The Unloved (11 page)

Even scarier was the way his Aunt Marguerite had looked at him when she’d found him in the library yesterday. Her face had been white and her hair messed up, and for just a second she had looked to Jeff exactly like his grandmother.

But it was when she looked right at him that he felt goosebumps all over his body. It was just the way his grandmother had looked at him when she was coming down the stairs in the chair the first day he had been at Sea Oaks.

Like she wasn’t sure who he was, and didn’t care.

And she didn’t care, Jeff had known instantly, because for some reason—even though she didn’t even know him—his grandmother hated him.

And yesterday, for just a split second, that was how his Aunt Marguerite had looked at him.

Just like she hated him.

He felt a chill run down his back, and quickly looked around, as if his aunt had been able to read his mind just now. But she was nowhere to be seen, so he nudged Toby with his elbow. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go down to the beach.” With Toby right behind him, he began threading his way through the crowd once more, relieved that he didn’t run into his aunt.

Marguerite stood under the largest of the oak trees, the faces of the people she had known all her life melding together until she found herself uncertain of exactly whom she was talking to. And then a tall figure emerged from the throng, and suddenly Will Hempstead stood before her. Looming nearly a foot taller than Marguerite, he smiled gently down at her, his eyes filled with concern. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice dropping so that no one but Marguerite could hear him. “If there’s anything, Marguerite, anything at all, you just tell me.”

Marguerite smiled wanly and shook her head. “But it’s sweet of you to offer, Will. After all these years, and after
what happened, well …” Her voice trailed up in embarrassment.

“It’s all right,” Will assured her. “I’m a lot older now, and so are you, but nothing’s changed, Marguerite. I hope you know that.”

Marguerite tipped her head up and met Will’s eyes. “But it
has
changed, Will. Everything’s changed, and nothing can ever be the way it was again.” She could see that Will was about to say something else—something she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear—and then she saw her brother a few yards away. “Kevin?” she called. “Kevin, come and say hello to Will Hempstead. You remember Will, don’t you?”

Kevin excused himself from the group he was chatting with and strode over, his hand extended. “More likely that Will doesn’t remember me. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I was eight or ten years old.” He grasped Will’s hand firmly in his own. “What’re you up to these days?”

“Law,” Will announced. “As in capturing, not prosecuting.”

“Will’s the police chief,” Marguerite explained, and Kevin thought her voice was suddenly a little too bright. “Everybody says he’s got the right personality for the job, but I think they appointed him because he’s so big nobody would dare to fight him.”

“And I think you tease just as much as you did when you were a girl,” Will Hempstead replied, but beamed at her words nonetheless. Then he turned his attention to Kevin. “Heard you were here. Lots of people are glad you’re back.”

Kevin shrugged. “Well, it’s nice to feel welcome, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying long. In fact, I think about three more days and we have to head back north.”

Hempstead looked surprised. “Not staying?” he asked. “Well, now, that’s not the way I heard it. Folks are saying you’re bringing the wife and kids and moving down here to stay. And if you’re not,” he added, “I’ve got to say I’m sorry.” He gave Kevin a broad wink. “I’ve seen that daughter of yours—prettiest girl we’ve had around here since
Marguerite grew up. ’Course, she looks just like Marguerite, so I suppose you might say I’m a bit prejudiced.”

“Will!” Marguerite exclaimed.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Will demanded.

“Even if it is, this isn’t the time or the place to be saying such things,” Marguerite protested. Leaving Kevin and Hempstead alone together, she made her way across the lawn, her right hand pressed against her hip, her limp more pronounced than usual. Will Hempstead watched her go, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

“Still carrying a torch for her?” Kevin finally asked, and the police chief flushed deeply, but nodded.

“Guess I always will,” he said. “And now that Miss Helena’s gone—” He cut off his words abruptly, clearly embarrassed.

“Now that Mother’s dead, you can come around again?” Kevin finished. Before Will could say anything, Kevin went on. “I wonder what she’ll do now? Living with mother all these years—I have a feeling things might be rough for her for a while.”

Hempstead shook his head. “She’ll be all right. There isn’t a soul in town who isn’t crazy about Marguerite, even in spite of the old lady. All she has to do is ask, and folks’ll flock around.” Then his eyes pointedly met Kevin’s. “ ’Course it would help if her brother flocked around a bit, too, if you know what I mean. You’re all the family she’s got left, and she’s going to need you. In fact,” he added, “the whole town’s going to need you. Or at least know what your intentions are.”

Kevin shifted uncomfortably. “I know what you’re saying, Will. And I intend to get Mother’s affairs straightened out. But that shouldn’t take too long, and once it’s done, I’ll be gone.”

A third man joined the group. It was Sam Waterman, a white-haired lawyer who had looked after Helena Devereaux’s affairs for nearly half a century. Kevin was not surprised to see that even today, despite the occasion, Waterman was dressed in his habitual white suit. “Did I hear you say you’re leaving?” he asked Kevin, his voice sharp.

Kevin repeated what he’d told Will Hempstead, and the old lawyer listened in silence. But when Kevin was done, he shook his head.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” he said softly.

Kevin frowned. What could the lawyer be talking about? “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t count on leaving,” the lawyer repeated. “In fact, I wouldn’t even think about it until tomorrow, when I’ll be bringing the will out. And after that, you might just be changing your mind.” Then, smiling genially, he turned and stepped into another conversation a few yards away.

Kevin stared after him for a moment, wondering what on earth the lawyer could have been talking about. Unbidden, the words Ruby had spoken the first night he was back at Sea Oaks came back to his mind.

“You
are
a Devereaux, Mr. Kevin, and you
will
stay at Sea Oaks.”

Despite the shimmering heat of the afternoon, a chill passed through him.

Kevin was unable to sleep that night. Not only had Sam Waterman’s words stayed in his mind, but after dinner Anne had told him of her cryptic conversation with Julie after the funeral. When she was done, he’d nodded. “It’s the leases,” he’d said, helping himself to a bourbon and water from the bar in the small library in the east wing. “No one in Devereaux owns the land his house or business is on.”

Anne had blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Leases,” Kevin had explained. “My family have always been fanatics about land. So when things got real bad at the end of the last century, they didn’t sell land, they leased it—ninety-nine-year leases, which start running out in the next few years. Which means, legally, that every building in Devereaux, along with the land, reverts to us. That’s why,” he’d added, as shock began to register on Anne’s face, “the town looks the way it does. Who’s going to waste money fixing up a bunch of buildings that don’t belong to them?
Nobody in town’s broke, Anne. They just don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

Anne’s eyes had narrowed. “So that’s what they all meant when they wanted to know what you were going to do?”

Kevin had nodded tiredly. “Will Hempstead as much as asked me today, but I put him off.”

“And what are you going to do?” Anne had asked.

Kevin shook his head. “Sleep on it, I suppose. And see what Sam Waterman has to say. Then you and I and Marguerite can decide what’s the right thing to do.”

Anne had held up her hands in protest. “Not me,” she’d said. “It’s all up to you and Marguerite. I’ve never been here before, I don’t know any of the people involved, and, to be frank, I’m not too crazy about the place.” When Kevin had given her a quizzical look, she’d added only half apologetically, “What can I say? I watched the way everyone treated you and Marguerite this afternoon, and I felt the way they treated me. To them, you’re part of Devereaux, and it doesn’t matter that you don’t live here anymore. You’re part of
them
. But I’m not.” When Kevin had tried to argue with her, she’d cut him off. “Oh, they were polite enough. It’s not that—it’s just a feeling. I got the idea that deep down they feel that I’m an outsider, and they’re right. So you and Marguerite decide what has to be done, and don’t worry about me. I’m not a part of Sea Oaks, or Devereaux, and I never will be.”

They’d left it at that, and now Anne was sleeping peacefully beside him. But Kevin was still awake, his mind churning. Finally, knowing sleep was hours away, he got up and left the room. At the other end of the hall a streak of light glowed beneath Marguerite’s door, and Kevin walked down and tapped softly. A moment later his sister told him to come in.

Marguerite was sitting up in bed, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. She took them off as he came in, then patted the bed for him to sit next to her.

“How are you holding up?” Kevin asked.

“All right, I guess,” Marguerite replied. “Still numb, I suppose. But that will pass, and I’ll get through it.”

“You always do,” he said softly. “Sometimes you amaze me. How did you tolerate her all those years?”

Marguerite’s eyes clouded slightly. “I loved her, Kevin,” she said. Then, as he started to speak, she put her fingers to his lips. “I know how you felt, but I didn’t. She took care of me, too, Kevin. After the—” She hesitated a second, then forced herself to go on. “After my accident she took care of me, you know.”

“How could I forget?” Kevin asked, his bitterness suddenly clear in his voice. “She sent me off to military school so she could spend all her time with you.”

Marguerite’s eyes filled with tears. “Is that what you think?”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true, isn’t it?”

Marguerite was silent for a long time, but at last, tiredly, she nodded. “I suppose it is,” she agreed. “And I suppose it wasn’t fair. But it was a bad time for me, too, Kevin. And in the end you got away from here. I never did.”

Kevin reached out and took her hand. “Well, it’s not too late. I suspect you can now do pretty much anything you want. If we sell Sea Oaks—”

Marguerite snatched her hand away. “Sell Sea Oaks?” she echoed. “Kevin, you’re not thinking of doing that, are you? Where would I live? What would I do?”

Instantly, Kevin regretted his words. “I just said ‘if,’ ” he assured her. “We certainly won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Well, I know I don’t want to leave here,” Marguerite told him. “I’ve lived here all my life. I won’t say it’s always been perfect, but it’s my home, and I don’t know if I could live anywhere else.” Her voice took on a frightened edge. “I don’t need much money—”

“Hey!” Kevin protested. “Take it easy. If it’s what you want, and we can find a way, of course you’ll stay here. And we shouldn’t even be talking about it now. Let’s wait until tomorrow and see what Sam’s got to say. Okay?”

Marguerite looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Okay.” Then she glanced at the clock. “And I think you
should be in bed. You’re still my baby brother, and I can send you to bed if I want to, right?”

“Right,” Kevin agreed, getting to his feet and leaning over to kiss his sister’s cheek. “And keep the faith, sis, okay?”

“Don’t I always?” Marguerite replied.

As Kevin left the room, she put her glasses back on and tried to concentrate on the book she’d been attempting to read. But it did no good. Without her mother, something was missing in the house.

Finally she reached over and switched off the light, then lay flat on the bed. In her right hip—the hip that had been so badly broken so many years ago—a burning pain began to radiate.

She tried to ignore the pain, tried to tell herself it didn’t exist.

But, of course, it did exist. It was always there, lurking just beneath her consciousness, and on days like today, when something was upsetting her, the pain broke through, overtaking her entire body.

It had been going on like this for three days now, ever since her mother had died.

Every day the pain was becoming worse.…

It was the dream that woke Jeff up. He’d seen his grandmother, her cold eyes glaring at him, her bony finger pointing accusingly at him. But he didn’t know why she was angry at him.

All he knew was that she wanted to hurt him.

Wanted to kill him.

Just as she reached out for him, her fingers circling his throat, he woke up.

He lay still in the bed for a few minutes, his heart pounding, and listened to the sounds of the house.

One by one he identified each of them.

The strange scratching sound—the one that sounded like
someone was trying to get in at the window—was just a branch brushing up against the screen.

The hollow thunking—the sound that on the first night had seemed ominous, like a ghost knocking at the door—was a loose shutter on the third floor, right above his room.

The creakings and groanings were just the house shifting, and he’d never been afraid of sounds like that—the house in Connecticut had them too.

But something had wakened him, and after he’d finally identified all the night noises, he crept out of his bed and went to the door. He pressed his ear up against the wood and listened carefully.

Nothing.

He went to the window and peered anxiously out into the darkness. There was a half-moon shimmering above the sea, and he watched the silvery streak that spread over the rippling waters, and the surf shining brightly in the moonlight.

Then he saw the movement.

He wasn’t sure it was there for a second, because when he shifted his eyes to the place where he thought he’d seen it, it disappeared.