Perfect Family (34 page)

Her gaze wandered about the room and finally settled on several file cabinets lined up against the far wall.

She carefully made her way through the clutter, then pulled the handle of one of the drawers. It was locked.

For a moment, she wished mightily that she were a skilled safecracker. Since she wasn't, she turned her attention from the cabinets and toward a box at her feet. At the moment, she knew only what the Clementses wanted her to know. Were there more clues in these boxes? Perhaps something of her father?

The boxes were taped. To break them open would be an invasion. But then
her
life had been invaded in so many ways. She looked around for something sharp and found some clothes hangers. She used the hook to open the first box.

Paper. Letters. But she couldn't read them. The writing was too faint, and the light too poor. She went to another box. Clothes. An evening dress. Even now she could tell it had once been elegant. She closed both boxes, then went to a third.

The light dimmed even further then, and she turned toward the door. It had swung closed, and as she stood she thought she heard a noise behind her.

Pain cascaded in her head.

twenty

“Jessie? Jessie.”

The repeated call pulled Jessie back to consciousness. Her head felt as if a dozen devils were hurling coals into a fiery furnace.

She slowly opened her eyes, then closed them again. Someone had turned on the lights.

She tried again, this time making out some of the figures above her. She closed them even quicker.

“Jessie.” The first voice was Sarah's. The second was Marc's. They seemed identically worried.

She tried to move, and groaned instead. Even the slightest twitch made her head ache. “I'm taking her to the hospital,” Marc said.

“I'll call Ross,” Sarah said. “Neither you nor my brother can carry her.”

“What were you doing up here?” Samantha asked.

Marc didn't wait for her to answer. “We heard a loud noise and I decided to investigate,” he said. “Apparently a box fell on you,” Marc interrupted. “You have to be careful up here.”

Then who closed the door?

Someone in this room?

“I heard someone,” she said, unwilling to let the questions go unasked.

“What do you mean?” Marc said.

“I couldn't find a light, and then the door closed. I heard someone,” she repeated.

Samantha looked at Marc.

“It was only a few moments after I heard the crash that I reached the stairs. I … had to put some clothes on.” Marc reddened a little. “I didn't see anyone.”

“It could have been a breeze or anything,” Samantha said. “And it does look as if a box fell on her.”

Jessie tried to move again. She touched the back of her head and felt something wet and sticky. Blood. Then she looked around. Papers had scattered over the floor, apparently from a box that lay partially open. She tried to remember everything, but the last moments in the attic were a blur.

Marc offered his hand, and she took another look at him. He was wearing a pair of slacks, and a shirt half tucked in. It was the first time she hadn't seen him look immaculate. If he had been with Samantha, then who …?

“I'm going to go get Ross,” Sarah said.

Besides Marc and Samantha, there was only Sarah and ninety-one-year-old Halden in the house. And Ross, who was nearby. Ross who was the only one who knew about the conversation she'd overheard.

She suddenly felt very cold.

Sarah had started to go out the door.

“No,” Jessie said sharply.

Sarah stopped, waited.

“I'm all right,” Jessie said, moving again. At least her head had stopped spinning. The devils were still in there, though.

“You're going to the hospital anyway,” Marc said. “I felt that bump. You might have a concussion.”

Samantha sighed. “I'll drive. Marc's arm is still stiff.”

“Ross …” Sarah started.

“No,” Jessie said. “I'll go with Samantha.” She didn't want to go at all. But she knew that was foolish. A concussion could be serious, and she didn't want to stay in the house tonight. She needed to be away from it. Away from Ross. Away from all those feelings he invoked in her.

Away from the seed of suspicion.

And thoughts of tomorrow. Tomorrow she would hear the terms of her inheritance.

At the moment, it was the last thing she wanted to hear. She wanted to run again. But this time she wouldn't. This time, by God, she was going to stay. No one was going to frighten her away again.

“Ben …”

“Don't you worry about that dog,” Sarah said. “I'll take care of him.”

Jessie didn't want anyone taking care of Ben except her. He was already scared enough. Of everyone but Ross.

Don't think about him
. But she felt her cheeks grow hot, and probably red.

“Can you stand?” Marc asked.

“I … think so.”

He held out his hand and gently pulled her up. Her head pounded. She looked at the box and its spilled contents. Wouldn't she be hurt elsewhere if a box had fallen on her? Wouldn't she have bruises? Then a flash of intense pain blocked out any thought, and only Marc's steadying arm kept her upright.

“Let's go,” Marc said worriedly.

She didn't protest any longer. She leaned on him, grateful for his strength. He was using the arm that hadn't been wounded, and that brought back memories of that day.

Ross had been around then, too.

Dear God, don't even think it
.

She leaned on Marc as they went down first one set of stairs, then the other. She felt dizzy, unsteady. She wanted to stop at her room and reassure Ben, but she felt she would probably do the opposite.

Then they were in the car, and Samantha was screeching out of the driveway. The lights at Ross's house were dark. She closed her eyes and tried not to think.

Jessie woke with a raging headache and a drugged feeling. For a moment, she couldn't remember what had happened or where she was. Then it all flooded back, along with a heaviness of spirit.

She was in a hospital room. She remembered the stitches in her scalp. Thank God they didn't have to shave any of her hair. They'd explained that now they believed it best not to do that, that wounds were more prone to infection with bits and pieces of shaved hair.

The emergency room doctor had urged her to stay overnight. Since overnight was just a few hours, she'd consented. Sometime in the early morning, she'd fallen asleep.

But it had been a ragged, uncomfortable sleep, frequently interrupted by nurses who had come to check on her. She couldn't have any drugs because of the head wound, and her mind kept going over the events of last night. She
knew
there had been someone in that attic with her. The worst thing was realizing there were only five people on the ranch last night.

Either Marc and Samantha were both lying, or Halden had had a miraculous dose of the fountain of youth, or Sarah or Ross …

She could not bear the thought that either would have been involved.

A knock came at the door, and she tried to comb her hair with her fingers. She didn't want to see anyone until she had a chance to at least look presentable. She winced when she looked down at the shapeless hospital gown.

The rapping on the door came again. She sat up, and waves of pain assaulted her head. She yearned for a simple aspirin.

“Who is it?” she said.

The door opened slightly and she saw Alex's tawny hair.

“Give me five minutes,” she said.

“I'll bring up coffee,” he replied cheerfully.

She didn't like cheery at the moment. But he didn't wait for an answer.

Jessie put her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The pain faded to an ache. She took a few steps to the bathroom, opening a closet on the way to find her clothes and handbag. At least she'd have a comb and lipstick.

She took one look at herself, closed her eyes, and then, better prepared, looked again.

Her face was pale and her hair stuck out at peculiar angles. As she touched a particularly sore spot on the back of her head, she felt the recent stitches. She combed her hair as best she could, avoiding the tender area, then applied just a touch of lipstick. Then she quickly exchanged the hospital gown for her slacks and shirt.

Another knock, but this time the visitor didn't wait before entering. A doctor. One she hadn't seen last night.

He smiled when he saw her. “Ready to go?”

“As soon as you can release me.”

He looked over a chart, then checked the wound in the back of her head. “We'll want to look at it again in six days.”

“I don't think I'll be here then.”

“Then get it done by your doctor. How does your head feel?”

“Like it's been stomped on.”

“It's bound to ache near the wound, but if you feel any dizziness, loss of balance, or new pain, call your doctor or come back in.”

She nodded. “Am I discharged then?”

He nodded. “I'll do the paperwork and send someone up for you. I'm going to write a prescription, but I'd rather you didn't use it for another few hours.”

She nodded. She had no intention of using anything that would make her groggy. She had to keep her wits about her. “Thank you.”

“And take it easy for the next few days. Get lots of rest.”

“I will,” she promised.

“You have someone to take you home?”

She nodded.

He almost bumped into Alex as he came into the room, a loaded tray in his hands. “How is she?”

“Ready to go. Just a few formalities.” Then the doctor was gone.

Alex gave her a crooked smile. “Can't let you out of my sight for a moment.” The smile faded. “Sarah asked me to pick you up. She knew we had an appointment this morning. Everyone wanted to come see you, but I told them I would have you back at the ranch before late afternoon. Can you tell me what happened?”

“What did Sarah tell you?”

“That a box fell on you.”

“A box did fall,” she said. “I'm not sure that's what hit me.”

“What do you mean?”

She decided to tell him the truth. She was tired of all the evasions, the lies, the half-truths. She was not going to be a part of it.

“I heard you and Marc talk about a letter in the attic. I couldn't sleep last night, so I decided to look for the letter.”

“Sarah would have taken you there,” Alex said.

Jessie wasn't so sure. “I didn't want to wait. I … just get bits and pieces about my father. No one seems willing to tell me what happened fifty years ago, or at least everything that happened.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did my father kill Lori and Heath?”

There. It was out. The damning words.

“I don't know, Jessie. And I don't think anyone really knows.”

“And the bonds?”

“Ah, someone told you about them.”

“I should have thought
you
would,” she said. “I recall you asking whether my father had left me anything.”

“I was going to tell you everything this morning,” he said, “or at least what I know. I had no right to discuss past events if you weren't Harding's daughter.”

“Not even when you knew there had been burglaries at my home and business?”

“Not even then. I couldn't know for sure they were connected with your father's estate.”

She raised an eyebrow. “For sure?” she asked. “Does that mean you suspected?”

“No,” he said. “I've known the Clementses all my life. I wouldn't suspect any of them of burglary.”

“Not even Ross?” The question barely squeaked out.

“No,” he said. “Probably especially not Ross.”

“Why?”

“He would do nothing to hurt Sarah. He doesn't show it, but he loves that woman. And Sarah cares very much about you.”

“Because I'm the key to holding on to the Sunset.” Again it was a statement. She'd been badly disillusioned in the past few weeks, and she felt the wounds deep inside her heart.

“No,” he said sharply. “Sarah loved your father. She feels that she failed in protecting him. She didn't tell you everything because she wanted to protect you. She didn't want you feeling exactly as you feel now. I don't think she ever thought Harding murdered his brother. Or Lori. She
wants
to believe they were caught in the fire.”

“But you don't?”

“I didn't know him. I wouldn't even try to guess.”

“And the bonds?”

He hesitated.

“The letter. What did it say?”

“I've not seen it. I just know it exists.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“Marc told me that it was from Heath, a rambling letter justifying his theft of family money.”

“What else?”

“It said that he'd repay the family once the oil firm was successful, that he had bought bearer bonds and one day they would be worth a great deal of money. No one thought they ever would, though. Everyone believed it was just another one of his schemes.”

“But that's not what happened?”

“No, it became American Exploratory Company. Those bearer bonds could be worth millions.”

“Could?”

“
If
they exist at all,” Alex said. “
If
they didn't burn in the fire.
If
they are what Heath said they were. And no one knows how many bonds were exchanged for the money.”

“Everyone keeps asking me about a book. Why?”

“I'm told that Heath said in the letter that he'd buried the bonds in a location easily accessible to the family, that he marked the location in an old primer.”

Primer
. She stiffened, then tried to relax. She didn't want Alex to know it meant anything to her. Not yet. Not until she knew more. But now she wondered if everything was beginning to make some kind of sick sense. Did someone suspect she had the primer with the location of the bonds in it? It didn't. She'd leafed through it a hundred times.