Copper Lake Secrets (20 page)

“No frantic calls saying, ‘I need you!’ so I’m guessing everything’s going…well, if not great, then tolerably. How is your grandmother?”

“She’s fine.”

“And the ghosts?”

“They’re in fine form, too.”

Evie’s tone grew more serious. “And you?”

Reece gazed across the lawn toward the river. Back when the gardens were magnificent, the grounds between fence and river had been maintained, too, so it was visible from the porch. Now scrub blocked all but the briefest views. “I’m okay. I’ve remembered a few things, got an answer or two. My cousin, Mark, lives in town, and he doesn’t have horns and a pitchfork after all. Grandmother’s as warm and fuzzy as ever. And…”

“And…?”

Reece drew her feet into the cushioned seat and said softly, “There’s a guy here. His name is Jones, and he’s doing a project for Grandmother.” Though, as far as she knew, no contract had been signed yet.

“I take it he’s gorgeous and wickedly sexy.”

“He is.”

“Do you remember him?”

“No. He lives in Kentucky. He’s just here working.”

“Oh, of course. Tell Sister Evie more. Was last night incredible?”

Reece grinned. Sometimes there were disadvantages to having a psychic for a best friend. It was hard to keep secrets. But considering that half her life had been about secrets, maybe that was a good thing. “It was.”

“Tell me the best thing about him.”

Evie had made the request before, regarding other relationships Reece had gotten into—and, always, out of. Usually her answers were glib or average:
He’s funny. He has great taste. He has great abs. He’s gone.

This time she answered earnestly. “I trust him.”

After a moment of utter silence, Evie murmured, “Wow.”

That was another thing about having a psychic for a best friend: it was hard to surprise her. But Reece had managed.

“Wow,” Evie repeated. “I knew you should, but I didn’t think
you
would know you should. Not yet. He’s a good guy, Reece. In spite of everything else, trust that. Believe that.”

Reece’s fingers tightened. “I do,” she answered automatically, then just as quickly asked, “In spite of what else?”

In the background came a shriek so shrill that Reece tilted the cell a few inches from her ear. “
Mama!
Isabella broke my car!” Jackson shouted over the wail.

“Isabella! Jackson! I’ll have to talk to you later, Reece, okay? If you need me—” The decibels surrounding her spiked, making her sigh almost indistinguishable. “Really, think about needing me, will you? Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Reece disconnected, torn by the conversation. She was glad to hear Evie’s endorsement of Jones, and always glad to have her friend agree with her assessment of someone. But what had she meant by
in spite of everything?
Being estranged from his family? Probably having to do some tough things to get by when he was just fifteen and on his own?

“‘Love you, too,’ hmm? I hope that was Valerie or Evie or Martine.” Jones didn’t bother with the center steps but climbed onto the porch at the end, his calf muscles flexing. His khaki shorts and T-shirt were both well-worn, as were the running shoes that looked as if they could walk on their own. He’d shaved the stubble from his chin, but had combed his hair with his fingers.

He looked incredible.

“Valerie and I aren’t exactly the endearment type. That was Evie. She said you’re a good guy.”

His brows arched as he crouched in front of her, a post at his back. “How would she know— Oh, yeah, she’s the one with the gift.” The surprise settled into a grin that warmed her from the inside out. “She’s right. I am a good guy.”

“Do you want me to stroke your ego by agreeing?”

“I’d rather you stroke…” He broke off, and a dull tinge flushed his cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

She laughed. Laughter was such a rare thing around Fair Winds that she was half surprised the spirits hadn’t come flying to see what was going on.

“I talked to Maricci. He’s on his way out. If you don’t mind distracting Miss Willa… I somehow don’t think she’s going to give him permission to poke around, especially if she has any clue what Arthur did.”

That was another thought that had niggled at Reece since last night. She’d believed Jones’s assurances that her father would have taken action if he’d known, but what about Grandmother? She’d been married to the man for more than fifty years. Could she really not have known what he was capable of? Or could he have been that good at fooling people?

Grandmother only acknowledged what she wanted to know, and Grandfather had only shown what he wanted to show. She had to live—and he’d had to die—with the choices they’d made. Their actions, or inactions, were their responsibilities.

“I can always ask her questions about family history. Better yet, we can have the conversation we haven’t quite managed yet.” She uncurled her legs, and Jones stood, offering her a hand up. His fingers gripped hers a minute longer than necessary, sending heat and assurance and strength her way.
A good guy.
She had a weakness for truly good guys.

When he released her hand, she gathered her dishes and went inside, taking one last look at him for encouragement.

A hum came from the door to Grandfather’s study, reminding her of angry bees. Traveling the length of the hall, she passed through a couple of cold spots and steadfastly ignored creaking and rustling from the rooms she passed. Grandmother was in her study, a thick sheaf of papers on the desk in front of her. Reece waited to be acknowledged, which she got with a brief, dry look.

“I would like to talk to you if you have time.”

Grandmother made an impatient gesture. “Seat yourself.”

“Not here. In the salon.” The driveway ran twenty feet from the study windows. There was no way Grandmother would miss a stranger’s arrival there.

“Why the salon?”

“Because it’s a lovely room that’s rarely been used in the last century.” In her limited experience, it seemed everyone had had their favorite places: Grandmother and Grandfather their studies, Valerie her bedroom, Mark wherever Grandfather was, Dad wherever Reece was and Reece outside. The only place they’d gathered as a family was at the dinner table.

Grandmother looked as if she might refuse—she was so accustomed to doing that—but instead she rose and led the way down the halls to the salon. “Every single piece in here came from distant lands. That chandelier is from France, those tables from India, the vases from China. The rugs are Persian, the lace is from Brussels, that glasswork from Murano. Captain Howard never made a voyage that he failed to bring home some treasure for the house he intended to build.”

Reece seated herself in an uncomfortable chair that looked as if it might have come from France, as well, and immediately asked her first question. “What went wrong that my father left this house intending never to return?”

Grandmother’s posture stiffened even more than its usual boardlike state. “He fell in love with your mother.”

“People fall in love and move away from home all the time and still go back for summer visits, holidays, birthdays.”

“Your father came back.”

“How often in the sixteen years he was away? Twice? Three times? And he couldn’t even speak to Grandfather when he was here.”

Grandmother’s scowl was stern, her gaze sharply disapproving, and would have made adolescent Reece quake and flee. Not this time. “Elliott and his father had some silly falling-out. With the misguided passion of youth, Elliott never forgave him, and then…it was too late.”

“Is that Grandfather’s description? A silly falling-out? Because my father didn’t hold grudges over silly falling-outs. He was a loving and forgiving man. Whatever happened to him was serious, and it was Grandfather’s fault.”

Grandmother managed an inch more rigidity in her bearing. “You will not speak of your grandfather like that in his house. Whatever happened between him and Elliott was their business, not yours, not mine. Now, if that’s all you want…”

Gazing at her, Reece realized the old woman meant what she’d said. Maybe she’d actually believed it all along, or maybe Grandfather had told her that so often over the years that she’d come to accept it as fact. But the
falling-out
had cost
her
a relationship with her son and granddaughter, as well. How could that not be her business? How could she have not wanted to know why?

“No,” she said abruptly as Grandmother began to rise. “That’s not all. The summer I lived here…you told me Valerie had left to take care of things back home. Was that true? Or was she receiving treatment for her drinking?”

Grandmother’s mouth pursed as if she’d sucked a lime. “You have a habit of asking the wrong people your questions, Clarice.”

“Well, Daddy and Grandfather are dead, and Valerie doesn’t discuss the past. Since you’re the one who told me the lie…”

She soured even more. “Yes. Your mother had to enter a rehabilitative program. I insisted. She was a weak woman. Between the medicines the doctor gave her and the alcohol she took from Arthur’s study, she was barely able to get out of bed. But she begged me not to tell you, so I didn’t. I had no idea that keeping a promise to her would offend you all these years later.”

“I thought she had abandoned me, like Daddy. I thought she’d left me with people who obviously didn’t want me any more than she did.”

“Your father didn’t abandon you, Clarice. He died.” Grandmother didn’t bother to dispute the last part of Reece’s statement, sending an ache through some small part of her that still wanted… Instead, shaking her head, she scowled. “I’d hoped you would outgrow this melodramatic bent, but you obviously haven’t. These things happened years ago. Why are you making a fuss about it now?”

Reece wanted to give in to that melodramatic bent and stamp her feet, throw a few priceless antiques and scream,
I was a child! A mourning, distraught, terrified child! I needed love and reassurance and to believe someone wanted me!

But her grandmother’s response would likely be one she’d given before:
You always were rather spoiled.

“I’m making a fuss now,” Reece said, imitating Grandmother’s stony calm, “because I can’t remember most of that summer, because something happened then, something besides my father dying and my mother leaving me. Something that gives me nightmares, that—” She paused, considering the wisdom of going on, then did it, anyway. “Something that Grandfather’s spirit wants to keep secret. He’s been warning me away since I got here.”

“Oh, really, Clarice.” Grandmother put more scorn in those three words than Reece would have believed possible. She rose from the sofa, looking inches taller and way too imposing. “His spirit…for heaven’s sake. I blame your father for this, encouraging you to believe in ghosts, and both your parents for this self-centered, inappropriate and hysterical behavior. Your grandfather wanted nothing to do with you in life, and he certainly wouldn’t change that in death. As if such a thing were even possible.” At the doorway, she turned back. “I do believe you should consider ending your visit here soon. Welcomes do wear out, you know. Sooner for some than others.”

Chapter 10

“I
t’s human blood.”

Jones was standing in the shed door, Maricci beside him, watching silently as the lab geek who’d come with the detective performed her test. Marnie Robinson wasn’t much of a living-people person, Maricci had told him, but she was very good with dead people and all things pertaining to them.

Now, at the certainty in her voice, Jones’s gut tightened. He’d known it was blood. Reece had been positive of it. But hearing it confirmed made it that much more real.

It
could
be Glen’s blood. He could be one step closer to knowing what had happened to his brother.

“Is it as much as it looks?” Maricci asked.

Marnie gazed at him owlishly. “Losing this much blood would be incompatible with living.”

“Can you get DNA from it?”

“Depends on the degree of degradation. Can I take the tarp back to the lab?”

Maricci shifted his gaze to Jones, who walked a few yards off to the east, where the building hid them from any view inside the house. Maricci followed. “If we take it without permission from Miss Willa or a warrant, the results will be inadmissible in court, and if there’s any way it implicates her husband, she’s not likely to give permission. There’s a missing-persons case open on your brother. The sheriff’s investigator has probable cause to get a warrant.”

“The old man is dead. Kind of limits any legal action that can be taken against him.”

“If he’s the killer.”

Everything pointed to Arthur, and Reece was certain it was him warning her away. “Who else would it be? Miss Willa? Mark? Reece? An old woman or a couple of scrawny kids?” Glen had been too wiry, too strong, too used to fighting with bigger and smaller brothers. No way he could have been overpowered by any of those three, unless they’d bashed his skull from behind, and no way any of them could have crept up and caught him unaware.

“I’ve heard stories about Arthur Howard,” Maricci said. “That he was scary, menacing, more than a little odd. I don’t have trouble believing he could lose his temper and kill someone.”

“You’re a detective,” Marnie said from the doorway of the shed. “You don’t have trouble believing anyone could do anything. Do I bag the tarp or not?”

Both of them looked at Jones. He and Reece had been led to the shed for just that discovery, but not to prosecute a dead man. Not to destroy Miss Willa’s life—and besmirching her respected family name would do that—or any chance Reece might have a relationship with her only grandmother. All
he
wanted was answers: Was it Glen’s blood? Had he died here at Fair Winds? And maybe, if God took pity on Jones, where was his body?

Maricci turned to Marnie. “Bag it. And get a DNA sample from him for comparison.”

Surprise flickered across the woman’s face, but she nodded and disappeared back into the shed.