The Wicked and the Wondrous (37 page)

He loved the little anxious sounds escaping her throat, the way she moved her hips to meet his, in a perfect rhythm. Jessica, the completion of his heart.

Jessica lost herself in the hard thrusts of his body into hers, in the fiery heat and sizzling passion that rose up and engulfed her entirely. She threw her head back, riding fast, tightening her muscles around him, gripping and sliding with a friction designed to drive them both up and over the edge quickly.

She couldn’t believe herself, the wild wanton ride she took, there in the shed with their disheveled clothes half on and half off. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the burst of light and color as she broke into fragments and dissolved, her body rippling with a life of its own. She hung on tightly to Dillon as he thrust hard, repeatedly, his hoarse cry muffled by her shoulder.

They clung, their laughter coming together, a soft, pleased melding as their heart rates slowed to normal and Dillon slowly lowered her feet to the floor. The stolen moments were as precious as gold to both of them. It took a little scrambling and fumbling to adjust their clothing. Jessica couldn’t find her slip-on shoes. Dillon distracted her often while she searched, kissing her neck, her fingers, swirling his tongue in her ear. She found one shoe among the pots and the other upside down on top of a bag of potting soil. She picked it up and idly picked out the seaweed caught in the sole.

“I haven’t worn these shoes anywhere near the ocean bank. Where did I pick up seaweed?” She slipped the shoes back on her feet and went back into his arms again, turning up her mouth for his kiss. There was a long silence, while they simply got lost in each other. Dillon trailed kisses down her chin to her throat.

Jessica tilted her head to give him better access and caught a movement outside the small window.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked, lifting his head reluctantly as he felt her stiffen. “Your neck is so perfect to nibble on—soft and tempting. I could stay here forever. Are you certain we have to get the Christmas tree today?”

“Something moved out there. I think someone is watching us,” Jessica whispered. A shiver crept down her spine. Looking through the small window, she strained to see but couldn’t spot anyone. It didn’t matter. Someone watched them.

Dillon groaned. “Not again. Don had better not make another confession or I might pitch him off the cliff.” He stepped past her to the small square window, looked around carefully. “I don’t see anyone, baby, maybe it’s the gargoyles on the roof.”

Jessica could hear the amusement in his voice. Soft, gentle, teasing. She tried to respond, going into his arms, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of something sinister staring at them.

“Come on, Jessie,” Trevor shouted, breaking them apart immediately. “You two better not be doing anything I don’t want to know about, because I’m coming in.” There was the briefest of hesitations and then the door was thrust open. Trevor glared at them. “Everyone else was too chicken to come see what you were up to.”

“We’re looking for the axe,” Jessica improvised lamely.

“Oh, really?” Trevor’s eyebrow went up, in just the same way as his father’s did sometimes. He fit the role of the chastising father figure perfectly. “Do you think this might help?” He flicked the switch so that light permeated every inch of the small building. He glared at his father in disapproval. “In a tool shed?”

“Trevor!” Blushing, Jessica hurried to the back of the shed where she knew the larger tools were kept. As she reached for the axe, she knocked over the large pry bar. Muttering, she picked it up and started to replace it. The dried mud and pine needles stuck on the edge of it caught her eye. She frowned at the tool.

Trevor took up the axe. “Come on, Jessie, everyone’s waiting. Stop mooning around, it’s embarrassing. At least you have the good sense to fall for my dad.”

“You don’t mind?” Dillon asked, his eyes very serious as he studied his son’s face.

“Who else would we want for Jessie?” Trevor asked matter-of-factly. “She’s our family. We don’t want someone else stealing her away from us.”

“As if that could happen,” Jessica leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Come on, we’d better hurry or the others will be looking for us.” She led the way out of the shed.

“And, by the way, we had kitchen duty this afternoon,” Trevor added righteously.

She turned to look at him skeptically.
“You
cleaned up or your sister did? I can’t imagine you remembering.”

“Well, Brenda remembered and I would have cleaned up but Tara’s mothering me again because I suffered trauma yesterday.” He put on his most pathetic face.

“Trauma?” Dillon interrupted.
“We
suffered the trauma, Jess, your sister, and I, not you. You ate it up. Don’t think we didn’t notice your sister waiting on you hand and foot. Is that a normal, everyday thing?”

“Absolutely.” Trevor was grinning with unabashed glee. “And I love it, too!”

“He has no shame,” Jessica pointed out to Dillon.

“Not when it comes to
domestic
chores,” Trevor admitted. “Hey! I’m beginning to sound like Brenda and that’s scary!” He waved to Tara and the group huddled together under the trees waiting for them. “I told you I’d get them,” he called.

There was no time for anything but finding the all-important Christmas tree. Tara and Trevor had an idea where to look and they set off immediately. Paul kept pace with them, laughing, punching Trevor’s arm good-naturedly and occasionally tousling Tara’s hair. Brenda and Robert walked together at a much more sedate pace, whispering with their heads together. Brian and Don argued loudly over the best way to save the rain forest and the ozone layer and whether or not the taking of one small Christmas tree was going to have global effects.

Dillon walked along the trail, his hand firmly anchored in Jessica’s. His life had changed dramatically. Everyone who was important to him was with him, sharing his home. He glanced down at the woman walking so close to him. Jessica had somehow changed his entire world in the blink of an eye. His children were with him, trust was slowly beginning to develop among them. He could see such potential, his mind awakening to all the possibilities of life. It was exhilarating, yet frightening.

Dillon knew his self-esteem had always been wrapped up in his music, in his ability to shoulder enormous responsibility. His childhood had been difficult, a struggle just to feel as if he counted for something. What did he have to offer them all if he could no longer play the music pounding in his head?

The fine mist began to turn into a steady drizzle as they walked along the trail. The band members pointed out tree after tree, big fir trees with full branches. The twins adamantly shook their heads, looking to Jessica for support. She agreed and followed them to the small, thin tree with gaps between the branches they had chosen the night before. The tree was growing at a strange angle out from under two larger trees at the edge of a bluff overlooking a smaller hill. The rain was making the ground slick.

“Stay away from that edge, Tara,” Dillon commanded, scowling as he walked around the sad little tree. “This is your perfect Christmas tree?”

Trevor and Tara exchanged a grin. “That’s the one. It wants to come home with us. We asked it,” Tara said solemnly.

“I tramped through the forest in the pouring rain for that little mongrel of a tree?” Brenda demanded. “Good heavens, look around, there are fantastic trees everywhere.”

“I like it,” Don said, clapping his hands on the twins’ shoulders. “It hasn’t a hope of surviving here—I say we take it in, show it a good time, and let it have some fun.”

Jessica nodded. “It looks perfect to me.” She skirted the forlorn little tree, touched one of the longer branches that reached out toward the sea. “This is the one.”

Dillon raised his eyebrow at Robert, who shrugged helplessly. “Whatever makes them happy, I guess.”

Brian stepped forward to take the axe out of Dillon’s hands. “I like the darned thing—it needs a home and some cheering up.” He sent the axe sweeping toward the narrow trunk. He was strong and the first bite cut deep.

Tara hugged her brother, her eyes shining. “This is
exactly
how I imagined it, Dad.” She wrapped her other arm around her father.

Dillon stood very still while pleasure coursed through him at his daughter’s affectionate gesture.

Paul laughed and began removing his jacket. “Did you imagine the rain, too, Tara? We could have done without that.”

The gray drizzle was beginning to fall a little faster. Brian took another swipe at the tree trunk, sinking the blade in solidly. He repeated the action again and again with a steady rhythm that matched the drone of the rain. Robert put his arm around his wife to help protect her from the rising wind. The tree shivered, beginning to tilt.

“Hey!” Paul was shaking out his jacket, reaching across Jessica, holding it out toward Tara. “Put this on.”

Tara grinned happily at him through the gray mist. “Thanks, Paul.” Her fingers closed around the material just as there was an ominous crack.

The branches wavered, then rushed at them. Paul yelled a warning, stepping back in an attempt to stay out of reach. His elbow cracked into Jessica’s shoulder, sending her flying backward as his feet slipped out from under him in the thick mud.

Dillon shoved Tara hard, sending her sprawling into Trevor’s arms, even as he dove across the muddy ground for Jessica. To his horror, Jessica went down hard, skidding precariously close to the edge of the bluff. He saw her make a grab for the wavering tree branches but Paul’s larger frame crashed into hers in a tangle of arms and legs. They both went sliding over the edge of the crumbling cliff. Paul’s fingers made thick tracks in the mud as he attempted to find a purchase.

Dillon skidded in the mud, lying flat out on the ground, catching Jessica’s ankle as she plummeted over the edge. He realized he was yelling hoarsely, a mind-numbing terror invading him. The Christmas tree lay beside him, inches to his left. Don threw himself across Dillon’s legs, pinning him to the ground to prevent him sliding over the edge after Jessica and Robert leapt to catch Paul’s wrists as he clung to the rocks. There was a moment of silence broken only by the moaning wind, the pounding sea, the sound of rain, and heavy breathing.

“Daddy?” Tara’s voice was thin and frightened.

Trevor dropped into the mud beside his father, looking down over the edge at Jessica. She was upside down, straining to turn her head to look up at them. Other than her head, she was very still, aware that the only thing preventing her from falling was Dillon’s fingers circling her ankle. Trevor reached out with both hands and caught her calf. Together they began to pull her up.

“It’s all right, honey,” Dillon soothed his daughter. “Jess is fine, aren’t you, baby?” He could pretend his hands weren’t shaking and his mind wasn’t numb with terror. “Robert, can you hold Paul?”

“I’ve got him.” Robert was straining back. Brenda and Tara caught his belt and pulled as hard as they could. Brian simply reached past them and added his strength to Robert’s, pulling Paul straight up. He immediately turned his attention to helping Trevor and Dillon with Jessica.

All of them sat in the mud, Dillon, Tara, and Trevor holding Jessica tight. The rain poured down harder. Jessica could hear her heart thundering in her chest. Dillon’s face was buried against her throbbing shoulder. Tara and Trevor clung to her, their grip so tight she thought they might break her in two. She looked at the others. Paul looked absolutely stunned, his face a mask of shock. Brenda’s face was white. Robert, Don, and Brian looked frightened.

Another accident. This time Jessica was in the middle of it. She couldn’t imagine that it had been anything other than an accident. Had all of the other accidents that had occurred recently really just been flukes and coincidence? Had she become paranoid after her mother’s death? Certainly with Trevor’s accident, she had carefully examined the ground, yet she had seen no signs that the landslide had been anything more than a natural shift in the land after a storm. But what about the hooded figure Trevor and Tara had seen yesterday and the one she’d seen the night they’d arrived on the island? Who could that be? Perhaps it was the groundskeeper and his eyesight was so poor he didn’t notice anyone or anything around him. It was a poor explanation, but other than someone hiding on the island, she couldn’t think of anything else.

“I saved your jacket, Paul,” Tara said in a small voice, holding up the precious item for everyone to see.

Everyone burst out laughing in relief. Except Paul. He shook his head, the stunned disbelief still on his face. Jessica was certain it was on her face, too.

“Let’s get back to the house,” Dillon suggested. “In case no one’s noticed, it’s really raining out here. Are you okay, Paul?”

Paul didn’t answer, his body shaking in reaction, but he allowed Brian and Dillon to help him to his feet.

Jessica mulled the idea over that she could be wrong about the accidents. Even about the brakes on her mother’s car being tampered with. About her own car. All the other trivial things could be something altogether different. She swept a shaky hand through her hair. She just didn’t know.

I
T TOOK A SURPRISINGLY
short time for everyone to reconvene in the kitchen, freshly showered and once more warm after the outdoor adventures. Upset by another near tragedy, Jessica kept a close eye on the twins. The string of accidents was just too much for her to believe they were all coincidences. Yet nothing ever added up.

She looked around the room at the other occupants of the house. She liked them. That was the problem. She really liked them. Some more than others, but she couldn’t conceive of any of them deliberately harming the twins.

“Jessie, you aren’t listening to me,” Tara’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “I don’t know what kinds of ornaments we can make.” Tara added sadly, “Mama Rita had beautiful ornaments for our trees.” She stood very close to her brother, her gaze seeking reassurance from Jessica. Obviously she was as shaken by the accident as Jessica was.

“We’re supposed to
make
them, Tara,” Trevor pointed out. “That’s the way it works, right, Jessie?”

Jessica nodded. “I have a great recipe for a dough. We can roll it out, cut out whatever shapes we want, bake them and then paint them. It will be fun.” She set two mugs of chocolate in front of the twins and held up a third mug toward Paul. He shook his head and she set it down in front of her, reaching for a towel to clean the counter.

Brenda yawned. “Susie Homemaker strikes again. Do you know how to do
everything,
dear? Have you any idea how utterly tiring that can be?”

Jessica threw the wadded up tea towel at her, hitting the perfectly fashionable head and draping the Kelly green towel over the chic chignon. “No one believes your little heartless wench act, Brenda—you’ve blown it, so start thinking up ideas. And I didn’t say I was going to do the mixing and baking. I’m the
supervisor.
You and the twins are the worker bees.”

“Robert, are you going to let her get away with throwing things at me?” Brenda complained. She wadded the towel into a tight little ball, looking for a target. “Surely you could exact some sort of revenge for me. I’d do it myself but I’ve just been endangering my life, tramping through mosquito-infested waters and through alligator-ridden swamps to find the perfect Christmas tree for two ungrateful little chits. And the perfect tree turned out to be some straggly, misshapen bush!”

“There aren’t alligators here,” Trevor pointed out, “so technically your life wasn’t really in danger. It’s your duty as our aunt to do these things and
enjoy
them, isn’t that right, Dad? So buck up, babe. We’ll let you sing the first Christmas carol.”

The tea towel hit Trevor’s face dead center. “You
horrid
little boy!”

“Ouch, ouch,” Trevor clutched at his chest, feigning a heart attack. “She spears with me with her unkind words.” He drained the mug of hot chocolate. “More?” he asked hopefully, holding up the cup.

“No, you’re going to bed soon,” Jessica objected. “I swear, you’re becoming a bottomless pit.”

“He can have mine,” Tara said, pushing the mug toward her brother. “I don’t want any more.”

Jessica intercepted it, catching it up before Trevor could snatch it out of her reach. “What if she still has the flu, Trev? Don’t drink from the same mug,” she chided. “Tara, do you feel sick? You’ve gone so pale.”

“I think I still have the flu,” Tara admitted, “or maybe I’m just still scared. I didn’t like seeing you and Paul falling off the cliff.”

“We didn’t like it much either.” Jessica exchanged a small smile with Paul.

“Hey, paper chains,” Don said suddenly. “When I was a kid we used to make paper chains and hang them on the tree. I think I remember how to do it.”

“I remember that,” Robert agreed. “We should take all those musical notations we’ve thrown away and use them. We all love music. Does that work, Jessie? Brenda, we made a chain one year. We didn’t have a tree so we made a chain of love.”

Jessica grinned at Brenda as the woman visibly winced, horrified to be found out. “A love chain, Brenda? You’re really a mushy girl after all, aren’t you?”

“She’s all sappy like you are, Jessie.” Trevor was wearing an identical grin. “Brenda, you little romantic you. A
luv
chain.”

“Why, Brenda.” Dillon was outright smirking. “You’ve truly amazed me. I had no idea you were a marshmallow under all that sophistication.”

“Don’t start. Robert is making it all up as you know perfectly well.” Brenda looked haughty, her nose in the air.

Brian wagged his finger at her. “Robert doesn’t have the imagination to make something like that up, Brenda. You
did
make a love chain with him.”

Tara protectively flung her arms around Brenda, glaring at everyone. “Leave her alone, all of you!” She pressed a kiss against Brenda’s chin. “We can make as many chains as you want. Don’t let them bother you.”

Jessica met Brenda’s gaze across the room. Tears glistened in the depths of Brenda’s eyes. She sat very still, not moving a muscle. The two women simply stared at one another, caught in the moment. Brenda nuzzled the top of Tara’s head briefly, her eyes still locked with Jessica’s. “Thank you,” she mouthed, blinking rapidly to rid herself of unwanted emotion.

“You’re welcome,” Jessica mouthed back with a watery smile.

Dillon felt his throat close, his heart swelling with pride at observing the exchange. Jessica brought her light to everyone. She could so easily have turned the twins against Brenda, against him. The children loved her beyond any other. Their loyalty to Jessica was strong. A single word from Jessica would have prevented the twins from even trying to work with all the different personalities around them. Jessica had been so generous in sharing them and she had instilled her giving nature in both of them. He knew, better than most, how Brenda often appeared cold and uncaring to others. He was proud of his children, that they saw beyond the barrier she presented to world to the real woman.

“There’s always strings of popcorn,” Paul pointed out. “Those are easy enough to make. We used to make those in your basement, Brian.”

“We ate most of them,” Dillon pointed out, laughing at the memory.

The next two hours were spent companionably, baking and coloring ornaments and stringing paper chains and popcorn. Dillon managed to lead them in Christmas carols that Paul and Brian turned into other much more ribald ballads. Brenda and Brian got into a popcorn fight until Trevor and Tara took their aunt’s side and Brian was forced to cry uncle.

When Jessica could see that both Tara and Trevor were overtired and too flushed, she called a halt and took them both upstairs. She was surprised that both teenagers went without a murmur of protest.

Tara clutched her stomach. “I really don’t feel very well, but I didn’t want to ruin the fun,” she admitted.

Little warning bells began going off in Jessica’s head despite her determination not to worry. She rubbed at her temples, annoyed with herself for being so protective. Everyone got the flu, even she still felt sick.

“I wish we had played all those tricks on everyone,” Trevor said suddenly to Tara. “Didn’t that make you mad that they were blaming us for all those pranks while we were waiting for Jessica and Dad? It’s so typical for adults to always blame kids for everything.” He suddenly lunged for the bathroom.

“What do you mean they were blaming you for pranks?” Jessica tucked the blankets around Tara and smoothed back her hair. “Are you feeling any better, honey? I can get your father and we can take you to a doctor.”

“I’m the one throwing my guts up,” Trevor yelled from the bathroom.

“Sweetie, I’ll be happy to take you to the doctor. It’s just that I know you’d rather be boiled in oil than see the doc,” Jessica said sympathetically.

They could hear Trevor noisily rinsing his mouth for the third time. “And it sucks that they thought we were going into their rooms. I wonder if someone’s been going into Dad’s room and he thinks it’s us, too. Just because we’re teenagers doesn’t mean we don’t have respect for other people’s things,” he said indignantly. He stumbled from the bathroom back to them, crossing the floor with an aggravated frown on his face. “I asked Brian point blank if he was in your room, Jessie, and if he’d burned incense and created one of his magic circles there, and he said no. And then he had the gall to tell me to stay out of his room.”

“To stay the
hell
out of his room,” Tara corrected. “He was really mad at us. I never went into his stupid room.”

“Wait a minute.” Jessica held up her hand. “What are you talking about? The others accused you of going into their rooms?”

Tara nodded. “Even Brenda and Robert thought we were playing pranks on them. I guess it’s happened to everyone since we’ve been here and I don’t think they believed us when we told them it was happening to us, too.”

“What pranks?” Jessica wanted to know. “And where have I been?”

Trevor and Tara exchanged a slow grin. “With Dad,” they said in unison.

Jessica blushed as she sat on the edge of Tara’s bed. “I guess I deserved that. I’m sorry I’ve been in the studio working so much and that I’ve been going off with Dillon. I’ll talk to Brian. He shouldn’t have accused you. What do they think you’ve been doing?”

Trevor shrugged. “The usual teen-in-the-spooky-old-mansion stuff. Opening windows, leaving water running in the bathtub, moving things, writing weird leave-before-it’s-too-late messages on mirrors. That sort of thing.”

“Brian said no one else would be so childish.” Tara was clearly offended. “Like I would want to find a stupid secret passageway and sneak into his dumb room!” Her gaze slid to her twin’s face. “Well, Trevor and I did look for secret passageways, but just because it was fun. If we were going to try to convince everyone there was a ghost here, we’d have done a
much
better job,” she declared. “At least Brenda and Robert said they believed us. Do you think Dad believes we’re sneaking into people’s rooms?” She sounded a little forlorn.

“Of course not, Tara. If your father thought you were doing such a thing, he would have spoken to you about it immediately. I’m sorry they accused you of such childish behavior. You’re right, oftentimes an adult who isn’t used to teenagers has a false idea of the things they do.” Jessica stroked Tara’s hair. “I noticed our resident ghost forgot to open the window tonight.”

“Could there be a real ghost in the house?” Tara asked hopefully.

“The house isn’t old enough,” Trevor protested knowledgably. He’d read a lot on the subject. “Dad had it built after the fire. The contractor finished it while he was still in the burn center.” When his sister and Jessica looked at him he shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Paul told me. I ask him questions about Dad. Sometimes he doesn’t mind and other times he just sort of ignores me. You don’t learn anything if you don’t ask questions. A house has to be really old to have a ghost.”

“Or there has to have been a murder in it,” Tara agreed.

A chill went down Jessica’s spine at Tara’s words. She remembered the sound of the gunshots, the crackle of the flames, the heat and smoke. Standing up, she walked to the window, not wanting the twins to see the expression on her face.
Murder.
The word shimmered in her mind. Both children were watching her closely. Not wanting them to know what she was thinking, she changed the subject. “Did Brenda really take care of you and Tara this morning when you were sick? That amazes me.”

Trevor laughed immediately. “She tried. She was as white as a sheet. The funny thing was, Robert wanted to go get you but she said no, they could handle it. I think she really wanted to, not only to give you and Dad time to work things out, but because she wanted to be the one to help us. The crazy part was, while she was being so nice, I was thinking Robert and Brenda might have tried to poison us.”

Jessica looked at him sharply. “Why would you think something like that?”

“Well, we both drank a soda in their room and then we were sick. And I found a newspaper in their wastebasket with words cut out of it like for a ransom note. I had this wild idea they were going to hold us hostage or something until you paid them money. Or kill us and collect the insurance on us.” He grinned, looking sheepish.

“I was sick
before
I drank the soda, that’s why I drank it so fast.” Tara scowled at her brother indignantly. “Brenda and Robert weren’t trying to poison us!”

“I know that
now.”
Trevor flung himself on his makeshift bed.

“You found
what
in Brenda’s room?” Jessica tripped over Trevor’s shoes and nearly fell on the bed. Don had confessed to attempting to blackmail Dillon. Why would Brenda and Robert have the remnants of a cut up newspaper in their room? What would be the point of Don’s confessing and then trying to cast blame on someone else? Jessica could feel the strange shiver of apprehension snake down her spine. Unless someone else was involved. Someone far more sinister than Don. Jessica didn’t like the implications of it at all.

“It was just an old newspaper,” Trevor said, shrugging it off. “Some of the words had been cut out of it, but I didn’t really have time to look at it closely.”

Jessica sat down on the edge of the bed. Outside the rain had started again, pounding at the window and rattling branches against the house. “What is it you two used to call me?” she asked softly. The raindrops matched the rhythm in her heart.