Gilt (25 page)

"You're confusing guilt with respect. John deserves to be remembered for himself, not because you feel guilty."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. I'll stop by in an hour. Is that okay?"

"Of course, but--"

"See you then." She hung up. Typical Penny, start an argument and leave it dangling. I considered slamming down the phone but the old thing looked like it couldn't handle such treatment. Instead I replaced the receiver and hurried back to the porch.

Dan and Michael were gone. I went to the porch door. Dan was standing outside, watching Michael's car as it drove down the lane. I hurried to join him. "What did Paul say? Did he call the police?"

"The kidnappers told him not to call the police." Dan kept his eyes fixed on Michael's car, his voice distracted. He gestured back toward the porch. "I left your phone there. Jack called."

"Tinsley? Why?"

"He got a call from the kidnappers. They told him to come here and Denton's daughter would be released unharmed. I don't like it," he said, his eyes still on Michael's car, disappearing into the distance. "They're not acting right."

"Who isn't?"

"Why did they take Denton's daughter?" Dan returned to the porch, frowning.

I kept pace with him. "Those gangsters? They did it because they're monsters."

"No, they're businessmen. Denton's already too scared to do anything. Why would they take his daughter? I don't like it." He went inside and stared at the pile of financial statements, his dark eyes troubled.

I stopped inside the doorway. "Wait a minute." His words were finally sinking in. "Tinsley is coming here?" I thought of Amy, who was also on her way here.

"Jack feels the same way I do. Something's not right." Dan picked up one document, his eyebrows drawn together in a tight line.

"You said that already." I was starting to lose patience. "I told you. They're crazy."

"No. It gets them something, but what?" He dropped the papers back to the table. "You weren't surprised. Why not?"

I sat on the chaise. "I was shocked," I protested. "I mean, you and Tinsley told me that Paul had fallen in with a bad group of people."

"What did he tell you? Have you talked to him about all this? Why did he call you and tell you about it?"

I frowned. "What is this, an interrogation?"

Dan sat on the chaise next to me. "When did you talk to him? What did he say?" When I tried to lean away from him, he put a hand on my arm. "No more secrets, Genny."

"You're a fine one to talk about secrets. What about Michael? What was all that 'play along with me' stuff? Did you know your wife worked for Michael?"

"Who told you that?"

His voice was dangerous. That was the only word I could think of to describe how low and threatening he sounded. I popped to my feet. "You did know, didn't you? Why did you lie about that?"

"Why did you lie about Paul Denton?" Dan rose. "I thought we trusted each other. What are you hiding?"

"Stop it. I'm tired of being bullied by you and everyone else. I want to know what happened when John died. That's all I want." I brushed by him and snatched my phone off the coffee table, trembling with anger, fear, and disappointment. How did we end up arguing? Good heavens, a few hours ago we were almost in bed together and now look at us.

"If you're sure that's all you want, I'm sure I can do it." Dan's cold, brusque voice stopped me in my tracks. "Is that all you want?"

I heard the challenge in his voice but I ignored it. "Yes. That's all."

He nodded once, his face completely impassive. I had no idea what was going on behind that façade. "Let me go through the rest of this financial information for your aunt. Jack said he'd be here in a few hours. I want to have a review ready for him."

"Amy will be arriving in a few hours, too. I'll try to contact her and warn her that he'll be here. It might bring up unpleasant memories for her."

"And for Jack." Dan sat in the wicker chair and reached for the top folder, obviously dismissing me as well as my concerns for my sister-in-law.

I considered a sharp retort but snapped my mouth shut instead. There was no use arguing with him. I went into the house and wandered through the kitchen to the living room. I thought of Portia, sitting here in her beloved home, harassed by developers who wanted to take it all away from her. That led me to think about her marriage to my uncle, an apparently happy union that lasted for decades. They had built this house when they were newlyweds and presumably spent many happy years together here.

I didn't want to think about that so I went to the front porch at the opposite end of the house from Dan, as though putting distance between us would put distance between our angry words. I sank into the white Adirondack chair and stared at the cornfield that started at the end of the lawn. My head felt stuffed full of suppositions, rumor, accusations, and--over and above it all--sadness.

I couldn't exactly pinpoint where the sadness came from. Was it because of Portia? Because of the way Dan acted? Or was it because of John? Did it have to do with Paul and his daughter, missing and in danger? Good Lord, what he must be feeling.

All I knew was I felt weighted down by disappointment and a faint sense of grief. I closed my eyes, focusing on sound and smell, not sight. Birds; the drone of machinery in the distance; faint sounds of cars on the road; roses in bloom; grass; a faint sharp odor of manure, borne on the breeze.
Iowa in summer
, I thought. This porch faced north and it was cool, a welcome respite from the stifling summer heat that made watery shimmers on the paved county road in the distance.

Could I live here, given that stipulation in Portia's will? I leaned my head back and drowsed, daydreams segueing into memory, all mixing and mingling together. I imagined myself living here on the farm, no more traffic, no more rush hour, nothing to worry about except making sure the lane was plowed when it snowed and the grass was mowed in the summertime. I could easily imagine Amy here, maybe Amy and her guy, sitting at the picnic table, laughing. Now that the memory was in my head, I could visualize Jack Tinsley, his face softening with humor as he hugged Amy while sitting under the shade of the elm tree.

There was John with me at the river, fishing. I hated baiting the hook so John did it, watching with bemusement as I flung the line into the current. All I usually snagged was a piece of driftwood but sometimes we caught fish while Uncle Leland shouted encouragement from the high bank, waving his approval.

Past memory merged with recent memory which in turn merged with a dream. And suddenly Michael was there, angry with me about something. "I had no choice. Portia's old and she didn't care," he said in a sharp voice.

"It doesn't matter how old she is," I said. "It's wrong to scare her like that."

Michael laughed but it wasn't really Michael. It was one of those odd shifts in a dream where the person looked like one man but it was really someone else.

"Oh, let her sleep. She's been so upset lately. This whole thing with John has her worried. She said the police were going to examine her finances. Who knows what they might find?"

They'll find I don't have a lot of money
, I thought.

"It makes sense," Dan said. "They need to check everything."

"John would never do anything to harm another person, not deliberately, at least. He was so honest and straightforward." My mother peered at me, her face concerned. "She looks tired. I hope you don't hurt her."

Oh, for heaven's sake, Mom
, I struggled to say.
What the heck are you doing?

The voices faded and a new dream replaced them. "I've always liked it here," John said, leaning on the porch railing and staring at the fields. "It's so peaceful. It's so simple."

"It's not really simple." The angle of my chair back was so steep my feet barely touched the worn blue-painted floorboards of the porch. "It only appears simple on the outside. People here have the same worries, the same concerns as anyone else."

"Maybe they do. But in a place like this, it feels easier to deal with the worries. I always wondered..." He regarded me with a sad smile, his face partially shaded by the fading afternoon shadows. "I always wondered if we wouldn't have been happy somewhere else. Maybe if I had a different job and we lived somewhere like this, maybe you would have been happy."

Oh, John. I'm sorry
. I started to say the words aloud but suddenly Dan was there, laughing softly. He said something but I couldn't hear clearly. It was something about Jack, something that had to do with the past.

I lunged forward at the sound of a nearby car horn. My mouth had that dry, sweater-on-the-teeth feeling that came from a nap in the middle of the day. A dusty dark blue Honda was pulling in near the garage on my left next to a beige sedan parked near my SUV.

I got to my feet, disoriented. Whose car was that? I didn't recognize it. When did it drive in? Was that the car horn I heard? I peered around me. Shadows dappled the cornfield that had been in bright sunlight a few minutes ago.

I check my ancient silver Timex on my left wrist. Good Lord, it was past six o'clock. I had slept for hours. I went to the edge of the porch and watched as Amy stepped out of the Honda, turning to greet Dan, who apparently came from the porch. She wore navy shorts and a navy-and-white striped top with dark blue canvas shoes. As always, she appeared athletic, fit, and trim with her dark curly hair cut short and tousled and her tan, toned body. She told me once that she had to stay fit in order to keep up with the eighth graders she taught.

"Amy!" I waved and went to the porch stairs.

She saw me and waved in return as she reached into her car for something. When she straightened, she froze, staring past Dan at something I couldn't see.

I raced down the steps to the driveway as Jack Tinsley emerged from the porch, heading for the Honda. "Good heavens," I muttered. I froze, too, not sure what to do. I had meant to call her but, dumb me, I fell asleep instead. Now here she was, facing her past. Poor Amy. What was going through her mind? Probably a million things, like the ones that were scattering through my brain, all of which swirled and resolved into one thought.

She loved him once and he killed her child.

I hurried forward, anxious to support her if she needed it.

"Hello, Jack," she whispered in that low, raspy voice of hers.

Tinsley stopped three or four paces away. "Hello, Amy." His face revealed nothing but I thought I spied desperation in his flinty cold eyes.

"Amy, I'm glad to see you," I babbled, flinging myself at her for a hug. She grabbed me and we embraced, tears and laughter mingling. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know he'd be here. I thought he was in Minneapolis."

"It's okay," she murmured. "I have to face him sometime. I have to face all of it."

I wasn't sure what she meant, but I didn't have time to ask her. She gently disentangled herself from me and wiped at her tears. "Look at us," she murmured. "Silly us."

I wiped my tears, too. "It's been too long since I've seen you."

"John's funeral," she said. "Way too long." She finally turned to Tinsley, who had moved forward to stand next to Dan, a few steps away. "Hello, Jack." She went forward and put her arms around him.

I was so stunned I didn't know what to do. I exchanged a startled look with Dan as Tinsley wrapped her in an embrace so tight I was sure she'd gasp. He bent his head to murmur something to her and she nodded, her face pressed against his chest. He raised his eyes and stared at me. The desperation was still there but now I also saw steely resolve, as though he, too, was finally facing that which he had feared.

I started toward the back porch, thinking to give them privacy. Amy broke away from him and joined me, looping her arm through mine. "Jack, can you get my bag? It's in the back seat. How's Aunt Portia? Is she doing okay? I talked to your mom this morning and she said Portia seemed to be making a good recovery."

I mumbled something that sounded vaguely coherent as Amy and I headed for the back porch, now deep in shadow as the sun dipped low, the barn hiding it from view. Jack and Dan lagged behind us. I glanced back and saw them talking as Jack reached into the Honda. "Are you sure, Amy?" I blurted.

"Jack and I need to hash out what happened. We should have done it a long, long time ago. I'm glad for this chance, but I wish John wasn't involved." She preceded me into the porch, glancing back once. "Who is he?"

I knew who she meant. "He's an ex-cop and the husband of the woman who died in the same fire as John."

"Is that all he is?"

I opened my mouth, closed it again then shook my head. "I have no idea." I saw the financial documents all spread on the chaise lounge. Two bottles of beer sat on the coffee table and a yellow tablet sat nearby covered with neat, compact handwriting and numbers and letters marching down the page. "Dan was going through Portia's files to see if there were any irregularities. He's a financial guy."

"Not really," Dan said, holding the screen door for Jack, who passed through and put Amy's roller bag near the door leading into the house. "I have a good understanding of business." He glanced sidelong at me. "Unlike some people I know."