Fall from Grace (33 page)

“Hardly,” Adam said. “After that, he tormented all of us for years. I’ll never fathom why Jack stayed.”

His mother faced him again. “Because he loved me. And you.”

“But not enough to claim me,” Adam retorted. “I should be relieved that Benjamin Blaine wasn’t my father. But now I’m the son of two masochists-for-life—”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” his mother protested. “Or for Jack, waiting for whatever moments we could steal, the times he could watch your games—”

“I know what it was like for your sons,” Adam shot back. “I always wondered how a father could demean a boy as kind and talented as Teddy. Now I understand—Ben’s only son held up a mirror to his deepest fears.” He stood over her, speaking with barely repressed emotion. “I became the ‘son’ he wanted. I can imagine him trying to believe that my achievements came from him, not from Jack’s DNA. But he could never resist competing with me, just as he competed with my father.” He shook his head in wonder and disgust. “Even now you have no idea how much damage you inflicted, or on whom. But knowing what you did, how could you stand to watch it all unfold?”

Clarice stared at him. In a parched voice she said, “I watched Ben raise you to be the person he wanted to be. By accident or design, he made you enough like him to be strong. So strong that you can live with even this.”

“In a day or so,” Adam responded sharply, “I’ll work up the requisite gratitude. But not before we talk about the night Ben died. This time I want the truth.”

Clarice met his eyes. “As I told you, Ben locked himself in his study, brooding and drinking. When he came out, he was unsteady, almost stumbling. Alcohol had never done that to him before. But it was his words that cut me to the quick.”

She stopped abruptly, shame and humiliation graven on her face. Sitting beside her, Adam said more quietly, “Tell me about it, Mother.”

Ben’s face was ravaged, his once vigorous frame shambling and much too thin. He stared at his wife as though he had never truly seen her. “I’m done with this farce,” he told her bluntly. “Whatever time I have left, I’m planning to spend without you.”

Facing him in the living room, Clarice fought for calm. “You can’t mean that, Ben. We’ve had forty years of marriage.”

The light in his eyes dulled. “God help me,” he replied with bone-deep weariness. “God help us all.”

Clarice could find no words. In a tone of utter finality, her husband continued, “I’m going to be with Carla. If there’s a merciful God, or any God at all, I’ll live to see our son.”

Clarice felt bewilderment turn to shock. “Carla Pacelli is pregnant?”

Ben nodded. “Whatever you may think of her, she’ll be a fine mother.”

The implied insult pierced Clarice’s soul. “And I wasn’t?”

“You did the best you could, Clarice. When you weren’t sleeping with my brother. But please don’t claim you stayed with me for our son, or for yours. Your holy grail was money and prestige.” His voice was etched with disdain. “You’ll have to live on love now. The money goes with me, to support Carla and our son—”

Startled, Clarice stood. “You can’t do that,” she protested.

“You know very well that I can. That was the price of Adam, remember? For what little good that did any of us.” Ben slumped, as though weighed down by the past, then continued in a tone of indifference and fatigue. “I’m going to admire the sunset. When I return, I’ll pack up what I need. You can stick around to watch me, if you like. But I’d prefer you go to Jack’s place, your future home. Maybe you can start redecorating.”

Turning from her, he left.

Clarice stared at the Persian rug, unable to face her son. “I never saw him again.”

Adam wondered whether to believe her. “How did you react?”

Clarice swallowed. “I was frightened and humiliated. He’d never threatened me before, and this child made it real. To think I could lose everything was devastating.”

“But you didn’t just sit here, did you? You called Teddy and told him what Ben had said.”

“Yes,” Clarice admitted. “I’ve been lying to protect him.”

“But not just Teddy,” Adam continued. “First, you called Jack.”

Surprised, she glanced at him sideways, then turned away. “He didn’t answer,” she murmured. “So I left him a message, telling him what Ben had said and done.”

“And where he’d gone,” Adam said crisply. “Then you lied to the police about both calls. Do you realize what trouble that caused for Teddy?”

Clarice straightened. “What on earth do you mean?”

For the first time Adam was surprised. He gazed into her eyes, and saw nothing but confusion. “What do you suppose he did that night?”

“Nothing.” Clarice paused, eyes filling with doubt. “Isn’t that what he told the police?”

Adam weighed the possibilities: that she knew nothing of Teddy’s actions, or that she had caused Ben’s death—or both. “Maybe he thought he was protecting you. But here’s what I think, Mother. You couldn’t reach Jack, and felt certain that Teddy couldn’t help you. And you were ignorant of one crucial fact—that Ben had already changed his will.” Adam forced a new harshness into his tone. “In desperation, you went to the promontory. You found him weak and drunk and disoriented, like a man who’d suffered a stroke. So you pushed him off the cliff, hoping to preserve the prior will. The one that gave you everything.”

“No,” his mother cried out. “I never went there, I swear it. As far as I know, Ben fell.”

“True enough. But one of you helped him.” Abruptly, Adam stood. “Call Jack,” he finished. “Tell him to meet me where Ben went off the cliff.”

Ten

Adam stood alone in the darkness. The moon was full, and a fitful breeze came off the water. For a half hour he thought about his father.

From behind him he heard footsteps on the trail. Turning he saw the outline of a man for whom, Adam realized, he had been waiting all his life. Then Jack stepped into the pale light.

“Hello, Jack,” Adam said with tenuous calm. “Is there anything in particular you’d care to say?”

Jack’s face was worn, his eyes somber. “That I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I always loved you, Adam. For years my reason for staying was to watch you grow.”

Abruptly, Adam felt his self-control strip away. “As Benjamin Blaine’s son?” he asked with incredulity. “You and my mother trapped me in a love–hate relationship with a man who resented me for reasons I couldn’t know. Then you pitted me against him in that last racing season. Do you have a fucking clue what came from that? Or do you give a damn?”

Though shaken, Jack refused to look away. “I never thought you’d leave,” he said in a low voice. “I still don’t know why you did.”

“The reasons are my own, and you’ve got no right to know them.” Adam caught himself, voice husky with emotion. “There were times, growing up, when I wished you were my father. Now I wish you’d been as strong as the man who pretended I was his son. But for better or worse, I absorbed Ben’s will, his nerve, and his talent for survival. Along the way I learned to trust absolutely no one. A useful trait in a family like ours.” Adam paused, then finished with weary fatalism. “On balance, I suppose, I’d rather have you as a father. Yet right now I look at you and Mother, and all I want is to vanish off the face of the earth. But I can’t, because the two of you have created a mess I plan to straighten out.”

Jack cocked his head. “What do you have in mind?”

“We’re starting where you and Ben left off,” Adam responded coldly. “Tell me how you killed him, Jack.”

Jack hunched a little, hands jammed in his pockets. “So now you’re the avenging angel, or perhaps the hanging judge. You seemed to have developed the soul for that.”

“No doubt. But not without help.”

Jack seemed to flinch. “Maybe I deserve that. But before you judge me, listen.”

He found his brother sitting slumped on the rock, his eyes bloodshot, his gaze unfocused. With terrible effort, Ben sat straighter. “I’m taking a rest,” he said tiredly. “I can only assume she called you.”

Jack knelt by him, staring into his face. “You can’t do this to her,” he told Ben. “Not after all these years.”

Ben’s face darkened, and then he bit off a burst of laughter. “So I should leave everything to Clarice? Then you could move into my house, claim my wife, and take the fruits of all I’ve done. You may have lived for that, Jack. But by God, I did not.” Ben lowered his voice. “I’ve found someone who loves me, a woman with grace and grit who’ll give me a son that’s actually mine. They’re what my life comes down to, and where my money is going. You and Clarice can do what you please.”

Filled with anger, Jack leaned forward, his face inches from Ben’s. “This is her home, Ben. You can’t take that from her.”

Ben smiled a little. “I already have,” he answered calmly. “I gave you a home, Jack—our parents’ cracker box. Ask Clarice if she wants to live there with you. But I suppose you learned her answer long ago. All these years she preferred to live with me than in the mediocrity that is your birthright—”

Filled with hatred, Jack grabbed his shirt. “She can file for divorce, and challenge the agreement you forced on her.”

Despite the violence of Jack’s actions, Ben’s face revealed nothing but mild interest. “Not a bad idea,” he remarked. “That’s what I’d have done in her place, many moons ago.” He paused, gathering strength. “Unfortunately for you both, I’m dying. She can’t divorce me fast enough. So unless she wins a will contest, which I believe she can’t, she’ll have nothing but the deathless love you’ve imagined sharing. She’ll be looking for a rich man by Thanksgiving.”

Overcome by rage, Jack wrenched him upright, ripping a button off Ben’s shirt. In two steps he held his brother over the edge of the cliff, staring into the face he had always loathed. “I can kill you now,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ve wanted to for years.”

Ben stared at him with contempt. “So did Adam. But even he couldn’t, and I don’t think you have the guts for it. He got all that from me.”

Jack thrust his brother forward, his grip all that kept Ben from falling over the precipice. Ben looked back at him, speaking with his last reserves of will. “You’re a loser, Jack. And you’re about to lose again.”

Jack held Ben’s face an inch from his. “Do you think I can’t do this, Ben?”

Smiling with disdain, Ben spat into his face.

Jack felt the spittle on his cheek. A surge of insanity seized his body and soul. He stared into his brother’s adamantine eyes, then felt his hands let go.

Frozen in time, Ben filled a space above the void. Then he hurtled toward the rocks. For an instant, Jack swore that his feeble cry turned into laughter. Then a distant thud echoed in the dark, marking the death of his brother.

Facing Jack, Adam felt his skin crawl. Perhaps, as Ben had implied to Teddy, he might have provided for his family had he lived a day longer. Perhaps the laughter Jack imagined hearing had been real.

“You held him over a cliff,” Adam managed to say, “then let him fall. Murder, plain and simple.”

Jack’s voice shook. “He’d been spitting in my face ever since he learned to walk. For that one instant, I could do what I’d imagined all my life.”

“And save my mother from humiliation in the bargain. Or so you thought.” Adam heard the horror in his voice mingling with despair. “You helped him commit suicide and lock in the new will, putting yourself at risk. No wonder he died laughing.”

Jack closed his eyes. Watching him, Adam was overcome by the tragedy of all that he had learned, the incalculable damage to so many lives. Quietly, he said, “You’ve been worried all along that you’d get found out. It was you who followed me here, wasn’t it?”

Drained, his father could barely nod. “I wanted to see what you were doing. From the start, you were sure that someone killed him.”

“What does my mother know?”

“Nothing. When I came back to the house, I told her I couldn’t find him. By morning, I’d figured out a plan. Incinerate the boots I’d worn, then stumble across his body on the beach, as though his death were an accident.” Jack paused, touching his eyes. “It almost worked.”

“Not for Teddy,” Adam retorted. “They’re about to charge him with killing Ben.”

Jack stiffened. “How can that be?”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is that I know you’re a murderer. But if I turn you in to the police, they may think my mother’s an accomplice. On the other hand, there’s Teddy to consider. I can’t let him take the fall for you.”

Jack straightened. “Do you think I can? After I tell Clarice what happened, I’m going to the police.”

“Don’t overdo it, Jack. There’s been heartache enough, most of it Ben’s doing.” Adam paused, finding a calmer tone. “You are my father, after all. So I’d prefer that you not pay for getting Teddy off the hook. And given that you’re a reasonably accomplished liar, why not make that work for you?”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“You’ll have to improve your story, merging it with Teddy’s. In my version, Ben never threatened my mother with disinheritance. Because he was drunk and abusive, you decided to confront him in your role as her protector.” Adam looked into his father’s eyes. “You found him here, and asked him to stop mistreating her. A quarrel ensued. Suddenly, he took a swing at you and lost his balance, the victim of alcohol and disequilibrium caused by his tumor. When you reached for him, it was too late.”

Jack stared at the place where Ben had fallen. At last, he said, “Still more lies, after so many. Do you think they’d believe me now?”

“Not really. They’ll also think you’re protecting Teddy. But I’ve become familiar with what the police know and don’t know. They have no witnesses to the murder. Teddy’s account will cover all the physical evidence, leaving them with nothing to refute your latest story.” Reading Jack’s doubt, he added, “Granted, telling it will take some nerve. But once you do, it creates reasonable doubt in Teddy’s favor, and he’ll do the same for you. George Hanley is nothing if not practical. He’ll see the wisdom in letting go of the death of a dying man.”

Jack studied him, then shook his head. In a tone of sadness, he asked, “When did you become so cold-blooded? I wonder.”

“The day I left here. All I’ve done since is refine my talents.” Adam paused, struggling with emotions he refused to show. “But that’s for another day—if ever. This family has one more thing it needs to settle.”