Family Skeletons (25 page)

She froze, listening with every nerve.

Ryan was wounded and weak but had taken her by
surprise. He’d have the upper hand and should be able to keep it. Sunny waited,
standing on the bluff. For balance, she placed a hand on the cypress at the
edge of the sheer drop.

Then she heard Bev’s voice, sounding winded, yet
basking in victory. “He’s down, Sunny. It’s just you and me now.”

Sunny felt such a heavy weight inside, she could
barely breathe. “Ryan?”

No answer.

“Ryan? Talk to me.”

The beach, Sunny, the beach. Get down
there. It’s his only chance. If he’s still alive, it’s his only chance.

But it was a long way down. She stood still, staring
at the sand, working on building her strength and hanging on to her wits by
sheer will. She had to get down there, but how?

Jump. You survived one fall. You can
survive another one.

Another rifle shot had her snapping her head around,
and she almost lost her footing.

It wasn’t even close. She’s fishing,
Sunny. She doesn’t know exactly where you are. And she’s got that rifle to hang
on to, so she’ll be slower getting here than you were.

She looked back at the sand. Jump and roll, it was
the only way. She closed her eyes, praying for the courage to do what she had
to, and then again she froze.

The ladder. Nature’s ladder, stupid.
Remember?

Where was it? Where is it?

She knelt at the edge, craned her neck to look down.

There!

Wrapping her arms around the trunk of the tree, she
duck-walked around it, careful of the slippery ice plant at its base. Then inch
by careful inch, she lowered one leg until her foot found the uppermost part of
the root that snaked its way halfway down to the sand. She regretted the
cutoffs she wore that allowed the cliff to scrape at her legs.

Once her foot settled on the root, her position
became less precarious. So far, so good. Next she needed to reach down and get
her hand around the root that her foot rested on, and that was going to be a
neat trick. With each hand grasping a fistful of the flimsy ice plant, she
managed to get her other foot onto a lower part of the trunk’s root, and she
extended her right arm until she got fingers around the protruding part that
her highest foot rested upon. Her other hand groped for purchase in the uneven
side of the cliff as she lowered herself a couple more inches.

“Sunny?” Bev’s voice was close, too close. She’d
made good time. But her tone was tentative, still fishing. She hadn’t seen her
prey go over the side.

Sunny held her breath, then let it out slowly and
forced even breaths. If she made any kind of noise, she was a sitting duck. One
foot found the edge of a protruding rock, and her hand got a good grip on the
root that was pressing into her stomach, and she lowered herself several more
inches. Then her foot slipped off the rock and the knife-sharp edge of it
gouged a line straight up the inside of her calf.

She locked her lips together and fought off a yelp, directed
her gaze down, and watched a thick stream of blood pour down her leg. The gash
was long and deep. She raised her head, closed her eyes and forced another
deep, even breath. There was one more handhold. Then she was going to have to
trust free fall. Once she’d grasped the lowest part of the root in both hands,
her feet still dangled five feet above the sand. She let go.

She hit and rolled, scrambled to her feet and then
dove for the cliff on the other side. A bullet whined past, struck a beer can
and sent it flying, then Sunny was in the relative safety of the far cliff.
Gritty sand stuck in her wounded calf but she didn’t pause. She had another
problem besides Bev and her rifle. The tide was rising.

Her pursuer couldn’t follow her down the cliff while
holding the rifle. She’d have to backtrack to the end of the crevasse, cut
across the field to the road and then to the beach path, and try to head her
prey off at the cove. Sunny could get there first, but if the tide cut her off
she was out of luck and options. The water swirled around her ankles and
dragged at her feet.

The next wave caught her at the knees. When the salt
water filled the gash in her leg she couldn’t contain her scream. She lost
precious seconds waiting for the water and the burning to subside. Then she got
her breath back and ran. She made it into the cove, beating Bev. With her gaze
on the beach path, Sunny waited for the wave dashing against the opposite cliff
to ebb. Still no Bev. Sloshing through at what she thought was a much too slow
pace, she reached the far side and then hugged the cliff as the water caught
her again, now almost reaching her waist.

It wanted her, dragged at her. Pressing her body
into the cliff wall she held on to the slick, uneven surface, digging her
fingers into the claylike muddy wall, consumed by the burning in her leg. When
she thought she could stand it no longer the water level dropped but continued
to pull at her legs. She trudged ahead, made it around the curve, and the next
wave reached no higher than her ankles.

No more obstacles existed between her and Chester
and help. She ran as fast as the terrain allowed, her feet leaving deep gouges
behind her in the wet sand, barely aware of the tears streaming down her face.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sunny’s mind was racing as fast as her feet as she
sprinted along the water’s edge.
The ice cream place must have a phone.
Nine-one-one, ambulance and the authorities, find Jonathan—

Fear struck again, and again froze her in place.

Nothing prevented Bev from driving into Chester, beating
her prey there, and then doubling back on the beach to cut Sunny off. If Bev
threw a sweatshirt over the rifle, no one would give either her or it a second
look.

Sunny sagged, but she couldn’t give up. She crossed
over to the base of the cliff and trudged ahead. It was slower going in the
dry, loose sand, but safer in case she spied Bev in the distance.

But it was Bev’s son, not Bev, who met her. And
Jonathan was at his side.

Sunny flew over the remaining distance and plowed
into him. She held on as if he were a lifeline. Then she jerked back.

“Ryan! He needs an ambulance. He—”

“I know.” Although his eyes intently searched hers,
his voice was calm. “We know. The ambulance is on its way to the hospital.
Ryan’s okay. He was on his feet, weak but coherent.”

“Oh.” She stared at him, hearing him but unable to
grasp the facts. “But...”

Jonathan stepped back to look at her leg. “What did
you do? You need attention, too.”

 “But Bev. What about Bev?”

When Sunny looked at Matthew, she wanted to cry at
the desolation in his expression. And her eyes must have held her anguish when
she glanced back at Jonathan because he pulled her to him almost roughly, and
one hand cupped her head against his chest. His heart was pounding furiously,
belying his calm tone.

“It’s okay,” he said. “She’s with Joyce. And
Matthew’s all right. He knows, and he understands.”

How can Matthew be all right? How?

“First things first,” Jonathan went on, and then he drew
back. He took time to pull in a long breath before finishing. “Let’s get you to
the truck and then to the hospital. I can explain on the way. Matthew will go
with us.”

But the young man hung back. “No, uh, you take care
of Sunny. She needs you. She needs, uh...I’m okay. And I need to...I should...”

Sunny pulled away from Jonathan and went to Matthew.
She put her arms around him, buried her head on his shoulder and cried. She let
go completely, not holding anything back. At first he remained rigid. Then he
grew limp, except for his arms that tightened around her, and finally he lost the
fragile hold he held on himself. She felt matching, shuddering spasms
throughout his body.

“Sunny, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut up, Matthew.” She drew back and swiped her
forearm across her eyes. “Come on. We need to get to the hospital. I have to check
on Ryan, and Jonathan’s going to bug me about my leg until somebody looks at
it. I need you, Matthew. Please come with us.” Questioningly, she looked at
Jonathan. “The store must be locked up?”

He nodded, and she said, “Then let’s go.”

When they reached the SUV, Jonathan made her sit on
the passenger seat while he got out the first aid kit. A small crowd had
assembled around them, probably because the bloody leg was an attention
grabber. Sunny ignored the rubberneckers.

“No,” she warned as Jonathan snapped open the bag.
She shook her head, too drained to realize the absurdity of refusing treatment.
“Don’t even think about it. That stinging stuff—”

“Save it for the ER physician.” He rolled the gloves
on so fast he would’ve won a competition if he’d been in one. With a
professional gaze on her leg he unraveled a long swatch of gauze. Apparently if
he had something familiar to do, like medical stuff, he lost his emotional
involvement. “All I want to do is wrap it up before you do any more damage to
it. They’ll numb it before they clean it out and stitch it up.”

“Stitch it? With a needle?”

He cut the material, giving her a look out of the
corner of his eye. He wrapped the bandage around her calf. “You have a thing
about needles?”

“Stitches? You really think I need stitches?”

“Yes.” Deftly he tore the end of gauze back into
itself, separated the pieces and then tied them together. He’d been kneeling on
one knee. He pulled back, resting his forearms across his upright knee, and
gave her a level look. “Do we have a problem here?”

Matthew stood next to him. Her gaze rose to the
teenager. He looked scared, anxious, overwhelmed, full of doubt and insecurity,
and in great need of guidance.

“No,” she said. “No problem. I’m fine.”

Jonathan had been aware of her glance, and just as
clearly had read her thoughts. He waited until her eyes returned to his. Then
he smiled, leaned forward to peck her lightly on the lips, and then he stood.
“Good,” he said.

* * *

“Look at me, Sunny, not the needle.” Jonathan’s
voice was mild, and it had a smile in it that made her want to hit him. But
with her fists clenched and her teeth gritted, she did as he suggested.

The needle full of anesthetic poked her once more
and she yelped again and tried to pull her leg away again. But the doctor was
the same sex and size as Sunny, had a good grip on her patient, and wasn’t
about to let her get away. “Now come on. That wasn’t as bad as the first one,
and this next one isn’t going to be as bad as that one.”

As tense as a rock, Sunny blew her breath out, laid
her head back down on the hard pillow and stared at the ceiling as she waited
for the next stinging prick.

“There,” the doctor said. “See what I told you? Did
you have a problem with that one?”

“Huh?” She frowned and lifted her head.

Jonathan grinned. “Nope. No problem with that one.”

“What have you been doing, anyway?” the doctor
asked. “Wallowing around in a sandbox?”

“Yes. And the tide caught me. The water was...”

“I’ll bet it was.” The doctor seemed to understand
there wasn’t an adequate word to describe salt water washing an open wound.

Sunny stared hard into Jonathan’s eyes. “You’re sure
Matthew’s okay?”

“He’s okay.” He held her gaze then said quietly, “He
needs his space, too. He’s nursing a cola in the waiting room.”

The doctor stepped sideways to the head of the bed
and gazed benignly down upon Sunny. “Promise not to run away if I leave you
alone for a minute? Just long enough to let that medicine do what it’s supposed
to do.”

Sunny gave her what was probably a weak smile.
“Promise.”

The doctor left, and Sunny squeezed Jonathan’s
fingers. “Thanks for holding my hand.” Now free from the threat of the needle,
she felt friendly again.

“You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t give me much information in the truck.
Is there anything else I should know?”

“How about I just go over the whole thing again?
Without having to be conscious of Matthew’s ears this time.” His eyes, voice,
body language, everything about him was again calm and matter-of-fact. Which
worked well for Sunny because she was short on peace of mind and it seemed that
Jonathan had enough to share.

“I didn’t see Bev at first,” he said. “I’d parked in
back, and she must not have seen me either. I heard shots and then saw her
tearing across the field. She looked deranged, and that’s not hindsight. She
really was. Once she reached the pickup, I got behind her and grabbed the
rifle, and she didn’t even resist. She just stared at me and mumbled something
about being out of time. Then she told me my friend was in the trees and needed
an ambulance. I thought she meant you, but then I saw Ryan staggering across
the field and I really got worried. Between the two of us, Ryan and me, we got
the story out of Bev while we were waiting for the ambulance. She was...cooperative.
Even friendly. She told us about Howard, Franklin, how much she hated you. She
held nothing back. I...”

He looked at the examining room’s closed door. When
he next spoke, his voice was flat. “I felt sorry for her. I still do, and yet
I’m mad as hell at her. And I can’t comprehend the fact that she didn’t even
once mention Matthew.”

“So full of guilt and hate that she let it rule
her.” Sunny felt sad, weary, and sick inside. “She was so close to the edge. I
don’t know how we missed it. I think Matthew saw it, but he was helpless. It
was probably my moving back here, the official declaration of Franklin’s death,
the will, the whole works. It just did her in.”

“Yes. There is very little accountability there.
She’s no longer close to the edge. She’s over it. That was not an act today.”

* * *

Ryan’s eyes were closed.

Sunny had been told he was conscious, out of danger,
and that he’d asked for her. But the sight of him, pale and still in a hospital
bed, undid her. She was the unsteady one; he was the rock. She stood silently
in the doorway for a long time.

Then she walked to the chair next to his bed and sat
down. She’d made no sound that she’d heard, but she must’ve disturbed the air
because his eyes opened and focused on her.

“Hi, doll.” He sounded out of it, probably still
drugged. “I’m glad you chose the doctor instead of the cop.” It seemed he was
trying for that characteristic flip in his voice, but it eluded him. “He got
there first.”

She swallowed, nodded. “He told me.”

“What are you so choked up about? We did it, Sunny.
We made it.”

Then he looked at the ceiling, and added, “No thanks
to me.” His gaze returned to her and he went on. “I had her, Sunny. I had her
and the rifle, but she outsmarted me. She went limp and I thought she was
giving up, but instead she made a fist out of both hands and walloped me really
good right in the middle of my bloody shirt. I blacked out.”

“I forgive you. You were the one who finally figured
the whole thing out.”

“Tom was close to getting it. It was his remark
about it being local that kept rattling around in my subconscious. The other
victim, the missing one, had to be local, too.”

She leaned forward to put her hand on his. “I tried
calling Marcus, on Jonathan’s cell, but I got his voice mail. I didn’t want to
leave a message like this one.”

“Just as well. I’ll call. He’ll want to talk to me
anyway.” He frowned, and then looked at the phone on the stand beside his bed.
“My cell is probably still on the coffee table next to that empty bag of chips.
But he’ll accept charges.”

Sunny didn’t know where her cell was. Probably in
her purse, which was...she didn’t have the slightest idea where that was
either.

Ryan shifted his head to look down at her bandaged
leg. “And what happened to you? Dammit, Sunny, it’s not safe to let you out of
my sight.”

“I had an argument with a rock on my way down the
cliff.”

“One immovable object meets another?” He managed a
smile, but it was strained. “I was right about the bullet, and lucky as hell.
It went all the way through. They’re going to let me out of here tomorrow, and
you’re going to have to put up with me for a while longer. I’m not ready to
even think about sitting in a car for the couple of hours it’ll take to get
home.”

“Oh. Well.” She exaggerated her frown. “But I
promised everyone I’d go home tomorrow. Can you manage out there at that big old
house all by yourself?”

“You’re funny, doll. Very funny. Now get out of here
and let me get some sleep. I feel all dopey.”

Unable to resist, she broke into a grin.

His words must have taken an instant longer to reach
his ears than hers. Belatedly he laughed, flinched at the pain the action
caused, and then he pointed his forefinger at her in warning. “Shut up, Sunny.
You say it and I’ll make you sorry. I promise.”