Replacing Gentry (9 page)

Parting the canopy of an enormous weeping willow, she stepped into its shadow. I moved to follow but then the teasing banter of the boys drawing closer had me hesitating.

“My name isn’t what’s important,” she continued. “Heed my advice and we never have to meet again. But always know that I’ll be watching you,” she called back in a sing-song voice. The drooping limbs closed around her. “We’ll
all
be watching you.”

Chapter Ten

C
upping a mug of steaming peppermint tea between my palms, I bent my knees to my chest, attempting to ward off the chill. In spite of the fact that I’d taken a bath, so hot it’d turned my skin red; had layered myself in flannel pajamas, turtle neck, fleece hoody, robe, socks, and slippers; and had lit the small fireplace in our master bedroom, I was still cold. Freezing, was more like it. I took a sip of my tea. Pale swirls of steam rose up to water my eyes. While I’d heated the tea to well above my usual liking, the liquid felt like it was evaporating as it cooled on its way down my icy throat.

What were the chances that the woman in the cemetery was Gentry’s twin? Evil obviously, and banished from the family, but her genetic match all the same?

I considered that possibility as the only logical one. After she’d disappeared, it had been a miracle I held myself together long enough to get the boys safely home. I don’t think they noticed anything out of the ordinary though. Why would they? They barely knew me. Another shiver worked its way through my bones.

Crossing my legs in front of me, I shifted the mug to one hand and tapped the screen of my laptop to life. Is there a difference between investigating and spying? Curiosity and fixation? And when does any of the aforementioned activities become stalking? But then, can said activity be categorized as stalking when the subject is deceased? Or at least,
presumed
to be deceased?

With these questions looping through my mind like an old LP with a bad scratch, I couldn’t decide if I felt guilty or justified as my fingertips hesitated, hovering over the keys. Searching my conscience for a less sleazy verb, I then mollified myself by settling on
sleuthing
. Sleuthing. It said Nancy Drew, implied innocence—a naïve quest for the truth.
Yeah, that’s better.

I typed “Gentry Cannon” into the search bar. Feeling only slightly less slimy, I pressed enter and a few moments later the computer screen unfolded with references to Daniel’s late wife. Scrolling down, I skipped over the pages highlighted in purple, the ones I’d already visited, and stopped on the first source that dealt with her tragic death.

Over the past few days I’d read countless articles about Daniel’s senate campaigns that had included pictures of Gentry standing faithfully by his side. I’d also perused their online wedding albums and learned of her tireless fundraising efforts for public education. She’d been a pillar of the Nashville community, elegant and well-respected—a saint—until near the end.

Until, it seemed, she’d teamed up with Johnny Hutchinson for that benefit concert. Their collective effort had been intended to highlight new talent, giving press to the fledgling country artists Johnny was representing while showcasing inner-city kids with extraordinary talent. But the event had been plagued with rumors from the start. Funds gone missing, the unfortunate suicide of one of the singers, illegal drug use, and whisperings of an affair between Gentry and Johnny. She’d died two days before the ill-fated concert was scheduled to take place.

I clicked on a link that read, “Nashville Mourns the Loss of One of the Music City’s Finest
.
” Scanning through the first few paragraphs of the article, I skipped the parts that dealt with the crash and Daniel being a state senator. I read:
After a late-night strategy meeting finalizing the preparations for the Music City Benefit, Gentry Cannon crashed when she lost control of her Lexus in the rain, hydroplaning into a ravine. She was not wearing her seatbelt at the time . . .

“Not wearing a seatbelt,” I repeated, remembering how the boys had said she was a “Nazi” about such things. That didn’t sound like the Gentry they described
.

. . . and was estimated to have been traveling at speeds upward of 80 mph. She died instantly, leaving behind her husband, State Senator Daniel Cannon, and eleven-year-old twin sons.

County officials will debate the funding needed to redirect a stretch of highway that continues to be the sight of countless lethal accidents.

I continued to skim the details until I came to a picture of a gold Lexus sedan. The front was smashed and leaning into a ditch only yards from a mail box in the shape of a golf ball sitting atop a green tee. My hands shook, my heart rapping against my ribcage as I rolled the page farther down to a grainy photo of a body on a gurney, covered by a white sheet. Hanging down from under the sheet was the hemline of a red dress. I swallowed against a feeling of unease I couldn’t quite define. First the cadaver, then the woman in the cemetery, and now I was seeing ghosts?

From the hallway, the trill of a very distinct voice stole my focus.
Electra!
I slammed the screen of my laptop closed. Tossing it aside, I leapt from the floor, sloshing some tea down the front of my robe. Stumbling and wiping at the tawny stain darkening the fluffy white fabric, I made my way over to the door.

Herbert’s voice joined Electra’s and something in his tone had my feet skidding to a stop just shy of the door. Sucking in my breath, I held it tight as I zeroed in on the hushed tones drifting through the cracked door.

“So, what do you think of her?” Herbert said.

Her?
I crept closer.

“I no think nutting,” Electra came back in a stern whisper. “She ez pretty, but she . . . how do you say . . . ordinary—nutting special.”

“Do you think she’s one of them?” Herbert asked.

“No. No . . . I certain,” Electra was adamant. “She harmless, like a feesh on de land.”

“You mean, a fish outa water?”

“That what I said.”

Leaning from one side to the other, I snuck a look at their serious expressions through the slim slit in the door. Electra was absently drawing her forefinger along the scar on her cheekbone. Herbert pinched his bottom lip between his fingers.

How long should I wait before making my presence known?

Herbert spoke again. “Then she’s real and that means she’s vulnerable?”

“We know nutting for sure, so we keep quiet until we do,” Electra said, crossing herself. “Mother Mary, help us all.”

The air trapped in my lungs pressed hard for release. Laying my hand to my chest, I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding. The sound couldn’t have been more than a hush but it caught Electra’s attention. Her black eyes shifted to the gap in my door, her gaze shooting straight to the uh-oh expression on my face.

Stepping forward, she pushed the door open, fully exposing the fact that I’d been eavesdropping. “Miss Marlie,” she said, sliding a quick glance to Herbert. “What you doing there?”

I gave them both a sheepish smile. “I—I needed to ask you something.”

She looked me up and down like she wasn’t sure if she should run for her life, or call 911. “What you need? You okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I waved her off. “I was just wondering,” I started, but then shifting my gaze to the look of caution on Herbert’s face the question got all tangled up on my tongue.

Do I dare bring up what the woman in the cemetery had said after what I’d just overheard?

“I mean is there something . . . well, what I’m trying to ask is. . . did you have something.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead like that would help me find the right words. “Do you have something to tell me, a warning?” I managed.

Electra’s eyes narrowed to quizzical slits as she threw another look to Herbert then back to me again. Her stare held long enough to have me feeling very uncomfortable.

“Aye,
pobrecita
.” She shook her head, moving close enough to lay the back of her hand on my cheek. “You no look so good? You need aspirin, I think?” She moved her hand to my other cheek, her eyes scanning my face under a suspicious brow.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” I said though, clearly, I was not. And to make matters worse, I was starting to feel frustrated. I didn’t need an aspirin. I needed
answers
. “I want to know what it is you have to tell me?”

She pulled her hand back and slipped it into the pocket of her uniform. “I know not what you talking about,” she said with a shake of her head.

I glanced over at Herbert who was slowly backing away. “I’m sorry,” I said, softening my tone. “I’m not myself today.”

Electra looked me over again. “That we can see.”

I pulled in a deep, steadying breath. “I just wish someone would tell me what’s going on around—”

A man’s voice echoing up the staircase from the entryway interrupted my train of thought. “First, I need to check in with Marlie and then we can talk.”

“Daniel!” I thrust my mug into Electra’s hands and tore off down the hall. Catching my hand on the banister post, I steered myself to the right and down the first few steps.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Daniel had turned toward the pounding of my feet. Wearing a dark suit, creased at the elbows and knees from a long day, his dress shirt looked equally tired under his loosened tie. His dark hair was disheveled.

He looked up at me, his lips parting into a wide grin. “There she is,” he said, and that was enough to have me hurrying the rest of the way down.

As I drew closer, his expression tightened, his eye changing to alarm. “Marlie, are you feelin’ all right?” he asked, backing up a half-step or so.

I wondered for an instant what he was talking about. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be,” I said, and then saw that he was examining my robe.

Much to my horror, I remembered that the fluffy material was matted with splattered tea. My hands flew to smooth down the frizzy strands of damp hair I hadn’t even bothered to brush after my bath. I must have looked like a lunatic, all layered up like I was suffering from delusions of an impending second ice age. But I didn’t care. After the day I’d had, and now that Daniel was finally home, I felt safe. I hooked my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck. For a few seconds I hung there while he regained his balance. Then he closed his arms around my waist and hugged me back.

“It’s good to see you too,” he said with a chuckle, loosening his grip.

But I wasn’t ready to let go yet. He smelled manly and powerful. And his warm body chased the chill away from mine.

“Marlie? Sugar?” he tried again to pull away. “What’s all this about?”

I didn’t want to let go. I never wanted to let go. But I couldn’t hold on forever, so I pulled back and looked into his eyes. Dark blue and edged with concern, his gaze tightened along with the smile that still clung to his lips. Where should I begin? Tell him about the ghost and my near crash? Ask if Gentry had a scary twin no one’s ever mentioned? Was she still alive? Then I remembered our wedding night and how Daniel had made it clear that topics relating to Gentry were closed to discussion; I reeled my questions back in.

I gave him a timid smile. “I’m just
so
glad you’re home.”

Daniel leaned in close. “Let me guess, you’re wearing something sexy under those layers.”

His sly look caught me off guard, and it took a few seconds for me to adjust my train of thought. When I caught up, the idea that I’d purposefully dressed as some sort of kinky Russian stacking doll had my cheeks flushing red.

“Oh, um . . .” Sex was the furthest thing from my mind right now, but since I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of what had happened today, I decided to play along. I tightened my grip around his neck.

“Maybe you should come upstairs and find out,” I cooed. Pressing my lips long and hard to his, I kissed him like my life depended on it.

His hands moved along my back and hips as he pulled me closer, his mouth taking mine in a fury of heat and desire. One moment I was standing there in my husband’s arms, and the next, nowhere at all.

“Ahem!”

We parted like two school kids caught kissing under the bleachers. Standing in the doorway to the study, Cooper lobbed us a look that was half disgust, half reproof. She made an exaggerated showing of checking her watch.

“Daniel, it’s late. Paul and I have some important matters we need to discuss with you.” She gave him a stern look. “And, no. It can’t wait until mornin’.”

The polish on my thumbnail tasted bitter in my mouth. What was going on down in Daniel’s study? Pacing in our bedroom, I was frustrated that I’d been excluded from their little meeting. And I had the distinct feeling they were talking about me. I mean, what could they possibly need to discuss that I, as Daniels’ wife, couldn’t be a part of unless it was about me? And what about Daniel? He shouldn’t have left me standing there alone looking like a lost puppy just because Cooper said so.

“Daniel and I are
so
going to have a talk about this when he comes upstairs,” I grumbled, when the distant sound of murmuring caught my attention.

I stopped pacing and listened.

The murmurs came again.
What is that?
I moved toward the sound. The voices seemed to be coming out of an old-fashioned vanity table set against the far wall.

Complete with gilded mirror and crystal perfume decanters, the vanity didn’t appear suspicious, but the murmuring had definitely grown louder. Sliding the velvety stool away, I crouched down and spied a tarnished metal grate. Kicking off my slippers, I stripped out of my robe and fleece hoody and crawled under the vanity. The lever for the grate was closed. Slowly, I slid it up. An instant later, Cooper’s voice resonated through the vent.

“Tommy was our father’s closest friend,” she sounded exasperated, “he saved Cannon Records after Daddy died and all he’s askin’ is that you send his appropriations bill to the floor. Plus, you know it’s impossible to say no to him . . . to them.”

“As the deputy speaker it’s my responsibility to decide what goes to the floor and what doesn’t. And if I think it’s irresponsible to call a vote on an appropriations bill before I’m convinced it’s the most prudent use of taxpayer’s money, then it’s within my right to delay the vote. I won’t let the Iphiclesians, or anyone else, tell me how to do my job,” Daniel said, and Cooper gasped.

“Walking a dangerous line now, are we,” Paul said, a warning in his voice. “You know perfectly well it’s forbidden to speak aloud of the society.”