balance round here. And Tricia Yarbrough's been sweet on him since forever. She won't want to believe he's a killer.”
“You're underestimating Judge Yarbrough. She won't relent on him, or anyone else she thinks killed Lolly. After all, she ordered the additional tests.”
Philip shrugged. “Then maybe it becomes more important than ever that he vanish. And sooner rather than later.”
“Your brother thinks Mutt is the poisoner,” I blurted.
Philip cocked a finger at me, and I realized I still held the unloaded gun. I tucked it back into my pants.
“Tom might be dead on. Lolly finds out that Mutt's faking his own demise and she threatens to expose him if he doesn't stay. He takes Jake's medicine and doses her wine with it. She dies from what looks like a heart attack. Even if the poison gets detected, he can always point to her eccentricities as evidence of craziness, of suicide. That'd be conveniently backed up by the cards she sent you.”
“I don't think Mutt knew about those,” I countered. “But what about Aubrey? Mutt tried to kill him.”
Philip shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe Aubrey found out about his scheme somehow. And Aubrey wasn't winning over anyone with that book he was planning.” He didn't elaborate, and I didn't offer my own version- Aubrey let Mutt know he had stumbled across the truth about Paul's, or Brian's, death.
“I don't want to add to your hurt,” Philip said softly. “But maybe Aubrey wasn't the target. Maybe he was just someone who drank the same cranberry juice Candace did.”
The suggestion froze my heart. “Mutt would have no reason to hurt Candace. None at all.”
Philip's blue eyes looked a great deal like Pop's sometimes did, heavy and sad. “Except you haven't been exactly subtle about poking your nose in folks' business. And your dad's bragged to Mutt and Lolly-actually all of us, when you're not around-about your involvement in solving crimes. Maybe he aimed to poison Candace-not to kill her, just make her sick-to scare you off.”
“Then he miscalculated severely.”
Philip surprised me with a quick squeeze of my shoulder. “It's too bad I don't like you. We could've been friends.”
“You can't pick your relatives,” I said, and he laughed softly.
“You bring that gun up here to shoot me? Just curious.”
“No. It's not loaded. I wanted to scare you.” I glanced toward the window. I could not place why I believed Philip and not Mutt. Perhaps because Mutt had avoided my eyes, and Philip had been frank with his looks. Minor but telling.
“You scared me. For a minute.” He coughed again. “I am truly sorry about Candace and your baby.”
I grabbed his arm. “Then help me nail the son-of-a-bitch.”
He cocked an eyebrow and looked half-amused. “How? What should we do?”
“Force him to open the safe. See if he's still got those ID papers there.”
“That gun of yours didn't just become magically loaded, did it? Just how are we supposed to force him to do anything-”
And that's when the lights went out, popping like the last beat of a heart.
Philip and I stumbled out onto the second-floor hallway. It was pitch-dark. He had no candles or flashlights in his room, and I groped my way along the wall.
“Find Mutt,” Philip hissed. “I want to know where the hell he is.”
Brief illumination came with a scattershot of lightning arcing across the sky. “You find him. I gotta check on Can-dace.” Still carrying my unloaded gun, I sidled to the stairs and ran up to the top floor.
Candace's room was locked. I knocked hard and identified myself when Gretchen called for my name. The door opened a fraction.
One candle had been lit, shining weakly on the crowd gathered within. Candace-and now Aubrey, too-lay in bed, both still. Aubrey was mumbling to himself. Candace seemed flushed. Sass leaned over them both. Deborah, Sass, Pop, and Gretchen sat around the bed. Sweetie blinked at me, nestled against Gretchen's foot.
I closed the door behind me. They all stared at me.
“You've been in a fight,” Deborah noted.
“Are they okay? What's wrong-” I began to babble, but Sass cut me off with a wave of her hand.
“They're holding on. But it was too much for Deborah to run from room to room, so Bob Don carried Aubrey in here.” Her voice lowered a notch toward tenderness. “It was best not to move Candace.” I noticed then-Sass's right hand was linked with Aubrey's, her left with Candace's.
“Has she asked for me?” I leaned down and kissed Candace's forehead. She didn't stir in response.
“No,” Deborah answered. She mopped gently at Candace's brow. “They're slipping into coma, Jordan. We've got to get them to a hospital. I say we try the boats, even in the storm.” Sass moaned, averting her face from the rest of us.
“The power's out,” I announced, stating the obvious.
“What's going on downstairs?” Pop demanded. “I go down, you and Mutt are glaring at each other, he won't talk to me, he starts yelling for Wendy-”
“Stay here. All of you. Lock the door behind me. And don't open for anyone but me.”
“This is insane,” Sass blurted. “Acting frightened in our own house-”
“Aunt Sass, please.” I begged. “Just stay here. Aubrey needs you. So does Candace.”
She blinked at me, then at her brother. She fell silent and leaned her cheek against the quilts covering Aubrey's stomach.
“I'm coming with you,” Pop announced. He clambered to his feet.
“No, Pop, stay here. Protect the-”
“I can assure you,” Deborah announced icily, “that I can protect myself, and so can Gretchen and Sass.”
“Fine! Then y'all protect Pop! I don't want him in any trouble tonight!” My requests then apparently heeded, I kissed Candace's forehead again and dashed for the door.
“Take the candle!” Gretchen called.
“No,” I answered. “Deb needs it.” I shut the door on Gretchen's reply. A moment later I heard the bolt slide home.
They'd be safe in that room. I hoped.
I felt my way along the wall, stumbling. I could hear voices raised in hue and cry two floors below, shouts of two men and one woman's strident tone. Mutt, Wendy, and Philip, probably having it out.
I made a quick stop by my room, where I fetched a matchbook and the candle I'd used to explore the attic. (I didn't want to think about what I'd seen there while the entire house was bathed in darkness.)
I was tentatively feeling my way down the stairs when the shots rang out.
24
I crouched in the stairway, listening. Above the lashing cry of the storm the only regular sound was the intense drum of my heartbeat.
Another gunshot erupted. I hugged against the wall.
You see, I've been shot before. I know the lancing agony of a bullet ripping through skin and muscle, the heat of it kissing your bone, the blind pain that defies imagination. Terror welled up in me like black blood from a deep wound. My breath rattled in my chest.
A voice from above whispered harshly, “Son?”
Pop. I grimaced. “Pop! Go back upstairs. Stay with the others!”
“No, I won't. I ain't gonna let you go down there-”
“Listen.” I nimbly ascended a few steps to where I could see his outline, crouching in the heavy blackness of the hallway. “One of us has to go. I'll go. I think the shooting's over. No one's screaming, so maybe no one's hurt.” I believe this technique is called clutching at straws. But I didn't share that thought with Pop. I shoved the gun toward his hands in the darkness. “Is there a cartridge for this up here?”
“I don't know. I don't think so. Mutt always kept all the guns in his study.” Pop's voice was strained, pleading.
