Family Skeletons (19 page)

She stretched. “Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s a crossword puzzle. It’s not a journal.”

He grinned, but didn’t look up. “Shut up, Sunny. I’m
happy.”

Then, after a short moment, he looked up. “How about
you? Are you happy?”

She knew he wasn’t referring to the day. She smiled
slowly, and self-consciously. “Yeah, I guess so. I like Jonathan. But I, well,
I’m surprised. I really didn’t think that, uh, I hadn’t expected to ever, well...”

When she didn’t finish, he did it for her. “Ever
find someone you liked who was good to you, and for you, and who liked you
back.”

She nodded, agreeing but not elaborating.

“You always sold yourself short, Sunny. You’re a very
special person, and you’re as good for Jonathan as he is for you.”

With a slow wag of her head, she moved her gaze
away. She wasn’t as relaxed as she’d been a moment ago. The long patch of
purple and yellow flowers blew gently in the breeze. Another wave crashed, a
big one that sounded like thunder.

“Do you realize how far apart we are?” she said.
“And not just in temperament. He has a good relationship with his parents,
and—”

“Don’t you?”

“Both parents. And he’s never been married. I’ve
been through two disastrous relationships, and have—had—a drug problem. You
couldn’t find two people less suitable for each other than Jonathan and me.”

“Oh, yes, I can. You were punishing yourself with
the other two men you were involved with, and they punished you as well. Those
relationships were the unsuitable ones. Jonathan has nothing whatsoever in
common with those two people, and much, very much, in common with you.”

So that’s the way you see it. But I’m
scared, Ryan, and you’re reminding me of just how scared I really am. I almost
wish I’d never met him.

“Stop it, Sunny,” Ryan said quietly, and she looked
up, surprised.

He went on, eyes and voice level. “You’re backing
away from him, the relationship, everything. I can see you doing it. In this
case, distance is giving you the opportunity to close doors. You’re so afraid
of getting hurt again that you’re not giving him and the relationship a chance.
Let it grow, doll. Let yourself grow.”

She held her silence for a long while, looking into
space, yet was uncomfortably aware that Ryan’s attention remained on her. He
was right, but acknowledging her memories of mistakes, and her fear of getting
hurt all over again, didn’t make her feel any better. She’d come a long way in
four years, but how far had she actually come?

Despair was no longer a constant companion, but she
was still too often more uncertain than assured, more scared than confident.
She felt afraid to hope. Because she had no faith in herself? Or in Jonathan?

“You didn’t mention,” she said, her voice carrying a
pleading note that she was ashamed of but couldn’t quite quell, “that he’s got
the same opportunity right now that I do to close doors.”

“Do you really think that’s going to happen?”

She didn’t respond. Instead more questions rose in
her mind, making her even more uncertain.

Well, Sunny, what do you really want? Do
you want to break it off? Do you want him to?

“Like I said,” Ryan went on when she remained
silent. “You’re selling yourself short. Give it a chance, Sunny. Give yourself
a chance—and him.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Hi, Sunny,” Tom said when she answered the door
that evening.

She noted that he seemed unsure of his welcome, as
he should be, considering that she’d got the news of his official removal from
a reporter instead of the man himself. Deliberately she let him wait, and then
she asked pointedly, “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

He lost his tentative look, even seemed relieved.
“You heard.”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Then you know that the beer I want is legal.”
He waited, watching her patiently. Then he said, “I know where the back porch
is. If you’ll get out of my way and let me in, I’ll go on out there and you can
bring me my beer.”

“Sunny, get out of his way,” Ryan called from the
kitchen. “The man is thirsty.”

Sunny stepped aside and then followed Tom to the
kitchen, and he followed Ryan and the two beers onto the porch. She grabbed a
soda and joined them. A beer lover, she wasn’t. They had the webbed chairs, so
she pulled up a piece of floor to sit on.

“Oh,” Tom said and started to rise.

“No,” Ryan said. “Here, Sunny, take mine. I’ll get
another chair.”

He left and brought back a straight-backed kitchen
chair, but she stayed where she was and popped open her can of soda. “Come on.
If I’d gotten that cushiony chair before you did, would you have expected me to
give it to you and go get a less comfortable one to sit on? I’m fine where I
am.”

He gave her a longsuffering look. “Sunny, I’m just
trying to be nice. Will you please get up off your stubborn rear, take the
stupid chair, and behave yourself?”

She shook her head. “That’s not nice. It’s sexist.
And you’re supposed to be a psychologist?”

“You two get along well,” Tom observed.

Ryan had lost this round, wasn’t used to that
circumstance, and clearly didn’t like it. Sunny grinned at the wall. He finally
sat on the hard chair, his spine straighter than the wooden back, and the
comfortable lawn chair with its foam cushion was left unoccupied.

“So, Tom,” Sunny prompted. “Was there something you
wanted to tell us?”

“Two things. One you already know, so I won’t waste
my breath or your time. The second is that Joyce called today. They’re
releasing the hold on Franklin’s remains.”

She sobered quickly. “Okay. I’ll call Roberta. She
has everything set up. All we need to do is choose a date for interment, and
then one for the memorial service.” As Sunny sipped from her can of soda, Cat
sidled up and appeared interested in the colorful can. Sunny smiled, stroked
her back, and directed her toward her water dish.

“I assume your removal from the case was voluntary,”
Ryan said point blank to Tom. Which told the man that Ryan knew the
circumstances, and that he believed straight talk was the best policy.

Tom shrugged, conveying that the fact was history.
“My disclosure of information was voluntary, but once I opened my mouth, my
removal was imminent.” He looked into his can of beer. “But I have to admit I’m
relieved to be relieved. I’m too close to it, to the people, to everything. The
truth is I wanted out. And Joyce is both good and fair. He’s not showing me his
back. Hence, my visit tonight. He gave me the choice of coming out here if I
wanted to, with him or without him.”

He looked at Sunny, who sat on the floor facing the
two men with her jeans-clad knees drawn up. “Can I ask you something?”

She glanced up questioningly. “Sure.”

“What are you still doing here?”

Good question.

She noticed that she also had Ryan’s attention,
though he said nothing. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin
on them. “Okay, I’ll try to be as candid as you were. Franklin doesn’t deserve
my loyalty or consideration, so it’s not because of him. Neither am I sticking
around for my mother’s sake. She’s competent enough to make her own decisions
and follow through. So I guess it’s for me. I don’t feel right, just...leaving.”

She grew quiet, thinking, then continued. “He was
murdered, and he was my father, and I can’t just take off and forget all about
that. I want to stick around until he’s decently buried. I’d prefer for the
whole thing to be resolved before I clear out of here, but I don’t think that’s
going to happen. It’s too muddled, too long ago. But I’ll stick around until
he’s in the ground and the words have been said. Then I’ll go home.”

Her chin remained on her knees as she stared at the
floor. Ryan’s loafers, black and polished, contrasted with Tom’s scuffed
oxfords.

“Well said.” Ryan gave her a thoughtful look with
both pride and admiration in it. “You’re growing up, Sunny.”

* * *

“Thanks for bringing this back,” Bev said as she
accepted the Pyrex dish from Sunny the next day. She’d been straightening
shelves near the back of the store when Sunny found her. “I wanted to make
something for Friday, for the reception following the service, and it’s the
only casserole dish I’ve got.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.” Sunny
wondered what to do with her hands now that they were empty. She stuck them in
her jeans pockets. “You were thoughtful to bring that over, and I appreciate
it. And as far as the reception goes, I’d wanted to just serve cold cuts and
breads and such, but Roberta told me it would be an insult not to allow people
to bring food with them if they wanted to.”

“She’s right. There’s very little any of us can do,
but we can do that much and we should be allowed to.” She flashed a small
smile. “Somehow, it makes one feel better.”

Bev was dressed in royal blue sweats and white
lace-up shoes with cushioned insteps, the kind that waitresses wore. After
putting the casserole dish on top of some cereal boxes, she rested her hands on
her waist and stretched her back. “I’m getting old. I don’t bend as well as I
used to.” Her gaze returned to Sunny. “Will your cousin be returning for the
service?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why it’s scheduled so late in the
day, to give him a chance to get here.”

The store wasn’t busy. Matthew stood at the counter,
watching them and obviously listening to them, and just as obviously not
inclined to be included in their conversation. When a woman entered with three
young kids, Bev picked up the casserole dish and motioned Sunny outside, then
led the way to the Wilkes’ living quarters behind the store. Sunny was glad.
She still wanted to have that heart-to-heart with Bev. Privately, and hopefully
tactfully.

The Wilkes’ home was small. The modest living room
was adjacent to a little kitchen with a corner dinette, and along one wall of
the main room, three doors opened to two bedrooms and what was probably a
shared bath in the center.

The furnishings were no more elaborate than the
floor plan. A portable TV sat upon a four-legged brass stand, facing a sofa in
a light-blue print and a matching armchair. A sand-colored end table sat
between them, supporting a lamp with a brass base. Everything appeared neat and
clean.

Sunny sat on the sofa and accepted a glass of cola
over ice. Not knowing how to beat around the bush, she took a sip of the drink
and threw tact out the window. “I heard that you and Franklin were romantically
involved at one time.”

The bluntness of the statement threw Bev for an
instant. Then she executed a small shrug, admitting the romance, but giving it
no present importance. “Yes. That was common knowledge.”

“With that in mind, telling him a final goodbye now
might be difficult.”

Criminy, Sunny, you sound like that
red-haired reporter.

“You think?” Apparently Bev’s patience had a limit.
Her voice was clipped and her dark eyes snapped. Her reaction would’ve been
fodder for the tabloids. “Well, you’re wrong—there’s nothing whatsoever
difficult about it.” Then she pulled in a breath, drew back and looked at the
blank TV screen. “Excuse me. There’s no need for me to be rude.”

Sunny wondered which of them was being rude. And she
realized that kind of response was characteristic of Bev. Sharp words, even
anger, then she’d rein herself in as if uncomfortable with her own outburst.

“But actually that is the truth,” Bev went on. “I
said goodbye to Franklin a long time ago. A lifetime ago. We were never suited
for each other, not really.”

You’re right. You’re not aggressive
enough. He would’ve walked all over you.

Bev continued, “Tim Joyce has been talking to me and
everyone else, trying to jog our memories. I knew he was up here—Franklin, I
mean. He came in for sandwich meats. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

Sandwich meats? Then he wasn’t expecting to be
cooking for company, or anticipating someone might come in and cook for him.
Somebody surprised him? Maybe followed him from Reno?

Gee, wouldn’t that simplify the whole
mess? Dream on.

When Bev became silent, Sunny decided she’d pushed
enough, so she drained her glass of soda and set it down. “By the way, I wanted
to tell you that Matthew helped me out the other day. He’s got courage and
integrity. But those two boys that—”

“I know. The Bowers. The problem is that in a small
community like this, Matthew doesn’t have much choice of peers.” Bev sighed,
appearing weary with the world as well as physically tired. “I’ll probably sell
next year and get out of here. The hours we work don’t compare well with the
income the store brings in. I’m hoping to realize enough to get him into
college. He’s working a second job and putting money away, too.”

“His father can’t help?”

Sunny caught the hard glint in Bev’s eyes before her
gaze again broke off and darted toward the blank TV. But when she spoke, her
voice was mild. “Howard? No, I expect no help from Howard. He wasn’t exactly
thrilled with fatherhood.”

Doesn’t sound like you chose your men in
the past any more wisely than I did. But you did the choosing. And so had I.

Bev looked back at her guest. The older woman’s eyes
were a soft and pretty light-brown, the lashes long and dark. With her olive
complexion and heart-shaped face, she was attractive with only minimal makeup.
In her youth, she’d probably turned plenty of heads.

“Sunny, I’ve been curious,” she said. “Do you have
any idea why Tom was replaced?”

Sunny shrugged. “Too close to the investigation and
the people, I guess.”

Either you’re a good poker player, or
Mavis keeps a damn good secret.

“That makes sense,” Bev said, and a mask came over
her face.

Sunny’s senses sharpened.
You do know something.

The phone rang. Bev answered, listened and then
said, “Okay.” But she appeared irritated as well as resigned when she hung up.
“Excuse me, Sunny. Matthew needs me back in there. It’s hard watching the
aisles when you get multiple people roaming around. And shoplifting makes the
difference between being in the red or staying in the black.”

* * *

When Roberta arrived Thursday afternoon, she was
solemn, subdued, and obviously uncomfortable at being in the house again. She
accepted Ryan’s offer of coffee, but then seemed incapable of sitting and
waiting for it. She toured the rooms on the first floor, reacquainting herself
with the house. Then she mounted the stairs and looked inside each room up
there. It appeared that her mother had ghosts she needed to meet, so Sunny left
her alone.

They met again at the bottom of the stairs. Each bed
had fresh sheets on it so Roberta had her choice of rooms, and she chose the
front bedroom on the first floor. “We’d always used this as a guest room. It
only seems fitting that I sleep in it now.”

Her gaze traveled to the glossy, refurbished
Victrola standing in splendor in front of the windows. “And I’ll enjoy sharing
the room with that lovely piece. I’ve never seen anything so exquisite. I can
understand how it captivated Jonathan.”

Sunny smiled to herself, realizing that Jonathan had
guessed right when wanting to offer the restored antique to Roberta. But how
had he known the woman better than her own daughter did?

Roberta ran her hand over the ivory chenille
bedspread. She might have found it familiar, though she said nothing. Sunny had
found several bedspreads, had laundered them and they were in surprisingly good
shape. She’d put a gold one on her bed in the corner bedroom and Jonathan had
claimed one in powder blue.

“Where does Cat sleep?” Roberta asked, showing
animation for the first time since she’d arrived. “Am I by chance depriving her
of her bed?”

“She sleeps with me. But I leave my door open so she
can get out if she needs to, so she might roam. You can close your door if you
want to be sure she doesn’t join you in the middle of the night.”

“Where do you sleep? I saw your suitcase in one
room, but some of your things were on the dresser in the front master bedroom
that overlooks the ocean.”

Sunny felt the flush in her cheeks. “Oh, uh...”

Roberta laughed, a small sound yet it seemed to echo
throughout the house. “Oh, Sunny, that look on your face is priceless.” But the
touch of lightness didn’t last. Sobering, Roberta walked to the window, and as
she stood there it appeared she was looking inward, not outward. She said, so
quietly she could have been speaking to herself, “That master bedroom is a
beautiful room. It should have life and love and laughter in it, and yet it has
had so little of any of those things.”