I was risking my father's freedom by proceeding with an investigation. But I was letting a murderer get away, scot-free, if I didn't intervene. I slathered butter on bread, stuck cheese in between, and began to grill the sandwiches, the heat from the stove offering a little comfort as the storm continued to rage.
“Smells good,” a voice said behind me. I hadn't heard Tom come into the kitchen. He stood by the refrigerator and fished a can of cola from its depths. He glanced at the makeshift dinner I was preparing. “And very smart, too, Jordan. Cheese and bread and canned soup. Safe and difficult to tamper with.”
“Have you given the subject of poisoning a lot of thought, Tom?” A cold anger threaded through my body as I watched him lounge against the refrigerator. He popped open his Coke and took a long draw.
“Well, Gretchen came down and said Aubrey and Candace seemed to be improving-”
“Candace was pregnant. She miscarried.”
My words struck like a slap. His mouth gaped. “Jesus Christ, Jordan, I'm sorry. Holy hell.”
I moved away from the stove and toward him. “You nearly beat Aubrey to a pulp today. And when you were putting Jake to bed tonight, he mentioned you'd been digging around the island. Is there some connection there, Tom?”
He stiffened and his pale specter's eyes locked on mine. “I had nothing to do with Aubrey's poisoning.”
“Then who did?” Only a chopping block, with a score of magnetically attached kitchen utensils dangling above it, separated us.
“I don't know.”
“Why were you pummeling Aubrey earlier today?”
“It's a private matter between him and me.”
I shook my head. “Wrong. No private matters left, Tom. Not after murder and attempted murder.” My skin felt white-hot as I stared at him. Why wouldn't he tell me the truth? “If you hurt Candace-if you killed my baby-there's no place on earth you'll be able to hide from me, Tom.”
He tensed, his muscles straining like whipcord under his shirt. He was older than me, but tautly fit. “You and I have no quarrel.”
“As long as I stay out of your business, right?”
“Right.”
“If Aubrey lives, do you think he'll continue to be quiet about your feud? Especially if he doesn't know who laced his juice?”
Tom's face blanched. “Aubrey knows how to keep his silence.”
“Rules change when someone tries to kill you. Or tries to kill someone you love.” My voice was barely a whisper, but my words seemed to thunder in my ears. I could feel the war drum of my own pulse, a maddening beat. A connection suddenly formed in my mind.
“That shovel. What have you been digging for, Tom? Buried treasure? Or maybe buried bodies?”
“I don't have to listen to this crap-” He began to turn away from me, and I whirled him back around with a strength I didn't know I had.
“You shit. You knew. You're looking for Paul's body, aren't you?”
Anger darkened his features and I stood there slack-jawed. He jerked his head toward the stove, where a plume of smoke billowed from the pan. “Your sandwiches are burning.”
“Tell me. Tell me what you know-” I barely had time to utter the request before his fist came flying at me. I didn't react soon enough. He clubbed me on the side of the head and I fell, twinkling lights playing about my eyes and the odor of singed cheese in my nostrils.
Tom leaned down toward me, his voice nearly soothing. “Little boys who don't know better get killed around here. I'm not your enemy. Put some ice on your cheek before it swells.” He turned to saunter out.
Not hardly.
I grabbed him before he'd taken four steps, whirled him hard once, and belted my fist across his smirking face. He staggered back and I pile-drived another punch into his gut. His breath whooshed out satisfyingly and his bone-pale eyes bulged in surprise.
“Catch your breath,” I advised him, “and get ready to talk, Tom.”
“You,” he managed, a dribble of blood oozing from his cut lip. “You shit. You made a mistake, buddy.” He launched himself at me, mowing me down in his embrace and tumbling us both against the kitchen's back door. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and as he collapsed heavily against me, every bone in my body cried in agony. Rain, roaring in from the broken door pane, splashed our faces.
I lashed out a kick, catching him in the chest, and he cussed at me with his meager lung power. I scrambled past him, trying to get the advantage by not being pinned against the door. He clawed at my legs, his nails raking down my bare skin. I twisted away, but not quick enough; his pum-meling fists rained down on the back of my head, driving me to the floor. He smashed a hard blow between my shoulder blades-at a spot no doubt marked hit here for maximum pain -and my wind abandoned me. I tasted the grit of the floor, a nasty mix of dirt, salt, and grease.
“Goddamn little idiot,” he huffed from above me. “You fucking think you know what you're doing. You don't.” I couldn't see Tom's face. I didn't dare look. I was too busy concentrating on inching my leg into position.
“You don't want to delve deep here, okay? Otherwise, you end up like Aubrey-”
Keep lecturing me, butthead.
“-or maybe you end up like Brian-”
Oh, shit.
“-and I don't want to have to pound sense into you-”
He didn't get the opportunity. I swung my leg hard, catching him in mid-sentence and off guard, my foot connecting decisively with the tenderest area of the knee. He hollered and collapsed like fallen timber, his body splaying out next to me. I sprang to my feet, my whole body a bruise, and I seized one of Wendy's heavy blades, held above the chopping block by a long magnetic strip. The handle felt smooth and firm in my hand as I tumbled down onto Tom's chest, my legs pinning down his arms and the cool of the blade hovering near his throat. His eyes widened.
“Jordan-” he gasped.
“Shut up for a minute,” I gasped back. “Just shut up.” I let the knife's tip pirouette near his flesh, barely skimming his Adam's apple.
Tom shut up.
I pushed down on his forehead with my left hand, my fingers tangling in his thick shock of hair. My voice was ragged, a stranger's rasp. “Now you listen. Secrets suck. Believe me, I know this. And secrets here have killed my baby and nearly killed the woman I love. So, Tom, you are going to tell me every secret I need to know.” I drew the knife lightly across his throat, tracing a wrinkle.
“No-”
“Tom. You are standing between me and the person who tried to kill Candace.” I whispered: “And between me and the person who killed my baby. It's not a place you want to be.”
He clenched his eyes shut.
A voice sounded from my throat, but not one I recognized as my own. “I'll cut you to the bone, Tom. No amount of plastic surgery will ever make your face right again. You tell me what I want to know.”
A thick tear rolled from one of his eyes.
I suddenly wanted to cast the knife aside. I felt a violent surge of disgust thrum through my whole body. I had resorted to the basest violence, the most cowardly threats. A sick swell of nausea rolled through me, settling deep in my guts.
“Please.” I coughed.
“It's Mutt,” he breathed, a shuddery whisper. “Mutt poisoned them.”
My breath froze in my throat. Thunder roared. “Why?”
“Aubrey knows Paul died here on the island. Not suicide-”
“How?” I demanded. “How does Aubrey know?”
“Don't know,” Tom gasped. “Claims… he's got proof that Paul didn't commit suicide.”
“What proof?”
“Don't know-Aubrey won't tell me. I got so mad at him I tried to pummel it out of him-but you and Deborah stopped me.” His eyes rolled around, trying to see where I held the blade.
I moved the knife fractionally back from Tom's throat. “And how did you know about Paul's death?”
“Brian told… me he suspected Mutt had lied about Paul's suicide.”