Family Sins

Seventeen

The race between nephew and aunt back to Eden was straight out of a Hollywood movie. Their headlights were small bright patches in the vast darkness, leaving them with the misconception that they were isolated and beyond human law. The speed limit did not exist, and the two-lane road became their racetrack. Before they cleared the lake area, Nita barely missed hitting a deer, and once they were out on the highway, rather than slow down, Charles kept his speed and ran over a possum with a sickening thump that made his gut knot.

They were neck and neck more than once, until they were forced to slow down because of oncoming traffic, but they always accelerated again through the next open stretch of highway.

Once Charles thought Nita was actually going to force him off the road, and then she took a curve too fast and fishtailed before spinning out. He looked up in the rearview mirror with a sense of relief that he was finally ahead, but when he looked again, her headlights were behind him again and gaining ground. At that point he pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor, and by the time he passed the Eden city limits his tires were screeching as he rounded every bend.

He needed to get home so he would have protection or face the reality of an actual fistfight with a woman twice his age. In desperation, he took a shortcut through a residential neighborhood, which cut off ten blocks, but he still didn’t breathe easy until he pulled in beneath the portico and ran for the door.

Jack was on the phone in the office when he heard the front door slam. He looked up just as Charles raced past, caught a glimpse of the bloody scratches on his face and neck, ended his conversation and ran out into the hall.

“Charles! Stop! What the hell happened to you?” he shouted.

Charles slid to a halt, but before he could answer the front door flew open. Nita entered the foyer in an all-out sprint.

“Where are you, you little bastard?” she screamed.

Jack stared at his niece in disbelief. Her clothing was awry, her hair a mess, and the expression on her face was pure rage.

At that point Blake had heard the shouting and appeared at the head of the stairs. His saw his son’s bloody face and his sister’s manic demeanor, and came down on the run. “Did she do that to your face?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Charles said.

“Oh, hell, no,” Blake muttered, and grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her so hard they heard her neck pop.

At that point Charles panicked, afraid his father would break Aunt Nita’s neck, and began trying to get between them to break it up, but he couldn’t budge either one of them. His dad was furious, and Nita was now trying to claw her brother’s face the way she’d clawed his.

When Fiona raced out of her room and stopped at the top of the stairs, she gasped and then screamed, “Uncle Jack! Make them stop!”

Charles yanked a bouquet of flowers from a nearby vase, threw it aside and then flung the water on both of them.

Blake turned Nita loose to wipe his eyes, and Nita slipped on the water and fell backward, whacking her head. She was moaning and Blake was cursing, when Charles silenced them all.

“Everyone! Shut the hell up!” he shouted. “All that’s wrong with Aunt Nita is that she’s pissed because she caught me and Andrew screwing.”

Blake’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t think what to say.

Fiona started laughing and sat down on the top step to watch the drama unfold. “Oh my Lord! That’s rich! What a hoot! Does he run a discount with two or more from the same family?”

Nita tried to get up and slipped again.

“Somebody help me up,” she moaned.

Jack thrust out his hand, and when she grabbed hold, he pulled her to her feet.

“Nita, for God’s sake, stop carrying on,” he said. “Despite the unsavory aspects of this situation, the man was nothing but a high-dollar prostitute like all the men you drag home. At least this one didn’t steal the family silver. He didn’t owe you any allegiance and Charles was nothing more than another paying customer, although I will say, young man, you could have made a more thoughtful choice.”

Charles wilted under his uncle’s judgmental gaze.

Then Jack pointed at Nita.

“As for you, attacking your own kin like some wild animal? That should be beneath you. Until they heal, those scratches on your nephew’s face will be a visual reminder of the poor decisions you’ve made in life.”

Nita glared at Charles, who was glaring back. Commenting on the fact that he’d hit her, too, seemed pointless, since the truth was that she’d struck the first blow.

“Fine. I’m going to bed now,” she said, and stumbled up the stairs, sidestepping her sister at the top.

Blake was a little taken aback by the sordid aspect of the situation his son found himself in; although, to be honest, he’d never thought one way or the other about what Charles did in his spare time.

“If you’ll come upstairs with me, I’ll put something on those scratches for you,” Blake said.

“If I’m old enough to play with the big boys, then I’m old enough to doctor myself,” Charles muttered, and went upstairs to his room.

“Is it over?” Fiona asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jack muttered, and went back into the office.

“Whatever,” Fiona said, and left, as well.

A few moments later Frances appeared with a mop and a bucket to clean up the water, then left as quietly as she’d come.

Talia smiled as the wind coming in the open window of Bowie’s car played havoc with her freshly washed hair. Finally being able to wash the blood out of it had been an emotional boost, and after three days in the hospital, it was heaven to be going home with the man she loved when they’d come so close to losing their second chance.

Bowie had the windows down and his sunglasses on against the summer sun’s hot glare, and she thought that he was beautiful. Earlier, while they were waiting for her release papers, she’d asked if she could braid his hair like she used to do when they were young.

“Only if you sit down first,” he had said, and helped her out of the wheelchair and back up on the bed before sitting down beside her.

He’d leaned back on his elbows, giving her access to the full length of his hair, which accounted for the thick black plait hanging over his shoulder now. The white T-shirt against his tanned skin made his shoulders look wider and his belly flatter. Talia loved how he wore his clothes, but she was more partial to when he wore nothing at all.

As if sensing he was under observation, Bowie gave her a quick glance.

“Are you feeling okay? Road’s not too rough? Those bandages on your ribs aren’t too tight?”

Talia was watching the way his lips moved as he spoke and remembering how they felt moving on her skin, but when she saw that he’d stopped talking, she realized she was supposed to respond.

“Everything is fine,” she said.

“I promised the doctor that you would lie down as soon as I got you home,” he said.

“I know, and I will.”

A frown deepened the V between his eyes.

“It may seem like I’m fussing, but you came too close to dying because I brought danger to your door. I can’t forget that.”

“But the guilty party is in jail, right?”

He nodded.

“And they’re charging him for your dad’s murder, too?” she added.

“That’s what I was told,” he said.

She frowned. “You don’t seem happy about that.”

“I’m just not sure he’s responsible for both crimes. He admitted to tampering with our brakes, but he swears he had nothing to do with Dad’s death. I don’t want to think that the real killer was handed a get-out-of-jail free card because it was so convenient to blame someone else.”

Talia eyed the muscle jumping at his temple and could only imagine how his whole family must be feeling.

“Life can be so ugly, can’t it, Bowie?”

He hesitated to answer. He’d been raised to stay strong despite whatever was going on, but his father’s murder had shaken his faith.

“Sometimes, yes,” he said.

They rode a couple of miles farther in silence before Bowie reached for her hand and began absently rubbing her ring finger.

“Are you still my girl?” he asked.

“Always,” Talia said.

“Do you want a fancy wedding?”

She shook her head.

“My heart doesn’t feel like partying.”

“That’s how I feel, too,” Bowie said.

“I just want to be able to lie down beside you each night and wake up next to you each morning,” she said, and then her voice began to shake. “I thought I was going to lose you all over again. I thought I was going to die.”

He couldn’t bear that tremor in her voice and pulled over to the side of the road. He wanted her in his arms, but moving her in any way would only cause her more pain, so he settled for holding her hand.

“But you didn’t, and we have the rest of our lives to be together. Are you going to be sad to leave Eden?”

“No. I planned to once before, remember?”

He rubbed her ring finger again.

“I remember. Someday all this will be a story we tell our grandchildren.”

She gave him a look and frowned, as if he’d missed the most obvious point. “We have to make babies first.”

He laughed, then put the car in gear and started driving again.

When they finally reached his family home and parked, they saw Jesse sitting in his rocking chair on the porch. He jumped up and waved, then came running down the steps as Leigh came out the front door.

Bowie grinned.

“Prepare to be loved,” he said, and got out of the car.

Talia swallowed past the knot in her throat. This felt like a homecoming. Then her door opened, and Jesse was leaning in so he could see her face.

“Hi,” he said. “I helped Bowie find you! I have sharp eyes!”

“And I am so grateful to you for that,” Talia said.

Bowie gave his brother a quick pat on the back.

“Hey, Jesse. There’s a suitcase in the trunk. Would you please take it to my room?”

Jesse grinned.

“Yes. Bowie’s girl is going to get well here. I will be quiet, and I will help, won’t I, Mama?”

Leigh slipped up beside him and gave him a hug.

“Yes, you will. Get the suitcase for Bowie and take it to his room now, okay?”

Bowie leaned in to help Talia out, but as soon as she was upright, Leigh wrapped her arms around her, kissed her cheek and gave her a very gentle hug.

“Welcome home, daughter,” Leigh said softly.

Talia’s smile wobbled. “I’ve waited a long time to hear that.”

“I regret the pain you’ve suffered because of us. I think you’re due for some spoiling,” Leigh said, and then led the way back into the house.

Bowie swept Talia up in his arms and followed his mother inside.

There was a cutting of honeysuckle in a vase near the front door, and the sweet scent was another facet of homecoming for Talia. They’d had lilac bushes at the house where she’d grown up, and this felt like a bit of serendipity from the Universe to prove that she was finally back on the right path.

Leigh glanced at the clock.

“It’s a couple of hours ’til lunch. Why don’t you rest a bit, and then Bowie can come get you when it’s time to eat?”

“Yes, thank you, I believe I will,” Talia said.

When Bowie carried her back to his bedroom, Jesse was standing at the foot of the bed holding an afghan like a bullfighter with a cape.

Bowie laid her down, careful not to bump her bruised and swollen knees.

Jesse covered her up.

Talia pulled the afghan beneath her chin and then looked up at them and smiled.

“You have no idea how tall you both look from down here.”

Jesse grinned.

“Going now,” he said, and quickly left the room.

“I’m going now, too,” Bowie said, but left her with a kiss before he shut the door behind him.

The air in the room was cool compared to the outside heat. She could hear the hum of a central air unit somewhere outside as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The gossip about Justin Wayne’s arraignment two days ago was still fresh fodder in Eden when William Frazier’s story hit the national media.

Leigh was in the kitchen making piecrust and thinking about what might appeal to Talia’s palate when her phone signaled a text. She wiped her hands to check it and then read the post with a bit of disbelief that it was actually happening.

It’s about to hit the fan, my friend. This is for Stanton.

She laid down the phone and grabbed the remote, aiming it at the TV on the sideboard. She and Stanton used to watch the morning news over breakfast, never thinking that one day they would be part of a lead story.

“Bowie! Come here, please!” she called, and Bowie came running from the other room.

“What’s wrong?”

She pointed to the TV, and then moved to the chair where Stanton used to sit and stood behind it.

I’ve still got your back, my love.

When Bowie put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, she willingly leaned against him.

And our sons have mine.

Jack Wayne was at work, but he was just going through the motions. The disgrace of having a member of his immediate family imprisoned was humiliating, and for such a juvenile stunt. He still couldn’t believe Justin had done all that in broad daylight. The least he could have done was wait until nightfall. When Barbara, his secretary, burst into his office without knocking, he didn’t react with his usual disdain.

“Sir! You need to turn on the TV!” she cried.

He frowned as he reached for the remote. “What channel?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, and bolted.

Down the hall, Blake’s secretary, Connie, was doing the same thing, only Blake was on the phone, so she didn’t say a word. She just turned on the TV, handed him the remote and exited the room.

Back at the mansion, Charles had chosen to hole up in his suite rather than expose his wounds to public gossip, but after three days of self-imposed solitude he was bored with his own company.

He was stretched out on the sofa and channel surfing when he caught the breaking news alert. Seeing photos of his family flashing onscreen one after another with the headline “Scandal” made him turn up the volume. When the journalist began his report, Charles launched himself off the sofa, unable to believe the series of infractions, criminal activities and shady business dealings being listed. The final nails in the good will of public opinion were going to be the families they’d forced from their ancestral homes just to build a resort, the murder of a man who’d tried to stop them and the arrest of Justin Wayne on charges of attempted murder.

“Sweet son of a bitch,” Charles muttered.

Within seconds the phone began to ring. He left it for Frances to pick up, pulled a couple of suitcases from the closet and started to pack, then remembered they’d been ordered not to leave the county.

Nita was on the phone with a New York City friend when the friend suddenly gasped and then changed the subject.

“Oh my God, Nita! Your whole family is on the news! What happened? What’s going on?” she cried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nita said, and began running from one corner of her suite to the other trying to find the remote.

Then Fiona came running in unannounced with a look of horror on her face, and Nita froze.

“I’ll have to call you back,” she said quickly, and disconnected. “Fee, what the hell is going on?”

“They’re talking indictments. They’re saying we all share the guilt because we’re sharing the profits. They said money is missing, and they’re talking fraud and embezzlement and even issues with the FDIC because of a lending company we own.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Nita cried.

“It’s all over the news,” Fiona said, ignoring the question, and sank into a chair and started to weep. “We’re ruined. We’ll never recover from this.”

Nita glanced out the window, absently noting a contrail in the sky as a chill rolled through her. She stood, the tears so close to falling that she couldn’t see, and then turned to face her sister. “She did it.”

Fiona blew her nose and then reached for another tissue. “Who did what?” she muttered.

“Leigh. She told us what she’d do if anyone else messed with her family, and what Justin did lit her fuse.”

“But we’re her family, too,” Fiona said.

Nita laughed, and it was not a pretty sound.

“Like hell. We wrote her off nearly thirty years ago. We forgot she even existed, and then Justin killed her man and tried to kill one of her sons, and now she’s schooled us on what it means to keep your word.”

“What are we going to do?” Fiona asked.

“Make sure our trust funds are intact. Call our law firm to make sure you and I don’t wind up included in any of these charges, and find out if we’re ever allowed to leave the country.”

Fiona’s eyes were awash with tears, and when she nodded in agreement, they spilled over.

“I’m sorry I’ve been mean. Will you take me with you when you go?”

Nita sighed and, in a rare moment of emotion, hugged her sister.

“Of course, Fee. We have to stick together in this mess.”

Andrew Bingham had gone straight to Charleston. The state capitol of West Virginia had its own kind of elegance, which he preferred. He had taken up temporary residence in one of the finer old hotels and spent the last few days resting, working out and going through the video files he’d recovered from the lake house.

It was a somewhat boring task for him, because everything he did was routine and precise, calculated for a client’s greatest satisfaction, but as he watched, he realized there were a few things he should probably switch up. Being repetitive was the kiss of death to someone with his job skills, so he took time to watch all the recordings, deciding which ones he would keep. Those he cataloged and stored, while the others he set aside to be erased. He had to take stock of how much money he’d banked during his stint in Eden, then tie up loose ends before he moved on, preferably out of the country for a while. It would be great if the next job he landed was in Paris, but that wasn’t going to happen unless he made himself available there.

He’d finished most of his lunch from room service and was down to the last five recorded sessions when he happened to look up and catch sight of Nita Wayne’s face on TV. To say he was startled would have been putting it mildly. He upped the volume to hear what was going on and, as the story unfolded, began to realize how fortunate he’d been in leaving Eden before this broke.

He watched the piece all the way through, then turned off the TV and got up to refill his wineglass. Now that he knew what was happening with the Waynes, he was even more eager to get out of the country.

He grabbed a piece of Godiva chocolate from a dish beside the wine decanter, then settled in to view the remaining discs.

The next one he saw was of no importance, so he set it aside to erase and popped in the next. He noted the date and time as he hit Play, expecting to watch yet another episode of sexual antics that went along with the role-playing Charles liked.

To his surprise, the image that popped up was neither Charles nor himself, but another member of the family. He was thinking how easily he and Charles could have been compromised even earlier, and was glad it had been Nita who found them.

But then it dawned on him that the man on screen wasn’t exhibiting his usual emotional control. Andrew watched him run across the room to the gun cabinet, take out a rifle, check to see if it was loaded, then run out of view, the skin crawled on the back of his neck.

The video timed out after no further movement. As Andrew made a note of the date and time, it dawned on him that this was the day of the murder.

“Oh my God! It was you,” he mumbled.

Then he quickly made note of the date and time when the next recording on the disc was made, noting that it occurred about forty-five minutes after the first. He wasn’t surprised when he saw it was the same man with the same rifle, this time racing frantically from one place to another, gathering objects, before he sat down and began to break down the rifle.

When the man began to clean the gun, Andrew realized he was cleaning the murder weapon.

“You sorry-ass bastard,” Andrew said.

His heart was pounding as he watched the man clean every aspect of the rifle, put it back together, wipe it completely of prints, then return it to the gun case in plain view of the camera.

“Despite all your indignation, you actually did it.”

The moment he knew what he had, he never had the impulse not to turn it over to the police. However, he sat for a moment thinking about what he needed to do first. He decided to burn a copy of the disc for safekeeping before slipping the original into a protective sleeve. He wrote the words Lake House, the date and time of the recording, and the word KILLER in caps, and put it in his suitcase, separate from all the others.

The bummer was that he was going to have to take a trip back to Eden. He didn’t want to go, but considering the news report he’d just seen, this was too volatile and too important to trust to the US mail.

He called the front desk and asked them to prepare his bill, then began packing. If he didn’t hit a lot of traffic, he would be back in Eden before dark.

A calm settled over Leigh once she knew the story was finally out. She heard Bowie on the phone discussing the news with his brothers, and while she had no regrets, she was surprised to find she felt no sense of satisfaction, either. Stanton was still gone, and no amount of legal retribution would change that.

When Constable Riordan called her later to tell her Stanton’s body was finally being released to the family and that he was also releasing the pickup Bowie had been driving, it felt like the past days of tragedy were finally coming to an end.

“I thank you for the courtesy of your call. I’ll have a wrecker pick up the truck and bring it into Eden for repair, and I’ll notify the funeral home. Do I have to sign anything before they can pick him up?” she asked.

“Which one do you intend to use?” Riordan asked.

She told him.

“I’ll make a note. They know what to do.”

“Thank you,” Leigh said.

She heard him disconnect and then laid the phone on the table. The walls of this house were closing in. She could see thousands of lonely hours ahead of her, and in a moment of panic she turned and rushed outside to the back porch.

Hit by the sunlight and the scent of pine, her panic subsided almost instantly. With a slow, shaky breath, she sat down in the porch swing and pushed off with her toes, remembering the day she and Stanton had hung this swing and all the time they’d spent in it over the years, making plans for the next day’s work.

She heard a soft cluck, cluck, and made herself focus on the present and what was in front of her, rather than what might be still to come.

The chickens were out of the coop, meandering about the backyard, searching the grass for bugs and seeds, and registering their disapproval with a squawk if another chicken got too close.

The faint breeze coming down the mountain cooled the beads of sweat on her forehead. She looked up at the infinite sky peppered with small white clouds and swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“So now I have to bury you. I hope you’ve mentioned to God, Whose infinite wisdom has often confounded me, that I completely disagree with you having to die.”

A hen squawked loud and long.

“My sentiments exactly,” she muttered, and pushed off in the swing again, giving way to the tears.