Family Skeletons (18 page)

“Well, hello, everybody,” said Ryan’s voice.

Trying not to be obvious about it, Sunny drew in a
deep breath.

Toby frowned, losing much of his bravado, as he
looked up at the cliff and the newcomer.

Ryan started an easy descent. He’d apparently gotten
a handle on the situation and he wasn’t trying to hide his contempt. “I
recognize Matthew, and the role he’s playing, and I can’t miss the bully and
his role, of course, but I’m wondering what your part is?” He looked pointedly
at Junior.

“Hey, man,” Toby said. Clearly he was working hard
at being belligerent, but he wasn’t quite able to pull it off. Junior,
apparently not happy about being singled out for attention, explained his role
by turning around and heading back toward Chester.

Ryan looked at Toby. “Yes? Did you want to talk to
me?”

Toby glared at his brother’s retreating back, then
directed the scowl at Ryan, then wordlessly he turned and followed his brother.
There was very little substance in any one of the Bowers men. Sunny thought
fleetingly about Louise. Was this a result of her leaving, or was this the
reason that she’d left?

The brothers tramped back to the wet sand where the
walking was easier. Remaining where he was, Matthew looked after them.

“Thanks,” Sunny said with feeling, her gaze on the
young boy.

He looked at her, then Ryan. “You didn’t need me.”

She uttered an unladylike snort. “Think again.”

He looked down at his feet, appearing embarrassed.
“Yeah, well...” Then he looked back up. “I saw your cousin heading out of town.
I’m glad you’ve got somebody else with you. You shouldn’t be alone all the way
out here.” He turned to leave.

“Will you be okay?” Ryan called after him. He
directed his gaze to the Bowers brothers farther up the beach, then back to
Matthew.

“Oh, yeah,” he said easily. “They just talk big,
that’s all.”

They take after their father.

Matthew glanced at Sunny. “But then again, you don’t
want to take them lightly, either. Take care, Sunny. See you around.”

“Seems like a good kid,” Ryan said, as he watched
Matthew trudge his way up the beach. His bare feet left deep gouges in the wet
sand. The tide was rising. The other boys’ prints had already been wiped clean.

She nodded absently, agreeing with Ryan, but her
mind had lit upon an unsettling fact that she’d almost missed.

Ryan gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrowing.
“What’s the matter? Are you still worried about them?”

But she barely heard him. She continued to watch the
receding figures. “It wasn’t either one of them,” she murmured. “It couldn’t
have been. There goes my whole scenario.”

He looked at her, at the three boys in the distance,
then back at her. “What are you talking about? You’re not making much sense
here, Sunny.”

“Neither of them pushed me off the cliff. They’re
too tall.”

Her eyes met his then, hers intent as she continued
to work it out. “When anyone that tall stands next to me—I feel it with
Jonathan sometimes—there’s a sensation of height. It’s like someone’s looming
over me. But I didn’t get that feeling when I was pushed. Whoever came up
behind me wasn’t a whole lot taller than I am.”

He looked thoughtful and dubious at the same time.
“Are you thinking it was Matthew?”

She looked away. “It could’ve been, but I still
don’t think it was.”

“Come to think of it, Tom’s not a big guy, either.”

“No, he’s not. And Langley Bowers isn’t as tall as
his sons. But it wasn’t he, either, unless he went on the wagon. I didn’t smell
booze.” She laughed without humor and shook her head, as if to clear it. “And I
guess that also lets Mavis out. Neither did I smell tobacco.”

Then, for an instant, she froze.

She quit, Sunny. Remember?

Chapter Twenty

Sunny had never been addicted to television, not in
San Francisco with cable and its multiple choices, nor at Corday Cove with its
limited channels. Although she might sit in front of a television set to keep
company with its viewer, generally she’d have something in her lap to read or
work on.

Tonight, however, she refused to share her book with
the TV. At the supermarket she’d found John Grisham’s latest in paperback. She
planned on an early bath and then propping herself up in bed and reading the
night away. The author was the best substitute she could find for Jonathan
Corday.

Thinking of Jonathan made her glance yearningly down
the hall toward his room.
But you come in a distinct second, Mr. Grisham.

After her bath, she pulled the covers back on the
bed in her old room, added extra pillows and then slipped between the sheets,
wondering if she also wanted to indulge in a cup of hot cocoa. Then she paused,
shook her head, and swore softly. She got out of bed, donned her robe, and
descended the stairs.

Sounds issuing from the parlor told her Ryan had
found a car chase on TV. When she appeared in the doorway, he put his hand up,
unable to tear his attention away from the screen. She waited, listening to
grating gear changes and accelerated speeds.

She entered the room and faced the set. The front
wheels of a car rocked on the edge of a gully, then settled. The camera cut
away to where flames and smoke mushroomed. Then the scene flashed back to the
stalled Mustang that was a safe distance from the exploding gas pumps, with a
pained-looking but stoic Steve McQueen sitting behind the wheel.

You might not be able to drag him away
from this one, Sunny. Can you do without?

I can if he can
.

When the set switched off, she looked at Ryan in
surprise.

He shrugged. “It’s over. Or at least the car chase
is. Did you want to talk to me?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask a favor. I, uh...”

He grinned. “Forgot something at the grocery store
and you’re not exactly dressed for another shopping trip. Seems like old
times.” He lifted Cat off his lap and stood. He’d been in the animal’s favorite
chair, and she quickly jumped back up to claim it. “What do you need?”

“Coffee.”

“Okay. Come to think of it, I saw you empty the can
when you made that pot for me this morning. But I didn’t remember it when we
were at the store either.” On his way out of the room he deposited the remote
on top of the TV where it belonged, then reached in his pocket for keys. “Is
Bev’s still open?”

“If you hurry. She stays open until dark, usually.”

It didn’t seem right to go back to bed while her
guest was out running errands, so Sunny brought her book downstairs and warmed
milk for hot chocolate, making enough for Ryan if he wanted some when he
returned. The evening was still, the air was cool but comfortable, so she took
the book and her cup of hot cocoa to the porch and snapped the light on. Cat
must’ve gotten bored without the TV on because she came to join her mistress.
Sunny sat on one chair and propped her feet on the other.

I could get used to this. It’s nice.

Then she felt her eyes turning empty. Several times
today she’d gotten the feeling that the house itself missed Jonathan. The
kitten stood in front of the screen now as if looking for him. With a sharp
shake of her head, Sunny opened her book. Grisham’s first character gripped her
immediately, and she was into the second chapter before her concentration was
broken. Her head snapped up.

What was that?

Cat’s head was also tilted, as if in listening mode.
It had sounded like a footfall, a stealthy step that had dislodged pebbles in
the graveled driveway that circled the house. Sunny waited for the sound to
repeat. It didn’t, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there. Twilight had
turned into dusk and she could see little of the yard through the wraparound
screen. She put the book down and got to her feet. Her mind raced over the
house, every window and door. She’d checked them all before getting into the
bathtub and the house was locked up tight.

Except for the screen door right in front of her.

Ryan had gone out that way, and she hadn’t secured
it after him. Quickly she slid the locking mechanism into place. Her hand
didn’t tremble, but her heart was beating extra fast. In almost the same motion
she flicked the outside light on and the inside one off.

Only the porch stairs and a small area beyond were
illuminated, but at least she wasn’t as brightly outlined as she had been. Cat
stood poised in front of the screen door, as if waiting for it to open.

I’m not opening up for you or for any
other reason.

She picked up Cat and entered the kitchen, and locked
that door behind her as well. The book and her cocoa remained on the porch. She
wasn’t going back after either one.

It was more than the solitary sound that had
convinced her someone was out there. Her senses, especially that inexplicable
sixth one, told her that someone was there who meant her harm. She couldn’t
explain it. She just knew it.

Her baseball bat was under her bed upstairs, but at
the moment she preferred to stay downstairs where she could hear and identify
sounds. She and Cat sat on the bottom step of the staircase and kept each other
company. Once Ryan returned, the car would scare away the intruder. The person
might have already lit out once he’d realized Sunny was aware of him.

“What’s taking our friend so long?” she whispered to
Cat. “Did he get lost?”

In response, Cat turned her motor up a notch and
settled more comfortably. She didn’t have a care in the world. Apparently she’d
wanted out to roam, not to take care of urgent bathroom needs.

Sunny stroked the kitten’s back.

A stray hiker from the beach might’ve walked up
here. Someone could’ve been in the cypress grove and seen Ryan’s car leave.
Perhaps a member of the Bowers family? She’d seemed to have rubbed every one of
them the wrong way, and she hadn’t even been trying.

Every sense remained alert. She was tense and tight,
muscles rigid. When the phone rang, she jumped and squeezed Cat so tightly the
kitten squealed and fought to get away.

That must be Ryan. Did he run out of
gas?

But there was no response when she answered the
phone. She listened, spoke again, then heard the receiver at the other end click
in her ear. She hung it up and stared at it. What was that about?

She went back to sit on the bottom stair. Cat didn’t
trust her and stayed away. Bev must’ve already closed up, and Ryan had to go to
Castleton for the coffee.

Too bad you remembered you’d forgotten
it. Maybe you should give it up. Judging by tonight and its suspicious sounds,
coffee might prove to be hazardous to your health.

When she heard a car she tilted her head, listening
intently, then recognized the coupe’s doctored muffler. Breathing easier, she
walked to the kitchen to let Ryan in. Cat was waiting at the door and went out
as Ryan entered.

“Bev was closed?” Sunny asked.

“No, I lucked out. I was their last customer. They locked
the door behind me when I left.” He hesitated. “I, er, had a little bit of a
problem, however. But it wasn’t your fault, and I don’t want you to worry about
it.”

She felt wary. She understood a little bit of
psychology herself. If he needed to clarify that it wasn’t her fault, then in
some way it probably was. “What happened?”

“As I was leaving, another car backed into me. I’d
backed out first, then saw his car in motion so I gave him room and waited. But
he pulled out at a bad angle and a little too fast and he broke my headlight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” But why was that her fault? He
drank coffee, too.

“No big deal. Not much damage, and he accepted
responsibility. I’ll only drive in daylight until I get home and can get it
fixed.”

“Did you try to call me?”

“No.” He frowned. “Sorry, I guess I should have. It
took a while exchanging information with that guy. He was pretty nervous.”

Impatiently she shook her head. “That’s not what I
meant. Someone called but was disconnected. I thought it might’ve been you.”

He deposited the grocery bag on the table and
reached inside it. “At least one thing worked out well. They had banana nut ice
cream. I’ll get the spoons if you’ll get the bowls.”

* * *

“Have they given you any indication as to when
they’ll release your father’s remains?” the reporter asked.

“No.” Sunny had stepped outside onto the front porch
to talk to him. The man was gray-haired and had angular, lined features that
lent character to his face. He was on his own and didn’t have a camera. He was
older than the redheaded female vulture, and he seemed seasoned. So far it
appeared he was after facts, not emotional reactions.

“Do you have any idea as to why they’re holding it
so long?” he asked.

“No.”

Despite her monosyllabic responses, his pencil
remained poised above the notepad. “Will there be a formal service held for
your father?”

“Private interment and a memorial service.”

“Where and when?”

“That hasn’t been determined yet.”
What part of
the word private did you not understand?

“Do you foresee any difficulty in working with
Deputy Tom Fairly’s replacement?”

Her surprise must’ve showed because his eyes
sharpened. “So you weren’t told. Do you have any idea why he was replaced?”

“No.”

Oh, boy, oh boy, wouldn’t you like to
know
.

He consulted his notes. “Deputy Timothy Joyce, and
he’ll report to Sam Hendricks out of Cullen County’s Sheriff’s Department. Do
you know them?”

“Yes.”

That’s not too bad. Joyce is okay, and
Hendricks will only be in the picture when it’s time to take credit. But Tom
should’ve told us.

He closed his notebook and gave her a studying look.
“Anything you care to add?”

“No,” she said, and noted that he’d caught her
involuntary smile, as slight as it must have been.

He smiled back. He was as sharp as any, but not as
callous as some. “You’ve got my card. You ever want to volunteer anything, you
give me a call.” He gave her a two-fingered salute in goodbye and walked down
the stairs to his waiting sedan.

“Thanks, uh,” she looked down at his card and then
finished, “Dean Ray Trent.” She looked back at him. “That’s quite a handle.”

He grinned on his way into the car. “Any one of the
three will do.”

She stepped back into the house. Ryan was lounging
in Cat’s chair with another cup of coffee. She should’ve told him to get two
cans; he lived on the stuff. On the floor next to his feet were two plastic
grocery bags filled with something that bulged at odd angles. She gave the bags
a puzzled look, but he didn’t comment on them.

“That’s the second one today,” he said. “And the
phone’s been ringing off the hook as well.”

“Uh-huh. He’s also the nicest one. The only one I
ever smiled at, in fact.”

“Should Jonathan worry?”

She smiled, then laughed. “No.”

“He must like oranges.”

She squinted. “Uh, what?”

“Jonathan must like oranges.”

“Oh. Yes, he does. Why?”

“That’s all you have left.” He indicated the bags at
his feet. “I packed the last banana for me—you get an orange—and a couple
bottles of water. I made boloney and mustard sandwiches and added two boiled eggs.
I even found that bag of potato chip crumbs you’d been hoarding. I put some
journals I want to read in the other bag, along with your new paperback.” He
got to his feet. “You need a break from the press. Are you ready to go?”

“The beach again? I didn’t think you were that fond
of sitting in the sun.”

“I’m not. You can carry the bags and I’ll get the
fold-up chairs. I want to picnic in that eucalyptus grove, and I want a decent
chair to sit in.”

They walked directly to the clearing with its pretty
rectangle of wild flowers, and as long as the sun was shining on Sunny she was
comfortable. While she enjoyed the sun, Ryan sat in the shade. The sandwiches
were drowning in mustard, but she gave Ryan credit for trying. Cat didn’t mind
the mustard, however. The pet wasn’t fussy; if it was people food, she liked
it. The animal was acting more and more like she thought she was just another
person.

Sunny finished her orange and poured bottled water
on her hands to rinse off the stickiness. Then, replete and relaxed, she leaned
back in her chair and let her senses take over. The scent of the orange
lingered, mingling with the aromatic eucalyptus leaves. A particularly loud
wave crashed in the distance. The sun was just right, not hot. A slight breeze
caressed her skin. A nap would be nice, and she wished they’d brought a blanket
because she’d never been able to sleep sitting up.