Season of Secrets (14 page)

“I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I thought I could pretend not to know. But it was so hard. And when Marcus came back—”

Marc. What was she going to tell Marc?

Aunt Kate pressed her hands. “You have to take care of it, Dinah. I can't. You have to decide whether or not to tell Marcus, because I can't.”

 

He shouldn't have kissed Dinah. Marc moved restlessly around the house the next day, unable to settle to anything for very long. With everything else he had to worry about, he seemed fixated on that moment.

He'd expected to dream about finding Carr's body. Instead his dreams had been impossible ones of holding Dinah, laughing, kissing, with nothing to shadow their happiness. Impossible dreams.

He rechecked the locks on the back door and the cellar door. Court had to be safe. Draydon's demand not to leave town didn't apply to Court, so he could send him to friends. But if he did, he wouldn't be with him to protect him.

And Dinah—he rubbed the back of his neck, where tension had taken up residence. Dinah had to be kept
safe, too. Being around him had endangered her. If she had any sense, she'd steer clear of him. But since even now he could see her approaching the front door, that seemed unlikely.

He flung the door open, torn between his need to be with her and his conviction that she was safer away from him. “What brings you here?”

Dinah blinked and walked past him into the hallway. “What a gracious greeting. I'm fine, thanks, and you?”

“Sorry.” He had manners enough left to be embarrassed. “I'm afraid being suspected of yet another murder has eroded any Southern courtesy I had left.”

Her brows drew together. “You don't really think that, do you?”

“Draydon didn't tell me not to leave town because he likes having me around.”

“He told me that, too, but I don't interpret it to mean that he suspects me of murder.”

“No. He just thinks you might be a witness.” He gave in to the temptation to grasp her hand. “I'm sorry, Dinah. I never should have involved you in this.”

“Seems to me I involved myself.” She glanced toward the stairwell at the sound of several loud thumps. “What on earth is Court doing now?”

“Rummaging around the attic, I suppose. It's his current fascination. He appears periodically to announce a new Christmas decoration project, or to suggest that some other piece of furniture be brought down. He'd have everything out if we were here long enough.”

“I suppose it will all have to be gone through, in any
event. Where are you putting things?” She turned around, as if expecting to see furniture piled in the hallway.

“We brought the table down to the dining room. Court decided he needed it for some project he has in mind. And the drop-leaf desk that used to be in Annabel's room intrigued him. We put that in the front parlor.” His voice became dry when he had to refer to the room where Annabel died.

Dinah seemed to become aware that he was still holding her hand and drew it away, her face composed. She did a better job of ignoring the currents between them than he did.

Or maybe that meant she was retreating, pulling that wall around herself again. If so, it was something else for which he was to blame.

“It almost sounds as if Court has decided to stay.”

“I don't think it's that, exactly. Usually he tells me what he's thinking, but not this time.”

“Has he asked you anything about what Draydon suspects?” Her eyes darkened with worry.

“No, but he's a smart kid. He's bound to figure out something is going on.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. It didn't help.

“Marc, we need to talk—”

Court's footsteps thudded down the stairs. “Hey, I didn't know Dinah was here. Hi, Dinah.” He swung around the newel post at the bottom. “You didn't bring any more cookies, did you?”

“Court,” he said warningly.

His son grinned, unrepentant. “It's a compliment, Dad. Dinah knows that.”

“I'll tell Alice,” Dinah said. “I'm sure she'll send a care package over.”

“Come on, I want you both to see what I set up in the dining room.” He swung the door open. “I found Dad's old train set.”

“I didn't know that's what you were up to.” He followed Dinah into the dining room. “So that's why you insisted we had to bring the table down.”

The train set took him back to his childhood, although his mother would never have allowed him to set it up on the dining-room table. It had always gone in the playroom. He'd saved it for Court and then forgotten it when they'd left Charleston. Well, it was one thing they wouldn't forget this time.

“I waited for you to be here before I tried it.” Court picked up the extension cord. “Ready?” He shoved the cord into the socket.

With a faint hiss, all the lights in the house went out. Court stared at him, chagrinned. “Oops.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I had a feeling that if you plugged one more thing in, you'd blow a fuse.”

“Don't feel bad,” Dinah said. “At least it happened in the daytime, when you can see to fix it.”

“I'll get it, Dad.”

“No, just go around and unplug a few things. I know where the new fuses are.” He pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, still smiling. Blown fuse
or not, Court and the train set had distracted him for a few minutes, at least.

The drawer next to the stove held the flashlight and the fresh box of fuses. He snatched them up and headed for the cellar door. Even in the middle of the afternoon, it would be dark enough in the cellar to require a flashlight.

He could hear Dinah and Court talking in the dining room as he opened the cellar door. Dinah was good for Court. And maybe, in a way, Court was good for her, too. He'd been wrong to think keeping them apart was for the best. Regardless of what happened now, Court understood the power of family.

He switched the flashlight on, aiming it at the wooden stairs, and started down. If he—

The tread cracked beneath his foot. He lurched, off balance, reaching for something to grab, too startled even to yell. His hand closed on a water pipe, cold against his palm, and for a split second he thought he was okay.

Then the step broke, crumbling under him, his body dropping downward, his hand clenching at the pipe, slipping, losing it, knowing he was falling.

D
inah heard the crash, and for an instant she and Court stared at each other, uncomprehending. Pain flashed through her. “Marc!”

They bolted toward the cellar door, jostling each other in their hurry. Court reached the door a step ahead of her, charging through.

Instinct had her grabbing his arm before she thought through the danger. They teetered together on the tiny landing.

Daylight from the open door touched what was left of the stairs. Two steps clung to the landing. The rest of the stairway was a mass of jagged timbers.

Marc lay crumpled on the cement floor, the broken flashlight rolling away from his out-flung hand. He wasn't moving. Her heart ripped in two.

“Marc!”

“Dad!” Anguish filled Court's voice. “Dad, say something. Please, be all right.”

He leaned forward as if he'd try to jump down, and Dinah yanked him back.

“The bulkhead door. We have to go around the outside to get to him. Hurry.”

She shot toward the front door, pausing just long enough to grab her cell phone from the handbag she'd left on the hall table. The mirror above it reflected her white, frightened face.

Please, Lord, please, Lord, let him be all right.

She punched in 911 as they ran, gasping out the address and the circumstances. Court reached the slanted double doors first and pulled them open, plunging down the few steps to basement level.

She followed, heart thudding in her ears.
Please, let him be all right.

Court dropped down beside his father. “Dad, Dad!”

“Easy, Court. Take it easy.” She pulled him out of the way, putting her hand on Marc's chest, and relief flooded through her.

“He's breathing.” Her voice choked on the words. “He's alive. The ambulance is on its way. They'll be here in a couple of minutes. It's going to be all right.”

Thank You, God. Thank You.

“How bad is he hurt?” Court was trying not to cry, but his voice was choked. “Why isn't he saying anything?”

“Careful, don't bump him.” She moved to touch Marc's head cautiously. “It looks as if he's knocked out.” She ran her hands over his arms and legs. Nothing obviously wrong, but how did she know?

“We should get a pillow,” Court said. “We can't just leave him on the floor.”

“Best not to try and move him until the paramedics
get here.” She understood Court's urge to help. He needed to do something that would make him feel he was helping his father. “A blanket would be good, though.”

Court shot to his feet. “I'll get one. Be right back.” He thundered out of the cellar.

Alone with Marc, she smoothed his dark hair away from his face, allowing herself the luxury of letting a few hot tears fall.

“Be all right,” she whispered. “You have to be all right, Marc. We can't get along without you.”

Court ran back with the blanket just as she heard the wail of a siren. She grabbed the blanket.

“You'd better go and show them where we are.”

Court nodded, his face white, and ran out again, reappearing a few seconds later with the team of paramedics.

Dinah put her arm around him, drawing him a few feet away from Marc so that they could work. “It's going to be all right,” she soothed, wishing she knew that for sure. “Your dad's in good hands now. Let's go outside so they have room to work.”

Nodding, Court rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and followed her out into the chill winter sunshine. “Are you sure he's going to be all right?”

“I'm sure he is.”
Please, Father.

Neighbors had come out onto the street, and she saw Alice lingering at the gate. Dinah motioned her in, and then went to meet her halfway.

“Tell my aunt not to worry,” she said quickly, before the woman could launch into a hundred questions. “Marc fell on the cellar steps. They'll probably take him
to the medical center to check him out, and Court and I will go along. I'll call her from there.”

Alice's eyes were bright with curiosity, but she managed not to ask anything. “Take care of that boy.” She turned and hustled back out the gate.

The paramedics were bringing Marc out of the cellar on a stretcher when she reached them. She clutched Court's hand as they followed the stretcher to the waiting ambulance. Poor kid—he didn't have anyone but his father. No wonder he looked terrified.

She gripped his hand tighter. “He's going to be okay, Court. You have to hang on to that. I'll be with you the whole time. You're not in this alone.”

He nodded, tears welling in his eyes. They reached the ambulance, and he caught one of the paramedics by the arm.

“I want to ride with my dad.”

The paramedic looked at her, as if for support. “That's not a good idea, son. We'll be working on him.”

“I'll drive us,” Dinah said quickly. “We'll follow them to the hospital.”

Court shook his head. “I want to go with him.”

The paramedic was shaking his head when Marc moved.

“Court.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but joy shot through her at the sound.

“Dad.” Court launched himself at the stretcher, his voice breaking.

“I'm all right. Now don't be a pest. You ride with Dinah, you hear?”

Court nodded, clutching his father's hand.

“We'll see you there, Dad.”

She understood, only too well, what Court felt. It was hard to watch Marc being slid into the ambulance, hard to see the doors close, shutting them out.

“He talked.” Court turned to her, tears shimmering in his eyes. “You heard him. He talked. He's going to be okay, isn't he?”

“Of course.” She forced strength into her voice. Court needed to know that he could count on her. “He's going to be fine.”

She caught Court's hand as they hurried to the car, and he didn't pull away. Marc was going to be all right. She had to believe that.

She also had to know the answer to the question that hadn't seemed to occur to anyone else yet. What had made the stairs collapse when Marc was on them?

 

“I feel okay. I want to go home.” Marc repeated the words for probably the twentieth time, this time to the attending physician in the emergency room. If he said them often enough, maybe they'd sink in.

He sat up on the narrow bed, pulling his shirt on and trying not to grimace at the pain in his bruised ribs.

The doctor raised her eyebrows. “Hurts, doesn't it? You'll really do better to let us keep you overnight, Mr. Devlin.”

He managed a smile. “You wouldn't put it that way if you really thought it essential that I stay, now would you?”

“Probably not.” She studied his chart, her eyes tired
behind her glasses. “You're a lucky man, in my opinion. You fell eight feet onto a concrete floor and didn't break anything. Except for the bruises and a mild concussion, I can't find anything wrong.”

“So I'll do fine at home.” All he wanted was to get out of this sterile environment and be with Court, so he could reassure him. But he wasn't going to let his son see him lying in a hospital bed.

He clutched the edge of the bed and slid forward until he was standing on his own two feet. Maybe he wasn't a pretty sight, with bruises and abrasions down one side of his face, but at least he was upright.

The doctor sighed at his stubbornness. “All right, you can go. But only if there's a competent adult to stay with you tonight. I don't want you alone with only your son to look out for you. It's not fair to him.”

“I don't need—” he began, but he didn't get any further.

“I'll stay with him and his son tonight.” Dinah stood in the doorway, Court pressing behind her, his face screwed up as if he were trying not to cry. Dinah looked at the doctor, not at him. “Will that be satisfactory?”

The doctor gave her an assessing look before nodding. “I'll have the nurse give you a sheet of instructions.” She went out, smiling at Court as she passed him.

He didn't want to bring Dinah in any deeper, but who else would he call? Not elderly Aunt Kate. Glory lived clear out in Monck's Corners. Phil's wife would have a fit at the thought of his helping, and as for James—well, James seemed to have tried him and found him
guilty. That caused a separate small pang. He'd shut all of his Charleston connections out of his life, one way or another, and only Dinah was left.

I've involved you enough, Dinah. I don't want to risk your getting hurt. But he couldn't say any of those things in front of Court.

“The nurse said we could come in.” Her glance touched his half-buttoned shirt and skittered away. “Do you need some help with that?”

He nodded. “Court, be a buddy and button this for me. My ribs feel like a linebacker has been standing on them.”

Court came to him in a rush, relief washing over his face. “You're really okay?”

Marc ruffled his hair. “I'm really okay. You taking good care of Dinah?”

“Sure thing.” Court busied himself with the buttons, head down. “I'm glad you're all right.” His voice was husky.

“Me, too, son.” He looked over Court's head at Dinah, who stood just out of reach of his hand. “Thanks, Dinah. For everything.”

Tears glittered in her eyes, and she didn't attempt to hide them. “My pleasure. Just don't scare us like that again.”

For a moment he couldn't look away. Close, so close. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms. But he couldn't. It wasn't fair.

He pushed himself away from the bed. “Look, about staying with us tonight, that's really not necessary. I'm sure we'll be fine.”

“I'm sure you will, too, but that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you alone.”

“I don't need a bodyguard, Dinah.”

“Actually, maybe you do.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Shall we get out of here?”

He nodded. He'd make another effort later, once Dinah saw that he could take care of himself and Court.

He took a step, winced, and threw his arm over Court's shoulder. “I guess I could use a little help.”

They emerged into the waiting room. Dinah, who was just ahead of him, stiffened suddenly, as if presented with an unwelcome sight.

He moved past her and saw that he was right. Lieutenant Draydon leaned across the registration desk, apparently arguing with the clerk. At the sight of them the quarrel stopped.

“Mr. Devlin.” He approached, giving him the once-over. “Looks like you're not hurt too badly.”

“I'm all right.” He clipped the words off. It wasn't any of Draydon's business, and how on earth had he found out about the incident so fast, anyway? “You'll excuse me. We were just leaving.”

Draydon planted himself in his path. “I have a few questions about this accident of yours.”

He gritted his teeth. Probably the fastest way to get rid of the man was to give him the bare facts. “It was just that—an accident. The cellar steps gave way, and I fell.”

“Nobody else in the house at the time?”

“My son. And Ms. Westlake. Why does a household accident interest the police?”

He stepped around Draydon and moved toward the exit. He shouldn't have asked that question. It was one he didn't want answered in front of Court.

“Funny, that is. How problems seem to be dogging you since you came back to Charleston,” Draydon drawled. “I'd just like to know why. Call it professional curiosity. I'm sure Ms. Westlake understands.”

Dinah whirled, the fury on her face startling. “No, I don't understand. Mr. Devlin is in pain. He needs to go home, not stand here answering questions.”

“Now, Ms. Westlake—”

“No!” Her voice cracked like a whip. “If you want to investigate something, why don't you investigate why that step broke?”

Her words seemed to hang in the air for a long moment. Then Lieutenant Draydon leaned toward her, his whole face sharpening with interest. “Now, what makes you say that, I wonder?”

Marc grasped Dinah's arm, but he suspected she didn't need the hint to say no more. “That's all,” he said shortly. “We're done here.”

Ignoring Draydon, he hustled Court and Dinah out into the parking lot. They were twenty feet from the door before he realized he didn't know where the car was.

He stopped. “Sorry. I didn't mean to give you the bum's rush.”

“You did the right thing.” Dinah's voice shook. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just—”

“I understand.” He did. He understood that she cared for him, and that caring was leading her into a
difficult, maybe a dangerous place. “I appreciate you defending me.”