so in you go to the human junkyard, Papaw. I hate those goddamn places.

“Hell. Him gone, Lolly gone, Sass and Bob Don'I stick me in a nursing home faster than you can spit.”

“There's plenty of money, Uncle Jake. Maybe they could provide you with a live-in nurse.” And why haven't they before? Why did that burden fall on Lolly when Mutt could easily hire a nurse for you? I kept my musings to myself.

“They ain't gonna do me no favors.” Uncle Jake stared out at the whitecaps dancing across Matagorda Bay. “Always thought I'd be the first to go. 'Less Lolly went and killed herself.”

“You think Lolly committed suicide?”

He shrugged. “Can't say that to Mutt-who wants to figure that their baby sister killed herself? But she was slowly going crazy, getting as nutty as a fruitcake.”

“I don't understand.”

He squinted at me in the morning brightness. “Hell, boy, were you deaf last night? Didn't you hear her lay into most of the family?”

“I thought-”

“What? That she was just meaner than eight acres of snakes?” He shook his head in silence. “Lolly never cottoned much to Deb or Gretchen, that's true. But as of late, she'd started turning on the whole family. Talking crazy, talking wild. Never made no sense. She used to kid about that dog being Charles come back to her, but I think she'd truly begun believing it.” He stared off at a bird swooping low over the bay. “That's a brown pelican-watch him dive!” The pelican suddenly swooped into the water, swallowed its catch, and flapped back into flight. Jake watched the bird with pleasure. “They nearly died off in the Sixties round 'bout here. But they're survivors, just like old me.”

I steered the conversation back toward Lolly's eccentricities. “You said she was getting less stable. Were you afraid she might take her own life?”

He watched the brown pelican soar toward the beach. “Well, Lord no, not really, else I would've said something to Mutt.” But he didn't look at me while he made this statement.

“I suppose you wouldn't have any reason to keep quiet if you were afraid for her,” I said softly.

He harrumphed. “Listen, sonny. Lolly was a right pain, but she took care of me pretty good, and she was family. I didn't want to see nothin' bad happen to her.” He coughed. “But now that she's gone, I just gotta make sure that I ain't stuck in no home. People die in those places, and wouldn't surprise me none if I got another good ten or eleven years to live. Long as Mutt takes the time and sets aside the money to make sure I'm cared for, and that none of them dadburn relations of mine can touch that money or dump me someplace I don't want to be, I'll be as fine as frog hair.” He smiled at me and there was little joy in his grin. “You're a nice boy, ain't you? Put in a good word for me with Bob Don and maybe Sass.”

“Of course.” I found myself suddenly wanting to be free from Uncle Jake's company. His tone of voice lingered between cajoling and threatening. I'm not cowed easily, but a malevolent air hung about the old man-in the devious sparkle of his eyes, the creaky grin, the discolored teeth. God, what kind of care did Lolly give him-his dentures really needed a good scrubbing. I stared back into his murky eyes and wondered if I'd caught a glimmer of thought: Get the mail I sent you, boy? I blinked. My imagination was running rampant.

“I'd surely appreciate it.” Downing the rest of his juice, he handed me the empty glass. “You think you could fetch me some more of that?”

“Sure,” I answered. “You want anything else?” He shook his head, and I turned to leave.

I paused at the door. “Can I ask you a question, Uncle Jake?”

“I reckon.” He peered up at me, shading his eyes with his palm.

“Your heart medication bottle was empty when Tom found it. Were you running low? We need to be sure we get you some more Digoxin.”

“I appreciate the concern, Jordan, but you don't got to worry. Mutt's getting the prescription refilled while he's in town today.”

“Oh, well, good. I guess you have to keep a careful eye on how much Digoxin you've got left.”

“Nah,” he huffed. “I just left that up to Lolly. She brought me the med'cine, my only job was to swallow. Now, how about that juice? A fellow gets parched sittin' out here watchin' the water.”

“I'll get you your juice,” I said, “but if you don't want anything else, I think I'll take a turn around the island.”

“Don't go,” Jake said. His voice came close to imploring. “This island ain't made for wandering about. I always think it has a smell of death in the air.”

I froze by the door. “Isn't that a little melodramatic?”

He gestured toward the spit of sand by the dock. “You see that beach? That's where them Mexicans slaughtered them boys.”

“Slaughtered boys?” I heard my voice ask.

Jake smiled with the glee of a natural-born gossip. “Yeah. Right down there. When it became obvious the Reliant was sinking, the Texan captain stuck all the youngest crew members-most of 'em just teenagers-into a dinghy and sent 'em onto the beach. The Mexicans corralled them after the Reliant had gone down and cut those boys' throats, every last one.” His eyes glimmered at the thought. “That's why they call this island Sangre. For blood. They said the blood ran so thick on the beach you could hardly see the sand.”

I suspected the account was an exaggeration, but I felt a cold tremor at the image. “That's horrible.”

“Whoever told you,” Uncle Jake wheezed, “that this island was a nice place?”

“Speaking of death,” I began, “what about what Aunt Lolly alluded to last night? That Deborah's father killed his wife, then himself? Bob Don never mentioned that his brother was a murderer.”

“Would you?” Jake snapped. “God, you're dense.”

“I'd tell my son,” I snapped back. My time with this unpleasant old man wore my nerves thin.

“Well, we ain't like you.” Uncle Jake turned back in his chair to stare out at the beach. “You gonna fetch that juice or not?”

“Uncle Jake. Please tell me-”

“No.” He glared back at me. “No, boy. Any of this family's shame ain't your concern. If you think it is, you best get off this island and never come back.” And Jake Zimmerhanzel turned his back on me, to watch the eternal ebb and flow of the sea.

Breakfast was a far more subdued meal than dinner, and I felt sick relief when the final fork clinked against the last plate. Sass-whose hangover was apparent in her tired face-apologized for her sharp tongue the night before (“I behaved terribly, and I'm sorry”). She tried desultory chitchat, but when Aubrey shepherded the conversation toward his theories regarding group convalescence from emotional trauma, she shushed him-and everyone else stayed quiet. Wendy obviously knew how to cook to Texan tastes: migas (eggs scrambled with salsa), crisp bacon, hash browns, grits topped with a decadent amount of butter, and homemade biscuits as tender as a poem. I was horrified at my appetite, considering the tragedy of the past day. But I was hungry and saw no point in pretending that I wasn't.

Candace didn't make an appearance, and I felt unease at her absence. Gretchen, who looked as if she'd hardly slept, saw that I was disconcerted. She assured me she'd checked on Candace, who was sleeping late. Bob Don took a seat next to me, gently squeezing my shoulder in greeting. I wanted to ask him about Uncle Jake's statements, but couldn't-this was neither the time nor the place.

The only noise for a long while was the murmurings among the family, the ping of fork against china, the soft slurping of coffee. I watched Uncle Mutt survey the gathering, like a lord eyeing his serfs. A palpable sense of control flowed from him, and his eyes were now clear and unmarked by weeping. He'd lost his sister, he was dying himself-but he seemed hewn of rock, stable in any tempest that might arise. I felt the force of his own personality intruding on the edges of mine. No wonder he was the undisputed patriarch. I found myself unable to look at him for long. A glance told me he was watching his kin and I wondered if he was divining which of them-if any-might be responsible for the threats mailed to me.

“Is that deputy still here?” Sass asked, idly buttering a biscuit.

“Yeah. I offered him some breakfast, but he declined. Never heard of one of them Praisner boys passing up a meal,” Uncle Mutt answered.

An embarrassed silence followed. Couldn't blame him, seemed the unspoken sentiment. After all, we might have a mad poisoner in the house. The thought, even if hanging in the air above our heads, didn't seem to dent appetites.

Bob Don sat next to me during the meal, but he didn't respond to my icebreaking overtures. I felt a sick worry stick my heart. What was going on with him, with this family?

“I'm heading into Port Lavaca this morning,” Uncle Mutt announced, “and I'm going alone. I got to see to Lolly's funeral arrangements. She asked in her will to be cremated, and to have her ashes scattered into Matagorda Bay. I'm going to have a memorial marker put up for her in the family cemetery here on the island. We'll have the service as soon as we get her-remains back from the Travis County coroner.” Mutt wiped his mouth thoughtfully with his napkin. “I assume you'll all stay for the service.”

“Now, Uncle Mutt, none of us brought funeral clothes,” Sass admonished.

“You gonna head all the way back to Houston, Sass? Hell. Wear what you brought. Lolly didn't stand on ceremony. Ain't gonna make a bit of difference to her.”

“Uncle Mutt,” Sass replied, one sculpted eyebrow raised, “there's a wrong way and a right way to do things. It would be disrespectful for us to scatter poor Aunt Lolly all looking like a bunch of beachcombers. We'll all need to head into Port Lavaca to get some clothes-”

“Sass, you've always worried about every meaningless thing under the sun. That's how you acquired so many husbands,” Mutt said. Sass opened her mouth to retort-I saw a clear glint of indignation in her eyes-but she opted for diplomacy.

“Sorry, Uncle Mutt. I know you've got plenty on your mind as is, and I didn't mean to speak harshly.”

He softened as well. “If y'all want to go into town and buy black clothes or whatever, feel free. But that'll keep till I get back.”

“Why can't we go with you, Uncle Mutt? Or take the other boat?” Deborah asked plaintively. “I agree with Sass, we want to look nice for poor Aunt Lolly's funeral-”

Poor Aunt Lolly? After the verbal beating Deborah had suffered at her aunt's hands? I watched my cousin cast her eyes down toward her plate. Her fork trembled as she poked at the remains of her eggs.

“Because I said so, Deb. You can go into town later.” He stood and walked out of the dining room, hollering at Rufus to make sure the boat was ready for him to take.

“Well!” Sass exploded (safely, after Uncle Mutt had left and could be presumed to be all the way down to the beach). “If this don't beat all. Uncle Mutt is obviously becoming mentally impaired due to his unfortunate brain cancer. One only wonders what other dreadful lapses of judgment await us.” She drummed long, painted nails on the tablecloth, watching as Wendy began clearing away the dirtied plates. “Of course, why don't we all retire to the study to discuss the matter? I'd prefer not to debate family issues in front of Mutt's domestics.”

“Honestly, Sass, don't be such a rotten snob,” Bob Don snapped, real irritation tingeing his voice. “Excuse my sister, Wendy. She must've left her manners on the mainland.”

“I don't pay her any heed, Mr. Goertz,” Wendy answered primly, removing the plates from in front of Deborah and me.

“You'll have to soon, sweetheart,” Sass purred. “Changes await us all.”

Wendy ignored the jab and went into the kitchen, noisily dumping the flatware in the sink. She didn't return.

“Sass, you should be ashamed!” Bob Don stormed. I believe Bob Don to be one of the most even-tempered men I know, but anger colored his cheeks. “Why do you loathe that poor girl so?”

“I wonder,” Aubrey offered delicately, “why you'd take up for some stranger and attack your own sister, Uncle Bob Don? Perhaps you've got some unresolved childhood rivalries you'd care to discuss?”

Bob Don gave that comment all the consideration it deserved. He kept his gaze firmly on his sister. “Well?”

Aunt Sass would say no more in the dining room, but she herded Bob Don, Aubrey, Philip, Gretchen, and me into the library. Tom had never appeared for breakfast and Deborah had joined Uncle Jake on the porch. I suddenly realized this gathering smacked of a family powwow and unease burrowed into my bones.

Sass shut the library doors and peered through the gap to be sure she wasn't being overheard. She whirled back to face her brother. “If you can't see that little tramp is about to unzip Uncle Mutt's fly, you're blinder than a fence post.”

“Oh, Sass dear, I think you might be overreacting just a teensy little bit,” Gretchen said.

Sass stared at her sister-in-law like Gretchen had just leaned over and spat on her patent-leather shoe. “Gretchen, honey, I know you've been in a stupor the past several years, but now's the time for unblurred vision. That little whore is after Uncle Mutt's money, and it's just clear as day that she's gonna get it if we don't stop her.”

“I think you're overestimating Uncle Mutt's affection for Wendy,” Bob Don said in a tight voice, “and I'd thank you not to speak to my wife that way.”

I recalled Uncle Mutt's warm embrace of Wendy, her soft laughter as she leaned against his shoulders, the air of intimacy that surrounded them. Apparently Sass had witnessed a similar scene, or suspected amour between lord and cook.

“That's okay, Bob Don,” Gretchen quickly said, eager to make peace. “Sass didn't mean anything by it, did you, hon?”

Sass smiled. “Of course not, sugar. We're all just tickled pink over your recovery. I'm so proud of you I could bust.”

I pressed my lips closed. After all, I had no designs on Uncle Mutt's money; it was none of my business. But I would not want to see Bob Don's inheritance threatened. I'd tell him privately what I'd seen between Wendy and Mutt; I wouldn't give Sass the satisfaction. Dislike for her boiled up in me; how did Bob Don and she spring from the same gene pool?

Sass sat and crossed her legs demurely. “Now let's get back to the problem at hand-Wendy.”

“She's no doubt searching for a father figure,” Aubrey volunteered, “and what we need to do is replace her Electra-complex attraction to Uncle Mutt with-”

“Aubrey, hush,” Sass said, the voice sounding automatic. I could see the pattern: Aubrey speaks, Sass shushes. Not a bad system, if it worked.

I silently took a chair. I thought that Sass convened us all to talk about Lolly's death; but my great-aunt wasn't even being mentioned. I couldn't say, with clarity, that grief permeated this house. Oh, Gretchen looked devastated, Bob Don seemed dulled, but the others-it was almost as if Lolly's death were a minor incident of the weekend, as unfortunate as a broken fishing reel.

“Mother.” Aubrey didn't surrender easily. “All I'm saying is find Wendy someone else to target. Shift her sights off Uncle Mutt.”

“Wonderful, darling, are you volunteering?” Sass rolled her eyes. “I suppose not. Regardless, Wendy doesn't want Mutt as a man.” She examined her polished nails. “She wants his money.”

“I don't think she's the only one overly worried about money,” I blurted. I didn't have any undue affection for Wendy, but watching Aubrey and Sass connive over Mutt's cash made me queasy.

“Well, well, well.” Sass pursed her lips into a wicked grin. “Long-lost son finally shows his true colors. I wondered how long it'd be until you were sticking your hand in the till.”

Bob Don started to defend me, but I stepped willingly into the line of fire. I don't take abuse. “Listen. I don't give a crap about Uncle Mutt's money. I don't have any claim on it. I may be a blood kin but I certainly don't have the years and years of having a relationship with him that y'all do. But he's a grown man, and what he does is his business. Not yours. Doesn't he deserve a little happiness in the last months of his life? Are you worried about his heart or his wallet?”

The battle lines drawn, Sass clicked her nails against the silk-soft leather. “I don't need some recently discovered offspring of my brother's telling me what is and isn't my business. I don't care what Bob Don says, you're not family. You're a stranger.” She turned to her brother, who was staring at her slack-jawed.

“Oh, Sass, no,” Gretchen mewled.

“I wouldn't be very inclined to claim you as kin, ma'am,” I retorted, my anger getting the better of me. “You've been nothing but damned unpleasant since we got here. You've been snide to Gretchen, sharp to your brother, and downright hostile toward me.”

“Why should I be kind to you?” she demanded. “All you want is to take from me and mine. Why on earth has Bob Don not produced you until now? Why hasn't he shown you off until now? How marvelously convenient that he waits until Uncle Mutt's dying. How sweet of Bob Don to conjure you up out of thin air. A trump card, a nice, handsome young heir who can stake a claim to part of the family fortune.”

“Uncle Mutt knew about me,” I answered. Anger sharpened my voice into a whisper. “He knew about me for years. He told me so last night. So I'm not a trump card, I'm not a son of convenience for Bob Don.”

The shock on Sass's face went to her bones. Her mouth worked as she stared at me, rummaging for a snide reply.

“Sass.” Bob Don's voice was behind me. “You have crossed every line of decency. What the hell has possessed you? You apologize to my son immediately!”

“Fat chance.” She stood and took Aubrey's arm. “Let's go for a walk, son.” Mother and son exited, Aubrey looking bewildered, Sass not meeting my eyes.

“Son”-Bob Don's voice was low-”I am so, so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into Sass. She's obviously distraught over Aunt Lolly's death.”

“Distraught, my ass,” I muttered bluntly. “She's just mean as a water moccasin. Have you seen her shed one tear over Lolly?”

“That was unforgivable.” Gretchen seized my arm and turned me toward her. “How dare you speak to Sass that way?”

“Me?” I choked. “Get real, Gretchen! She's had it in for me since the moment I set foot here. I even overheard her and Aubrey talking about someone being a threat. I'm sure they meant me. All they care about is their precious inheritance!”

“That's not true!” Gretchen said. “Sass is one of my oldest, dearest friends!”

“Is she more important to you than your husband?” I yelled. “Good Lord, Gretchen. She's just accused Bob Don of using me, of being underhanded, of calculating how to get his hands on money she considers hers. And you're defending her?”

“I should have known we shouldn't have brought you around people of quality,” Gretchen said coldly. “You ruin everything you touch, Jordan. You turn people against each other. Just like you did Bob Don and me.”

“Don't you blame me for what the bottle did,” I snapped, and she slapped me, once, hard, before storming out of the room.

I rubbed her palm print, standing red against my cheek. Good God, what had just happened in this room? Bob Don stared at me as though I were a stranger.

Philip, who'd been quietly lounging in a corner chair, got up and grinned. “Well, Jordan, you've just had your first family squabble. Welcome to the clan.”