You Can't Escape (39 page)

Now, Abel’s keening cry sounded like a dying animal. The old man flapped his hands and backed up, stumbling in the straw, panicked.

“No,” Boo whispered, as Buddy raised the rifle, took two steps closer, and shot the old man once through the heart.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Her cell ringing woke Jordanna with a start. She’d been lying on the couch, lost in exhausted sleep, but she scrambled for her phone, wondering what time it was. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Dance’s slow drawl reached her. “I’ve got a cell again.”

“Oh, good.” She was thrilled to hear from him. She glanced out the window, where late-afternoon sun slanted across the drive. “Are you back in Portland?”

“Yeah, I’m calling Max next. Tomorrow Rafferty and I are going to go to the bank and get the audiotape. Then I’m driving your way. You sound like you’ve been sleeping.”

“I just passed out for a while. Guess I was tired.” She could hear the smile in her own voice as she recalled moments of their lovemaking. What that man could do with his tongue . . .

“I’m a little tired myself.” His voice held a smile as well.

“I talked to my dad earlier, and he said some interesting things.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll tell you about it after you meet with Maxwell.”

“You okay?” His radar had apparently picked up messages she hadn’t meant to send.

“It’s just difficult with my dad, you know. A lot of layers to peel back. Some of it my fault,” she admitted with an effort.

“Take it easy. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Will you?
She sure as hell hoped so. “Okay.” There was a moment of awkward silence, and Jordanna called on her courage and said, “I kinda miss you.”

“I kinda miss you, too. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.”

More energized, she got up and headed to the kitchen, running the conversation through her mind several times. She glanced around, searching for something to eat. She probably should have stayed and had a meal with her father and Jennie; then at least she’d be fed. But there’d been no way.

She cut up an apple and ate the slices one by one as she stared out the kitchen window to the fields beyond. The afternoon sunshine had a paleness about it, as if it were too weak to hang on for long. There were high clouds on the far horizon, but the rain and fog had disappeared overnight and it seemed like the good weather might hang around the rest of the day.

As she stood there, she went over all the events of the past day and a half. It felt as if she had more questions than answers, but she hardly knew which direction to take first. After a couple of moments, she picked up her phone and stared at her last text to Kara. She dialed her number, but once more it went to voice mail and she hung up. Frustrated, she texted: Are you coming back?

She waited a few minutes, her eyes on the phone, but Kara didn’t respond. It bothered her, the way her sister had just disappeared. And she really needed to talk to her, compare notes about everything their father had said.

Emily was Aunt Evelyn’s daughter . .
. . She shook her head. She was really having difficulty computing that one.

Phone in hand, she scrolled through her numbers, looking to see if she had Aunt Evelyn’s. Nope. No surprise there, as it wasn’t like she kept in contact with her aunt, either. She supposed she could call her father and get the number, but she really didn’t want to. She was still processing everything he’d said, running it through her own bullshit meter, sifting through the words, looking for verisimilitude. It had certainly sounded like the truth, but she’d distrusted him for so long it was difficult to shift gears and head in a completely different direction.

She supposed she could go visit her aunt. Unless she’d moved, and Jordanna had never heard a peep to that effect, Aunt Evelyn was probably in the same small house on the same street. She’d been a schoolteacher, recently retired, and had lived alone her whole life. She was a difficult personality, and the few times their mother had taken them to visit, their aunt had been cordial but stiff, making complaints right and left. Aunt Evelyn had never come to their home in Rock Springs, as far as Jordanna could remember. If what Dayton had said was true, it made a certain amount of sense.

The drive took forty minutes, and Jordanna swept an eye over Green Pastures Church, Everhardt Cemetery, and the Calverson Ranch as she retraced the route she and Dance had taken yesterday to Malone. Had it really been just twenty-four hours ago? Dr. Ferguson had wasted no time in telling Chief Markum that they had visited him, and that he’d told them about the scar. Jordanna felt as if her every move was monitored around here, and maybe it was.

Aunt Evelyn’s house was small but tidy. A two-bedroom cottage with a white picket fence, the front walk lined by roses. Jordanna parked in front and glanced down at the robust red row of Mr. Lincolns, the predominant rose that lined the exposed aggregate walk. The air was redolent with the flowers’ sweet scent, as she walked to the dark green door.

Jordanna rang the bell. If someone else lived here now, maybe they could direct her to her aunt, she thought, but when the door opened, the sixtysomething woman with the dyed red-brown hair and hazel eyes, so much like Jordanna’s own, was nearly as she’d remembered her.

“Hi, Aunt Evelyn. It’s Jordanna. Your sister’s middle daughter.”

There was a moment of consideration, as if she was thinking of some reason to keep Jordanna out. She wore a white blouse, gray skirt, nude nylons, and black medium heels. In the end, she eased the door open a bit and said, “Well, my, my. Isn’t this a surprise? What are you doing in Malone, Jordanna? Come on in, but I have to say, I’m leaving in just a little bit.”

“Thanks. I was just stopping in anyway.”

Jordanna stepped across a polished oak floor. The living room was to her left, and there was a grouping of two overstuffed chairs and a love seat in a puce shade arranged in front of a brick fireplace. A tan area rug, bordered with a pinkish frondlike design, covered a big chunk of the oak floor, and a brass screen with a similar frond design stood in front of the firebox, which looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Evelyn gestured to one of the chairs. “I could offer you tea, or a glass of water?”

“I’m fine, really.” She perched on a chair and Evelyn stood by the couch, one hand resting on its back. She looked as if she were ready to fly away at the first opportunity. Maybe she suspected what was coming.

“I haven’t been around, and I rarely talk to my father,” Jordanna began. “But I’m trying to put some things straight in my life.”

Evelyn’s fingers plucked at the piping on the edge of a soft cushion. “Oh?”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I don’t know how I can help you, dear.”

“Have you ever heard of the term the Treadwell Curse?”

“Treadwell,” she repeated, startled. “No.”

“I just remember a time when you said you wouldn’t have children, because of the curse.”

“What? Heavens no.” She plucked almost spasmodically at the piping, then, realizing what she was doing, curled her fingers into a ball. “I just wasn’t made for motherhood, that’s all.”

“But you had a daughter. . . .” Jordanna said. “My father told me Emily was your child.”

Her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, my goodness! Why would Dayton say such a thing?” She sputtered and looked around wildly, then focused on the jeweled watch on her arm. “I’m having drinks and dinner with a friend, and I don’t want to be late,” she murmured.

That might be true, but Jordanna kind of suspected her aunt might just be trying to get rid of her. Well, fine. No need to pussyfoot around. “I thought you were the one who called it the Treadwell Curse, but apparently not. From what I hear, it’s the Benchleys who suffered from that debilitating, hereditary disease. The Treadwells just somehow became associated with them.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” she said distractedly. “Treadwells and Benchleys have lived near each other since the homesteading days. Some of the Benchleys did seem to have a genetic disorder, but they’re all gone now. Dayton must have told you this.”

“I always thought it was the Treadwells.”

She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t the Treadwells.” She swallowed and the hand that had flown to her neck stayed where it was, a kind of protection.

“Was Emily a Benchley?” Jordanna suddenly asked.

“Oh, my Lord. I don’t know why your father would say these things! Actually, I do. He’s never liked me. I just can’t imagine what would make him come up with such stories!”

“Yeah,” Jordanna said, watching her closely. “To what purpose?”

“None that I can see, but he’s a hard man, isn’t he?” Her lashes fluttered and she looked down a moment, then glanced up. “You surely know,” she said, a sly glint entering her eye. “You shot him. I know Dayton was adamant that it was an accident, but I always thought maybe you had a good reason.”

“Well, I thought he was having sex with Emily,” Jordanna answered, surprising her aunt with her honesty. “But I’m starting to wonder about that. Apparently, Emily was sleepwalking. Maybe she thought she was with one of her boyfriends.”

“One of her boyfriends.”

“I’m learning she was . . . indiscriminate,” Jordanna said, purposely pushing her aunt.

“Emily was a good girl,” Evelyn came right back. “She had a nice boyfriend from the church.”

“You kept tabs on her?”

“I . . . paid attention to what all of you girls were doing. You were like my own daughters.” She lifted her chin in a challenge.

“Do you remember the name of this boyfriend?”

“No.”

Jordanna heard the finality of Evelyn’s tone and tried another tack. “Emily was adopted. My father said he and my mother took the baby because she was abandoned.”

Her face suffused with sudden color. “She was not abandoned! She was . . . not abandoned,” she repeated, realizing she’d already given away more than she’d meant to.

“Was she a Benchley?” Jordanna pressed. Her aunt was holding back, but it felt like the dam might break if she pushed in the right spot.

“Emily was a beautiful girl.” She was suddenly fighting emotion.

“I’ve always thought I was destined to lose my mind like the rest of the Treadwells,” Jordanna said.

“It wasn’t the Treadwells! How many times do I have to say it?”

“I thought it was. I was told it was. For years. Maybe it wasn’t by you, although I know you said you wouldn’t have children because you were a Treadwell.”

“That’s not what I said.” She looked like she was about to burst into tears. “I said Benchleys and Treadwells couldn’t have children . . . together.”

Jordanna looked at her aunt, whose composure was disappearing in front of her. “Emily’s father was a Benchley, and that’s why you gave her up. You didn’t intend for my parents to adopt her.”

She could tell Evelyn wanted to deny it. Maybe years of hiding the truth had made her half believe the story she’d told herself. But the urge to unburden herself seemed to win out and after a moment of silence, she sank onto the love seat, her gaze on the tan carpet. “She was such a beautiful, beautiful baby. I didn’t want anyone to know she was mine. I moved to Malone and gave her up to an adoption agency, but your mother intervened. She wanted the baby. Didn’t think she could have any of her own. I was against it from the start, but then I thought maybe it would work, that I could be a part of her life, but it turned out I didn’t want to be. It was too hard. But I did keep track.” She lifted her gaze to meet Jordanna’s.

“What happened to her father?”

“Liam.” She swallowed. “He got ill shortly after Emily’s birth. His family took over his care and I understand he didn’t last long. It often happened that way with them, although some of them lived a lot longer than anyone expected. Before he got sick, Liam used to say it was a prison at their farm, laughing about it, but I think it was true, in a way. Agnes kept the world out, and them safe.”

“Agnes . . . ?” Mrs. Fowler had mentioned that name.

“Agnes Benchley. She’s the matriarch of what’s left of their property.”

“The farm on Summit Ridge.”

“I haven’t paid attention for years. I don’t know about them, and I don’t want to know. If you have questions, people in Rock Springs should know more than I do.”

Jordanna opened her mouth to ask another question, but with a return of starch her aunt abruptly straightened, wiped her hands together as if dusting off their entire conversation, and said, “Now, I’ve really got to run. I was devastated about losing your mother, and then Emily. It was terrible. I know you had your troubles, too, dear. But I have a life here, and it’s not for public view. I’ve talked to you as a member of your family, you understand?”

“You don’t want to see your name in any newspaper article.”

“That’s exactly right. Or, a television report, or anywhere. I’m already sorry I talked to you. I should’ve made sure this was off the record straight from the start.”

“Don’t worry. I’m only looking for answers for myself,” Jordanna said, getting to her feet.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. I know you consider yourself a reporter. Just don’t report on me.”

Jordanna was hustled out the door with very little further fanfare after that. She heard the lock click behind her, and she walked back down the rose-lined walkway, armed with a lot more family information and a feeling of entering someone else’s life. Lost in thought, she climbed into her SUV and turned back toward Rock Springs, glancing toward the sun now hanging low over the western horizon.

She sighed. Was it wrong that she was already counting the hours until Dance returned?