Of Flesh and Blood (19 page)

Evan shifted his weight from foot to foot. He buried his still-burning fingers in his pockets. “Are you absolutely decided? I believe Miss Alfredson enjoys your company.”

Virginia nodded. “She is an enchanting young woman. I like her dearly.”
She stared at him without speaking. There was no mistaking the sudden look of betrayal in her watery eyes. “It is her scent, Evan. I smell it everywhere. Each time I inhale it, it breaks my heart anew.”

She knows!
The breath caught in his throat. The shame swallowed him whole. “Ginny . . .,” he started to say, but he faltered to find the words.

Virginia’s hand swung out and barely caught his elbow, squeezing it clumsily. “Mrs. Shirley is making our favorite chicken,” she said, her voice much lighter. “I do hope it’s ready soon. I am famished.”

At dinner, Virginia seemed as energized and upbeat as Evan could remember. Her mood bordered on euphoric. She reminisced about the trips they had taken along the northern California coast. She discussed her favorite musicians and poets, and which of their works meant the most to her. And she even questioned Evan about the clinic he was still hoping to establish and whether he had found any potential backers.

Barely touching his plate of chicken and potatoes, Evan fought off his nausea and tried unsuccessfully to hold up his end of the conversation. He found it excruciating to maintain eye contact with his wife. Evan was relieved when Mrs. Shirley finally collected their dinner plates. He excused himself and hurriedly dressed for the hospital, this time remembering his scarf and gloves. After bundling himself up, he said a quick good-bye to Virginia and headed out.

The freezing night air came as a relief from the stifling guilt and forced joviality inside. The gas streetlights lit the snow-covered sidewalk in front of him. A few fresh tracks cut through the snow on the road, but Evan did not see a carriage or another person for the first half of the eight-block walk from his home to Seattle’s only hospital, on Fifth Avenue. As he was crossing at a street corner, he heard the jangle of bells and the beat of hooves behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a carriage rapidly approaching.

The driver eased the horse to a stop beside Evan. The carriage door opened and two young men, both dressed in natty navy suits and bowler hats, climbed out of the carriage and hurried toward Evan. “Evening, Dr. McGrath,” the shorter stocky one said in a menacing tone. “Mr. Alfredson would like a word.”

“I am needed at the hospital now,” Evan said. “Perhaps I can call on Mr. Alfredson tomorrow afternoon.”

The taller one took a step forward and clamped his hand around Evan’s upper arm.

“Mr. Alfredson would like to speak to you
tonight
,” the shorter one said.

The grip tightened like a steel trap until Evan’s arm ached. Realizing the pointlessness of resistance, he took a step toward the carriage.

Inside, the taller man sat on the leather seat beside him while the other sat down across from him. No one spoke during the twenty-minute cold bumpy ride.

Evan recognized the Alfredson mansion by the torch-lit driveway. As the carriage slowed to a stop, his heart skipped a beat at the memory of the visits he had paid to Olivia while she convalesced from her surgery. Whether or not she was at home, Evan realized that Marshall would not let him anywhere near his daughter.

The shorter man climbed out of the carriage and then the taller one shoved Evan out behind. The two men each grabbed one of Evan’s shoulders and dragged him away from the main entrance and toward the coach house.

They pushed Evan through the doorway. Inside the front room, a fire crackled loudly in the hearth against the far wall. The pleasant smell of fresh-cut pine from a pile of wood beside the fireplace filled the room but did little to stem his growing apprehension.

Marshall Alfredson waited by the fire. He was jacketless but wore a vest over his shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His ever-present watch fob hung from his front pocket. He stood with legs apart and big hands dangling at his sides. His normally ruddy face was scarlet, and his jaw clenched. He said nothing as he hobbled nearer. Marshall stopped less than two feet away, and Evan was hit by a blast of breath as strong as cigar smoke.

“In my dealings, Dr. McGrath, I have found that most people have come to regret taking me for a fool,” Marshall said quietly.

Evan stared back. Equal parts shame and fear already bubbled inside him, and now indignation joined the mix.

“The lumber trade can be a slippery business,” Marshall continued in a more conversational tone. “I find it important to keep a close watch on my competitors. To that end, I employ Mr. Wellsby.” He nodded at the shorter man, who returned the gesture. “Mr. Wellsby is an investigator. And he is very discreet and most reliable.”

Evan’s stomach tightened, but he maintained steady eye contact with the redheaded giant.

“Are you familiar with the Sherman Hotel, Dr. McGrath?” Marshall asked.

Evan did not reply.

Marshall’s fist shot out and slammed into Evan’s midsection. He doubled over from the surprise and pain, but the two thugs on either side of him hauled him straight up by his armpits.

“The Sherman Hotel?” Marshall asked, almost pleasantly, though fury leapt in his eyes.

“Yes, I am familiar with it,” Evan gasped as he fought to catch his wind.

Marshall hit him again in the same spot. As Evan reached out to clutch his belly, Marshall punched him in the face twice, with either hand. The second blow broke a tooth and sent blood spraying from his lip.

“How dare you?” Marshall cried out.

Evan panted, fighting for air. He felt the blood dripping down from his nose and his lip. Even through his anger and distress, Evan realized the beating was justified. “Olivia and I are in love,” he said, mostly to himself, realizing the remark was ill-advised but beyond caring.

The big man moved like a trained fighter. Evan tried to raise his hands to protect his face from the flurry of fists, but the two other men held his arms back and left him helpless to the assault.

Light-headed with pain and breathlessness, Evan swayed on his feet. The vision in his left eye was rapidly receding as his eyelid swelled shut. “I love her,” he moaned again.

“You are a married man.” Marshall punctuated it with another punch. “You have no right.”

“We didn’t plan it, Fate brought us together,” Evan said with a spray of blood.

The remark drew another blow to his gut that doubled him over again. “
I
brought you together, you scurrilous dog!” Marshall growled, breathing heavily now from the effort of the beating. “I wish I had never admitted you to my house.” He cocked his fist again but did not strike. “You are ruining Olivia’s life. And you have disgraced our good name. Do not dare assume I owe you anything other than this!”

Only the grip of Marshall’s henchmen kept Evan from collapsing.
Nausea filled him. He could barely breathe. His left eye had closed completely. He thought of Olivia and realized he might never see her again. “Were you never in love, Mr. Alfredson?” he croaked.

Without answering, Marshall pivoted and stormed toward the fireplace. He bent down and lifted and dropped a few of the logs until he decided on one, weighing it in his right hand.

Instinctively, Evan struggled against the two men holding him as he realized Marshall’s intent. He tried to backpedal away as the giant approached but the two men easily held him in place.

“Yes, I have been in love, Dr. McGrath,” he said through gritted teeth. “With Olivia’s mother, God rest her soul. But there was nothing lascivious, shameful, or scandalous about the love Mrs. Alfredson and I shared.”

Evan watched in horror as Marshall raised the log over his head. There was a jolt of pain and his teeth slammed together. Then everything went dark.

The next moment, Evan was lying on a sofa. His head throbbed as if a vise had tightened over his skull. At first, he had no idea where he was but the smell of pine grounded him. He opened his right eye and saw Marshall and the two men hovering over him.

“Can you hear me, Dr. McGrath?” Marshall asked.

Evan nodded, and his head felt as though it might explode from the minimal gesture. But he no longer feared for his life. His outrage drained away, replaced by only self-disgust.

“I want to be extremely clear, Dr. McGrath,” Marshall said in a suddenly businesslike tone. “If not for the state of your poor wife, you would already be dead. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Evan whispered.

“If you go near my daughter again, I will kill you with my own hands.” He raised his bruised knuckles to emphasize the point. “That, of course, will be of little advantage to your wife in
her
condition.”

Evan swallowed painfully. The man was right. Virginia’s fate would be doomed if he were to die. “I understand,” he slurred.

“Swear it!” Marshall demanded.

“I swear I will stay away from Olivia,” Evan said, his heart breaking as he spoke the words.

Jill Laidlaw stayed at the hospital and worked through dinner, which consisted of the other half of her smoked turkey sandwich left over from lunch. She reworked and massaged her grant renewal proposal, desperate to inject more appeal into it for the academic jurors who would decide her lab’s fate.

Jill didn’t reach home until after nine o’clock but still arrived to an empty house. In the kitchen, Kramer meowed loudly as he swatted his empty bowl with a paw, demanding food. Admiring her old cat’s directness, Jill knelt down and scratched him behind the ears and then reached for his bowl. As she peeled back the lid on the can of cat food, she experienced an unexpected rush of nausea at the meaty broth’s pungent odor.
Was the turkey in my sandwich okay?
she wondered.

The doorbell rang, pushing the thought from her head. Had she still lived in a bigger city like San Diego, Jill might have ignored it, but in the sleepy town of Oakdale she felt very safe in answering the door after dark.

Her sister-in-law stood on the other side. Erin wore a T-shirt and sweats and, as Jill could have predicted, no makeup. Still young-looking at thirty-nine, Erin had exotic, striking features, sharing her father’s dark eyes and slightly curved nose. She had been thin as long as Jill had known her, but Erin never made any effort to highlight or complement her natural looks, seeming content with a permanently dressed-down appearance that verged on sloppy.

Erin leaned forward and wrapped Jill in a quick hug. “How are you?”

“Good.” Jill slipped out of the embrace, uncomfortable as ever with Erin’s tactile approach. “And you?”

“Fine. No complaints.”

Despite the words, Erin appeared more uneasy than Jill ever remembered seeing her. “You sure?”

“Yeah, all good,” Erin said distractedly. “Is Tyler home?”

“No. He’s not back yet.”

“Oh.”

Jill allowed a longer than necessary pause before she said, “He could be home any time, though. Do you want to come in?”

“Um . . . sure.”

Jill led Erin into the kitchen. “Tea?” she offered.

“Okay.” Erin nodded, glancing to either side. She appeared preoccupied and nervous, totally unlike her usually relaxed self.

“Erin, is something wrong?” Jill asked.

“I’ve . . . um . . . been . . .” She shook her head and then waved away Jill’s question. “I just wanted to catch up with Tyler. I never saw him on his birthday.”

Jill boiled the kettle and steeped a pot of chai tea, assuming that would be the beverage of choice for her earthy sister-in-law. “How are Steve and the boys?” she asked.

“Haven’t you noticed? Steve
is
one of the boys.” Erin’s taut face relaxed slightly. “They’re doing well, thanks. It’s good Simon and Martin are back in school, though. Too much destructive energy on the loose during those long summer days. Something—or someone—was liable to get blown up.”

Jill smiled. Though her feelings for Erin were mixed at times, she had a soft spot for her twin nephews. Despite their innate mischievousness, the eleven-year-olds worshiped Tyler and her. And, if Jill were to believe the legends about terrorized babysitters, they always behaved better for their aunt and uncle than the others who looked after them.

“Sixth grade, huh?” Jill shook her head. “I still remember pushing them around in that double stroller.”

Erin grinned, seeming to have overcome whatever had been troubling her earlier. “I can’t even remember them at ten. I guess it’s different for parents.”

Jill doubted Erin meant anything in the comment, but she still felt her irritation rising. “Oil and water” was how Tyler once described the two sisters-in-law’s relationship. And he wasn’t far off. Jill was insightful enough
to recognize that her innate competitiveness only compounded the antagonism. Everything came so easily to Erin: marriage, motherhood, and especially her career. She had already cemented her reputation as one of the best heart surgeons on the West Coast, while Jill was still struggling to establish herself as a leading neurology researcher.

“Tyler said you were busy on your grant reapplication,” Erin said. “How’s that coming along?”

“It’s going,” Jill muttered.

“Must be a beast at crunch time, huh? You have to roll out the dog and pony show all over again for the jurors on the funding committees. That’s got to be a lot of pressure.”

Jill bit her tongue, aware she might regret any knee-jerk response. Instead, she poured the tea into two cups.

“I don’t know how you do it, Jill,” Erin went on. “Practicing clinical neurology while running a major research lab like you do.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Jill said, unable to mask her sarcasm.
You just stick new hearts in people, raise kids, and run a farm while still enjoying the perfect marriage
, she almost added.

Erin looked as if she might reply but instead reached for her cup and sipped her tea.

“How are things in the world of cardiac surgery?” Jill asked, forcing conversation.

Erin shifted in her seat. “Same as ever. Although people are getting a little nervous about that
C. diff
outbreak in the other buildings at the Alf. It would be bad if that reached our floor. Very bad.”