Blood Ties (28 page)

"Of course, Chuck brought his girlfriend Shelly,"
Jim added. "And her mother. They're the three over
there by the crab cakes with the matching skull-andchain T-shirts and studded boots. Cousin Chuck has
the blond ponytail and the can of Bud."

Bailey tried not to laugh. "I thought there was no alcohol at Tawes parties."

"Not a drop." Buck grinned even wider. "Unless you
count those two crocks of cherry cordial that Aunt
Birdy hid under the seat of her pony cart."

"And the champagne," Jim reminded them. "The
kind with real corks, none of that cheap stuff. Can I
get a glass for the bride?"

"Just a half glass for me," Bailey said. "Baby on
board."

Jim shrugged. "Your days of sleeping late are over,
Daniel. But you did well for yourself. Bailey's a
keeper." He leaned and kissed her lightly on the lips.
"Be happy, darling. You deserve it."

"I hope I can make Daniel happy."

"Cathy's calling me. I think I promised to dance
with her." Jim groaned. "I hate dancing. I've got two
left feet. Can you dance with a baby-carrier?"

"I'm sure you can," Bailey answered. "Although I
can't imagine how little Jamie can sleep though all this
noise."

"He's recharging his battery," Jim said. "Wait until
he wakes up. You'll wish he was still asleep."

"Jim Tilghman! Get over here!" Emma shouted.
"Your wife wants to dance."

He groaned and glanced at Daniel. "And you gave
up single life for this?"

"Afraid so, cuz."

When Jim hurried away, Bailey turned back to Abbie. "The dress looks fantastic on you."

"Anati always could shop for me."

Abbie looked near tears, and Bailey reached out to
hug her. "She outdid herself this time."

"Thank you, and thanks for thinking of the dress,"
Abbie said. "I would have had to come in shorts otherwise." She elbowed Buck. "This one gave me zero
notice."

"Didn't know it myself," Buck said in self-defense.

"But I have to admit, he cleans up good," Abbie
teased.

Buck tilted his head and inspected her. "You're not
so bad yourself."

Abbie laughed. "Down, boy."

"I understand your father is here," Bailey said. "I
hope I get to meet him."

"I'll make certain of it," Abbie promised. "And
don't let his stern expression scare you off. He's a
pussycat under the stoic Indian countenance."

"I'll keep that in mind. It must be difficult for him,
not knowing anyone. I hope he enjoys himself."

Abbie pointed toward the house. "Do you hear the
piano? And the singing? Off key? That's my dad. I'd say
he's having a good time." She glanced around. "This is
nice, really nice, Bailey. These are special people."

"I think so," Bailey said. "I was a long time coming
home."

Buck slipped his arm around Abbie's waist. "I promised to feed you." He rolled his eyes for Daniel's benefit. "She eats like a horse, this one. I can see where she
got her name."

"Buck!" Abbie protested.

Bailey laughed. "Pay him no mind. He's probably
been into Aunt Birdy's cordial."

"I wanted to get back to the site today," Abbie said,
"but my police escort has other ideas."

"Woman does not live by work alone," Buck said.
"Come on, Ms. Night Horse. There are raw oysters
over there calling your name."

Once they were alone, Daniel drew Bailey into the
grape arbor and kissed her again. "Are you sorry yet
that you came to this island?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Sorry you met me?"

"Never."

His eyes clouded with worry. "Not even after last
night?"

"Lucas can threaten us," she said, "but whatever he does, whatever comes of it, we'll have a better chance
of beating him together."

"You know it could go bad."

Her lower lip quivered and she swallowed. "I know
it. I don't want to think like that, but I know it."

"And you're still not sorry you said `I do'?"

"Never. I'll never be sorry. Not for one minute."

Daniel kissed the tip of her nose. "You are one special woman, Bailey Tawes Catlin. Your Mama would be
proud."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Matthew finished a plate of fried chicken, potato
salad, and crab cake, ate a slice of peach pie and a
square of gingerbread, and left his dirty dish by the
back step. He was eager to be away, but he didn't want
anyone to notice his departure.

It had given him satisfaction to perform the marriage ceremony for his brother, and he wouldn't have
dreamed of missing Sunday service or the celebration
at Emma's house. But he'd stayed long enough to circulate among his parishioners, to speak to the faithful in his congregation and remind those not so
dutiful about church attendance that the door was always open.

He'd admired numerous babies, chatted with Mary
Love, and listened to Aunt Birdy's long tale about the
haunted marsh, and how the curse began with a massacre in the late 1600s. As the gruesome account went,
a group of friendly Nanticoke Indians who lived on
nearby islands had gathered on Tawes to celebrate the
wedding of the beautiful daughter of one tribal chief
to her beloved, the greatest hunter and archer of another clan. In the middle of the joyous ceremony, tragedy struck. A drunken company of British soldiers
attacked the wedding party and slaughtered the bride
and groom and all of the wedding guests.

Matthew had listened patiently to Aunt Birdy, even
though he'd heard the tale a hundred times. He knew
it so well, he'd been tempted to recite the traditional
ending of the story with her, but good manners had
prevented him from doing so. The words echoed in
his head, and he murmured them aloud now. "One
hundred and nineteen peaceful Indians, young and
old, babies and grayhairs, scalped and mutilated, and
left naked for the wolves and the carrion birds in that
godless massacre."

Most of the dead, according to the saga, had been
buried by the white settlers of Tawes, who'd come to
see what had drawn so many buzzards. And when they
had laid the broken bodies to rest in the ancient Indian burial ground, grown men had wept.

Every member of the two Nanticoke clans had died
that day, all but one man. A powerful wizard, a shaman
or medicine man as some called him, remained alive.
This shaman had not been invited to the wedding because he had desired the bride for his own wife and
she had refused his hand in marriage. Out of anger
and jealousy, he'd gone deep into the swamp and bitterly cast an evil spell on the young lovers. But when
he returned and found all of his kinsmen murdered,
his grief and regret drove him to madness. Howling
like an animal, he'd stood at the open graves and uttered a terrible curse on any who would disturb their
bones. And, so the legend claimed, he'd guarded the
marsh for more years than any mortal man could draw
breath.

Matthew thought it a pagan myth, one not fit for
children's ears, or appropriate to be told at a wedding
feast. The massacre had probably never happened, at least not as Aunt Birdy told it, but the people on Tawes
believed every word.

Superstitious nonsense. Good for nothing but
frightening drunks and children, but it still gave
Matthew the creeps and he wished Aunt Birdy hadn't
dragged the story up again. Well, he reminded himself, Aunt Birdy wasn't long for this world. She'd be
gone soon enough, and when she was, he hoped the
massacre tale would pass on with her.

The loss of his precious photographs had wounded
him deeply. Buck Davis had written a police report,
but Matthew doubted that the chief believed him. People thought he was fey, that he was a tad off plumb because he still talked to Grace as though she were alive.
It didn't prove he was crazy. If talking to his dear wife
gave him comfort, what business was it of anyone else?
Doubtless Buck and even Daniel believed that he'd
mislaid the album, that it would turn up in time, but
Matthew knew better. Someone had deliberately taken
the only remaining proof of the Irish artifacts, and
that someone, he was certain, was also guilty of Dr.
Knight's murder.

Perhaps the Irish pieces were more valuable than
anyone suspected. In any case, no one would believe
him unless he found something else left by the early
Irish Bronze Age voyagers. And today, while the site
was deserted, was his opportunity to dig. There had to
be something more still buried in that ground, and it
was his destiny to be the one to discover it. He felt it in
his heart, and he knew it was his duty to his father, to
Grace, and to Tawes to muster on and find indisputable proof.

"Come on." Buck kissed the nape of Abbie's neck. "I
dare you."

"Dare me to do what?"

He caught her hand. "Come with me. Upstairs." They
were standing at the foot of the staircase leading to
Emma's second floor. The parlor and hallway were
crowded with laughing, talking people. Children
darted in and out of the screen door, and a pack of giggling preteen girls was moving down the steps. Abbie's
father, his back to them, was still at the piano, belting
out old country-and-western tunes, while the attorney
Forest McCready and Buck's cousin Jim sang backup.

"You're out of your mind," Abbie whispered. "The
upstairs bathroom is ladies' central, and I know for a
fact that Jim's wife is in my room nursing her baby."

"Ye of little faith." Buck started up the steps, and she
followed. Outside the bathroom door a line had
formed. Buck walked past to the end of the hall and
opened a narrow board-and-batten door. He glanced
back at her. "Coming?"

Abbie laughed. "A closet? You want me to go into a
closet with you? If we were on a plane, I suppose you'd
suggest I join you in the public toilet."

"Shhh." Buck held a finger to his lips.

"Lead on, fearless leader."

Buck switched on a light and led the way up a narrow staircase. Apparently, this wasn't a closet as she'd
supposed, but an entrance to the attic.

"What's up here?" she demanded. "Ghosties and
things that go bump in the night?"

"Nope. Better."

As she reached the top of the steps, she saw that the
attic was divided into several large rooms. Furniture
lined the walls, and the floor was bare but surprisingly
free of dust, with nary a cobweb in sight.

"This way," Buck said.

They passed from one room into another until they
reached the end chamber lit by a single window.
"What are you-" she began.

"Front-row seats to the best show in town."

The window was open; voices and laughter drifted
up from the party below. Spread out in front of the
window were a pile of blankets, several pillows, a plate
of oysters on the half shell nestled in a bed of ice, an
open bottle of champagne, and two champagne
glasses. "Madame."

"You've didn't do this alone," she accused.

"It helps to have brothers who owe you money."

"What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Privacy."

"For?"

"Honey, if you don't know, I've got the wrong
woman up here."

Laughing, she turned around. "Unzip me, supercop."

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Did you bring-"

"Honey, I was a Boy Scout. I always come prepared."

She felt his warm breath on her spine as he eased
the zipper down, inch by inch, kissing each uncovered
spot. Anticipation made her giddy. "Hurry up," she
urged him.

"No need to hurry, darling. We've got all night."
He slipped the dress off one shoulder and nibbled
her bare skin. Bright shivers surged to the soles of
her feet.

Abbie turned back and caught his tie. "I don't know
whether I should loosen this or tighten it," she said
breathlessly.

He stopped kissing her long enough to shrug out of
his coat and toss it aside. As it fell to the floor, Abbie
heard a clink of metal against metal.

"What's that?"

He grinned. "Handcuffs?"

"Handcuffs? Were you planning on making an arrest?"

"You never know. You might like it so well up here
that you'd decide to chain me to the wall and hold me
prisoner."

"Braggart."

Buck's eyes sparkled with mischief, and his lazy
laugh made goose bumps rise on her arms. "We'll
have to see about that, won't we?"

Matthew was out of breath as he trudged along the
marsh path, swatting at mosquitoes and greenhead
flies and wiping the sweat off his face. Occasionally the
muddy track-interspersed with deer trails-would
run uphill and thread through a tangle of trees,
mostly swamp willow, pine, and cedar, before plunging
into another low spot.

The marsh teemed with insects, birds, waterfowl,
and snakes. Matthew was grateful for last night's rain.
The water made the trail slippery and soaked his
shoes, but it was simple to stay on the path. In dry
weather, a hiker could easily wander off into the
swamp and fall into a deep, stagnant pool or a patch
of quicksand. Jim Tilghman swore that there wasn't
any such thing as quicksand on Tawes, but Matthew
knew better. Too many hunters and dogs had been
lost over the years, and once, one of George's cows
had bogged down and sank in the gooey slime before
anyone could save her. Matthew had no intention of
drowning in a bottomless pit. When his time came, he wanted to be buried decently beside Grace and his
parents and grandparents in the churchyard.