fifty-four

I take Jude to the small library. He’s still vibrating with anger and confusion, but he let me bring him here. Now he stands in the middle of the room with me, his jaw set, as he says, “What?”

“Look at the portraits.”

He casts a cursory glance over them. “Okay. What am I looking for?”

“When I came through the first time, I noticed some of these men really look like you and Lennon. I figured that could be one reason the Bishops adopted you—because you physically resemble them. See this one?” I walk over and point. “He could be Lennon dressed up for Founder’s Day.”

“Okay.”

“You agree he looks like Lennon?”

“Sure, but that disproves your theory, doesn’t it? This guy looks more like Lennon than Peter Bishop does.”

Now I’m the one staring in confusion. Then it clicks.

When Mrs. Bishop was showing me around, she commented on a painting she “brought down” after it was “put upstairs” by her grandmother.

“The portraits…Which side of the family are they?”

“Elysse’s. It’s her house. My dad’s family worked the mines—they were definitely not sitting for fancy oil paintings a hundred years ago.” He looks at me. “You thought this was his family, which supported your theory.”

I lower myself to the sofa. “It did. You two do resemble Peter Bishop, but only in coloring. You really look like some of these guys. The shape of the face, the mouth, the set of the eyes…” I trail off as I work it through. “That can’t be coincidental.”

“Okay…”

“This is Elysse’s family. She’s the one involved in all this. She adopted you and Lennon. She found you. She made all the arrangements. She made sure you didn’t hunt, didn’t even want you taking martial arts, freaked when you showed signs of a violent temper. And she’s freaking about Lennon, now that she’s heard the description of the man in the conservatory. She wanted both of us to stay here, not leave the house, not tell your father, let her investigate.”

“Okay, but there’s no way Elysse Bishop is my biological mother.”

“Who are the male relatives on her side?”

He sits beside me, quieter now, thoughtful. “Her dad’s gone. She has a brother, Kendrick, but I’ve only met him once or twice, when I was little. He’s been living in Europe. I wouldn’t call them close. But…” He’s thinking hard, fingertips drumming his leg. “I remember hearing they used to be close, as kids. People ask about him sometimes. I don’t know what happened. Between them.”

“Do you have any photos of him?”

“There should be some in here.” He walks to the bookshelf, takes down one of the newer albums, and then flips through it. “He’s a few years younger than her. Okay, here’s Elysse graduating from college, and Kendrick’s…” He stops, his finger on the photo. “He looks…” He swallows. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“That he looks like Lennon with longer hair? Yes.”

He keeps turning pages. “He’s over here, at Elysse’s wedding, but it’s not a good picture, and then…” He turns the page and stops as the color drains from his face. It’s a photo of Kendrick; one where he’s smiling at the camera, except it’s not really a smile. It’s a self-satisfied smirk that sends me reeling back into the conservatory.

Do I make you nervous, Winter? Truth is uncomfortable. Ask Jude. He knows all about truth and lies. I only wanted to warn you that the apple does not fall far from the tree. He is his father’s son. Remarkable in a way few can appreciate.

“That’s…,” Jude begins. “I didn’t think I got a good look last night, but I…” He rubs his face. “Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Seeing what I expect.”

He’s not. Looking at that picture, there’s no doubt in my mind. Elysse’s brother, Kendrick, was the man in the conservatory.

“Your phone has a camera,” I say. “Can you take a picture of this and send it to Doc Southcott? Ask Cadence to take a look? You can include a few other people, so she won’t be prejudiced.”

He nods, chin bobbing. “Good idea.” He swallows again and turns to me. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“And if it is, then it fits. It all fits.”

“Yes. But send the photo. Cady saw him better.”

He’s hitting send when the door opens and Roscoe comes in.

“Hey, I thought you guys were going to bed,” he says.

“Changed our minds,” Jude says. “We’re just poking about in here for a bit. Books, you know?”

Roscoe gives a laugh, but it seems a little strained. “Yeah, you and your books.” He leans in with a mock whisper. “Might not be the way to impress the girls, though.”

“Depends on the girl,” I say.

Jude chuckles, but Roscoe doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s gazing about, as if trying to work something through.

“Were you looking for us?” Jude says.

“Hmm? No. Why?”

Jude looks around at the shelves. “Not exactly the place you hang out on night shift.”

Roscoe seems to struggle for a response. “Sometimes. The chairs are comfy.”

They actually aren’t; they’re hard-backed antiques, meant for display, not for curling up with a book.

“We won’t be much longer,” Jude says.

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll go, then….” Roscoe spots the photo album. “Whatcha doing with that, bud?”

There’s a moment of silence. It’s barely a heartbeat long. Then Jude slowly closes the book.

“I wanted to show Winter an old photo of me and Lennon. I was telling her about the time my mother had this fancy costume made for a Halloween party and Lennon came down wearing a sheet instead.”

This is an outright lie. From a guy who does not tell them. Jude has my full attention now, and I’m watching both of them, my brain whirring to figure out what he has.

Jude continues, “But this is the wrong album. I thought I saw a picture of Lennon. Then I realized it was Kendrick.”

Roscoe goes still.

“You know who I mean, right?” Jude says.

“Sure, your mother’s brother. Your uncle.”

“Mmm, he’s not actually my uncle.”

A pause. “Well, yeah, you’re adopted so I guess not, but you’d still call him that, right?”

“Sure. Unless I called him Dad.”

Roscoe stiffens. Then he forces a laugh. “Did you guys get into the leftover champagne? Your brother’s usually the one for goofy jokes.”

“He is. Do you know where I could find him?”

“Huh?”

“Do you know where I could find my brother?”

Roscoe sighs. “This again? I know you’re worried, but he’s with his buddies. He’s been texting your momma.”

“How do you know that? No, never mind. Could I ask you another favor? Track that text for me? You’re really good at that sort of thing. I was so relieved when you gave us those GPS coordinates for Winter’s sister that I never wondered exactly how you got them. How did you do that?”

“I have a friend, like I said.”

“Right, well, you’ve been very helpful, getting us all the coordinates we need. Even though you’re sure Lennon’s not actually missing.”

Roscoe says nothing. He’s thinking hard, and from his expression, he’s not a guy accustomed to hard thinking.

“You know Kendrick, don’t you?” Jude says. “In fact, I’m thinking he’s the one who helped you get a job here, to keep an eye on his sons.”

A long pause. Then, “Are you okay, Jude? Your momma’s been worried about you, and I’m starting to think she might have a point.”

“Tell my mother I’d like to speak to her.”

“It’s three in the morning. I’m not—”

“Fine.” Jude starts for the door. “I’ll go—”

Roscoe grabs me. It’s so fast I don’t have time to react—I’m expecting him to go after Jude. Jude catches the movement and spins, but before he can lunge, Roscoe has a knife at my throat.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you, Jude? Always have. Too smart and too good for the rest of us. I told your daddy not to bother with you. I’ve met fire-and-brimstone preachers who weren’t as straitlaced as you. No booze, no pot, no pills. You hardly even date. That’s unnatural for a boy your age. Your daddy thinks it’s a sign—that you’ve got the itch and you’re fighting extra hard to control it.”

“Let Winter go. She has nothing to do with—”

“Oh, but she does. She’s the bait that keeps you on the line, boy. You’ll do whatever I say, as long as I have her. Your daddy thinks she’s the one for you, the key to bringing out his side of the family. He’s wrong. You don’t have that in you. Not the way your brother does. Lennon just needs a little more prodding, and this”—he waggles the blade against my throat—“might be the way to jump-start his engines. The girl he tried to save…who ended up falling for his brother. I bet Lennon’s going to sing a whole different tune about little Winter now that—”

I stab Roscoe in the stomach. I’ve palmed the switchblade from my pocket and now I drive it into his gut the moment his knife wavers from my throat. It still hits me, the edge slicing my neck as Roscoe staggers back.

Jude yanks me out of the way. Roscoe charges with a roar. Jude hits him with a hard right and Roscoe goes down. I race over, switchblade ready. Jude leaps in to pin Roscoe, but the older man twists clear and grabs Jude, wrenching him down.

I snatch out my phone and dial 911. Nothing happens. I try again. Then I check my phone. No service.

“You really think we’d make it that easy?” Roscoe sneers. “You’re not getting—” Jude hits him in the jaw, which shuts him up.

They’re grappling on the floor, evenly matched, and I’m looking for a chance to jump in. Then footsteps sound in the hallway. Jude hears them too and says, “Run.”

“I’m not—”

“Winter.” He struggles to keep Roscoe down. “Run and get help. That’s what I need.”

I look at the knife. If I can incapacitate Roscoe long enough for Jude to escape with me—

“No time,” Jude says, as if reading my mind yet again. “You need to run. I’ll be fine. You will not.”

He’s right. Kendrick is obsessed with his sons. He won’t hurt Jude. I’m not a person here. I’m an object. Like Cadence in that tunnel.

Here’s a gift for you, son. Do what you want with her.

I run.