The Book of James (31 page)

then asked which one.

“I don’t care.”

Seconds later, William McBride came out and ushered me to

his office.

“I just want to know how much of this you knew.” I tossed the

copy of the article onto his desk. My heart was pounding and my

head felt a little light, but I wasn’t going to leave without answers.

He picked up the article, read it, and then set it down. He put his hand to his chin and looked at me.

“A tragedy.”

“That’s it? A tragedy? But you knew. I came here from Maine

and specifical y asked if you knew anyone named James, and you

lied.”He took his hand away and sighed. “It’s just a very sad thing, Mackenzie, and it tore the family apart. There was no need to

affirm information that was long forgotten.”

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ELLEN J. GREEN

I thought for a second. “You didn’t think to wonder why Nick

sent me here on a wild-goose chase after a long-lost brother?”

“I represent Nick’s legal issues; I’m not a gossip hound. It wasn’t my concern.” His voice was harsh.

“Before he died, Nick told me to go there, to the house, to find

James. He was very much consumed with his childhood when he

was dying.”

“I imagine his brother’s disappearance haunted him. He never

got over it. So it’s not surprising he mentioned the boy before he died. Whatever you decide to do with this information, I don’t

want my son involved, is that clear?”

“He’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.” I stared at him

across his littered desk. “So why don’t you just tell me whatever else you know but left out?”

His face was reddened. “There’s nothing else to tell you. Go

home—to Maine, that is—and leave Dylan alone.”

I stood up and approached the desk. “I’ll leave when I’m ready

to leave. My friend is in the hospital, hit by a car. God only knows who hit her, but someone did, and if Cora had anything to do with it, I’ll kill her myself.”

His face now turned white. “She was hit here, in Philadelphia?”

“Yes. And I’m not leaving here without her.” I walked to the

door just as Dylan was coming in.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“Ask your father,” I said, and I bumped him out of the way and

kept going.

The familiar ringtone from my cell phone startled me. I’d left the law office a while ago. I expected Dylan would have called me way before this. Hours had gone by.

“Mackenzie, I need to talk to you.” His breath was heavy, his

speech rapid. “I want you to come over to my parents’ house. It’s not too far; I’ll give you directions, but hurry up.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Go the same way you would to get to my house, but keep going

to the center of town. When you get to Germantown Avenue . . .

Are you following this?”

“Yes.”

“You should probably drive, it’ll be faster. When you get to

Germantown Avenue, make a left. You’re going to pass the hospital on your right. Keep going and keep your eyes peeled for Sunset.

It’s a few streets down. Make a right. It’s the first house on the left.

Got it?”

“I’m leaving now.”

The house was modern, set back from the road. White with

gray shutters. Very tasteful. Dylan’s car was the only one in sight.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

The front door was open. I walked into the foyer and called his

name.

“Up here,” he yelled.

I took the steps two at a time. He was in a room at the end of

the hal , seated behind an enormous dark-wood desk. One drawer

was open, the contents scattered across the top. His head was

down, his face flushed.

“What is it?” I walked over to his side.

He looked up at me. “Sit down.” He pointed to the corner, at a

heavy wooden chair that had wheels on it. I rolled it over and sat down by his side. “After you left, my father was furious. The only other person who’s gotten him so upset is my brother.” He swallowed. “He left the office, and I started going through his paperwork. He had turned over your file to me, but he’d kept all of his notes. I found them in the back of his drawer. Mackenzie, Nick did use some of that money.”

“What?”

“He used it to hire a private investigator. Someone here in

Philadelphia. My father actual y handled the money, but Nick

authorized it.”

“When?”

“This past August.” August? And he died in September?

“I final y found the right James,” I said. “His brother. The Jim

Durham drowning in Devil’s Pool was just an accident, then?

Nothing more?”

He nodded. “An accident. A weird coincidence that he was in

that picture. All of this is about Nick’s brother,” he said, holding up a folder.

I breathed heavily. “A wild-goose chase. Do you think Nick

was using the money to find out what happened to his brother?”

“No, it seems he was more interested in having someone keep

an eye on Cora, track her movements, the spending of her money.

I left the office and came over here. If there’s anything my father THE BOOK
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257

wouldn’t want anyone to see, he’d keep it here. Look.” He held up a handful of papers. “Bradford’s file.”

“What else is in there?”

I could see that Dylan was a little shaken. His speech was

strained. “Bradford sold his interests in the firm right before he died. He was pulling up stakes, Mackenzie. My father was handling some loose ends for him. He was going to Germany. And . . .”

He pulled my chair closer to him with one hand. Our knees

were touching. “What?”

“He was moving investments around. Overseas. It looks like

he was planning on taking Nick with him. There’s information on

private schools, so I assume it was for Nick.” He was silent for a second, letting it sink in. “Other than that, there’s stuff on James, his birth, his disappearance, whole medical profile on Bradford.”

Dylan shuffled papers. “And these.” He held up a stack of envelopes.

“Letters?”

“Letters from Cora.”

The hair on my arms stood up. “What?”

Dylan nodded. “She and my father were close. At least, they

were thirty years ago.”

“What do they say?”

“Back and forth, starting with talk about her wedding. How

she didn’t want to marry Bradford. He must have been a sym-

pathetic ear. In one of these she suggests he come to the house

when caterers were setting up for the wedding. So they could talk.

Without her father realizing William was there.” He pulled some

paper from an envelope. The writing was precise, perfect.

I didn’t get to see you yesterday when the groomsmen came to

the house. Please figure out a way to see me. Come tomorrow. Father
won’t notice one more person on the property.

I took the letter from him. “So you think your father and

Cora . . . ?” I made a face.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

Dylan shrugged. “None of these are explicit. It only means they

had a friendship. They talked. She put all her feelings into these letters. But she never says she loves him or anything.” He sorted through the envelopes. “Here’s one. Written only five months ago.

It says, ‘Thank you, William. I know it cannot have been easy for you to help me the way you did. My begging wore you down, I’m

sure. I will never forget your kindness. For now, it might be better not to correspond, but in time you will hear from me.’” Dylan looked up at me.

“What did he do for her?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was a whisper.

I looked over my shoulder toward the door. “Is he due home

anytime soon?”

“No, and my mother went to New York for a few days.”

I sat back in thought. “Bradford was planning on leaving the

country with Nick, and he dies. Nick hires a private investigator, and he dies. Samantha goes outside for a walk and is nearly run

over. An awful lot of bodies. Is it coincidence?”

Dylan leaned forward toward me. “Tell me about the acci-

dent.” I blinked and then closed my eyes. “Please,” he added. He

put his hand on my arm. “It’s important.”

“We were going to Boston . . .” I started. “Things had been . . .

difficult between us for months. He’d become distant. Angry, like he wanted to push me out or he wanted me to leave or something.”

I was looking at the floor, choosing my words. “Anyway, I had

tickets to the Yankees–Red Sox game, and I thought we could go

together. Nick liked basebal .” I felt tears in my eyes. “I decided I was going to drive, because he drove like an old man.” I gave a small laugh. “So slow. And I didn’t want to miss Buchholz throwing even one pitch.” It was still hard to talk about. “Fucking baseball game.”

Dylan’s eyebrows were raised. “Go on.”

THE BOOK
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259

“Yes. I hadn’t gone to a game since my mother died. It was like

this huge thing to me. Obviously we never made it.” I half laughed.

“Boston lost anyway and it didn’t even matter. None of it mattered.”

His head was down now and I couldn’t see his eyes. “You

blame yourself, don’t you? I bet you haven’t watched a game since.

That’s your punishment?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Dylan. I can’t think about

baseball without thinking about the rest of it, so I’d rather not think about it at al .”

“Tell me the rest,” he said.

I sighed. “He’d gotten something. In the mail—an envelope.

I think I mentioned this to you before.” I stopped talking for a

second. Dylan’s hand was still on my arm. “Nick was upset, but

he wouldn’t tell me why. We stopped at a red light.” I could hear my voice start to crack. I glanced up. Dylan’s face wasn’t far from mine. “The light turned green. It . . . it wasn’t dark out yet . . . and I started going through the intersection. Nick was yelling at me, but I can’t remember what he was saying.” My eyes welled up. “I

remember getting that queasy feeling you get when something is

about to happen. I had that feeling. I must have seen the truck and known we were going to collide and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Then Nick was on top of me, and glass was everywhere.” I wiped my face with my hand.

“What about the driver? What do you know about him?” His

voice was soft.

“Nothing real y. He’d been driving for days with hardly any

sleep. No drugs or alcohol or anything like that.”

He looked at me, and for some reason I stared at his mouth.

His bottom lip was a little bit fuller than his top lip and was just a little pinker. And he had a tiny freckle just below his lip line on the right side of his mouth.

“Do you know anything else about him?” He was oblivious to

the fact that I’d been staring at his mouth.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

“He’d been driving for a living for nine years, no prior acci-

dents. Married with three children. That’s about it.”

“Where was he coming from? Do you know?”

“Chicago.”

He was still leaning toward me. His hand hadn’t left my arm. “I

wonder if there’s a connection to Cora somehow.”

“No. The accident was just an accident. But your father’s knee-

deep in this shit somehow, Dylan.” I glanced around the room.

“How do you feel about being in his house after he threw you out

that day? The day you hit your brother?”

“I feel like trashing the place and blaming it on my brother.”

He half laughed. “But I had to come here to look through his files.

This isn’t a social cal , believe me.”

“Do you have something to do right now?” I asked.

“What did you have in mind?” He took his hand off my arm,

not looking at me, and started organizing everything, putting it

back in the drawer.

“This.” I pulled the undeveloped roll of film from my pocket.

God only knew what was on it. I wasn’t going to take it to the local Fotomat. I could develop it myself—it would just take time, and I needed help. “I can develop it; I just need you to keep an eye out for Cora.”

His eyes flashed something. Excitement? Intrigue? Amuse-

ment? Some combination of the above. Our best clue so far had

been the photo. Maybe this roll held the key.

She dismissed the woman quickly, perhaps rudely. The caretaker

grabbed her sweater with a huff and retreated to the kitchen, leaving them alone. Cora poured glasses of iced tea and led Ginny outside onto the porch. Rain had started falling, but the covered porch was large and accommodating.

Ginny lowered herself into the wicker chair under Cora’s

piercing stare. “Mackenzie’s been coming to see you quite a bit, I hear,” Cora said.

Ginny nodded. “She has.” She looked up at Cora. “I can’t figure

out why. It’s odd.”

“Does she know?” Cora asked sharply.

Ginny shook her head. The gray curls careful y set around her

head didn’t move. “I’m not sure if she knows. She asked me about

a boy that disappeared. But I didn’t tell her.”

“How did she find out a boy disappeared?”

“Someone told her.” Ginny sipped her drink.

Cora shifted in her chair. This was as close to the world as she

ever got, other than her biweekly drives. It made her uncomfort-

able. “Ginny, look at me.” Ginny raised her watery eyes. “Did Nick 262

ELLEN J. GREEN

tell her? Were those two in this together against me?” Cora wanted to shake her. “Answer me! What is going on?”

“I don’t know, Cora. No one is against you. She’s a nice girl.

Please, don’t do anything rash.”

Cora didn’t respond. She stared at the house across the street.

People were running from the car into the house to avoid the rain.