Aside from my dead cousin's ghost? I shaped my answer carefully, not wanting to betray the fright I'd felt upstairs. I didn't want to see the inside of whatever mental-health facility the Matagorda Bay area offered. 'Tom and Aubrey got into a fistfight. Deborah and I had to separate them. Someone, I believe, spiked my stepmother's drink with booze because she's an alcoholic and they wanted to end her sobriety. Aubrey upset the family when his mother announced he's writing a new book about screwy families. I already told you Wendy and Philip planned to chisel money out of Uncle Mutt.”
“Anything else?” Mendez was no fool; he'd spotted the pause in my speech, the flicker in my eyes as I remembered my experience.
“No, nothing else-except-”
“Yes?” Mendez prodded.
“I thought I heard some sneaking around in the attic.” I had to tread carefully here; I wasn't yet decided what to do about Paul's jewelry I'd found. I didn't want the world crashing down around Bob Don. Mendez watched me, unblinking.
Seeing ghosts. And protecting someone who killed, a devilish voice chirped in my head.
I know he would not have killed except in self-defense, an angel murmured in response.
The storm loudened and I waited for the boom of thunder to pass before answering. “Is there anything else?”
“We'll need to get your prints tomorrow. Don't be offended. We have to have everyone's.”
“Tomorrow?”
“My officers and Judge Yarbrough have returned to the mainland.” He didn't look at me. “Unless you're so eager to give us your prints, you want to come into the sheriffs department tonight.”
“Odd that the police are gone.” I kept my voice neutral. “I think you'd want to complete your interrogations, make an arrest.”
“I don't have any evidence yet, Mr. Poteet. I have only the word of you and your kin, and some of the stories don't quite agree yet. We're waiting on the toxicology results. And I'm not insensitive to Mr. Goertz's feelings. After all, this is a house in mourning.”
“Deference to the rich man? I'm a little surprised at you.” I couldn't hide my bitterness. A murderer strolling free in this house and Mendez played local politics.
“Mrs. Throckmorton could have taken the pills herself. That possibility still has not been eliminated. Mr. Goertz has finally admitted that his sister wasn't always quite balanced in her actions.”
“Oh, I'll bet he finally has acknowledged that little fact. I suppose it's less embarrassing than having another murderer in the family.” I stepped close to Mendez, close enough to smell the mint gum on his breath. He tensed, resenting the intrusion. I didn't care.
“You know my uncle Paul killed his wife.” Anger had fueled my words too quickly; I didn't want to dwell on the horrors that had followed poor Nora's murder. “It seems to have shamed the family thoroughly.”
“Paul Goertz killed his wife. His family didn't kill that woman. They shouldn't feel shame.” But a light in his dark eyes told me his own clan might've reacted very similarly.
I had no answer for him.
Mendez went in to conclude his talks with Philip, and I heard him call to Uncle Mutt, sitting solitarily in the kitchen. Uncle Mutt stormed past me and didn't give me a second glance. Philip sat sunk down in his chair, his hands cupping his face. I felt an unaccountable pity for him; he looked like a forlorn lump. Tom was nowhere to be seen. Didn't his own twin even believe in him?
I went upstairs. Time to start investigating Philip Bedrich a little more closely.
I found a phone in Lolly's room and dialed Itasca Hue-bler's home number back in Mirabeau. Itasca's my main assistant at the library and possibly one of the great ferreters of information ever known to man. I could almost picture her scooping up her maroon phone receiver (she's a big Texas A amp;M supporter) and sandwiching it between her jaw and shoulder.
“Hello?”
“Itasca, it's Jordan.”
“Hey, sugar. How you enjoying your vacation?”
I didn't want to get into the sordid details of the weekend. Itasca was sweet, but she loved to gossip. “Fine, just fine. But I was wondering if you could see clear to doing me a favor.”
“I live for these moments, Jordy,” she teased. “What's up?”
“I'd like to check up on a fellow named Philip Bedrich. He's an investments counselor of some sort, and he's trying to get me to invest some money with him. I can't exactly do a little research on him while I'm here, because he's staying at the same house. Could you call the SEC, see if he's registered with them, and see if he's got any kind of record?”
I could hear her scribbling down the information, and I spelled Philip's name for her again. “All right,” she asserted, “I'll give 'em a call and see what I can see.”
I gave her the number where she could reach me, thanked her, and hung up. Poor Philip. Itasca was relentless.
I stood to leave and that's when I noticed the feathers caught in the wicker of Sweetie's bed basket. White down fluttered in the wooden weave surrounding his pillow. I leaned down and pulled the feathers away-there was the beginning of a tear on the pillow's side.
I'd heard cloth-or something similar-ripping when I'd hid in Lolly's closet-when Wendy had asserted Bob Don was in the room. But I hadn't been able to identify what had been disturbed.
I upended Sweetie's pillow. A long gash tore open the pillow's bottom, and the downy innards had been disturbed. I sat thinking for a long moment, then got up in search of Candace.
“Are you still mad at me?” I asked from her doorway.
She lay curled like a cat on her bedspread, her eyes half-lidded in sleep. The thought of her being in the proximity of a coldly conniving killer was enough to frost my blood. I didn't want us still bickering.
She smiled. “No, I'm not still mad at you.”
I sat down next to her on the bed. “I'm going crazy here. Arguing with Bob Don in the middle of all of this madness is rotten, and then having a spat with you-”
She touched a hand to my lips. “It'll all be over soon. I think the police suspect Philip. He just looks guilty.”
I ran a hand along her hip and she closed her eyes. I wanted the comfort of lovemaking, but I knew celibacy was the order of the evening. Instead I softly kissed her hair and she ran a gentle hand along my cheek.
“I love you,” I murmured, “and I'm sorry I was a jerk.”
“Jordan, I love you, too. Even when you're a jerk. I'll try not to dispense so much advice. Sometimes I tend to want to tell you what to do instead of just listening a little.”
I kissed her cheek again. It was warm, but not with fever. She smiled at me. “If you and I can mend fences, you and Bob Don should be able to.”
Tightness locked my throat. Gretchen had confided in me. I wanted to tell Candace what I'd learned about Bob Don, but I didn't dare. Not yet. There was no sense in putting her in harm's way. “Bob Don and I aren't setting new records for bonding. Why can't we just go on with our lives without hurting each other? God, I'm tired of this.” I moved to the window.
“If I give you advice now, are you going to explode?”
“No. I'm done with that.”
She leaned against my shoulder. “Try something for me. Put yourself in his shoes. He didn't want to abandon you. He did what he thought was right. And he did that knowing that your mother might never have told you the truth about him. He turned and walked away because he wanted to spare you all the pain.”
Outside, the storm throbbed like a colossal heart. I listened to its roar and beat. “But I couldn't have done that, Candace. I couldn't have just walked away from my child. Turn heel and flee. He watched me. He watched me grow up and never came close, never tried.” I swallowed and my eyes stung with repressed anger.
Candace pressed a palm against my back. Sorrow tinged her voice. “Because to try would have been to ruin your life. You were just a little boy. His distance was a gift to you then. Let him come close to you now.”