A Stranger in Wynnedower (38 page)

“Brendan? He took me
downstairs…said you needed me. That’s all I remember. No, wait. His truck. I
saw his truck before something hit me. You were right about him.”

“He’s injured. Badly, I
think. Downstairs.” She struggled to her feet. “I’ll go check on him.”

“No.” Jack stopped her.
“I’ll go. Send May down if you don’t need her. You said she called 9-1-1?
Right. Please get that gun from Helene and put it away before she shoots
someone. I don’t want the police to see it and start shooting, either.” He
limped away.

Rachel went to the
doorway. “Helene, can I have the gun now?”

“I’m taking care of
this myself. I want to be sure David understands his visits distress me.”

White and sweaty, David
still crouched near the box.

“He understands.”

“Okay, then.” She
pointed the gun at Rachel.

Brief alarm flared.
“Point it that way, okay?” Rachel took it delicately. May was nearby. They
exchanged looks when they heard sirens in the background. “May, can you put
this away somewhere safe and then see if Jack needs help down in the basement?
Brendan’s hurt.”

May took the gun,
handed Rachel her cell phone and left.

There was nothing now
to stop David from leaving except a body block and Rachel didn’t care enough to
try that. She cared about Jack. And about Brendan, too. They’d press charges
against David—for trespassing, if nothing else. Beyond that, she didn’t care
what happened to him. Rachel stepped aside. David, his face white pale, his
eyes wild, dashed past her as if she was invisible.

She went to the front
of the house and ushered the police inside. Doug had run out that way. She was
surprised to see her car still parked in the front yard. She didn’t care about
the car either.

The man who’d
threatened her, who’d punished Brendan for changing his mind and trying to
protect them, was tucked away in the back seat of the second cruiser.

****

Later, after all of the
official questions had been answered and her brain was free to crumple, she sat
with Helene at the kitchen table and explained she was going to the hospital to
check on Jack.

“Do you want to go with
me?”

“You said his head is
hurt, but he’s okay, right?”

“Yes. He’ll be okay.”

“Then I’ll stay here
with Miss May.” She reached across the table and patted May’s pasty white hand.

Rachel clutched her
keys. They’d found them in the ignition of her car. Brendan’s truck was still
in the basement.

Almost to herself,
Rachel asked, “Why he didn’t drive away while he was in my car? Why did he take
off on foot instead?”

Helene smiled her
secret smile. “I heard you and Jack arguing on the stairs. I didn’t want you to
leave. Then I saw....” She blushed and giggled. “I saw you kissing and hugging,
so I knew it was okay again, but by then I’d already fixed the car.”

Helene. A serial
battery killer.

May’s face went dark.
Her eyes glittered like hard, shiny marbles, and Rachel was scared. She
rejected the fear. No more. No more drama. Done. She swept past May and went
outside to hook up her car battery, hoping she remembered how to do it from
watching Mike.

****

Jack stayed in the
hospital overnight. He wanted to return home immediately, but Rachel reminded
him that he’d be at the mercy of people with absolutely no medical training,
and it was a long drive back into town and to the hospital. From long distance,
Amanda arranged for a security firm to pick up the paintings. In the meantime,
Wynnedower’s treasure was in police custody.

Rachel dozed in the
chair by Jack’s bed. Thoughts of Brendan flitted in and out like dream
seedlings that couldn’t take root in bad soil. When had Brendan actually made
his decision? First, to steal the paintings. Had his childhood game grown over
the years into something real and terrible? And second, what about his decision
to protect her and Jack even though it meant disaster for him? Had he chosen
that course at the moment he pushed her into the bathroom and told the man
she’d left? Or was it after he lured Jack downstairs and then realized people
could really get hurt and might die as a result of his actions? 

Brendan had committed
acts of selfish stupidity. But when his eyes had opened to the reality of his
actions, he had also committed acts of selfless courage.

Finally, giving into
her need, she slipped out of Jack’s room.

Mike was sitting at
Brendan’s bedside, his head back against the chair, looking dazed and stricken.
They all felt dazed. Except Brendan. Who knew what he did or didn’t feel at
this point? Somewhere between the blood loss, the internal damage from the
knife, and a nasty head wound, he was suspended in no man’s land. A coma.

“Any change?” she
asked, knowing there wasn’t.

Brendan’s big brother
shook his head in rough jerks, then pressed his hands to the sides of his face
and leaned forward, shutting her out.

This hadn’t been her
first trip to his room during the long night. This time, before she left, she
paused by Brendan’s bedside. “Thank you for trying to make it right.”

She touched his hand,
then walked away. She hoped he’d heard her.

“We can get on with our
lives now.”

“We?” Rachel asked.

“We.”

The grass itched her
neck, but the shape of Jack’s forearm was perfect beneath her head. She admired
how the light played with his curls, his strong jaw and warmed his dark eyes.
It was a lovely recipe and a perfect mix.

His fingers traced the
turn of her cheek and jaw and along the length of her neck. She trembled. She
grabbed his hand before he could cross into more dangerous territory.

“Who makes up this
‘we’? I believe you were going to explain something to me. You asked me to
trust you and I did. I do. But I’d really like to hear how you’re going to
explain away this Amanda thing.”

He leaned over her,
blocking the light, and kissed her before moving away. He detached his hand
from her grasp and sat up.

“Okay.” He stared at
the leaves shifting in a breeze high above. “Amanda and I married young, at a
time when I was trying to make a living in the city. In a suit. At a desk.”

“You met her in the
city?”

“No. I met her here.
Amanda is May’s daughter.”

He paused to let it
sink in, perhaps to see what her reaction might be. She kept her emotions
reined in. She wanted details. Amanda and May? It boggled her mind to think of
it. May was his mother-in-law?

“The marriage stopped
working long ago. I didn’t want to live in the city, and she wanted to live
nowhere else. But neither of us met anyone, so we let it drift. It was easier,
maybe just lazier. May knew we had marital problems and were separated. I
guess, as long as we weren’t officially divorced, she hoped we’d reconcile. In
the meantime, Wynnedower was her consolation.

“When the divorce was
final, I broke the news to her myself, but words are only as good as the people
who speak them. And those who hear them, I guess. I think I said something
along the lines of ‘our marriage is over’ but I believe May took it as just
another degree of separation.” He sighed. “I should’ve said it more
firmly…something that actually had the word ‘divorce’ in it, but I thought I
was being gentle and considerate. I only realized recently that she still had
hopes for a reconciliation.”

She reached up and
caressed his cheek. “You and May never let on about your relationship.”

“Not my choice. It’s
always been that way. May preferred it. She’s old-fashioned.”

Rachel bit her lip.
Doubt wrapped harsh fingers around her gut. “Old fashioned? Are you kidding me?
That would be old-fashioned for a century ago. Old family retainer. An
unfortunate connection to be kept quiet.” She sat up. “Jack, honestly, have you
considered that she might be more upset about the potential loss of Wynnedower
than a divorce?”

He eased her back down
and toyed with her hair. “Have I told you how mesmerizing your eyes are?”

“Are you changing the
subject?”

“I just don’t want you
to worry. Or to be suspicious.” He kissed her forehead. “I had no idea you
could be so jealous.”

“Me? Seriously? You
were the one who was jealous when you saw Jeremy hugging me.”

“Do you blame me? I had
no idea he was your brother. At least, until I saw his eyes. Yes, I know you
said he was tall and blond. Brendan, too.”

He went suddenly quiet.
Rachel knew they were both sad, reminded of Brendan and the tragedy for his
family. Loss seemed to live on the fringes of life. Ever present. Ever ready to
engage.

“No time like now,”
Jack said.

“What?” She was
startled. It felt like he’d read her mind.

“I’m going to clear it
up once and for all. No more euphemisms. I have to speak to May privately. She
deserves that.”

Rachel disagreed, but
couldn’t form the words. It was a misty feeling—no, more like a miasma.

“Jack–”

He stretched alongside
her from toe to nose and brushed his lips against hers, and won the argument.

Several minutes later he
drew away and stood. “I won’t be long.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As soon as he left,
Rachel sat bolt upright fighting the screaming need to call him back. She
hadn’t been this frightened of Brendan and Doug. Why was she afraid now?

The sight of him striding
up the hill and crossing the uncared for yard in front of the house spooked
her. Was it was the idea of May believing against all logic that her daughter
and Jack would resume their marriage. That kind of single-mindedness was
disturbing.

May, against all logic,
clinging…because it all fed into her love for this house? May could believe
what she needed to believe if it helped to support her greatest desire. Not so
different from most people.

Thinking about May and
Jack finished the work on her stomach and nerves.

May. They were so
focused on the danger to the paintings and the related danger to themselves,
had they missed the heart of the danger?

The back of her neck
tingled, not as in feeling watched, but as if that doggone brain stem was
trying to tell her something.

She closed her eyes
tightly. She sees Jack as he enters Wynnedower. He goes through the hall to the
kitchen. He says ‘hello’ to May as he’s done over and over for many years.
Unexceptional. He goes closer to her so that he can place a hand on her
shoulder. He says ‘May, I need to talk to you,’ and he sees the sudden alarm on
her face, especially after all they’ve  just been through. To soothe her, he
adds, “It’s about Amanda and me.” Then nothing. Rachel’s imagination stops
there.

There was nothing after
that.

She ran toward the
house. Her only goal was to find Jack before he and May reached the blank space
in her head.

Rachel heard their
voices as she entered the foyer. She tried to gauge their tenor.

Jack and May were
beyond the double doors, talking in the dining room. She moved forward on cat’s
feet.

The dining room door
knobs turned. She did a quick side-step into the central hall, back beyond
where she’d be seen unless they walked this way.

May’s footsteps went
toward the kitchen. Rachel stepped out when the coast was clear and moved
quickly into the dining room, easing the doors almost closed, not wanting to
make a noise with the latch sliding home.

“How’d it go?” she
whispered.

He gave her a thumbs up
and moved toward her. “She wasn’t happy, but she took it okay.” He wrapped his
arms around her. “Now, it’s time for us. I want to take you away from here for
a change of scene. We’ll leave Wynnedower and go play in New York. I want to
show you the city and then we’ll....”

“Mr. Wynne?”

Jack stepped back.
“May?”

They both saw the gun,
Jack’s gun, at the same time—just as May pulled the trigger.

They never knew which
of them she intended to shoot, but it was Jack whose knees buckled and he fell
back onto his painter’s cart. The palette sailed, and paint tubes scattered.
Jack landed heavily on the floor, gasping, his fingers clawing at the wood.

The loud clatter of the
gun hitting the floor broke Rachel’s paralysis. She never looked at May, but
dropped immediately to the floor beside Jack.

Blood ran from
somewhere in his mid-section. It spread through the fabric of his shirt. She
tried to think of anything she’d ever read about bullet wounds, but came up
empty. First aid, even rudimentary first aid, failed her. It was black in her
head. She could only flail, weak-handed, rubber-fingered, and futile.

She screamed, “Call
9-1-1. Call 9-1-1!” From somewhere, her hands found the minimal skill to press
against his wound.