Blood Relations (28 page)

“Ketchum, don't do anything stupid. You know we can track you in this snow,” the sheriff said. “Plus, if you're out too long in this, you could die of exposure.”

“Gimme your keys, Danny,” Jeremiah said.

“Don't be stupid,” the sheriff yelled. “Lay down your weapon.”

Jeremiah stepped closer to me and Danny, closing the space in seconds. An expression of regret played across the sheriff's face. Was he upset that he hadn't shot Jeremiah when he had the chance? The sheriff and I have had our differences, but I could honestly say that if Colin could spare a human life, he would. He couldn't have known that Jeremiah would make this move.

“Come on, Danny. Let's get in the car and go,” Jeremiah said. “You and me.”

I couldn't see Danny's expression, because he was behind me. But I could feel him hesitate.

“Let's walk Mrs. O'Shea to the car, get in, and drive. They won't shoot us if we have her for cover,” Jeremiah said.

“Don't listen to him, Danny,” I said. “Think about it. Once you guys are five miles down the road, he'll shoot you dead and leave you for the crows.”

I looked all around in every direction I could manage. Colin stood there, his feet apart, pistol aimed, ready to fire. Miller was up in the top of the covered bridge, the barrel to his rifle showing. I couldn't see the church behind me, so I wasn't sure if Newsome had come out or not.

Danny started dragging me toward his car. “Danny, don't. He's gonna kill you!” I shouted. I was afraid to struggle too much, because I was sure Danny would just snap my neck.

“Shut up!” Danny said, and tightened his grip around my throat.

“You're a fool,” I said.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Danny opened the driver's side of the car. Jeremiah hunched down so that nobody could get a clear shot at him and got in the car. Then Danny dived into the car and threw me to the ground. My ankle twisted in the process, the same one I'd injured before, and I slid in the snow.

In a blur, Colin and Deputy Newsome circled the car. Danny tried to start it, but it wouldn't turn over. That twenty-year-old Chevette wasn't a very reliable getaway car. I heard one shot fired and then lots of shuffling and running and “Get down! Face in the snow! Don't move!” I wasn't sure, but it sounded as if Deputy Miller actually said, “Don't move, sleazeball.”

None of it much mattered to me. I lay on my back in the snow, looking up at the sky, unable to move from shock. Hot, searing pains shot from my ankle up my shin, but I just lay there. From this position, the snowflakes looked black as they fell from the sky. And then I heard a voice.

“Are you all right? Torie? Are you all right?”

I blinked and realized that it was Colin speaking.

I turned my head slightly to look at him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm fine.”

No, having Hugh Jackman lick your toes is fine …

“Okay, no, I'm not fine. I'm … not bleeding.”

Colin laughed. “Can you move everything?”

I shook my head back and forth.

“No? What can't you move?”

“My left foot.”

“Again?”

“Shut up.”

Thirty-two

A few days later, I sat in my mother's living room with my foot propped up on a pillow. I was thumbing through a
Reminisce
magazine I'd found in a rack next to the couch. My kids were playing in the other room, Rudy was out in the garage with Colin, and my mother was cooking. Fried chicken, hash-brown casserole, homemade biscuits, salad, baby peas, chunky applesauce from Fraulein Krista's, and, my favorite, a Red Velvet cake for dessert. I was in heaven just smelling it.

The doorbell rang, and I yelled, “Come in.”

My father entered the living room, his demeanor hesitant. His big QT mug was in one hand and a single red rose in the other. He saw me lying on the couch and waved. “Hey, Jalena,” he said into the kitchen. My mother answered him, and he made his way toward me. Whatever differences I have with my father, I will say that I love the fact that he and my mother made peace and are friends. He is often a guest at dinner, and he is never excluded from holiday events or birthdays. They actually get along better now than they ever did. My opinion is that my dad is a little jealous that my mother has found so much happiness with Colin, but he would never show it. I can see it, though, in the way he looks at them. Like maybe he is seeing what could have been his if … well, if he'd been a different person.

As much as I hate to admit it, Colin never seems to be bothered by the fact that my dad is around. Which says a lot about Colin. He acts as if it's a perfectly natural thing to have his wife's ex-husband over for dinner.

Dad knelt down next to me and handed me the rose. “How's the foot?”

“Hurts,” I said.

“You know, you're not Angie Dickinson.”

“Dad, you're showing your age.
Policewoman
hasn't been on in twenty-five years,” I said.

“Okay, well … you're not Buffy whatshername,” he said.

“The Vampire Slayer?” I asked.

“Yeah. What kinda last name is Vampire Slayer?” We both laughed a little too forcefully. “Are you changing careers on us?”

“Hey,” I said, palms up. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Like the fact you have a sister?”

“Yeah, who would have ever thought that would happen?” I asked.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked, looking around the room. He has never been good at making eye contact, especially in emotional confrontations.

“I forgive you for fathering a child,” I said. “I'm still working on the fact that you didn't tell me.”

He nodded. “I deserve that, I guess.”

I peered at him cautiously. He never admits guilt. Any minute, I expected his skin to melt off and Pa Ingalls to be sitting there. This was definitely a family bonding moment from somebody else's family. It felt odd.

“I love you,” he said.

The breath caught in my throat. I must have been twelve the last time I heard those words from my father. I knew what it took for him even to think about them, much less actually verbalize them. Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at his aged and weathered face. I saw a man who had lived far too much in the years allotted. And I saw a father, someone often unable to give what is required, but a father nonetheless. I guess you never know where somebody is coming from, unless you walk that person's path. What to one person may seem like an impossibility may seem like the only way out to another. And our decisions are based on what we encounter along that path.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“I didn't upset you, did I?” he asked.

“When?”

“Just now,” he said.

“Huh? Oh, no. My foot is really hurting,” I said, and swiped at a tear.

Just then, the doorbell rang again. I thanked God for the impeccable timing. “Come in!” I called.

The door opened and in walked Stephanie Connelly, followed by her husband, Michael, and her little girl, Julia. Dad looked at me quickly, his eyebrows raised. “We invited them for dinner,” I said.

It was his turn to have tears in his eyes.

“For the first time in my life, I will have my whole family at the same dinner table,” I said.

He squeezed my hand and then went over to Julia and picked her up. “Hi, Julia,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, and hugged him. It was obvious they'd seen each other before but weren't overly comfortable with each other yet.

“Take your coats off and just set them there on the chair,” I said. “The chair is our unofficial coatrack around here.”

I got up off the couch and grabbed my crutches. I introduced myself and shook Michael's hand. He was tall and lanky, and his hands were too big for the rest of his body. His smile was genuine, though, and I liked that. Dad brought Julia over to me. “This is your aunt Torie,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she said in a tiny voice. Blond hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and it was clear from first glance that she had inherited our hazel eyes.

“It's nice to meet you, too,” I said. “Are you always this shy? You'll never last around my Mary.”

My mother wheeled into the living room then and waited at the doorway. Stephanie suddenly appeared nervous. I grabbed her hand and walked her over to my mother. “Stephanie, this is my mom, Jalena.”

“It's … ah … so nice to meet you,” Stephanie said, an uncertain look on her face. Her anxiety was understandable. I suppose some might think of her as the daughter of the enemy. But she didn't know my mother. Even if my mother still held a grudge, she wouldn't have directed it at Stephanie.

“The pleasure is all mine,” my mother said.

With that, Stephanie seemed to relax and take a deep breath. When she did, she couldn't help but smell dinner. “Oh my Lord. What smells so good?”

“Stephanie, my dear, you are about to go through an initiation you'll never forget: Dinner at my mother's,” I said.

“And it can be painful,” Rudy said, coming in from the kitchen.

“I think I'll gladly suffer,” said Stephanie.

Another knock at the door made everybody look around with questioning expressions. Since my dad was the closest to the door, he opened it. Collette was standing there in her fur coat, and her suitcase sat on the front step.

“Steve went to Argentina with the lead singer of another band,” she said, making her way into the living room. “Oooh, did Jalena cook? Hi, I'm Collette. Where do I put my coat? Can you believe he did that? The nerve of him. You don't mind if I stay for dinner, right?”

“Of course not,” I said.

Everybody made their way into the dining room, but I held back a moment, thinking. I thought about how I had jumped to conclusions and assumed Stephanie's contacting me had been because of her cousin, instead of for her own reasons. Even if it had been for just a second, I'd still thought it. I'd had no reason to. No reason other than the fact that I hadn't been able to accept at face value my sister and what she brought into my life. I had immediately thought that she'd had an ulterior motive. Perhaps that New Year's resolution about being more tolerant and understanding had been just words. I'd spoken the words and thought that would make it so. And on my first test of the year, I had failed. Hopefully, I would get better.

And I thought of Jacob Lahrs, who had been killed by both of his partners. When it came down to it, Danny had wanted the diamonds and Jeremiah had wanted the prestige of a great story. Danny, of course, had lied. He had been in the cemetery that day to retrieve the diamonds and was later to split them with Jeremiah Ketchum. Jeremiah had beaten the location out of Jacob, just as we had surmised that day in the office. When I showed up in the cemetery, Danny realized that, regardless of its secluded location, there was always somebody there. And he had no idea how much digging he would have to do to find the diamonds. He just couldn't take a chance on being interrupted by somebody. Even if he could have gotten away without being caught, the location would have been a bust. Somebody would have figured out that there was something hidden there. He would have had to wait until all the hoopla was over.

So, even though he hadn't actually delivered the blow that killed Jacob, Danny had planned the whole thing, and I hoped he would see as much jail time as Jeremiah.

Of course I wished that Jacob Lahrs had not been murdered. But Collette would benefit from his misfortune. For the story of what happened to the Huntleigh heiress was now hers. After the trial, she could have access to any of the footage that Danny Jones had taken while documenting Jacob's exploration of the wreck. But she might not need it. She had a pretty good story without it. And in typical Collette fashion, she would do it up good.

“Hey, Torie,” Dad said. “Are you coming?”

“There won't be anything left to eat if you don't get in here!” Rudy called.

I hopped into the dining room and saw all the adults piled around the table, and the kids sitting at the little table that Mom had set up for them. My heart swelled as I looked at all of them. This was my family. Even Sheriff Colin Brooke.

A
LSO BY
R
ETT
M
AC
P
HERSON

Killing Cousins

A Misty Mourning

A Comedy of Heirs

A Veiled Antiquity

Family Skeletons

BLOOD RELATIONS
. Copyright © 2003 by Rett MacPherson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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First Edition: April 2003

eISBN 9781466888814

First eBook edition: December 2014