Blood Kin (31 page)

Bailey's wondered what Grace was getting at. “How so?”

Grace shrugged. “Times were so different then. More difficult, in some ways. Life was hard, but the rules were more straightforward. There were good girls, and then there were the other kind.”

“I don't understand.”

“Beth was terrified of her uncle—of Will, and with good reason, as it turns out. I suspected she was hiding some secret. We were girlfriends, but she never confided in me, not the way I did in her. And she changed so much that summer.”

“In what way?”

Grace steepled her hands and averted her eyes. “In those days . . . there were things that went on . . . things that the better sort of people didn't talk about. Alcohol abuse. Mischief of a . . . of a carnal nature.”

“Are you saying my mother was—”

“There were rumors. There always are. Some said Beth let the boys take liberties. . . .”

“Sexually?”

“Frankly, my dear, Beth was known among our
crowd as being . . . rather loose. But I never believed it. I think I would have known. Oh, she might have done things she shouldn't, but . . .” She held up an open palm. “Wait, I have something for you.” She dug into the pocket of her nylon windbreaker and handed Beth a silver locket. “Open it.”

Bailey fumbled with the snap. Her fingers seemed clumsier than usual, and she was developing a fierce headache. Her stomach was none too steady either, but she attributed that to the motion of the boat.

Inside the locket were photos of a dark-haired young man and a girl. “This was your mother's. It meant the world to her. They're your parents. Her parents, I meant to say. Your grandparents, Owen and Anne Tawes. Owen was Will's twin brother, you know.”

Bailey stared at the black-and-white images. “But why did she give it to you?”

Grace sighed. “She said her uncle was jealous. He'd destroyed all the pictures of her parents. Rumor has it that Will went with Anne before she left him for his twin brother. Beth cherished this necklace, and she was afraid he'd find it. I think you should have it.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You can't know how much this means to me.”

“But there's more you should know, dear. That summer Beth stopped coming to church. When I did see her, she always looked as though she'd been crying. Twice I saw ugly bruises on her arms and face.”

Bailey leaned forward, clutching the locket tightly with both hands. “Did you ask her what was wrong?”

“She wouldn't say. I begged her to go to her Aunt Elizabeth or to our pastor, Matthew's father. I suspected that her uncle was mistreating her. She'd always
been slim, but she put on a lot of weight that summer. Her clothes were baggy, but I never suspected that she might be pregnant.” Her face grew red. “I was raised strictly, and I was an innocent in those days. Not worldly. Beth was always the pretty one, the one all the boys wanted to flirt with, but as I said . . . it all changed that summer. She changed.”

“Do you know if she had a boyfriend?”

“Other people thought she did.”

“Someone in particular?”

Grace rubbed her nose. “Honestly, dear, any of a half dozen young bucks could have fathered you. Beth wasn't a bad girl—I'll never believe that—but she was too free with her affections. And with Will Tawes's temper, if he found out, he would have killed her.”

“Is it possible . . . it isn't right to ask you this, but . . . could Matthew have—”

“Sweet Lord in heaven! No!” Grace laughed. “Creed Somers, maybe. Joseph. Or even that Forest McCready. He's always been one for the ladies. But not my Matthew. He was already studying for the ministry, and he never looked at any woman but me in his life.”

“So you think she had a secret boyfriend. That one of them . . .”

Grace frowned. “I didn't say that.” She lowered her voice. “You have to know the history of the family to know what I thought Beth was hiding.”

“What history?”

“It's not something decent women should speak of, but . . .” Grace sighed again. “Will had been in love with Beth's mother. Before she married his brother.”

Bailey nodded. “Daniel told me something about that.”

“Maybe Beth reawoke old memories . . . old desires.”

“That's disgusting.”

“I'm so sorry, child, so sorry to have to burden you with that.” Graced pursed her lips. “But Daniel may have found proof of sexual abuse, and I thought you should be prepared.”

“No. You're wrong. Not Uncle Will. He would never do such a thing.”

“If he was so innocent, why would his own sister disown him?”

“I don't know,” Bailey said.

“Something wasn't right there,” Grace insisted. “Something was evil in that house, and Elizabeth knew about it.”

“I won't believe that.”

“Maybe once you see what Daniel has found, you'll stop defending Will Tawes.”

“No,” Bailey insisted. “It isn't true. It can't be.”

Grace sniffed. “You don't know how things are on this island. No matter what Elizabeth knew about her brother, she was a Tawes. She wouldn't have gone to the law. And in the end, keeping that dirty secret is probably what caused your mother's death.”

“Matt! Grace!” Daniel banged on the parsonage door before opening it. “Anybody home?” He stepped inside, carefully avoiding the hyperactive antics of the barking terrier despite his inclination to give the nasty little dog a swift kick in the butt. “Matt?”

“Up here!” His brother's slurred voice came from the second floor.

Daniel took the steps two at a time with Precious nipping at his heels. Matthew leaned against a doorjamb halfway down the upstairs hall. He was unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, and his long face was as drained of blood as if he were a butchered sheep. “Good God, what's wrong with you?” Daniel demanded.

“Sick.” Matthew staggered, barely caught himself, and began to choke. “Bathroom. Help . . . me.”

Daniel slipped an arm around his brother's shoulder and half supported, half carried him into the bathroom, where he barely reached the toilet in time to throw up. Matt smelled of vomit but no alcohol. Not
drunk then, but as sick as Daniel had ever seen him. “You need a doctor.”

“No . . . no time.” He clutched the bowl and spewed a trail of gray slime.

“Where's Grace? Has she called a doctor? When did this start?” Daniel asked him. “You look as if you should be in a hospital.”

“Damn the hospital.” Matthew motioned toward the old fashioned sink. “A wet . . . wet cloth.” He folded his arms and leaned forward.

Daniel snatched a hand towel off the bar, soaked it in cold water, and wrung it out. He wiped his brother's face, noting his sweat-soaked hair and Matt's ragged breathing. “Do you have any chest pains? Pain running down your arm?”

Matthew shook his head. “No. This is . . .” He suffered another choking spasm and, when he could speak again, rasped, “Not my heart. I think . . . I think Grace put something . . . in my coffee.”

“Something? What do you mean? She drugged you?”

Matt cleared his throat. “Water.” Daniel handed him a glass. Matthew took a mouthful and rinsed his mouth.

Daniel felt his head for fever, but he was cold, not hot. “You need medical help, and you need it now!”

“No, wait . . . Need you to see something . . . You can't blame her. She's ill.”

“You're the one who's ill.”

“No, her mind. She's . . .” He gasped for breath. “She's never been strong, not in that way.”

“Your wife is as strong as a horse.”

Matt shook his head. “Please. In our bedroom. On the floor. I dropped it . . . next to the bed. A paper. Get it.”

“Later. You need—”

“Now, Daniel!”

The terrier, still barking, followed him into the master bedroom, bared his sharp little teeth, and leaped into the center of the bed. Daniel hadn't been in this chamber since his mother had died and been laid out here. When his mother ruled the parsonage, the room had been sparsely furnished, always bright, and smelled of lemon oil. Now heavy red velvet drapes blocked out the sunshine, and too many tables, dressers, chairs, and arrangements of artificial flowers made the space look crowded. His parents' twin beds had been replaced by a queen-sized one with a rose satin canopy over the headboard. The aroma of furniture polish was long gone, replaced now by the artificial roses and the stench of vomit.

Nothing in the room seemed out of place except the rumpled sheets and the thrown-back coverlet, a man's stray slipper, and a sheet of wrinkled paper on the braided rug. Daniel bent and retrieved the paper. It had been folded and refolded until it wasn't much larger than a deck of cards.

Daniel unfolded it and scanned the letterhead, a series of numbers, and the total at the bottom.

“What does it look like to you?” Matthew stood panting in the doorway. “A bank statement? Because that what it looks like to me.”

Daniel wasn't familiar with the financial institution, but the address was George Town on Grand Cayman, an area known for offshore banking. There were no names on the statement, and the numbers were obviously in code. If his quick calculations were accurate and the Cayman–dollar rate of exchange remained
steady, the balance came to something around eight hundred thousand American.

“I don't understand,” Daniel said, but he had the sinking feeling that he did. He had a strong suspicion that what his brother had revealed was directly connected with the tale Lucas had related about money being extorted from the deceased senator. He glared at Matt. “How did you come by this?”

“I found it this morning in the pocket of Grace's bathrobe when I was doing laundry. When I confronted her, she flared up, rambled something about this being her due.”

“And you left it at that?”

“No. I asked what she was talking about and tried to question her further, but she became hysterical.” Groaning, Matthew staggered to the bed and sank onto it. “All this time I've wondered how she managed so well . . . on a poor parson's pittance. But that was Grace's domain. It was the only thing she was good at in school. You know she took accounting courses after we were married—when I was finishing up my divinity—”

“Grace attended college?”

“She didn't get a degree, but she attended for several years, mostly business courses. She majored in accounting.”

“And all this time she's handled all your personal finances?”

“Yes. I had no head for it. And I never—”

“It never occurred to you to ask how you could buy all these things on a minister's salary?” He gestured at the knickknacks and Victorian furniture.

Matthew grabbed tissues from a box on the end
table and wiped his mouth. The dog ripped one out of his hand and dashed to the far end of the bed with it. “Precious, stop it. You know—”

“Never mind the damned dog! You're telling me that you never realized you had more money than you—”

“I've been such a fool,” Matt said, cutting him off. “She said there were large donations . . . once a bequest from some relative I'd never heard of.” He raised teary eyes to meet Daniel's gaze. “All I wanted to do was keep her happy. And when I got too demanding . . .” He shrugged. “You know her temper . . . how excitable she can be.”

Daniel stiffened. “You never actually saw any evidence of large amounts of money?”

He flushed. “Grace liked to go to Atlantic City on our anniversary. I never did. I couldn't bring myself to go into . . . where they have those slots. But she was lucky.”

Daniel folded his arms across his chest. “So you thought that your wife was a lucky gambler?”

“It seemed a small sin. Hardly worth chiding her over. She always tithed ten percent of what she won to charity.”

“And you didn't see anything else? No other cash or purchases you couldn't account for?”

“Bits of jewelry, furnishings she found at estate sales. Investments that paid off well for us. After you'd told us you were putting money into Apple computers, she said she'd borrow against a life insurance policy to buy some for us.” He groaned. “The conferences, the trips . . . donations to Bible colleges. I thought we were living beyond our means . . . but never . . . Grace said the Lord would provide, and somehow . . . He always did.”

“Are you certain?” Daniel demanded angrily. “Are you certain it was your wife? Not you?”

“I'm no thief, Daniel. You have to believe me. A fool maybe. Weak, but no thief.” Matt was openly weeping now, his nose running. “Where would she get it? Where would Grace come into so much money?”

“Joe Marshall. Our esteemed late senator. Somebody on Tawes had been blackmailing him for years.”

“Blackmail?” Matt made a choking sound of disbelief. “Not Grace.” He shook his head. “You're wrong. She's always been high-strung . . . maybe even unstable at times. Her horrible childhood . . . the unspeakable conditions in that house she grew up in. But not blackmail. Not my Grace. I'd know. I'd know if she could—”

“Maybe worse than blackmail. The agency believes Marshall was murdered.”

Matt sank forward onto the mattress. “No, you can't come in here and accuse my wife of—”

Daniel seized his shoulders. “You say she drugged you, and you're defending her? Where is she? The whaler's not at the dock. If you're this sick, why would she leave you?”

“I don't know.” Matt's white face took on a yellow shade, and he began to tremble violently. “You can't accuse her of murder. She'd have no reason. None.”

“And this statement? An offshore account? Where did the money come from if not from blackmail?”