“Good Lord.” Further words escaped me. I closed my eyes, recalling the game with the intensity of disappointment that only kids feel. I'd missed a key grounder, struck out twice, and when I'd made it to third base, the next batter had choked with bases loaded and suffered the final out of the game. The walk to the dugout felt like miles. My face had burned not only with the spring sun but with the humiliation of loss.
I never would have dreamed that blood relations I knew nothing about were watching me that entire time, like visitors from another world scrutinizing a primitive race. I gulped at my brandy, which sent a long finger of fire down my gullet. I'd felt a stranger in this house-but Uncle Mutt had seen me play ball. He'd known the truth about my parentage longer than I had. He'd been Bob Don's one confidant.
I opened my eyes. Uncle Mutt smiled. He had, behind the bluster, a kind face.
“You're sure there's nothing they can do for you?” I heard myself asking in a strained voice. “The doctors aren't always right.” I did not add my father who raised me had succumbed to cancer, and the physicians had been unerring in their diagnosis and prediction of his death.
He dismissed my hopes with a wave of his brandy glass. “Jordan, I'm dying. There's no two ways about it, son. My time's come and I don't begrudge the fates their due. I sometimes wonder if I won't go blind, won't lose my sense of smell, won't go crazy. I ain't in a lot of pain yet, but when it comes, they can let me have a little of the morphine. I'm hoping I'm dead before it gets too bad.” He sipped again. “I figure I've had a good life. I just wish Lolly hadn't gone first.”
“I'm so sorry.” I didn't know what to say, and the words sounded like an empty apology. I know from my own experience: conveying sympathy is one of the world's hardest tasks. How many times had people oohed their pity for my mother's condition, meaning well, but instead raising a bitter hackle within me./ don't need your sympathy or your pity. I need my mother to be healthy again. And no one can give me that. “I'm sorry I didn't have the opportunity to know Lolly better, Uncle Mutt.”
He rubbed at his forehead, as though massaging the memories. “I loved her, even when she could be a trial. She was stubborn, and sometimes she and Deborah clashed. But she loved this family, and she'd have done any duty we asked. I can't believe she's gone. She must've hid her heart condition the way I've kept quiet about my cancer. It would be like a Goertz.”
I listened to the bass ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner before I spoke. “Do you know why the deputy's staying the night here?”
Mutt made a hissing grunt. “Dadgum fool justice of the peace. She's got to order an autopsy, she says, 'cause Lolly's death was suspicious since Jake's medication was missing. Tricia Yarbrough had the gall to suggest- ever so gently-that maybe Lolly took her own life. Ridiculous!”
“I'm sorry, Uncle Mutt.” I could think of no other comfort to offer. If he didn't care for Tricia's suspicions, he certainly wouldn't cotton to mine. I'd gotten the distinct impression Tricia Yarbrough cared about Uncle Mutt, but he didn't seem to return the feelings-at least not right now.
“My sister died of a simple heart attack. And I probably sent her over the edge, being all dramatic in announcing I'm sick. Christ.” He massaged the bridge of his nose, not looking at me. “Christ.”
“If she was sick,” I ventured carefully, “maybe that'd explain why she was in such a… mood at dinner.”
He glanced up at me, quickly. “Yes, you're right. Normally Lolly would never say the hurtful things she said tonight. It was entirely unlike her. She was devoted to this family.”
“She seems not to have cared for Deborah,” I murmured. I took quick refuge in a sip of brandy.
“Oh, Lord. Deborah lived with Lolly after her parents died, and that was a terrible mistake. Two women, both all eaten up with grief-they turned on each other, instead of supporting each other. A closeness between those two was just not meant to be.”
His thin lips compressed and he quickly moved to defend his sister's memory from his own description. “I wished you could've known Lolly better, too. She was a individual, that's for sure. Her and that damn dog of hers. She wasn't always quite that way. Lolly was a pistol in her youth, a lot of fun, a sweet girl. But Charles was her whole life, they never had young'uns, and when he died-it wasn't long after Deb had come to live with them-part of Lolly died. I think it was the chunk of the brain that must govern reason.” The remark might sound cruel, but I knew he didn't mean it that way. It was a bald statement of fact, the kind I sensed that Uncle Mutt prided himself on. “Lord knows she took mighty good care of Uncle Jake.”
“He seems rather independent still,” I said.
Uncle Mutt sighed. “Oh, Lord, you can't keep Uncle Jake down on the farm. He's a lively one. Stays busy with his hobbies and got more pen pals than I can keep track of. Seems his specialty is gettin' into trouble. We had him in a nursing home for a while, but he wouldn't ever let the lady residents or the nurses alone. It just got easier to bring him on home and let family take care of family. We've always believed in that.”
“It sounds very noble.”
He nodded at me approvingly. “I don't want to sound caustic after poor Lolly dying, but I'm glad you're coming into the family, Jordan. We need some fresh blood. Jake and I ain't long for this world. And sometimes I ain't holding much hope for the next generations. Look at Aubrey; he's so boring he tapes the Weather Channel.”
“They're not so bad, I'm sure,” I said.
“Hell, I know. But what I say about the whole lot, it's the truth. And those damned hounds are all after my money.”
“Your money?” I asked.
“Good Lord, boy.” He laughed. “Did you think I inherited this island? Hell, no. I won it. I've worked damned hard my whole life. I made enough money for rich folks as an investment counselor I ended up rich myself. You can't hang out around the Texas wealthy without some of their pennies and luck landing in your pockets. I got money out the ass, not to sound crass.” He laughed at his impromptu verse. “And those turkey vultures are circling hard.” He gestured toward the ceiling-and our sleeping relatives-then downed the rest of his brandy. He kept the glass's edge balanced against his lip, his eyes shut in exhaustion.
“If you're worried about me, I'm no vulture. I don't want any of your money. I don't have a claim on it.” My face felt hot with indignation. I wanted to say: Look, Uncle Mutt, someone's tried to scare me off, maybe because of your damned money. I opened my mouth to tell him about the letters, but the words wouldn't come. I liked being with him, talking to him, listening to the cadence of his voice.
“You got as good a claim on my fortune as anyone else. Maybe better-you ain't irritated me yet. And I gotta give some hard thinking to my money now that Lolly's gone.” He shrugged. “I'm sure the folks upstairs realize by now there's one less heir to squabble with over the loot.”
The force of his words hit me like a delayed drug reaction. I nearly dropped my drink. “That's a horrible statement to make after your sister dies.”
“Well, I'll be damned. You got some gumption. I figured you might not have much after I heard you were a librarian.”
I set my brandy down on the table. “And I might have thought you were a no-good, lazy gambler after I heard you won this island in a poker match. But I shouldn't pay any heed to stereotypes.”
He laughed again. “God. I bet you were a little toot as a teenager. Did you have you some fun?”
I tried not to be thrown by the twists and turns that seemed inherent in any conversation with Uncle Mutt. “I guess I did. I was a pretty good kid, though.”
“Sure is a pretty gal you've got with you. She good to you?”
“Yes, sir, she is. She's about the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Well, there's nothing like the love of a good woman.”
His eyes grew wistful. “I won't get none of that after I'm dead. You probably only get lovin' in heaven and I'm hell-bound for sure. Only attention I'll be gettin' is the old devils poking me with their pitchforks.”
I wanted to inquire about what existed between him and Wendy Tran, but I didn't. I felt less an intruder in this house now-or at least in Uncle Mutt's congenial presence-but I didn't feel as though I could ask frank questions such as are you sleeping with a woman young enough to be your granddaughter? Just not done, you know.
I started to tell him how Candace and I met when a slight bump came from the direction of the half-closed library door. Uncle Mutt raised his hand, gesturing me to continue talking, and began tiptoeing toward the door. I hesitated only for a moment, then continued, feeling self-conscious: “Well, Candace was my assistant when I started at the library, but she doesn't work there anymore. She bought a cafe along with my sister Arlene and they run it together-”
