Distant Blood (38 page)

“No, no,” she gasped. “Jordy! No!”

“Baby, we'll get help,” I said. “You'll be okay.” I glanced at Pop. “Call 911, and get the boat. We've got to get them to a doctor!”

Pop stumbled for the phone.

“Jordan.” Wendy stood behind me, and she stepped around to support Candace's other side. Wendy's face, usually emotionless, was now crumpled with shock.

“Oh, no,” Candace moaned, her damp fingers squeezing mine numb. Hard cramps doubled her over, and I couldn't see her agonized face. “No. Please, not the baby. Not the baby.”

IT WAS OVER.

I sat on the floor outside of Candace's room, banished for the moment by Deborah. I could hear quiet noises of movement inside as Deborah tended to her patient. Blood— Candace's and that of our child—slicked my hands and I stared at my reddened, trembling fingers. Outside, the wind continued its angry roar, but it was a mere whisper compared with the rage I felt inside.

I didn't even hear Pop approach and kneel down on the floor next to me. He didn't speak, he just wrapped awkward arms around me, ignoring my bloodied state, and I hugged him back fiercely. I thought tears would come, should come, but I felt empty and barren inside. But Pop's hold was comforting, and he smelled like a dad should, of mint and bourbon and sweat.

After a minute he spoke. “How's she doing?”

I managed to speak, my voice not sounding like my usual raspy drawling baritone. It sounded like the voice of an old man. “The bleeding's stopped. She's resting. She's still showing some effects from the poison, but Deb induced vomiting with warm mustard water and she said she thinks she's going to be okay.” I could hardly make my mouth form the next words. “She was pregnant. And she hadn't told me. Our baby is gone.”

“I am so sorry, son, so very sorry,” Pop whispered into my hair.

“The phones?” I asked.

“Still down. The storm—” He didn't finish his sentence.

“Then a boat. We've got to get her to a hospital—”

“Son.” He pulled away and his blue eyes stared hard into mine. “We can't take a boat out in this mess. It should pass soon, we'll get her and Aubrey more help—”

“I can't just sit here!” I bolted to my feet. “We have to get her help! Deborah can't do everything—” I gestured helplessly toward the shut door.

“You listen to me!” Pop grabbed me and shook me hard. “Jordan. Deb has done everything she can. But we can't call for help right now, and we can't risk taking a boat out in this storm. We could swamp in minutes, and what good is that?” He squeezed my arms. “The phones could be back up at any minute. We'll keep trying, we'll get them help.”

I steadied myself. The last thing Candace needed was me hell-bent and foolish. “How's Aubrey? Deb left Candace for a while to tend to him.”

“Not good. He drank more of the poison than Candace did. But he's holding on. Sass and Gretchen are with him.” Pop's eyes teared, and I realized Aubrey mattered a lot to him.

“Oh, Pop, I'm sorry.” I embraced him. “I know you're worried sick about Aubrey, too. I hope he's okay.”

“Sass—said she hopes Candace is all right.” Pop averted his face. “I know you and Sass haven't gotten along. She's just a tad protective of me.”

“I don't want to talk about her,” I said abruptly. “Okay?”

“Gretchen said she'll be up in a minute, she's worried sick about poor Candace.” Pop tactfully changed subjects. “She'd have been up here, it's just that Sass needed more help with Aubrey—”

“I understand, Pop.” I turned from him and leaned my head against the wall. The door opened and Deborah slipped outside. She looked exhausted, dark bags sagging beneath her eyes. Her hands were clean, but I could see the red tinge of blood still on her knuckles and her unpolished fingernails.

“Deb?” I asked. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She's resting, and the vomiting has stopped. The bleeding hasn't resumed. But I don't know what poison was used, and I don't know what else to do. Just treat the symp-
toms as I can.” She leaned against the door. “She needs a doctor, Jordan. Is the phone working yet?”

“No,” I said. “And Pop says it's way too rough to risk a boat right now.”

“A rough boat ride might do more harm,” Deborah said softly.

“Can I go back in now?” I asked.

“Yes. But she needs to rest. She needs someone with her at all times, in case the symptoms worsen.”

Gretchen came down the hall then, looking as weary as the rest of us. Her eyes were reddened from weeping.

“Oh, God,” Pop said. “Aubrey?”

“He's still with us. Sass is asking for you, Deb.” Gretchen leaned against her husband.

“I'll go check on him. One of y'all stay with Candace.” She hurried down the hallway. I watched her leave.

“Pop, stay here a minute, would you?” I turned and went into her room.

One lamp was on, and it cast a harsh light across the pallor of Candace's skin. She breathed slowly, and I saw a thin stream of drool issue from her mouth. I wiped it away with a towel by the bedside. Her eyes lay half-open and I brushed her hair back with my hand. She smelled of vomit. I pulled the sheets back and stared at the towel jammed between her legs. Three more, soaked with blood, lay crumpled in the corner. Deb had been in a hurry. I didn't want to think about what might lie inside. Hands shaking, I picked up the towels and moved them into the bathroom. I didn't want Candace to see them.

She had been poisoned and she'd lost a lot of blood. Her skin was cool and clammy to my touch. I brushed her cheek softly and her eyes opened, her pupils huge and dark, the blue of her irises barely circles around the blacks.

“Baby?” I stroked her face with one hand.

“Daddy?” Her eyes shut again.

“No, sweetheart, it's Jordan. I'm here.”

“Oh.” She exhaled harshly, and another cascade of spit oozed from her lips. I wiped it away. “Is the chickory on
yet? You know you gotta drink chickory when you're in New Orleans.”

I grimaced. Whatever substance had nearly killed her also painted illusory pictures in her mind. “No, baby, the coffee's not on yet. I'll go make you some, though.”

“Um. Those damn birds sure are making a racket.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I'll make them be quiet, sugar.”

She licked at her lips and shrugged away from my touch. “Fucking birds'll wake up the baby.” A dark flush colored her skin and she bent to her side, retching. The heaves were dry and I held her until they subsided. She rolled back over on her back and grew still, her breathing a little more even.

“Candace?”

She sniffed once and didn't answer, slipping into sleep. I sat and watched her for five minutes, dabbing at the saliva that slicked her chin. When her sleep seemed even, I went back out into the hall. Gretchen was murmuring to Pop in a soft, reassuring voice.

“Gretchen? Would you mind sitting with Candace for a minute? She's resting a little more comfortably now.”

“Sure, hon.” She broke away from Pop and regarded me for a moment. Then she surprised me with a fierce hug. “It's going to be all right, Jordy. It will be.” Then she broke away from me and went into Candace's room, easing the door shut behind her.

Pop stared at me with bleary eyes.

“You tell me why. Why would anyone hurt Candace?” I asked.

“I don't know—” he began, and a hard fury seized me. I whirled and grabbed his shirt hard.

“Enough fucking secrets!” I hissed. “I found Paul's jewelry in the attic. I know you killed him.”

His jaw worked. “Wha—what?”

“I know Paul came here after he murdered Nora. He intended to kill you and Gretchen. You killed him in self-defense. And the whole family conspired to cover it up. Y'all forged his suicide note that Mutt found, or pretended to find. Y'all dumped his body somewhere, here on the island or out in the bay—but kept his jewelry. I found it.”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” Pop whimpered. He stumbled away from me, but I didn't release his shirt. I heard the rip of fabric. He stared at me with frenzied eyes.

“I can hazard a guess at what happened here tonight. Aubrey's writing a book on screwed-up families, and God knows he's got himself an unbelievable case study here. Maybe he found out the truth about Paul's death. Maybe someone decided Aubrey knew too much, and had to be gotten rid of, like he wasn't anything more than a fucking insect.” My voice cracked. “And Candace made the mistake of drinking cranberry juice out of the same pitcher. Goddamn it, you tell me who did this.”

Pop sobbed. I eased my hold on his shirt, my heart pounding. If he didn't tell me—

“I don't know,” he muttered.

“You were in Lolly's room this morning. You took something out of Sweetie's bed. Was it Paul's jewelry? Is that where she'd hid it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Jordy—”

“You listen to me. If you don't tell me, it's over between us. I will walk away from here, and you'll never see me again. You will be out of my heart and out of my mind.” Words, fueled by grief and anger, poured from me like foulness from a suppurating wound. “I'll even leave Mirabeau. Candace and I will go and you'll never see us again. You tell me what's happening here.”

His entire face trembled. “Oh, God, I never wanted you to know. My brother—my bruh-bruh—” He wept then. He wept like a man possessed by a demon and then shown the face of God. We sank to the floor together in our embrace, his head turned away so I couldn't see his tears. Gretchen opened the door and stared at us. I shook my head at her and she retreated back into Candace's room.

I let him cry, then wiped his face with the bottom of my T-shirt. After his sobs subsided, he stared at the colorful patterns of the Persian rug on the floor. I cradled Pop's heavy jaw in my hands and turned his face to mine.

“I will still love you, no matter what you did,” I whispered. “No matter what. But this isn't going to continue. I'm
not going to let whoever's behind this misery get away.” He tried to pivot his face away and I wrenched it back, squeezing hard. “Where does it end? My child will never be now. Candace and Aubrey may die. Lolly's already dead. You tell me who this is.”

“I honestly don't know. Honestly, believe me.” He blinked. “How did you know what I did?”

“Gretchen told me. She's known ever since Paul died.”

His blue eyes, bloodshot, widened. “She knew?”

“Yes. All these years, she knew. And she still loved you.”

He made an unintelligible sound.

“What happened that night? Tell me.”

“I—we were all here. Mutt was beside himself at the thought of a killer in our family. He was deeply worried about Deborah and Brian, how this would affect them. We had buried Nora here 'cause she had no people of her own. I didn't want to believe Paul had killed her. He and I hadn't gotten along since Gretchen divorced him and married me. I'd tried, but he wouldn't. I couldn't help but feel as though Nora's death was somehow my fault—if I'd gotten sense into Paul, or if I'd just stayed away from Gretchen—Nora never would have come into our family, never would have died.” He dragged the back of his hand across his face. “Nora was a fine woman, a good person. She didn't deserve to die like she did.”

“And you went to her grave that night?” I prompted.

He nodded miserably. “I don't know—maybe I just wanted to be alone, apologize to her for the mess I'd created in our lives.”

“What Paul did wasn't your fault, Pop. You're not responsible for his actions.”

He shook his head. “I felt like her blood was on my hands. I couldn't help but blame myself.” A shiver ran through him. “He was there, hiding behind one of the tombs. God, Jordan, the look on his face. Haggard and crazy. He'd stolen a boat from Port Lavaca and come to the other side of Sangre. He had a gun—said he and I had unfinished business. My brother, my own brother.” His voice faded and his eyes went distant with remembered grief. “But it wasn't Paul, it was some stranger in his skin.”

He took a fortifying breath. I squeezed his shoulders in support. “I told him to put the gun down, he and I could settle our differences with fists, like gentlemen. He laughed, kind of crazy like, said he couldn't do that. Had three bullets, he said—one for me, one for Gretchen, the last for himself. So he meant to kill himself, too.” He paused. “Not that it makes what I did no better.

“He told me to stand on Nora's grave. Said it was fitting, my blood could soak the ground where she lay. Said he'd kill Gretchen there, too, if he could. I did what he said. I'm so ashamed. I'd pissed my pants and I stank. Paul laughed at me and he raised the gun. I knew then he truly meant to shoot me.” He touched my jaw. “You know that fear, son, I know you do. We've both been there.”

“Yes,” I managed. “I know what it means to see in another person's eyes that they mean to kill you.”

“He leveled the gun at me. I was begging him not to, that we were brothers. He cocked the gun and I quit thinking—I just threw myself at him. He fired and missed. I felt the bullet go through my hair. I tackled him and we fought for the gun, and I got my hands on it and it went off and oh God there was so much blood and this smell of burned flesh—” The memories weighed too hard on him and he bowed his head.

“Pop,” I said.

“He was dead in my arms. He didn't say a word before he died. I dropped him and I ran back to the house. I was out of my mind. Uncle Jake and Sass caught me out on the porch and I told them what happened. Sass got Lolly and Mutt and told them. Aunt Lolly was hysterical that I'd go to jail, the terrible shame the family was already suffering would just get worse. So Uncle Mutt—he said we'd make it look like suicide. I forged the note. Mutt, Jake, and Lolly did away with the body—I don't even know where it is. Mutt just told me they'd taken care of it. The police accepted the story. And we all thought that was the end.” He sagged against the wall, exhausted now that his tale was told. A vein of lightning blasted the sky and its elfin light played along our faces
from the hall's window. “One of them must've taken Paul's jewelry off of him.”