Leaving Carolina (6 page)

Disturbed by the disparity between the past and the present, I enter, close the door, then peer beyond the pillars that mark the end of the entryway and the beginning of the great hallway. Various rooms are set left and right, and at the farthest reach is the grand staircase. It appears to be in no better shape, and yet Artemis assured me Uncle Obe had enough money to keep up the estate in an acceptable manner. Obviously, our definitions
of acceptable
don’t match.

So now I’m inside the Pickwick mansion and soon to be at the center of a Pickwick mess. I almost wish I had accepted Mom’s offer
to accompany me, which she made after I confronted her about her conversation with Artemis. She admitted to filling him in on our lives, which would be fine had she left out the reason I started carrying a pistol. None of his—or anyone’s—business.

And that’s why I turned down Mom’s offer. She’s not anyone’s business either. L.A. may be big and scary at times, but it’s more diverse and accepting than Pickwick. Mom has friends there, a well-paying job at an insurance company, and a good church. She’s happy, not just
trying
to be happy. Thus, the town of Pickwick is going to stay in her past, and as soon as I’m done here, it will return to mine.

I venture deeper into the house, the only sound that of my heels as I transition from the rug to the wood floor—until I hear a creak from the direction of the library.

Probably the house settling
. Still, I squeeze the pistol through my purse.
Or it could be Axel
. “Hello?”

Another creak, followed by a growl. Was that a dog? Some wild creature stalking the hallways, waiting for its next meal to show up? Might that be me?

I pull out the pistol and back away.

“Hey,” a voice calls from the library, “is that you?”

That
wasn’t Axel.

The growl sounds again.

“Uh…” The one in the library clears his throat. “I could use a little help in here, cuz.”

Surprise, surprise. I step forward, slide a hand around the doorway, and flip the light switch.

My “cuz” doesn’t seem well, but the beast at the foot of the rolling ladder probably has something to do with that. If not for my pistol, I’d be scared sick too.

I move through the doorway and look from the blond man on the angled twelve-foot ladder to the dog, whose head is turned in an almost-casual manner toward me. As big and mangy as he is, he’s kind of cute in a Benji-on-steroids way—until his eyes lock on my pistol. Then he whips around and growls. Not so cute.

“Hey,” says my twang-infected cousin, “long time, no see.”

Not long enough. “What are you doing up there, Bart?”

“Cowerin’. Have you seen the points on those teeth?”

“Let me rephrase that. What are you doing sneaking around Uncle Obe’s home?”

The dog takes a predatory step toward me, and I catch my breath.

“He doesn’t like the gun. Put it away.”

Right. When all that stands between me and death or dismemberment is a bullet?

The dog shows more teeth, causing my trigger finger to tremble. He’s going to force my hand. I don’t have to shoot to kill, though, just to disable. “Don’t make me do it.” My final warning. “Back off!”

“Ah, Piper, you aren’t gonna shoot the dog, are you? He’s just doing his job.”

That hadn’t occurred to me. Does he belong to Uncle Obe? Did the gardener leave him inside to discourage intruders?

“And he’s good at it.” Bart chuckles. “Got me up a ladder.”

My cousin, the intruder. “Speaking of which—”

The dog makes its move. I yelp and seek him in my sights.
Aim low
.

“Errol! Halt!” A hand reaches from behind me, closes over my gun arm, and swings it to the right.

Despite my thundering fear, I don’t squeeze the trigger, and I don’t know why. Unless I’m just a pistol-toting wannabe who doesn’t have the guts to pull the trigger on anything beyond a paper target. But in this case that might be a good thing. The growling, fang-bearing beast has transformed into a tail-wagging mutt.

“Sit!” Axel continues to hold my arm with the pistol pointed at the floor.

The dog obeys, ears perked and tongue lolling as it looks at the man over my shoulder.

Warm air sweeps my ear, causing strange sensations to zip through me. “I told you to wait in the car,” Axel says with the studied patience of one speaking to a naughty child.

That does it—no more sensation. Just me and a man who has no business touching me, especially since I’m practically spoken for. I pop my head around to tell him to remove his paw, but when we come face to face, he looks even better indoors, despite a clenched jaw. It must be the eyes. None of that gray stuff people pass off as blue—myself included. They’re… well… capital-
B
Blue.

He continues to glare at me, and when I don’t respond, his eyes soften with questioning, but only for a moment. Then he steps from behind and pulls the pistol from my hand. “You could have killed Artemis’s dog.”

“Or your cousin,” Bart says. “I told her to put down the gun, Axel, but did she listen? No, just as unreasonable as ever.”

Yanked back to my
unreasonable
self who, for one crazy moment, was attracted to Uncle Obe’s gardener, I reach for my pistol. “Give me that.”

He flicks on the safety, then slides my pistol into his waistband as he walks farther into the library.

“That’s mine!” I hurry after him.

At the base of the rolling ladder that juts out from rows of cloth-and leather-bound tomes, Axel halts. And though I’m tempted to snatch the pistol from his pants, reason prevails. Curling sore fingers into sore palms, I follow his gaze up the ladder.

My cousin, his back to a jumbled shelf, smiles.

“Artemis told you what would happen if you were caught sneaking around the property again,” Axel says.

Bart does surprise well—unless you know him. Then it’s akin to crying wolf. His quirkily appealing face, which has gotten him out of trouble more times than he deserves, opens wide and innocent. “Why, I just dropped by to welcome my long-lost cousin home.” He nods at me, as if seeking agreement.

Which he doesn’t get.

“And, I suppose, that required turning off the power while I was in town?”

Bart’s eyebrows shoot up. “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of something so underhanded.”

“The switch was thrown on the main power box.”

“And you think I did it?”

Axel lowers his gaze, then pointedly trails it up the ladder to where Bart perches near the ceiling. “You came in through a window.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” My cousin considers the big dog in the doorway. “Is it safe to come down? I’m getting a cramp.”

“That depends on whether someone wants to press charges for breaking and entering.”

Bart chuckles. “You know my uncle won’t do that.”

“Your cousin might.”

The eyes Bart turns on me are puppy-dog big. “You wouldn’t, would you, cuz?”

I wish he wouldn’t call me that. It tempts me
to
do a thing like that. But he is my cousin. “Far be it from me to fault you for welcoming me back in such a creative manner…
cuz.”

Bart gives Axel a “ha!” look.

“However, in future, you’ll need to present yourself at the front door when you come to call.” Another Southern moment…

“Now that the element of surprise is no longer a consideration, it would be my pleasure.” Bart descends and, to my dismay, falls on my neck. “Welcome home, Piper.”

Home
.

He pulls back. “You’ve changed—for the better.”

Some compliments are best left unspoken.
And comebacks
.

“If Artemis hadn’t said you were coming home, I wouldn’t have recognized you.” He takes a step back. “Well, I did what I came to do—”

Did he?

“—so I’ll get going and let you settle in.”

As Bart starts to turn away, I find my social skills. “How are Bridget and Bonnie?”

“Uh…still my sisters.”

I bite back sarcasm. “I mean, what are they up to?”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Bonbon got her degree, married her professor, and has twins. She doesn’t visit often, what with all the research she and her husband are involved in. As for Bridge, she’s still into her silly environmental causes—in seventh heaven with all this go green’ movement. Oh, and she’s widowed.”

News to me, since the filter between L.A. and Pickwick became increasingly clogged with each passing year.

Bart shrugs again. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

I’ll say. “I’m sorry Bridget lost her husband.”

His face falls a degree. “Yeah, freak accident. Happens to the best of us.”

O… kay. I glance at Axel, but his chin is down, and I’m certain that his interest in his shoes is a front. Back to Bart. “And I’m happy for Bonnie.”

“Thanks.” He tosses his hands up. “I’d better get going.”

At Bart’s approach, the dog stops thumping his tail, and when my cousin reaches a hand to him, he growls.

“I don’t get it.” Bart snatches his arm back. “I’m one of the most dog-savvy people I know, but I can’t seem to connect with Errol.”

“It’s probably the Great Pyrenees in him.” Axel smiles. “They’re intelligent dogs.”

Bart drops his jaw. “You wound me.” He waits for a retraction, and when it isn’t forthcoming, he skirts the dog. “Later, Piper.”

“Just a warning,” Axel says. “Artemis has placed Errol at Ms. Wick’s disposal.”

What? I am
not
having a big, stinky dog—

“Wick?” Bart’s eyes pin me. “It’s true. You
did
change your name.”

I have nothing to be ashamed of, especially relative to the antics of my Pickwick relations, but I make an effort to soften what is perceived as an insult. “I abbreviated it.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, Wick is short; for another, it’s somewhat unique.” Although not as unique as Pickwick, which, in these parts, is associated with dysfunction. “Thus, it’s easy to remember and is a better fit with my first name.” No more “Piper Pickwick picked a peck of pickled peppers,” thank you very much.

“That’s lame.”

“It works for me.”

Bart snorts. “Even if you threw out the ‘Wick’ with the ‘Pick,’ you’d still be a Pickwick.” He thrusts his chest out. “It may make you feel better to pretend you’re not someone you are, but I’m proud of who I am. Sure, I’ve done things I regret, but I’m working to better myself and restore integrity to our family name.”

By cutting the power, breaking in, and sneaking around like a criminal? I glance at Axel, whose eyebrows are up, confirming we’re on the same wavelength.

“Things may have been bad when you and your mom tore out of town,” Bart continues, “but some of us learned from our mistakes and are trying to live godly lives.”

Had I anything in my mouth, it would be all over him.

“That’s right—godly.” Bart responds to the disbelief I feel hanging from my face like a sign swinging by its last nail. “I am a changed man—”

A loud scrape is followed by a rumble at my back, and Axel calls out a warning. I leap forward and whip around to see the last of a dozen books hit the floor amid a cloud of dust. Only a few remain on the uppermost shelf, and one appears ready to throw itself overboard. But something is there that doesn’t belong in any library. “What’s that?”

My cousin drops his jaw. “Wow, what
is
that?”

“Night-vision goggles,” Axel says dryly.

Bart jerks his head around. “You think?”

“I know.”

So do I, though I’ve only seen them in spy movies. I scale the ladder and retrieve the binocular-eyed object from the dusty shelf. “Axel’s right.”

“Interesting,” Bart murmurs.

I descend and cross to where he, Axel, and Errol stand in the library’s arched doorway.

I expect Bart to reach for the goggles—they had to cost a small fortune—but he merely smiles. “Wouldn’t you love to know why our reclusive uncle keeps such a high-tech piece of equipment lying around?”

“Perhaps in the event the power is shut off?” Axel says.

I exchange a knowing look with him, the depth of which surprises me given our brief acquaintance.

“Let me tell you, they would have come in handy tonight. I could barely see a hand in front of my face.” Bart lifts one and wiggles his fingers.

It’s halfway convincing. So either he’s innocent, or Bart is good
at what he does, meaning he may have crossed the line between habitual lying and pathological lying.

Something slaps my hand, wetting it from fingertips to palm. “Ugh!” I jump back, but the dog reaches again with his slimy tongue.

“Errol, sit.” Axel commands.

Errol lowers his rump as I wipe the drool on my once-favorite pants. Disgusting!

“I’ll see you around.” Bart starts down the hallway.

“A changed man, hmm?” Axel murmurs as we hear the front door open.

I don’t know why I feel the need to defend my cousin, but I say, “He may not have known about the goggles.”

Axel opens his mouth and then closes it, as if realizing it isn’t his place to argue.

With a growl, Errol lunges into the hallway.

“Hey!” Bart halts a few feet from where the dog stands between him and us. “It’s just me.”

“Down!” Axel says.

The dog whips his head around, and—I declare!—he looks frustrated.

Axel shrugs. “I’d let you, boy but Ms. Wick appears to be fond of her cousin.”

I am
not!

“I was thinkin’”—Bart glances at the goggles—“Uncle Obe would probably want me to have those.”

I do a double take. “Oh?”

“For animal watching, a new interest of mine.”

“And you need night vision for that?”

“For the ones that come out at night.”

“Nocturnals.”

“Right.”

“I’m sure they would be useful, but I’m not at liberty to give away Uncle Obe’s possessions without consulting him. However, when I visit him tomorrow, I’ll ask on your behalf.”

Though his wallet has to be pinching him, Bart says, “Nah, I’ll ask him myself.” He starts to turn away. “Of course, maybe I could just borrow them for a little while.”

So he can return them to some unsuspecting merchant for a refund? “Sorry.”