Blood Kin (24 page)

“Where you're going?” she asked. “Are you planning on—”

“Going to hell, if there is one. I don't suppose I'll be too welcome anywhere else in the hereafter.”

“Why would you say a thing like that?”

He scoffed. “I've done a lot to be ashamed of in my life, girl, but what I've done is between me and my Maker. If you're not staying to supper, you'd best get on back to Emma's.”

“Can I come here again? Another day?”

He shrugged. “I don't suppose there's any way to keep you away, short of digging a moat and filling it with alligators.”

“Thank you.” She clasped his hand. For an instant he gripped her fingers.

“Mind you, keep a sharp eye on Daniel. He's a good man, but he's not for you. Daniel's carrying his own demons. There's things in his past that eat at him. You just remember, he's a Catlin and you're a Tawes. The two don't mix any better than matches and black powder.”

Later that evening, Daniel borrowed Emma's boat on the pretense of doing some night fishing, took rods and bait, and crossed to Kent Island. Mooring the skiff at a dock, he went to the Jetty, ordered two beers and a half pound of steamed shrimp, and took a corner table under a burned-out Coors sign. At precisely ten o'clock Lucas, in faded jeans, a torn tee that read
INTERNATIONAL
BROTHERHOOD OF ELECTRICAL WORKERS—LOCAL
18, and a dirty ball cap, walked into the bar with a tall, lanky ponytailed man whom Daniel had never seen before.

The two stopped and looked around, letting their eyes adjust to the dim lighting; then Lucas spied him and waved. “Hey, Bubba,” he called. Anything bitin'but the black flies?” Lucas asked in a passable rendition of a Baltimore blue-collar accent as he and his companion joined Daniel at the table.

Lucas hadn't changed a bit. He was a man whom few people would notice in a crowd, and even fewer remember. His dark hair, regular features, and swarthy complexion were common enough that he could pass for a native anywhere but Scandinavia. It wasn't until you gazed into Lucas's small, dark eyes that you saw something exceptional, a cool intelligence and the ruthless expression of a feeding barracuda.

“A rock, but I had to throw the damned thing back,” Daniel replied. He waved to a passing waitress. “Couple more Buds here.”

Lucas slid into a chair next to Daniel. Ponytail sat directly across, his back to the bar. “You're on time, I see,” Lucas said, and then, louder, “You know my old lady's brother, Al.”

“Yeah. How's it hanging?” Daniel said.

Don't overdo it, Lucas
, he thought. A little more local color, and he was apt to puke on Lucas's worn work boots. “Blend in” had been the cardinal rule for field agents. “Do nothing that would attract attention.” He casually took Al's measure. Young, maybe thirty at most, and a little edgy for the role he was playing. The straggly ponytail was a good touch, but the jeans were new, and instead of Levi's, Daniel suspected they
might be Polos. He wondered if Lucas was breaking in a new kid or if he'd brought Al here as a reinforcement.

The waitress returned with the beer. Lucas took a sip of his and grimaced. Al merely played with his glass.

“Thought all you good ol' boys drank Bud,” Daniel remarked.

“Questions,” Lucas said, once the waitress had moved on to other customers.

Daniel glanced at Al and then back to Lucas. “I agreed to talk to you. Alone.” He stood and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

“No need to get testy.” Lucas nodded to the younger man. “Wait in the truck.”

Al glared at Daniel. “Are you going to be intimidated by this—”

“Make up your mind,” Daniel said. “He goes or I do.”

Lucas nodded. “Have it your way.” He motioned toward the door. “Outside.”

His partner pushed the beer back, rose, and walked out.

Daniel went the men's room, returned in two minutes, and sat down in the same seat again. “Are we recording?”

“No. Care to frisk me?”

“I'll pass,” Daniel said. “What can I do for you?”

The waitress showed a couple to the table next to theirs, and Lucas lowered his voice. “Someone on Tawes had been blackmailing the senator for the past fifteen years.”

Daniel tried not to show surprise. If what Lucas said was true, someone else might know about Marshall's connection to the drug trade. He almost laughed at his own stupidity. Of course the agency would know. And Marshall's associates in Washington, the ones who
were equally guilty of betraying the American public and using their own power to line their pockets. But on the island? Lucas must be lying. Who on Tawes could possibly have that information? “You have proof?” he asked.

“We've learned that funds had been deposited regularly to a bank in the Caymans. We haven't been able to track down who the blackmailer is, but we will.”

“What makes you think it wasn't another of Marshall's retirement nest eggs?”

“He did his private banking in Zurich. That's keeping the grieving widow in Prada.”

“So what's this got to do with me?” The hair prickled on his arms as he took another drink of Bud. It was warm, but it gave him something to do. Did they think he'd killed Marshall? Did the agency care? Or was this meeting a trap? He wondered what his chances were of seeing Tawes again.

Lucas leaned forward. He smelled of breath mints. “Marshall was an important man. The opposition party had his name on the short list of possible vice presidential candidates in the coming election.”

“Really? It was my impression that it was a done deal.”

“You know a lot for a carpenter with shit on his shoes.”

“A pity the senator didn't live long enough to run.”

A man and a blond woman at the bar exchanged angry words. She snatched up her purse and walked toward the entrance. “Bitch!” he shouted.

She twisted around, smiled, and lifted three fingers. “Read between the lines, you limp dick!” A round of laughter from the crowd followed her out the door as the man called to the bartender for a double.

Lucas turned his attention back to Daniel. “The agency would be pleased if you'd check around, see who on Tawes is living beyond their means.”

“Nobody comes to mind.” Daniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Money's tight for watermen and farmers.”

“Not for you, apparently.” Lucas smiled thinly.

“You suspect that the senator's death wasn't accidental.”

“The supposition is that old Joe got tired of paying, went to the island to confront his blackmailer, and that unknown party shot him.”

“Am I a suspect?”

Lucas shrugged. “You have to admit you had a grudge against him.”

I hated his guts
, Daniel thought, trying to hold back the sudden tide of mingled grief and rage that threatened to knock him off balance with Lucas.

“And word is, he wouldn't be your first.”

“That was different.”

“It always is.”

The waitress, balancing a full tray, came toward the table. “Need a refill?”

Daniel shook his head. “Later, maybe.”

She removed the basket of shrimp shells, the remainder of the cocktail sauce, and the crumpled napkins, and scooped up the twenty. “I'll be back with your change—”

“Keep it.”

“We were talking about what happened in Afghanistan,” Lucas said when the waitress was out of earshot.

Daniel stiffened. “No, we were talking about old Joe.”

“I'm all ears.”

“The man was a royal bastard. Whoever killed him should get a medal. What's your point?”

“Odd how you up and quit last fall.” Lucas sipped at his beer and made a face. “How can you drink this stuff?”

“I don't, usually. I ordered it special for you.”

“One of these days I'll return the favor.”

“It wasn't me.”

“I never said it was.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Daniel said. “I'm out of all this.” But even as he said it, he didn't believe it. He might not know as many names as the agency suspected he did, but enough to get him killed—or to send a lot of rats scurrying for their holes when the dominoes started falling.

“Not unless we're satisfied that we have a clear picture of what happened and why.” Lucas tapped two fingers on the tabletop impatiently.

“Joe wouldn't be the first hunter to be mistaken for a duck.”

“No? Funny how bad luck settles over a place. You had another accident there a few days back, didn't you? A fire? Or was that a murder-suicide?” Lucas smiled. “And I understand you had the misfortune to discover those bodies as well.”

“Creed Somers was a drunk who lived in a firetrap. It was bound to happen.”

“Someone got axed. Not too common an occurrence, even for a backwater like Tawes.”

“What reason would I have for killing Somers and his girlfriend?”

Lucas toyed with his napkin. “No need to jump to conclusions, buddy. Did I say you were a suspect?”

“Take this message back to the agency: I don't work for them anymore. I didn't have anything to do with Marshall's death or Somers's. And if they expect me to dig up evidence on the senator's shooting, they can wait until hell freezes over.”

In the week that followed, Bailey fell into a routine of teaching in the morning, and spending afternoons with Will and evenings with Emma and Daniel. The work at the school was challenging, something she looked forward to. One by one she got to know her students, learning about their strengths and weaknesses, their siblings, and their extended families. And every day the friendship she and Cathy shared strengthened.

Twice Forest contacted her, once by phone and again by note from his Annapolis office to let her know that he'd made progress on securing the deed to Elizabeth's farm. Settling the estate would mean a lot for Bailey's future, but it was no longer the most important reason for her remaining on Tawes. Two men had somehow taken center stage in her life—Will Tawes and Daniel Catlin.

The time spent with her grandfather seemed a gift beyond anything an inheritance could buy. Neither of them wanted to risk opening completely to the other, but hour by hour she found the walls between them
crumbling. Often she sat without speaking a word for an hour or more in his studio, watching him carve a fox from a section of seasoned cherry or paint the feathers of an osprey, one by one.

Once Will took her with him deep into the woods, where they lay motionless on a carpet of moss and watched as a mother fox and her kits came to a stream to drink. The vixen curled up in a patch of sunlight and dozed while the four little ones chased each other, tumbled, and played like puppies.

Will had brought a camera to take pictures of the wildlife, but he didn't snap a single shot, fearing that the sound would frighten them away. She sensed that here was a man who had shut himself off from the human world for decades and had turned all his attention to his art. With Bailey, Will was terse of speech but never distant. At his side she found a quiet sense of acceptance and belonging that had always been absent from her life.

As for Daniel, she found him both intriguing and perplexing. He acted as though he was as attracted to her as she was to him, but he'd made no step toward taking things further than friendship between them. Often, despite Will's warning to be wary of Daniel, Bailey would stop at the farm to see the progress he was making on the repairs. They'd talk and laugh together, but despite the look in his eye, he hadn't even tried to kiss her.

On her second visit to Elizabeth's after she'd made the breakthrough with Will, she'd summoned strength enough to return to the attic to search the trunk again. She was rewarded by the discovery of several more loose photos inside the pages of the storybooks. Two pictures were of Beth, but one was of a young man.
The picture had been taken in poor light, and the boy's face was in shadow. She'd taken the photo to her grandfather's the following day, but he hadn't been able to identify the boy.

Later that night, at Emma's, Bailey had shown the picture to the older woman, but she'd been as much at a loss as Will to name the youth. “It could be anyone,” Emma said. “Maybe one of her classmates from school.”

“This might be Beth's boyfriend,” Bailey suggested. “Are you certain you don't recognize him?”

“Nope. Wish I could help.” Emma handed the snapshot to Daniel. “Anyone you know?”

He shook his head. “I'm afraid not. Look at the date on the back. I was barely out of diapers when this was taken.”

Emma removed a pork roast from the oven and set it on the stove to cool a little before slicing. “I hope you two are hungry. I think I got carried away and made enough for an army.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Have you decided what you're going to do about the horses?”

“Horses? What horses?” Bailey asked.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I guess Will didn't tell you yet.”

“Didn't tell me what?”

“Elizabeth's riding horses,” Emma said as she carried a blue pottery bowl of coleslaw to the table. “Jim Tilghman's older brother is interested in one of them for his girl. I don't suppose it will be too hard to find a buyer for the other one, not if you don't ask too much for them.”

“Forest didn't say anything about the horses,” Bailey exclaimed. “Will either. I saw two horses in the pasture, but—”

“They come with the house,” Daniel said with a shrug. “Will's been taking care of them since Elizabeth died. They were her pride and joy. She loved them like children. I guess Will wanted to take your measure before he told you that you'd inherited those as well.”

I've let this go too far. Bailey is as stubborn as Beth, and as troublesome. She had her chance to leave the island, but instead she remained to pry into things that should have been left buried. I can't wait any longer. Tawes is already crawling with police and medical investigators. Sooner or later people will begin to pry into Elizabeth's death, as well.