Bloodlines (17 page)

“Am I to understand that they no longer need DNA from me?” Terrence asked.

Marcus hardly knew what to say. “I couldn't say for certain, but it's doubtful. It's too bad you were already en route, or you wouldn't have had to come after all.”

“Oh, we didn't really
have
to come. We could have done all the testing from there, but we felt horrible about what was happening and wanted to come give our support,” Carolyn said.

“Thank you,” Marcus said. “I'm just sorry that Olivia isn't able to be here with us.”

Carolyn fiddled nervously with the silverware as they waited.

“I still can't get over what happened to her. It's just awful. Some crazed man attacked her without provocation? Is that right?”

“Basically,” Marcus said. “He was delusional and guilt-ridden over some previous crime, and he thought that killing Olivia would be reparation enough that God would forgive him for his first mistake.”

Terrence's expression darkened. Neither man would have admitted or wanted to acknowledge it, but their resemblance to each other had grown as they aged. Carolyn, however, jumped right on it.

“Look at him,” she said, pointing to her husband. “You two could pass for brothers.”

A muscle jumped in Marcus's jaw, and Terrence quickly looked away.

Then Carolyn laid her hand on Marcus's arm and lowered her voice.

“This must be so difficult for you. Finding out that Michael…well, you know.”

“They're going to question you,” Marcus said.

She looked taken aback.

“Me? But why?”

“Because I made the mistake of mentioning that you and Michael had always been close friends. The detective, Trey Bonney, is hoping you'll be able to come up with something to help them find out who the mother of the other baby might be.”

Carolyn's face flushed pink, then a ghostly shade of pale.

“I'm sorry, Carolyn, but I wanted to warn you.”

Terrence's eyebrows knitted angrily.

“Look here, Marcus. Just because—”

“Hush, dear,” Carolyn said sharply. “This is a horrible thing, and I'm happy to do my part, although, to be honest, I don't think I'll be much help.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said. “Oh good, here come our drinks.”

“And the appetizers look marvelous,” Carolyn said.

She picked up a small triangle of toast with a sliver of roast beef and a dollop of horseradish sauce, and popped it into her mouth.

“That is so good,” she said, then picked up another and aimed it at Terrence's mouth. “Open wide.”

He obliged, then made all the proper noises about
the blending of tastes while Marcus wished him to hell and gone.

And so the evening passed.

 

Anna was crying. She didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten there. She kept opening doors and staring at the clothes hanging in the closet, and peering in drawers at her underwear folded there. She was pretty sure they were hers. She thought she remembered them in her laundry, but she couldn't find her washer or her dryer, and when she wanted to go outside, they wouldn't let her past this floor.

She felt as if she was in prison, but she couldn't figure out why. She hadn't done anything wrong. She was a good person. Everybody said so. And she kept looking for her little Olivia. She'd promised Mr. Marcus she would come home with him and look after her again, but they were nowhere to be found. She'd asked a woman for the telephone, but the woman had told her to go back to her room; then she'd taken Anna by the arm and walked her there herself.

Now Anna was sitting in the dark on the edge of her bed, watching the pictures changing on the television screen without acknowledging what she saw. It wasn't until the evening news came on and she saw the footage of a fire in a downtown hotel that she began to moan.

The fire was big. People were standing on a roof waving and crying while a helicopter took them one by one to safety.

There had been a fire at her house. No. Not her
house. Someone else's house. The fire trucks had come there, too. She closed her eyes, trying to remember.

Rose was in the kitchen. They were cooking. The television was on. Rose saw the fire, too. It was big and burning up the building.

Daisies. There were daisies on the wall.
I took them off the wall and laid them down. Daisies aren't supposed to be on the wall. They're supposed to be in water. But there wasn't water. Only fire.

Anna slid off the end of the bed and crawled into a corner of the room, then turned her face to the wall. A few minutes later, someone came into her room and called out a name, but she didn't recognize it. The footsteps came closer. Someone touched her shoulder.

“Anna…would you like me to help you into bed?”

“Who's Anna?”

“You are, dear. Now let's get up off the floor and into bed.”

Anna grabbed at her arm, then pulled herself up.

“Somebody, please, I'm lost. I don't know the way home. Someone needs to come and get me now. I want to go home.”

“I know, dear. But you don't feel very well, and I think you need to feel better first, don't you?”

Anna let herself be led to the bed; then the woman took off Anna's shoes and sweater, pulled back the covers and helped her lie down.

“There now, doesn't that feel better?” the woman asked.

Anna's arms felt empty. “I can't find my Olivia. I
take care of her, you know. She likes to be rocked to sleep, and I can't find her.”

“I'll help you look tomorrow, okay? Here, open your mouth.”

Anna did as she was told and felt something being dropped on her tongue.

“Take a sip of water, dear. This will help you sleep.”

“I'm tired, aren't I?” Anna said.

The woman stroked Anna's face, then her hair.

“Yes, dear, I believe you are.”

Anna sighed. It was good for someone to tell her things. She'd forgotten so many things on her own that it was good to know what she was supposed to do.

T
errence Sealy stared at himself in the mirror, looking for signs of the man he used to be. He didn't know whether he was kidding himself or not, maybe letting himself believe that man no longer existed because he couldn't bear to be alive in this man's skin.

He touched his face. His jowls were sagging. He vaguely remembered his father's face looking a bit like this, although the eyes were different. He remembered his father's expression as more dissolute. He'd been such a bastard, his father, but as much as he'd hated him and as hard as he'd tried to be different, he'd turned out just like him. There wasn't a day of his life when he didn't relive what he'd done to Amelia or remember the hate and rage on Marcus's face when he'd come into his room. There were days when he could deal with it, and then there were other times, like tonight, when he wished he'd never lived through the beating.

He heard a sound behind him. He didn't have to look to know it was Carolyn. When she came up behind him, he saw the tears in her eyes. He hated it when she cried.

“Don't,” he said, and opened his arms.

“You're a good man, Terrence Sealy.”

Terrence sighed as he pulled her close.

“You're the only one who thinks so.”

“You didn't mean to. You were hurt. You were drunk.”

He started to shake. “I fucking raped my cousin's fiancée the night before her wedding. If it had happened to you, would it have been okay?”

Carolyn's face crumpled. “I love you, Terry. I always have. I always will.”

“I know…and I thank God every day of my life for you, but it doesn't change what I think about myself.”

“We shouldn't have come back here,” she said. “It's all my fault. I wanted to come home so bad that I didn't think of what it might do to you.”

“No…no…don't talk like that. We had no choice, and you know it. We couldn't leave Marcus to deal with this horror alone.” Then he looked at Carolyn closer. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” she asked.

“Know anything…about Michael having an affair, I mean?”

Carolyn frowned. “No…at least…I don't think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Carolyn leaned against him, taking comfort from the strength of his embrace.

“Once or twice I caught Kay crying. I didn't think anything of it at the time. You know…couples fuss. Couples make up. But maybe she knew something.”

“What are you going to tell the police?”

She shrugged. “What can I tell them but the truth?”

 

Rose sat in her sister's living room, trying to ignore the loud, obnoxious voice of her brother-in-law's demands. To this day, she couldn't understand how her sister could have married him. As children they'd been the darlings of the family; as young adults, they'd had many opportunities to succeed; and yet here they were, a cook for a rich man and a doormat for a drunk.

Rose rarely let herself dwell on the past. She'd had everything going for her. A man who loved her—or so she thought—and promises of a happy-ever-after life. It just hadn't happened.

She folded her hands neatly in her lap and pasted a quiet smile on her face as her brother-in-law fell asleep, passed out in a chair on the other side of the room. She was upset about what had happened with Anna. She'd assured Mr. Marcus that she could handle the woman; then, the moment she'd turned her back, Anna had set fire to the house. She wanted to cry. If they fired her, she would be devastated. Then she told herself that they weren't like that. They wouldn't blame her for something a crazy woman did.

Rose pushed off in the rocker and set it to moving. It squeaked softly with every motion. One of the rockers needed to be reglued. If it belonged to her, she would already have seen to the problem. She didn't know why her sister was so slovenly. Then she glanced at her brother-in-law and sighed. If she had to live with someone like him, she might let things slide, too.

“Rose…supper is ready. Come and eat!”

Rose winced. Her sister didn't have to shout. She
was only in the other room. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, so she got up and moved into the kitchen and tried not to think of the woman who'd set fire to her world.

 

Trey had been up for hours, going over everything he had on the case of Baby Jane Doe, which was little to nothing. He'd researched the brand of suitcase the bones had been in, looked for artists who specialized in woodwork and wood-burning art with a bent toward religion, and read all there was to be had on Foster Lawrence.

According to the background check, Lawrence was the youngest of five children, born to a single mother who seemed to make a living out of having babies, the total of her monthly welfare check going up with each birth.

The oldest child was a boy named James, who had died in a gang war when he was sixteen. The second child, a girl named Cheryl, had overdosed at the age of twenty-two and was in a coma in some state-run institution back in Cleveland. The next two children had been twin girls, Laree and Sheree. There was no information on them past the age of eighteen. Then there was Foster, the youngest, who, except for a couple of scrapes with the law in his teens, had no record whatsoever. Until the Sealy kidnapping.

And to Trey, that was what didn't add up. Kidnapping was a federal offense. Perps who got involved in high crimes like that usually had priors. It wasn't normal for some ordinary person to make that kind of leap—unless there were extenuating circumstances.
Sometimes during a divorce one parent would kidnap a child from a custodial parent, but it wasn't common for someone to get involved as deeply as Foster Lawrence had done without a reason other than money. He needed to get Foster to open up.

He had gone to sleep dreaming of the case, trying to think what it would take to make a fairly decent man get mixed up in something as vile as murder and kidnapping. Lawrence hadn't been known to run with any particular crowd. There wasn't anyone—except his siblings—to whom Foster Lawrence had been attached.

It was with that thought in mind that Trey awoke. He knew what had happened to two of Lawrence's siblings. Just for the hell of it, he decided to find out where the twin sisters were. If Foster had stayed in contact with them, they might know who he'd been hanging out with. It could be the lead he needed to find the killer of Baby Jane Doe. Just as he was closing the last file, his alarm went off.

“Well, damn,” Trey muttered when he realized it was time to start a new day. Then he remembered what was happening this morning. Livvie. He was bringing Livvie home today.

Exhaustion was forgotten as he headed for the shower.

 

Olivia was dressed and waiting when she heard Trey's footsteps outside her door. She stood up in anticipation, not just because she was finally getting out of the hospital, but because Trey was coming to take her home with him. She'd spent most of her high
school years wanting this to happen, but it never had. Back in high school, he'd been part of a family, however imperfect, and she'd been so envious. His father had a reputation for being a hard drinker, but Trey loved him. His mother waited tables in a restaurant and paid their electric bill from her tips, and he adored her. He had two older brothers, one who was career military, and the other a fireman in Houston, who bragged about their little brother, the football star, to all their friends. The Bonney family could have paid off the mortgage on their house with what Marcus spent in one year for Olivia's clothes. They hadn't wanted her in Trey's life any more than Marcus had wanted Trey in hers. Yet here they were, eleven years later, back in each other's lives. For Olivia, it was a dream come true.

She patted nervously at her hair, wishing she could have styled it, but heartily glad just to have it clean. She'd been given permission to shower this morning and had been almost giddy at the news. It wasn't until she'd had to endure several days of enduring bed baths that she'd realized the true freedom of being able to bathe on her own.

Her gaze focused on the door, waiting for it to move. When it began to swing inward, she caught herself holding her breath. Then she saw Trey silhouetted in the doorway. Tears suddenly blurred her vision, but she blinked them away.

“Hey, you're up and dressed,” Trey said as he carefully took her in his arms. Ever careful of her injuries, he hugged her gently, then bent down and kissed her square on the lips.

Olivia groaned softly.

Trey sighed.

“Hold that thought,” he said, and cupped the back of her head as she rested her forehead against his chest.

“Holding on for dear life,” she said.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“I just have to sign some papers at the nurses' station on the way out.”

“Is that your wheelchair?” he asked, pointing to the one against the wall.

“Yes, they won't let me walk out.”

“That's okay,” Trey said. “I'm all about following the rules.” He took her by the arm and led her to the wheelchair. “Your carriage awaits, my love.”

Olivia shivered as she sat. “Am I, Trey?”

Trey grinned as he knelt to flip down the footrests.

“Are you what, Livvie?”

“Your love?”

The grin disappeared. “Yes, ma'am, you sure are.”

“You don't think this is all happening too fast?”

“Do you?”

Olivia shook her head, then cupped Trey's cheek with her hand.

“No way, but what did happen too fast was the almost-end of my life. That's what was startling. After I woke up and realized I was still breathing, I made myself a promise that I would never live another day with regrets. So, for better or for worse, I'm baring my heart to you, Trey. I've always regretted the way our first relationship ended. When I asked you for a sec
ond chance, I was serious. I admit we have a lot of catching up to do, but I'm so ready for this to begin.”

Trey turned her hands palms up, kissing first one, then the other.

“So am I, Livvie, so am I,” he said.

Then he stood, slung the strap of her overnight bag over his shoulder and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.

“Let's blow this joint,” he said.

“Yes, please,” Olivia said as he wheeled her away.

Within the hour, Trey was pulling into his driveway. He liked his house. It was comfortable in every way that mattered to him, but there was a moment of hesitation as he wondered how Olivia would view it.

The single-story three-bedroom redbrick house was about twenty years old. Trey had owned it for almost ten. Over the years he'd added a veranda in front and a small pool in the back. Crepe myrtle bushes encircled the yard in lieu of a fence. Olivia could smell the thick, sweet scent of their blooms as Trey opened the door.

“This is beautiful,” Olivia said. “Did you do the landscaping?”

Trey shrugged. “Yeah, if you want to call it that. There's more in the backyard around the pool.”

“You have a pool, too?”

He grinned. “Yeah, Livvie, I have a pool, too.”

“Great. The doctor said water therapy would be helpful for my shoulder.” Then she looked at him and grinned. “And seeing you in a swimsuit wouldn't be so bad, either.”

Trey leaned across the seat until his mouth was just a few inches from her lips.

“I don't wear a swimsuit when I swim,” he said.

Olivia's eyes widened.

“What about your neighbors?”

“There's a privacy fence in the backyard.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, Livvie, it's time to get you inside and in bed.”

“My kind of man,” Olivia muttered. “No sense wasting time on foreplay.”

Trey frowned. “In bed as in resting.”

“I know. I was just testing you.”

Trey chalked her sarcasm up to nerves.

“Come on, Livvie, relax. We're going to get you inside, get your feet up and your shoes off. Ella will be over any time I give her the call, so after I leave, you won't be alone, okay?”

Olivia was feeling a little vulnerable and didn't know what she thought about being forced to spend the day with a stranger. But then she realized she'd been doing that very thing for the last week in the hospital. At least here she had the freedom of the house.

“Yes, okay,” she said. “I am feeling a little tired.”

Trey frowned. “Sorry, honey, why didn't you say so? I don't know what I was thinking.”

He got her out, but instead of helping her inside, he picked her up and carried her to the door. He set her down only long enough to unlock the door, then picked her up again and carried her inside.

Olivia had fleeting glimpses of large, airy rooms,
a big-screen television, overstuffed furniture, hardwood floors and a desk piled high with folders, papers and a computer.

“This will be your room,” Trey said as he set her down on the side of a queen-size sleigh bed, then pulled back the covers. “My room is right across the hall, so all you'll need to do is call out and I'll come running.”

“Okay.”

He cupped the side of her face.

“Relax, Livvie…we've got the rest of our lives to get through this awkward stage. All I want from you now is for you to get well.”

“I know. I want that, too.”

“Do you want your nightgown?”

“What I would really like is my old T-shirt, but it's at my house, so I guess the nightgown will have to do.”

“What's so special about that T-shirt?” Trey asked.

“It's big and old and soft.”

“Just a minute,” Trey said, and hurried out of the room. He came back with what looked like a large white rag. “Try this,” he said, and spread it out on the bed. There was a big DPD, Dallas Police Department, logo on the front.

Olivia started to grin. “How long have you had that?”

“Since the police academy…which would be at least ten years.”