Текст книги "Within Temptation"

Автор книги: Tanya Holmes

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Still?” Shannon frowned. “You called him before?”

“Lotsa times. I even threatened to contact Protective Services. That’s when his devil side came out.”

I tipped the chair forward some more. The whole situation was twisted as hell. “Go on.”

“I did some things in my youth that I’m not proud of,” she said staring off. “Gray found out and tole me long as I kept my mouth shut, my secrets was safe.”

“So you were afraid?” I asked.

She gave a helpless shrug. “My husband didn’t know of my other life. Gray said he’d make it so nobody would hire me.” Her eyes pleaded. “Can you forgive me, boy? Please say you can.”

I knew how it felt to have your livelihood threatened. Lilith had done it to Mama and me. When you’re dirt-poor, money, or the lack of it, can bring even the strongest people to their knees. Mrs. Campbell was no exception.

I looked the old woman in the eye. Hers were liquid. “Yeah,” I said. “I think I can do that.”

She sniffed, dabbing her cheeks with a corner of the quilt. Relief softened the lines in her face. “Thank you.”

Shannon glanced from me to Valene, waited a few moments for the old woman to collect herself, then, “Why didn’t Uncle Jackson want you to talk?”

“I haven’t a clue, dear heart. Him and your family were very secretive. They didn’t want nobody sayin’ nothin’. And they had the money and power to get away with it, too. Said we all better catch amnesia about Lilith and Sears—”

Shannon’s mouth fell open.

So did mine.

Valene drew back. “Y’all didn’t know?” When we both shook our heads, her gray brows twisted. “Lord, I thought Lily’s obsession was common knowledge. Dottie knew. We all did.”

“My Uncle had an affair…with my mother?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Valene said. “Not that Lily didn’t try—she was in love with him. But he only had eyes for Hesta.”

Shannon wilted into the seat. “My God.”

“Lily fought with Sears the day Master Harrison was laid to rest,” Valene went on. “Threw herself at him, but he rejected her. Said he loved his wife. So Lily got desperate and threatened to lie—to tell Hesta they was involved anyway. She never did, but her threat made Sears very angry.” Valene’s sympathetic eyes zeroed in on Shannon. “No offense, but I always believed she married your daddy just so she could have a version of Sears—them bein’ twins and all.”

Words Lilith Bradford had once spoken finally clicked. …the man I love doesn’t want me.

“How long was this thing with Lilith and Sears going on?” I asked.

“Years, but he rejected her every time,” Valene said. “It just made her more bitter. She was middle-aged, dreading the other side of forty. With her beauty fading, she feared she’d never find love again.” Valene’s eyes darkened. “So she turned destructive. Started taking up with younger men. She refused to grow old gracefully.” Her pensive gaze rested on Shannon. “That’s why she went crazy when you first got your menses.”

Shannon colored.

But the old woman kept on. “I don’t mean to embarrass you. I just want to help you understand Lily.” She set her sights on me. “The evenin’ y’all had the pool fight, she told me she’d hit the Little Miss and she was sorry for it.” She looked at Shannon. “You gettin’ your menses made her even more scared of growin’ old. So she took her fear out on you.”

I muttered a curse. “That’s why you had the bruises when I found you at the gazebo?”

Shannon’s face was somber. “I’d forgotten about this until you told me about the pool.” She stared into her lap. “Mother and I had never talked about…that. I was upset, so I went to her expecting—oh, I don’t know. Maternal comfort.”

“But she went ballistic on you.” I nodded to myself. Now it all made sense. “When she kissed me in her room. The night you broke the vase. She was going on about insurance plans and how stuff was out of her control. I just thought she was drunk, but now I see she was scared of getting old. She also said somethin’ about loving a man who didn’t love her back.”

“That would be Sears,” Valene put in. “With each rejection, the drinking got worse…as did her abusiveness.”

Shannon raked her bangs off her face. “The sheriff blackmails you into silence about the abuse and Mother’s obsession with Uncle. But he couldn’t care less about the Bradford name. So what’s the connection?”

“It’s there,” I said. “We just gotta find the key.” I looked at Valene. “You think Sears killed her?”

Valene sighed. “That ornery temperament didn’t endear her to most. She had lotsa enemies.” Her gaze drifted to the window and beyond—to the manicured backyard with its naked trees and snow-dappled shrubs. “But I still miss Lily. She was like a daughter to me—wayward, but still a daughter. Not a year goes by that I don’t visit her grave. I say a few words. Leave some flowers.” She turned her eyes on Shannon. “I see yours there too.”

Shannon looked confused. “I’ve never left flowers, Mrs. Campbell. In fact, I’m ashamed to say I rarely visit.”

“Oh, dearie, that’s understandable.” Valene straightened, furrowed her brows. “I just assumed they come from you ‘cause I visit her the same time every year. First week in January, near her birthday. Somebody always leaves a dozen calla lilies before me.” She worked her lips. “Guess she’s got an admirer, um-hmm.”

I frowned. “Sears?”

“Can’t see anyone but family keeping a vigil like that,” Valene said. “But it could be one of her young men.”

“A vigil,” Shannon murmured. “Joe DiMaggio did that too.”

“Yes he did.” Valene smiled. “Left flowers on Marilyn’s grave for twenty years.”

An ominous feeling ate at me. “Maybe it’s not a vigil. Maybe it’s a guilt offering.”

Valene bobbed her head. “Could be. Could be.”

“What about Sheriff Gray?” Shannon asked.

“Him give her flowers?” Valene harrumphed. “He wouldn’t lay a dandelion on her grave, much less some hothouse posies.” The old woman’s cataract hit the light again. “He hated her.”

I let that sink in. “Where’s Lilith’s grave anyway?”

“Same place as Dottie’s,” Valene said. “At Grace Brethren.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
New Memories

TRACE

____________________________

I strode down the flagstone path of Jane Younger’s three-story house. Shannon marched ahead. Icy air stung the back of my throat, but the anger kept me warm enough. The main thing on my mind was Mama’s grave and the heartless cowards who’d violated it. I gazed heavenward.

The sun had gone missing somewhere in the smoke-colored sky, and except for the occasional wind gust, the woodsy neighborhood was as quiet as a morgue.

Something wicked loomed on the horizon.

I caught up with Shannon in the driveway. Eyes narrowed, she pointed the alarm remote at her Volvo. The car chirped and the locks disengaged with a loud click.

After I opened her door, she slipped behind the wheel in brisk silence while I came around the passenger side and hopped in. She rammed the key into the ignition and floored the gas. The engine growled.

“I didn’t know Lilith was buried there too.” I snatched my seatbelt, channeling my anger. “It just makes me wonder.”

“About what?”

“Why they wrecked Mama’s grave.” Bile burned hot in my stomach. “Grace Brethren is the priciest cemetery in the area. Me coming back may have provoked the vandal into doing somethin’ he wanted to do all along. What if he was pissed that she had the balls to be buried in the same place—”

“As her son’s murder victim,” Shannon finished with grim finality. “Yes, I thought about that too.” Gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles paled, she stared straight ahead, then sank her forehead against the back of her hands. “I’m not sure I even want to know the truth now. It just keeps getting uglier.”

“Hey, c’mere.” I curled an arm around her so her head rested against my shoulder. God, she smelled good. That and the feel of her soft body next to mine nipped the edge off my anger. I kissed her temple. “Whatever happens, I’m here, okay?”

Nodding, she said, “I guess I need to speak with Uncle.”

“What? Now?”

“No, I’ll have to wait until he gets home next week.” One awkward pause later, she added, “He’s in LA…with Darien.”

Jealousy tore into me like a set of fangs, but I kept the venom from my voice. “You think Sears killed her?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Montgomery’s unspoken presence lingered when she pulled back and looked at me with nervous eyes. “Um, the…the grave desecration is too base for Uncle. If anything, he’d pay someone else to do it. That’s his MO. I just want to see his reaction when I tell him I know about Mother’s obsession.”

“What makes you think he’ll tell you anything?”

“He won’t,” she answered, her expression still wary. “It’s what he doesn’t say that matters.”

“What about your aunt? You gonna confront her?”

“No, she’ll just back him up. It’s what she always does. Anyway, I think I’ll call every flower shop in New Dyer. Calla lilies aren’t cheap. I also want to visit Cheltenham Manor.” Her eyes turned hopeful. “Will you go with me?”

I nodded, but inside a battle raged. Some hero I was. I’d had nightmares about that place for years, so just the thought of going back there again scared the piss out of me.

SHANNON

____________________________

“I hope this expedition is more fruitful than my calla lily idea,” I said when Trace and I arrived at Cheltenham Manor two days later. “A million flower shops in Temptation and New Dyer and no one’s ordered any since September.”

Trace was staring out of his window. He’d been pensive since I’d picked him up at the garage half an hour ago. “You try Main Street Flowers in Willow’s Corner?” he asked, distractedly.

“Yes, and Tori Mills was especially rude. She has the biggest mouth in West Virginia, yet she’s got the gall to lecture me about customer confidentiality?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll—” Slack-jawed, he stopped mid-word once the estate mounted above the treetops. Sheltered behind acres of evergreens and dogwoods, it looked like an old southern belle who’d lost her beauty—the sort who donned the same faded cotillion gown of her youth whenever company called.

My heart pounded when the Volvo coasted to a stop on the gravelly square. I loosened my death grip on the steering wheel and gaped at the heap of ivy and moss-covered brick. There’d been a few caretakers over the years, but the place eventually fell into disrepair. Without a word, Trace climbed out, came around and opened my door. How could he be so fearless when I was anything but? I wasn’t ready. I needed time—to prepare, to think. Just a few more minutes to—

Trace extended a hand. “Come on,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Twelve years is time enough.”

There was an intimacy between us, a strengthening of trust, and I knew right then that I’d be okay as long as he was nearby. I took his hand and followed his lead up the path to the carriage house. The sound of our footsteps filled the hush. Bushes guarded the walkway on either side. Willow branches dripped from above. Dead weeds sprouted through the cobblestone cracks beneath us. It was just as I remembered, but then again, it was not. Scents I hadn’t smelled in ages came trickling back, but they’d changed somehow.

I’d expected to feel something more than…numbness. Yes, numbness. This place had given me many nightmares over the years, but now? It was just an old estate with untended land—an imposter who’d been unmasked.

Relief made me breathe a little easier, yet when we reached the path’s end, I felt as steady as a paper doll in the wind. There it was, Mother’s death house, looking just as dark and ominous as before.

Trace gripped my shoulders, ducking down so we were eye level. “No going back now. All right?”

I swallowed, gave an uneasy nod, my mind screaming just the opposite. But after he laced our hands together again, strength leached from him to me, and I was comforted.

As we ventured around the side of a cottage-style guesthouse, I concentrated on nothing else but the rock-steady hand holding mine.

Trace let my hand go to trot to the center of the driveway and the feeling lingered. His energy level seemed to increase with each step. “I got here about ten or so.” He looked around. “I snuck through there.” He pointed at some boxwoods, strode ten feet and pointed again. “Here’s where I found the spade.”

I watched him in awe. Watched how everything he’d had bottled up, spilled out. He was reliving it all, but instead of crushing him, this visit appeared to free him somehow.

His gaze darted in one direction after another as he spoke. “I grabbed it thinking the gardener had dropped it by mistake.”

I came up next to him. “It was clean?”

He nodded, clasped my hand and led me over a bowed bridge overlooking a small, man-made pond. The carriage house lay just beyond it. Once there, I gave him the keys and after he’d fiddled with the lock, the brass-studded door thundered open like a giant who’d been startled awake from a long nap.

I stared into the musty darkness as the doorknob thumped the wall. I didn’t move when he ventured inside, opening shades and blinds, testing doors. The sun, muted as it was, meshed with the light spilling from a hole in the roof.

A sense of detachment settled over me as I crept past the threshold and ambled around, taking it all in. A splintered wooden table. A stack of water-damaged oil paintings. Rusty tools strewn across the floor. Spider webs and mounds of dust. I could hardly contain my relief, it was so acute.

There was nothing to fear, nothing at all, nothing until….

I stepped on that floorboard.

The familiar squeak hit me like a sledgehammer. Age and time had given the sound strength. Intensity. Everything blurred, and tears filled my eyes, falling with blinding speed. Now I remembered the sight of Mother lying in a pool of blood, her dead eyes staring up at nothing. Now I remembered how I’d felt—the realization that I was an orphan. No father, no mother, a child’s worst nightmare. I gasped when my back smacked a wall. It felt like I was teetering on a ledge, and I was terrified of falling.

Trace immediately snatched me into his sheltering arms.

“The s-squeak,” I sobbed. “It squeaked when I f-fell to m-my knees—b-by Mother’s b-body. F-first sound. It s-squeaked.”

“Hey…hey. Breathe, Shannon. Breathe.”

“This is why I…couldn’t…come here. On my own. Too afraid.” I keened. “I’m a coward.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Y-yes, I am. The w-worst kind. That’s why I never went…to her grave. That’s why I never came back here. I was s-scared. Deep down I suspected something wasn’t right in my head…with all…all the memories. So I avoided anything that would…challenge what I believed—M-mother, oh, Mother.”

“Shhh.” He tenderly lifted my hair from my face. “Hey. I wouldn’t even be here if not for all your pushing and badgering. You’re the brave one,” he whispered kissing me as I sobbed. “And I admire the hell out of you.” He hugged me close. “Go on now. Cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

My knees gave and I sank to the floor, taking him with me. Twelve years of grief flooded my heart. Years of pain denied. The child I’d vanquished was back, had never left, and now that little girl wanted her due.

Trace cradled me in his lap and murmured words of comfort. Once more, he told me how much he admired and respected me, and that I wasn’t alone. He swept my hair aside, kissed a tear away, and sipped at the next one. Each healing touch stirred something hidden, until I responded in kind, and in a flash, the mood shifted. He dragged his lips over my eyes, and lower still, to kiss the tip of my nose, all the while whispering assurances. How could desire come alive here, in this crypt of death? But it had, and want him, I did.

Feelings we’d tried to bury clawed to the surface. Breaths tangled, and lips fused in an untamed rhapsody. This wasn’t the childish lip banging I’d given him years ago—in this very room—when I’d surprised him while he was sleeping. This kiss was deep, dark, and carnal.

His fingertips drifted over my face, imprisoning me while his hungry mouth moved over mine. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was wild and seasoned with tears and pain. He fisted my hair, ate at my lips, ripped his mouth away on a gasp, then came back. And I was right there with him, matching his passion.

But our kisses ended all too soon when Trace drew back. We stared in bemused silence, battling for breath, neither of us comprehending what had just happened. Outside, the building groaned against the gentle lash of the wind. Inside, tension vibrated like a plucked wire.

I swept my gaze over him as his Adam’s apple dipped and climbed. His lips were as swollen as mine felt. That I’d lost control with him again, in here of all places, confused me even more. What the hell was I doing?

Gasping for air, Trace knelt before me, his eyes searching my face. “Listen up, ‘cause I don’t want you to miss a word of this.” He pressed his forehead to mine and stroked my cheeks with his thumbs. “Doc says that the best way to kill a monster is to embrace it, and then create new memories. In your case, the monster’s right here, and we’ve just stared it down.”

He brushed my lips with his once more. “As for creating new memories, if the monster rears up again—what I’m about to tell you…I want it to be the first thing that comes to your mind.” He ran the fingers of one hand along my shoulder, trailing them up and down my arm. “Remember when you woke me with a kiss in this room? And how I gave you some song and dance about you being too good for me? Well, just the memory of your lips made me ache. All day. It got so bad I had to do something about it.”

He swallowed, looked away, then focused back on me. “So I did. Right here in this room…and many times after it.” At my stunned stare, he stroked my cheek tenderly and said, “Yeah, Shannon. I finished myself off, on just the memory of that kiss.”

My heart was thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat. I should’ve been disturbed by his confession, but I wasn’t. If anything, his shocking words aroused and excited me.

Trace slipped a bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket. The one I’d given him. He brushed it along my neck, raised it to his nose, and closed his eyes to sniff long and deep. Then he smiled down at my widened eyes.

“It lost most of your scent since the limo ride,” he said, “but there was still enough for me to finish what we’d started that night at my house.”

My mouth fell open in shock, but he smiled again. “I didn’t just take a shower while you were waiting. I went to my room, pulled this thing from a drawer, and dealt with the hard-on you left me with. I buried my nose in this hanky and pretended my other hand was yours.” I swallowed as he tucked the hanky away, then cupped my cheek. “So the next time this room comes to mind, I want you to remember me and what I just told you.”

My cell phone screamed at my hip. I jumped. Breathless, I snatched the gadget from my pocket.

My voice came out husky…uneven. “Th-this is Shannon Bradford.”

“Hi. It’s Bev O’Dell.”

I immediately looked to Trace who’d since gotten to his feet. He drew away as I shoved up. “Um, I have to take this,” I said, still stunned and trembling from his words. He nodded as I slipped outside and whispered, “How did you get this number?”

“Your office. I said I was a client.”

I paced the bridge, hugging myself against the cold wind slapping me in every direction. “What do you want?”

“I needed to say I’m sorry. For Patrick. For my silence.” Beverly sighed. “You can’t forgive me, can you?”

I licked my kiss-swollen lips, still tasting Trace. “It’s not for me to judge.”

“Cholly said Tracemore’s with you.” She paused. “Can you talk to my brother for me? Tell him I’m sorry? I’ve left messages, but he won’t return my calls.”

I glanced in the picture window. Trace had disappeared down a hallway. “I can’t make him do anything.”

“Please. I’m desperate.”

I propped my palm on my forehead as my mind raced. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m not askin’, I’m beggin’.”

I weighed my options. Finding none, I went back in as Trace reemerged. “Hold on,” I said to Beverly. After a hasty prayer, I slowly offered him the phone. “It’s for you.”

He was rummaging through a dusty box. “Huh?”

“It’s your sister.”

His back stiffened. He drew up in silence, dug his hands into his pockets and wandered to the picture window in the front where he stood, gazing outside. “Take a message.”

A lump welled in my throat. “But, Trace—”

“Take. A damn. Message.”

I blinked at his brittle tone and searched for words. “Ah, he…he can’t talk right now, Beverly. I’m sorry.”

“You mean he won’t,” came the sad reply.

I didn’t answer, just fixed my eyes on his rigid shoulders. When the line went dead, I shoved the phone back into my pocket. It was hard not to take his rude admonition personally. “She’s your sister for God’s sake.”

He was still staring outside. “I need time.”

“Then why couldn’t you have said that?”

“Leave it alone, Shannon.”

Minutes went by without either of us speaking. Our reckless moment and the aftermath of Beverly’s call, lingered. This was going nowhere fast, so I flipped the channel in my brain. “How was Mother lying when you found her?”

He angled around and met my gaze. The wall that had separated us before was back. I could see it in his face.

He stared up at the ceiling as if to pull a memory down. “On her side, with her head resting against her shoulder,” he said in monotone. “There was a blood trail from her to that door over there.” He hitched his chin at the short hallway that led to a loft and the rear exit. “It happened in the garden.”

A chill slivered through me. “She must have crawled inside while the killer fled. Ours were the only footprints.”

I tried to imagine things as they were. The cement floor in the next room. The workbench. The tools hanging on the walls.

“I saw you from that hallway.” I nodded toward the rear. “You were kneeling beside her and when I made a noise, you looked up. So I ducked. Then….” I rubbed my temples, fighting to capture a fuzzy image. “Did you give her mouth-to-mouth?”

His brow lifted. “That damn sure wasn’t in your testimony.”

“Because I just remembered it.” I kneaded the bridge of my nose. “My God, what else have I forgotten?” What else, indeed. But how desperate was I to find out? I took a shuddery breath. “Can you get me an appointment?”

“With who?”

I fortified my resolve and looked him square in the eyes. “Your psychiatrist. I’m ready to try hypnosis.”