Thirty-two
Cassidy had forgotten how stubborn Chase could be, how downright bullheaded when his pride was in the way. She parked near the front door of the house, and before the Jeep had completely stopped, Chase threw open the door, propped the rubber tips of his crutches on the asphalt and hauled himself to his feet. He was sweating, his still-discolored face twisted with the effort, but he wouldn’t take her hand, just as he hadn’t let her push him out of the hospital in a wheelchair and just as he hadn’t spoken a word to her in the car.
She made excuses for him. He didn’t like the feeling of not being in power. He was still angry that she’d gone against his wishes and brought his mother to see him and that Sunny had taken off. He was adjusting to the fact that he might limp for the rest of his life. He’d been through incredible trauma, nearly losing his life. And he had a secret, the only one who knew for certain that his brother was dead.
However, she was tired of his attitude. It rankled her. No two ways about it. She tried to be considerate and empathetic, but right now her empathy was running thin. Real thin.
“Let me get the door,” she said as he balanced on his good leg and started for the house.
He didn’t reply and she marched by him, reminding herself that he couldn’t speak well. His jaw would still be wired together for another week, his leg still casted.
She unlocked the front door, threw it open and waited just inside. He passed by her on the way to his den. “I’ll get your bag.”
Again, no response.
Counting silently to ten, she walked back to the Jeep and reminded herself once again that speaking was difficult for him. His face was still swollen and discolored, and a patch covered his bad eye. Fortunately his cornea was nearly healed and soon he’d be able to use both eyes again.
She grabbed the small nylon bag from the backseat, carried it into the house and left it in his room near the back hall. She returned to the den and found him trying to manipulate the phone.
“What’re you doing?”
He didn’t reply.
“Chase—”
“Leave me the hell alone,” he finally said in his raspy, mumbled voice. His single-eyed gaze swung to her and bore into her with such hatred she nearly took a step back. At the sound on the other end of the line he turned his back to her. “Yeah I’d like to order a cab,” he said.
“For the love of God, Chase, don’t—” She walked quickly across the room.
“I live outside of the city—about four miles—” Without thinking she pressed the button on the phone and cut him off.
“What the hell? For Christ’s sake, Cassidy—”
“You’re not going anywhere. Not tonight.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Why not—I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital.”
He dropped the receiver and hobbled to the bar. “You know why not.”
“Because we’re supposed to be separated?”
“Amen.” He reached for a bottle of Scotch and fumbled in the cupboard for a tumbler.
“You shouldn’t drink. The pain medication—”
“You’re not my mother now, are you?” he said, ignoring her. “My mother’s missing, remember?” She stiffened. “And you’re certainly not my boss—”
“Chase, please—”
“And the last time I looked, you weren’t Jesus Christ, so I guess you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Then leave me alone,” he bit out. “If I remember right, that’s what you wanted.”
“You’re hurt—”
“And you’re making me sick with this charade of concern. Everyone knows it’s a joke, so why don’t you give it up?” Balancing against the wall, he splashed liquor into his tumbler, spilling some onto the glass counter. Picking up his drink, he caught her gaze in the mirror mounted above the sink. “Cheers,” he mocked and tossed back the Scotch.
“What’re you planning to do? Drink yourself to death?”
“Haven’t got a clue.”
She took a step closer to him. “Why are you treating me like this?”
Every muscle stiffened in his body, and he slammed his empty glass down so hard she thought the counter might shatter. “Why do you think?”
“This is about the divorce.”
He glared at her so hard her breath stopped. “Bingo.”
“Chase, if we could just talk this out—”
“We talked. You want out. So go. Walk out the door. I really don’t give a good goddamn.” He turned and poured another drink. The cords in the back of his neck stood out and his hand shook as he held the glass.
“I think it would be best if I stuck around, helped you get back on your feet, made sure that you’re okay.”
“So you could do your duty and salve your conscience? Forget it.” With a flourish, he held his drink up as if he were a king holding a sword in the act of knighting his finest soldier. “I release you. You owe me nothing.”
“You want me to leave?”
“No, Cassidy. The truth of the matter is that I don’t care what you do.” He swayed a little and she took a step toward him, reaching out, before he drew away from her so quickly he stumbled and fell against the wall. “Don’t touch me, Cassidy,” he warned. his voice lowering an octave. “Don’t do me any favors, don’t try to fawn all over me like the loving, dutiful wife, and for God’s sake, don’t touch me.”
With a crash, his crutches hit the floor. Cassidy jumped. Chase grabbed the back of the couch. Half-bent, the muscles of his good arm supporting him, he slowly inched so close to her that she could smell the liquor on his breath. His gaze focused on her with such intensity her throat caught. Was there a fleeting glimmer of passion in his eye, the old fire that had drawn them together, or was it just her imagination? “Let’s get one thing straight, wife,” he said in a harsh, low whisper. “The fire didn’t change anything. You don’t love me and I sure as hell don’t love you, so we’re only going to live through this sham of a marriage until I’m on my feet, my part of the company is sold for the price I want, and you and I can split the sheets forever. Got it?”
Reeling away from her, he seized his crutches, threw them under his arms and jabbed them angrily against the floor. Cassidy’s fingers coiled into fists. Anger and despair filled her heart and yet she knew he was right. They’d already decided to divorce. The fire was only a complication that would slow the process. But she was surprised that he wanted to sell part of the company. For years, work had been his mistress, the buildings, properties and assets of Buchanan Industries his only interest.
Her throat dry, she said, “Listen, Chase. There’s something you should know…something I probably should have told you in the hospital, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
She saw his shoulder muscles flex beneath his shirt but he didn’t turn around to face her. “You’ve found a lover,” he said, defeat edging his words.
“A lover?” If the situation weren’t so tragic, she would have laughed. She forced her fingers to straighten, then pressed her palms together. “I’ve never been with anyone but you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Not since we married,” she insisted. They’d been over this territory a hundred times. “But whether you believe me or not, it really doesn’t matter at this point. What I think you should know is that your mother told me about Buddy.”
“Buddy?”
“Yes, your brother—well, half brother. Half yours, half mine.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Whirling on his crutches, the veins in his neck standing out, he glared at her with such venom she recoiled.
“Buddy—Willie—is my father’s son. Dad and Sunny had an affair for years.”
“Lies!”
“Sunny said you knew, that you caught them together once.”
“I—I don’t remember,” he said, his throat working. “I can’t believe—”
“Buddy’s alive, Chase! He’s the reason your father left town. It wasn’t because he thought Brig wasn’t his son.” He stiffened, and she added quickly, “I know the rumors, I heard the town gossip for years.”
“Ancient history,” he growled, his fingers grabbing the handles of the crutches in a death grip. “Jesus, I don’t believe we’re having this conversation. What the hell kind of incest are you peddling?”
“Ask Sunny. Ask Rex. It’s true, Chase. Why would I lie?”
“God only knows,” he said, and there was a trace of regret in his words.
“You’re impossible!”
“Try hard to be.”
“Buddy’s your brother!”
“And yours.”
“Yes!”
Beneath the wires, his jaw seemed to clench, and his furious eye bored straight to her soul. A whistle of air passed through his teeth. “Why should I believe you?”
She lifted her hands skyward. “Why would I make it up?”
“I don’t know.” Emotions played across his face. Emotions she couldn’t name. His eye shut for a second, and suddenly he seemed dangerous and volatile and utterly unreachable.
“It’s the truth, Chase, and really, doesn’t it make sense? Didn’t you admit to me that you thought Buddy was probably alive and in some institution? Haven’t you always wondered about him? And Dad’s been so adamant about him keeping a job—”
“Where is he?” he demanded, his voice low, his eye narrowing suspiciously. “Where?”
“He was in jail, but he’s out now.”
“Jail? Why?”
“Because of the fire. He’s the one who found the wallet in the ashes at the sawmill.” He still seemed skeptical. “It’s Willie, Chase. Willie Ventura is Buddy. He’s your brother and he’s my brother and—”
“Enough!” he thundered. “What wallet?”
“The wallet everyone, including the police, is presuming belonged to the John Doe—the man you were meeting that night. How Willie got it, no one knows. He’s staying up at the house with Mom and Dad. Mom called. She’s pretty shaken up about it. About everything.”
“Jesus.”
“But Detective Wilson wants to talk to you. I imagine he’ll be here soon. He’s interrogated Willie already and I don’t know what he found out. I don’t even know if Willie was at the mill that night. But Wilson will. He’ll piece it all together and he’ll expect you to tell him the truth.”
Chase stared at her long and hard, and even though his face had changed—was nearly grotesque—the look was pure male arrogance and reached a feminine part of her she’d hoped no longer existed. She could barely breathe for a second.
“Of course he expects the truth. Why in God’s name would I tell him anything else?”
Dena watched as her husband and Willie climbed out of Rex’s car. Something was wrong; she could tell it in the nervous glances Rex shot at the house as he guided Willie past the planters overflowing with red and white petunias and held open the screen door.
Dena reached for her cigarettes and tried not to grimace as Willie, head hanging like a wounded puppy, hay and dust and God-only-knew what else clinging to his shirt and jeans and shoes, followed Rex inside.
Her gaze fell to the grimy duffel bag in one of Willie’s big hands.
“I’ve decided that it’s time for Willie to move up to the main house,” Rex announced.
Good manners kept her from saying what she thought. She clicked her lighter and lit up.
“We’ve got plenty of room and…well, Dena, I finally told Willie the truth, that his name is really Buddy McKenzie and that I’m his father.”
“His what?” She choked on a lungful of smoke and her eyes filled with tears. Certainly she hadn’t heard correctly.
“Willie’s my son.”
“Oh my God.” She glared at the half-wit boy. “But how—why?” She must be dreaming. Surely there was some mistake…
“You remember the accident where Buddy McKenzie nearly drowned. You were working for me then. Lucretia was still alive and—”
“You…and Sunny had a child?” she cut in, trying to make sense of his ramblings. “Buddy is—” Her voice failed her and she thought she might pass out for a second before she leaned heavily against the counter. “Look, Rex, I know this is rough, but I don’t think, I mean, to have him live here, as if…as if…well, it’s just not done. People will talk…my God, what’re you thinking?”
Rex’s expression was stern. “Let me get Willie settled, then we’ll discuss this.”
Willie was blushing, staring at the floor and shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to cause no trouble, Mrs. Buchanan. Really I don’t. Maybe I should just stay down at the stable—”
“Nonsense.” Rex clapped him on the back. “Derrick’s old room has been empty for years.”
Willie cringed and shook his head. “Derrick. He won’t like it none.”
“He’ll get over it,” Rex offered his son a smile as they headed for the back stairs.
Dena smoked anxiously, her mind spinning ahead. She could hear the gossip in town now—starting out as a few lone whispers and growing into a curious rumble. Eyes would be cast in her direction, smiles covered with polite hands, evil eyes twinkling that the Buchanans were finally getting theirs. More scandal. More pain.
Dena had known of Rex’s affair with Sunny McKenzie, realized that it had begun long before Lucretia died and had continued after Rex’s first wife’s death. But she had never understood his fascination with the palm-reading supposed psychic and had hoped once they were married he would give up his mistress. She’d convinced herself that Rex had strayed only because his first wife was a cold-hearted bitch who couldn’t satisfy him, but even after she and Rex had married, he hadn’t stopped seeing Sunny—not for a long, long time, until just before Chase had the good sense to have her committed. The crazy woman had some kind of hold on Rex—some kind of voodoo or black magic. It was spooky.
But she hadn’t suspected that he’d fathered a son—even though rumors had abounded when Brig had been born and Frank had left. Dena hadn’t listened. It was so obvious that Brig had been a McKenzie; he looked so much like his father and older brother…but now…Finally she understood. For years she’d begged Rex to get rid of Willie and had just assumed that his philanthropic nature had made him want to keep the boy. But it had gone deeper than that. Much deeper. Sick inside, she heard footsteps in the rooms overhead. Willie moving in. Willie living with them, eating at the dining-room table, sleeping right down the hall, creeping through the house. She shivered at the thought. The boy wasn’t right. Everyone knew it.
Everyone but Rex.
The town would be buzzing with the news. As if it wasn’t enough that Chase was involved in something underhanded with the man who had died in the fire. As if it wasn’t enough that Derrick was a drunk and Felicity a jealous shrew. As if it wasn’t enough that Sunny McKenzie was on the loose somewhere. Dena drew hard on her cigarette, trying to calm herself before letting out a long breath of smoke.
She could handle this. She could. She reached for the phone and punched out her daughter’s telephone number.
Cassidy found Willie in the stable. He was working hard, sweat soaking the shoulders and armpits of his shirt. He offered her a weak grin as she walked through the open door.
“Hi, Willie.”
“You haven’t been here in a long time.”
“Too long,” she admitted, watching as each horse buried a velvet-soft nose into the loose hay. Teeth ground, dust swirled, and the familiar scents of horsehide, dung, sweat and dry hay brought back memories of her youth.
“Dena called you.”
“Yes.”
“She don’t like me livin’ in Derrick’s house.”
“It’s not Derrick’s house.”
“His room.” Willie shrugged and threw his shoulders into his task, forking hay into the manger.
She reached forward and petted a black nose. The horse snorted and shook his head, dark eyes bright with an inner fire.
“I should be down here. With the horses.”
“Would you like that better?”
He nodded, held her gaze a second longer than was comfortable and began working again. She remembered how often she’d found him staring. At her. At Angie. “I’m sure Dad would reconsider. He just wants you to be happy.” And Dena would be relieved. She’d already bent Cassidy’s ear, sounded nearly hysterical at the thought of Willie being in the house.
“Derrick won’t like me in his room. Uh-uh.” He worried his lip between his teeth.
“Derrick moved out a long time ago. He lives with Felicity and the girls on the other side of the property. He won’t bother you.”
Willie didn’t seem convinced, and Cassidy leaned against one of the support beams. “You found a wallet in the ashes of the fire.”
Willie bit his lip harder and scooped up the loose strands of hay with a pitchfork.
“Whose wallet was it?”
“I didn’t steal it!”
“I know, but it belonged to someone.”
Willie looked at the floor, but his eyes were restless, his gaze moving quickly over the dusty cement, as if trailing swift little rats scurrying through the shadows.
“Whose was it?” she repeated.
“The man’s,” he said, worrying his lip.
“What man?”
“They call him John.”
“The man who died in the fire?”
Nodding, Willie turned away from Cassidy and hung the pitchfork on the wall next to the shovel. Horses shifted and chewed, rustling hay, grinding teeth, snorting loudly. The stable was hot and flies buzzed near the windows. Higher up in the rafters, wasps were busy crawling into their paper nests.
Cassidy’s heart was pounding so loudly she was certain Willie could hear it. Running the fingers of both hands through his hair, he leaned against the wall and blinked rapidly.
“You know who the guy was, don’t you?” Cassidy whispered.
Willie shook his head so violently spittle was flung from his mouth.
“You do.”
“No!”
Slowly she advanced on him. “Willie?”
His jaw worked and his eyes bulged. “It weren’t nobody from around here and it weren’t Brig. Swear to God, Cassidy, it weren’t Brig.”
Despair and certainty touched her heart with cold, cruel fingers. “I didn’t ask you if it was Brig,” she said, her insides trembling as Willie half-ran out of the barn. The sun was intense, heat waves rising from the earth, no breath of a breeze offering any kind of relief.
Willie headed through a gate to the curve of Lost Dog Creek to the willow tree where Cassidy had played as a child, where she’d seen Derrick making out with a dark-haired girl, where Brig had caught her beneath the leafy swaying branches.
Plopping down on a flat rock, Willie stared into the thin stream of water that wandered down an otherwise bone-dry chasm. He didn’t look over his shoulder when he sensed her presence. “It happened here. In this creek,” he said suddenly, his voice choked. “That’s why I got stupid.”
“You’re not—”
“I am! I know what they say. ‘Dumb as a doornail…doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground…half-brain…stupid son of a bitch…retard.’ I know, Cassidy.”
An ache burned deep in her heart. She reached for his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.
“You know I’m your sister.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Our father is the same.”
“I’m too stupid to know.”
“It’s…it’s like the horses, Willie. You know that one stallion can be with a lot of different mares and—”
“People aren’t horses, Cassidy. I’m not that dumb!”
“It doesn’t matter how it works anyway. And don’t believe what everyone says. They’re the stupid ones.”
She knelt beside him and he sniffed loudly, his eyes red and blinking, though he wouldn’t cry. He’d learned long ago to keep his emotions deep inside.
“Tell me about Brig. Why was he here with Chase?”
Willie shook his head. “Don’t know.”
“But you saw him?”
“I—I was at the mill.” He swallowed hard. “I saw Chase and a man.”
“Brig?”
Rubbing his nose furiously, as if the motion might make him concentrate, Willie scowled. “It was dark.”
“But you saw him.”
Willie quit moving altogether as he thought.
“What were you doing there?”
“Watchin’.”
“For what?”
“Dunno.” Turning to face her, he said, “I always watch. I watch you. I watch Chase. I watched Angie.” Standing, he strode to the tree and pointed upward, past the first split of branches to an old limb. “See here—I seen this, too.”
“What?” she asked, squinting against the sun as the drooping branches rustled in the breeze. Shadows played upon the ground and her eyes adjusted slowly. Then she saw it—a heart carved deep into the bark of the tree. Angie’s name was hewn across the heart and Cassidy remembered sitting here beneath this very tree while Brig, fingering a jackknife, had talked to her. With a tug on her heart, she wondered if he’d chiseled her sister’s name into the thick branch.
“Didn’t know it was there, did ya?”
“No—I’ve never noticed it.”
“’Cause you ain’t been watchin’.”
“What else did you see, Willie?” she asked and he just stared at her, his blue eyes blank.
When he smiled, she felt the wind pick up. “Everything.” He stared at her so long goose bumps rose on her flesh. She saw shadows race through his eyes. Dark, knowing shadows. Finally he looked away then turned and started back to the stable. “I see everything,” he repeated, and his whisper was like the soft knell of doom.
The rest of the afternoon Cassidy worked at the paper. Half the time she’d spent avoiding Bill Laszlo, who had called her several times at home and cornered her twice in the office. Currently, he was hovering again.
“‘No comment’ won’t do,” he warned.
“I have nothing more to say.”
“Even though our friendly John Doe died?” He leaned a slim hip against the edge of her desk.
“I’m sorry he’s dead.”
“Your husband didn’t say anything.”
“He barely talks. His jaw is still wired shut. At least for a few more days.”
“Isn’t that convenient?”
“Painful is what it is.”
“Well, what can you say about Sunny McKenzie taking a hike right out of the lobby of Northwest General?”
“I was with her and I’m worried about her and anyone who has seen her should contact me. I assume you’ll put that in your piece, won’t you? Where to call if she’s located?”
He clucked his tongue and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re stonewalling me, Cassidy.”
“I don’t have any more to give.”
He scratched his arm and frowned at the ceiling tiles. “You know, I’ve been pretty patient with you. Because we’re really on the same team.”
“Same team? Save that speech for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times, will ya, Bill?”
“Give it a rest, Laszlo.” Selma fished into the bottom of her purse and dug out a pack of Virginia Slims. “You know you were a lot more friendly when you smoked. Want to join me on the back porch with the rest of the gang?”
“You’re killing yourself.”
“I’ll quit someday. Maybe I’ll take up running, too, and tell everyone else what they should do with their lives.”
“I’ll come with you,” Cassidy said.
“You don’t smoke!” Bill was aghast.
“Not yet, but maybe I’ll have to take it up so that you’ll quit badgering me.”
“Badgering you?” A wounded expression converged over his even features. “Hey—you know all about this job.”
Selma threw out a hip, and the gauzy fabric of her skirt swung just above her knees. “Look, I need a hit. Are we going to argue here or go outside and have a laugh or two?”
Cassidy needed a laugh. Or two. Or six hundred. Ever since the fire she’d been wound tighter than a watch spring, her nerves so tight she could barely sleep at night. Grabbing her purse, she left her computer humming and Bill muttering under his breath. They stopped at the machine for a couple of sodas, then continued on their mission.
Outside, the sun was still beating down, and a few other employees were enjoying a break. “The Coke and smoke crowd,” Selma said as she offered Cassidy a cigarette.
Cassidy shook her head and flipped the top of her Diet Coke. “I don’t think this is the time to take up another vice.”
“Didn’t know you had any.” Selma struck a match and drew on her filter tip.
“Secret vices.”
“Don’t tell Bill. They’ll all be exposed in the next edition.”
“And I’ll get a sermon.”
“Amen,” Selma said, laughing. Other employees joined them and the talk covered the next election, baseball, complaints about married life, jokes about single life and inevitably the fire. By the time they returned to their desks, Bill had given up his vigil and Cassidy finished two articles, one on possible new funding measures for schools, the other on one of the gubernatorial candidates.
She hurried out of the office, glad to be able to go home for the evening. Except she had to face Chase. At the thought, her stomach churned. How much longer could she keep up the charade? How long before the inevitable, that one of them moved out, occurred? She hoped to hold the marriage together until Chase was recovered, until the mystery surrounding the fire was solved, until she was certain that there was no chance for them.
Had there ever been one?
Had they ever truly loved each other?
A part of her cried out to be his wife, but then she remembered their last argument, the one that had simmered for days, then sparked on the day of the fire, and she knew that it was only a matter of time until they agreed to part company forever. And then what?
She climbed into the Jeep, rolled down the windows and started driving. Her future stretched out before her like an empty road across a desert—endless pavement leading to an unknown destination, the mirage of wedded bliss an illusion, the ribbon of highway desolate and lonely.
“Oh, stop it,” she told herself. This was no way to act. Like a maudlin fool. She needed to find some answers, that was all—to get to the bottom of this fire as well as the last one. And the first person she had to deal with would help her, whether he wanted to or not.
It was time to have it out with her husband.