“Codes of silence, remember? Say nothing?”
“Just tell me.”
“Aubrey ran away from Sass when he was a teenager. He went to Houston. He got involved in the drug trade, as a runner. He ain't real proud of those days.”
“Good God.” Aubrey, freely dispensing advice, trying to place a mental Band-Aid on the emotional wounds we dared to show. I wondered how much human wreckage he'd seen in his days of coke and roses.
“Philip was dealing drugs, trading a lot with the other stockbrokers in town, the lowlifes who thought they were big shits. Aubrey made a delivery to Philip, not knowing his own cousin was a dealer.”
“As things go, that's not so bad.”
“Perhaps.” Mutt didn't appear convinced. “But it gets worse. Aubrey found out Philip was dealing to Tom-his own brother. Tom was nearly dead from snorting coke. And Philip was still dealing it hard to him.”
My throat felt cold. “Feeding his own brother's addiction?”
“Yes. Philip's the most heartless animal on this planet.”
“Yet you're willing to protect him.”
Mutt shook his head. “Aubrey probably was going to write all about Philip in his new book. Philip was never arrested, never suspected as far as I know, of dealing drugs. He'd lose his business, his freedom, if this all came to light.”
Mutt turned to me, his arms open wide. “See? See how it has to be? I don't want this known. What's the point?”
“The point? How about making Philip pay for what he did?”
“When Aubrey finally broke free of that life, and went home to Sass-he told her about Tom. Sass called me, and I got Tom the hell away from Philip and got him into treatment. I done saved Tom's life, not that he's ever shown much gratitude.” He sniffled, and lightning flashed in the window like an explosion of light. I imagined a bolt piercing the bay's skin of water, burrowing into the murky depths like God's own finger.
“You're lying to me,” I said in a clear, calm voice.
“No”-he shook his head-”I'm not. God's truth, Jordan.”
“Then why do you even have Philip here? If he stole from you and he peddled dope to his own brother, why do you invite him?”
'Tom and Philip have made their peace. They're brothers again. That's probably why Tom and Aubrey have been so crossways, Aubrey trying to make life more difficult for Philip.” Mutt saw the disbelief in my eyes. He coughed. “Why do I have your father here, when he shot his own brother to death?”
“That's different!”
“No. No, it ain't. I have Philip here because this way I can keep an eye on him. And I can hope he changes his ways.”
“Aubrey and Candace are paying the price for your hope.”
He wouldn't look at me.
“You still think Lolly killed herself-after you saw Philip slipping that book about digitalis poisoning back on your shelf?”
“I didn't see that. You did.”
I still didn't believe him. The truth was near the skin of what he said, but he was holding back. “And how do you explain Brian's death?”
Mutt looked genuinely puzzled. “Brian? That was an accident.”
“Brian knew his father didn't commit suicide. And somehow, that proof came to Aubrey. Now what the hell does any of that have to do with Philip?”
“Brian drowned. He was just a kid, nobody would've wanted to hurt him,” Mutt said. His skin had gone snow pale and the corners of his mouth whitened as he frowned. “For God's sake, Jordan. I'm awful sorry about what happened to Candace. Philip's to blame, and that's all there is to it. Now I've told you, and you know now.” His voice grew low. “You deal with Philip as you want. There ain't no cause to be digging up the past. It's just gonna hurt your daddy more.”
I stood and walked past him. The gun still lay on the bar. I hefted it in my hand and turned so Mutt was clearly in the barrel's sights.
“I can believe some of what you say. Philip selling dope and stealing money, Tom letting drugs ruin his life, Aubrey running away from home. But you're only telling me a half-truth. It doesn't all fit together, Mutt, and that's not enough.”
He raised one eyebrow. “You going to shoot me?”
I ignored his question. “Do you think we're all idiots? Oh, no doubt Jake and Sass have kept their silence. When Paul vanished, I'm sure people thought it was for the best- the wife killer's taken his own life, he can't hurt anyone, his children don't have to bear the shame of a trial and such. Maybe even when Brian died, folks thought it a terrible accident. And when Lolly collapsed across the table, it was a little easier to say: she was nuts, she sent insane letters to me, she thought her dog was her husband reborn. So she had a heart attack or must've killed herself. Aren't you sick of the long list of lies?”
His eyes were stones. “I've told you truth.”
“Maybe half of it. That's the best lie to tell.” I cracked the magazine open; it wasn't loaded. “I see it's a specialty of yours.” I crossed to the phone and tried it again. Still dead.
The shut doors of the study rattled and Pop blustered in, fright in his face. My heart froze. “Candace?”
“She's the same. I think she's resting a little easier.” He glanced from Mutt to me. “What's going on here?”
“Your son's ready to destroy our family.” Mutt spoke sharply.
“This family was destroyed long before I got here,” I answered. I stuck the unloaded gun in my pocket. Mutt wasn't the only one who could benefit from a prop. “Excuse me.”
I left them, heading up the stairs. To Philip's room.
23
The lowing sounds of men singing Gregorian chants surprised me as I leaned close to Philip's shut door. The voices rose as if a cathedral lay on the other side of the wood. Throats hummed in praise of God, baritones mixing with the cry of countertenors.
Funeral music for Philip was fine with me.
I knocked on the door. The music diminished in volume after a moment, and Philip bade me come in.
I swung the door open. He lay on his bed in a thin robe, hands on his chest in monkish repose. He barely glanced at me, then returned to considering the ceiling.
“Contemplating your sins?” I asked.
“No. I can't undo anything I've done. I just go on.” He blinked at me. “I hope you didn't beat up my brother too bad.”
“Neither one of us is worse for wear.” I closed the door behind me. I walked to the side of his bed, the vague sense of distaste I felt whenever I was near him rearing its head. A stack of tapes stood by a portable player. Palestrina, a Mozart mass, a collection of Gregorian chant, and a name I didn't recognize. I picked up the cassette. “Gesualdo. Tenebrae.”
“He was a murderer. Aside from being a talented composer.”
“Like drawn to like?”
He fixed his blue eyes on me. “I may be many things, but I'm not a killer. How are Candace and Aubrey doing?”
“Do you care?”
He watched my face. “Actually, I do. I think you're a pain, but Candace seems perfectly nice, if a bit too enthralled with you.”
“And no bad blood between you and Aubrey?”
“I don't care much for hypocrites, but I hope Aubrey's okay. I'm sorry it's taken their suffering to bring this
