Bloodlines (2 page)

M
arcus Sealy had his taste buds set for the waffles he could smell cooking in the kitchen down the hall, then smiled to himself at the sound of his granddaughter's laughter coming from the same place. Best guess would be that she was stealing bacon faster than the housekeeper, Rose, could cook it, just as she'd done for the past twenty-odd years.

After three weeks of a much-needed vacation in Europe, it felt good to be home. Last night he and Olivia had been on the last plane to land at DFW airport. It was after midnight by the time they arrived at the estate. Exhausted from the long overseas flight, they'd ignored a stack of phone messages, a huge pile of mail and suitcases needing to be unpacked, and headed for the comfort of their beds.

The trip had been Olivia's gift to him for his seventieth birthday, and they'd had a ball. They'd laughed and partied all the way across Europe, and made memories he would take to his grave. This morning, as he was dressing, he'd kept thinking of how much fun they'd had and what Olivia meant to him. After his son, Michael, and daughter-in-law, Kay, had been
murdered years ago, he'd held his only grandchild far too close to his heart. He knew that he'd sheltered her more than he should have, but it seemed impossible to be any less protective. She was all the family he had left, and if anything ever happened to her, it would be the end of him, too.

His musing ended when he heard footsteps and then saw a flash of yellow. Moments later, Olivia came out of the kitchen.

“Grampy! I didn't know you were already downstairs. After that flight, I thought surely you'd sleep in.”

Marcus smiled and kissed Olivia on the cheek as she threw herself into his arms.

“You didn't,” he said.

“I know, but it's so good to be home,” she said, then added, “You smell good. Calvin Klein's Obsession, isn't it?”

“Yes, and you smell pretty darn good yourself. Oscar Meyer bacon, right?”

As always, her laughter rocked his world. He slipped an arm over her shoulder as he led her to the breakfast room.

“Did you leave any bacon for me?” he asked as he seated her at the table.

Olivia made a face. “Why, Grampy…surely you're not suggesting that I'm a pig?”

“Oh no…only that you like eating them.”

He grinned as Rose carried in a platter of bacon in one hand and a bowl of scrambled eggs in another. The basket of hot biscuits was already on the table beside
a pot of honey and a glass compote of strawberry jam. Even though there were only Marcus and Olivia to share the meal, he always insisted their meals be served in an old-fashioned, home-style manner. Despite the vastness of his wealth, the simple bowls of food reminded him of his own childhood and humble beginnings.

“Rose, as always, it looks marvelous and smells delicious,” Marcus said as the housekeeper poured hot coffee into their cups.

Rose Kopecnick smiled and winked at Olivia. “Tastes good, too, doesn't it, honey girl?”

“I plead the Fifth and please pass the bacon,” Olivia said.

“If you don't mind, I'll help myself first,” Marcus said. “After that, it's all yours.”

“Works for me,” Olivia said, and served herself a healthy helping of fluffy scrambled eggs while keeping a watchful eye on the bacon Marcus was putting on his plate.

The meal progressed in silence as the first pangs of hunger were appeased, interspersed with bits of conversation later as it drew to an end.

“What are you going to do today?” Marcus asked as he laid his napkin beside his plate.

Olivia swallowed her last sip of coffee, then leaned back in her chair.

“Unpack.”

He smiled. “And after that?”

“Return some phone calls and sleep through jet lag. You should do the same.”

“I'll nap in the daytime when I'm too old to do anything else,” Marcus said.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Oh, Grampy, you'll never be old.”

He thought of the seventy years that were behind him while refusing to dwell on the dwindling few he had left.

“Maybe not in my head, but we'll see what my body has to say about that.”

Olivia leaned forward and threaded her fingers through Marcus's. Before she could speak, the phone began to ring.

“I'll get it,” she said.

Marcus stood up and followed her out of the room. He was in the hall and heading toward the library when he heard Olivia raise her voice to the caller on the other end of the line.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, and hung up the phone. There was a frown on her face as she turned around.

“Olivia…darling…what's wrong?”

“That was weird,” she said. “Some reporter wanted to know if I had any comments regarding the headline in the morning paper.”

“What headline?” Marcus asked.

Olivia shrugged. “I don't know. I haven't seen a paper, have you?”

Marcus pointed down the hall. “Rose probably put them in the library with the accumulated mail. Let's go see.”

Rose had laid the mail on Marcus's desk, with the
oldest on the left and the most recent on the right. The newspapers were in a stack with the most recent on top. Marcus saw the headline even before he picked up the paper.

“What the hell? Sealy connection to skeletal remains? What does that mean?” He tried to read the smaller print, then squinted and patted his pockets. “I need my glasses.”

“Here, Grampy, let me,” Olivia said, and took the paper out of his hands and scanned the story, frowning as she read.

“What's it about?” Marcus asked.

Olivia's frown deepened as she looked up.

“Some people up at Texoma were renovating a house they just bought. They found a suitcase in a wall, and when they opened it, it contained the skeletal remains of a little girl about two years old.”

“Good Lord!” Marcus said, and reached behind him for a chair. He sank into it with a thump. “That's horrible, but why would they link the discovery to us?”

Olivia's hands were shaking as she handed him the paper. “Because the coroner said she was born with two left thumbs.”

Marcus let the paper fall to the floor as he reached for Olivia's hand, unconsciously rubbing the tiny scar where her second thumb used to be.

“We're not the only family with such anomalies. Why would they single us out again?”

Olivia pointed to the paper, then had to clear her throat before she could say it.

“They're putting the homicide at about twenty-five years ago…which was the time of my kidnapping.”

Marcus's hand stilled momentarily; then he clutched Olivia's hand firmly.

“See, that just proves that tragedies happen to all of us,” he said gruffly.

There was a long moment of silence between them, and when it was broken, it was Olivia who spoke.

“Grampy?”

He spoke absently, his mind still turning over the facts of what she'd read. “What, darling?”

“Were you sure?”

He started, then looked up. “I'm sorry…what were you saying?”

She said it again, this time putting emphasis on the last word.

“Were you
sure?
”

“Sure about what?”

“Me…when the kidnappers turned me loose. You knew for sure it was me, didn't you?”

Marcus stood abruptly and took Olivia in his arms.

“Oh, Olivia, of course I was sure. You were my grandchild. Your father and mother ate Sunday dinner with me every week. You and I fed the fish in the goldfish pond every Sunday afternoon. I remember the day I let you pick all the blooms off your mother's prize begonias because you liked the way they felt against your skin. I knew you, darling…just as I know you now. Never doubt that we are of the same flesh. Never.”

Olivia blinked back tears as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I'm sorry for asking. It's just that we never talk about it, and I wasn't sure if—”

Marcus took her by the shoulders and pushed her back until she was forced to meet his gaze.

“Darling, we never talk about it because there's nothing to say. You were so small, barely two years old. Thank the good Lord you have no memory of seeing your parents murdered, or of where you were kept, or who had you. It has been the only blessing to come out of it all. The last thing I would ever do is speak of something that I always feared would cause you emotional damage.”

“Oh, Grampy, I'm sorry. I never thought of it like that.”

Marcus smiled gently as he cupped her face. “You know who you are. There are pictures of you with your parents all over this house, and at least once a year we get out the old albums and look at them, right?”

She nodded, then managed a smile. “And the old movies…don't forget them,” she added.

“Yes. Your father was something of a fanatic about you. He filmed you at every stage of your life. I'd venture to say there's more film of you and your first two years of life than many people have of their entire existence. Besides that, there's no mistaking that the baby in those pictures is the same baby I got back.”

“When the kidnappers let me go, was I happy to see you?” Olivia asked.

Marcus frowned. “You weren't happy about anything, darling, and the doctors expected it. You cried
nonstop for days, begging for your mother. It nearly broke my heart.”

Olivia laid her hand against her grandfather's chest, taking comfort from the steady rhythm against her palm.

“How did you cope?”

“I finally hired a nanny, remember? It was Anna Walden who finally settled you in, although, to be honest, by then I think you'd just cried yourself out.”

Olivia nodded. “Speaking of Anna, it's been ages since I visited her.” Then she frowned. “Do you think the reporters will bother her about this?”

“I don't know, but I'd lay odds that if one of them thinks about it, they will,” Marcus said. “I'll try to take some time off and drive out to Arlington to see her, but it'll have to wait a bit. I wouldn't trade a moment of our three weeks in Europe, but I fear there's a lot of business that needs to be tended.”

Olivia pointed at the newspaper, which had fallen on the floor. “So what do we do about that?”

“It has nothing to do with us, so we do nothing, okay?”

“Okay,” Olivia said, then threw her arms around her grandfather's neck. “I love you, Grampy.”

He closed his eyes as he hugged her back. “And I love you, too, my dear.” Then he turned her loose with a pat on the back and gave her a handful of phone messages. “I believe these are all yours. Don't overdo yourself with commitments. I'm getting selfish in my old age and want a little of your time to myself.”

“I promise,” she said, and left with the messages in her hand.

 

Marcus and Olivia weren't the only ones shocked by the morning paper. Dennis Rawlins, a man with painful secrets, read the same headline, but with a different reaction.

Without delving into details, he made a snap judgment, deeming the Sealy family guilty of some deadly indiscretion and decided that they must pay.

It would take a lot of planning, but he was determined to make his presence known.

 

Trey pulled up to the Grayson County sheriff's office, exiting the comfort of his air-conditioned car for the summer heat of Texas just as a skinny, middle-aged woman walked out. It was all Trey could do not to stare. Between her spiky pink hair and the little dog with a matching pink topknot that she was carrying, she was a sight to behold.

The woman caught him looking and blasted him with a hundred-watt smile. As she did, the dog bared its teeth and growled.

Now he was caught. Both with matching pink hair. Both baring their teeth at him. He couldn't help it. He laughed.

The woman scolded the little dog, but at the same time she gave it a gentle squeeze and kissed it on the nose.

“Now, Cujo, you be nice to the pretty man, you hear?”

The dog continued to growl at Trey as the woman shifted it to her other arm, then grinned and winked as she sauntered past.

Trey tipped his hat and wisely kept on walking. Moments later, he was inside the sheriff's office and back to serious business. Investigating anything that had to do with Olivia Sealy felt wrong—as if he was going behind her back. Feeling guilty about that was stupid because he hadn't seen or talked to her in eleven years, and the last words they'd shared had been in anger. He didn't owe her anything, especially loyalty or allegiance.

Still, his conscience continued to smart as he walked up to the receptionist. She was standing at a file cabinet with her back to the door. When she continued to file papers without turning around, he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” Trey said.

She jumped, then turned abruptly.

“My stars, you nearly scared the life right out of me. I heard the door chime, but I thought it was just Mama and Cujo leaving.”

Before Trey thought about how it might sound, he heard himself asking, “The lady with pink hair was your mother?”

The woman grinned. “Yeah, and that little old rat of a dog is the only sibling I'm ever likely to have.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

The woman held up her hand. “Don't apologize. She takes pride in her…individuality, as she calls it. However, Cujo hasn't been the same since Mama had the dog groomer dye his hair pink, too.”

“I can only imagine.”

The woman laughed. “Now, how can I help you?”

Trey managed a shamefaced grin. “Detective
Trey Bonney to see Sheriff Jenner. I think he's expecting me.”

She glanced down at a desk calendar, then up at Trey.

“Yes, Detective Bonney, he is, but he's on the phone. Please have a seat, and as soon as he's finished with his call, I'll let him know you're here.”

Trey nodded, but before he could sit down, the door to the sheriff's office opened and a man walked out. The receptionist looked up.