Tea and Tomahawks

Don’t Say a Word

By

Dahlia DeWinters

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is a work of fiction. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.

Senior Editor: Leanore Elliott

Cover Art: Dahlia DeWinters

Images provided by Dollar Photo Club

Copyright Dahlia DeWinters, 2015

CHAPTER ONE

“Grandmother
wants me to come stay with her. She writes she hasn’t been well for a time and she thinks this might be...” Annalise let the sentence trail off. She folded the letter, written on thick, creamy stationery, and slid it back into the envelope. Rubbing her fingers over the embossed
A
, she waited for her husband’s response.

Richard turned to the window to hide his sneer. The old bat wanted to keep them captive at her dusty mansion while she wasted away in front of their eyes. Crossing his arms, he eyed the little Johnson boy riding his bike on the other side of the street. The little brown boy wobbled on the two-wheeler and then lost his balance. A cruel smile replaced Richard’s sneer as he watched the boy crying on the sidewalk and holding his bloodied knee. He turned to confront his wife. “What does this mean for us?” he snapped at her, knowing it would ramp up her constant anxiety.

Annalise flinched at his tone. “I should go, Richard. She wants me there.”

“What you’re saying is she doesn’t want me there.” It was no surprise to him. The old woman had never liked him and didn’t hesitate to let him know.

His wife wrung her hands together. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You have work, things to do.” She gnawed at her generous bottom lip. “I thought it would make it easier for you without me around for the summer. And...” Annie sighed and brushed away an errant tear. “…She
is
dying.”

Richard snorted at his wife’s maudlin sentimentality. Her tears over her Grandmother were nothing to him but another soft spot to exploit. “She’s dying every summer, Annie. What makes this summer so damned special?”

He marched over to his wife and stood over her, pleased at the way she shied away from him. After only a few years of marriage, he had managed to break her so thoroughly that he could do anything to her. She belonged to him mind, body, and spirit. Impatient with her mewling, he wrested the letter out of her trembling hands and opened it to read it for himself.

“Dearest AnnaLise.” He forced his voice into a higher, creaky register, imitating the voice of an old woman. “As you know, it is summer again, and the hot weather has me feeling poorly. I do wish you would come and see me. We could sit together on the porch and sip lemonade.” Richard made a disgusted sound and slapped the letter on the desk in front of his wife. “I suppose she wants you up there to introduce you to some eligible bachelors.”

Annie kept her gaze down. “No, Richard.” Her voice was quiet and non-confrontational. “She just wants my company is all. I haven’t seen her in almost two years.”

He twined his fingers into her mass of relaxed curls and yanked her head so that she faced him. Ignoring the tears that sprang to her eyes, he squeezed tighter. The best thing about his wife wasn’t her looks, her body or her money. No, her best feature was how easily he could bring her to tears.

“No one asked you to think about anything, you conniving little bitch. I know your Grandmother doesn’t like me. How do I know she doesn’t have someone up there for you to meet?”

Annie licked her lips. “Richard,” she gasped his name and swallowed before she spoke again, “Grandmother believes in our marriage. She would never do anything to destroy it.”

Bullshit.
The old broad hadn’t even come to the wedding. If she believed in their marriage, then why hadn’t she released the millions she was sitting on to her only granddaughter? He hadn’t married her for her looks or her talent in bed; for that he sought company elsewhere. “Don’t contradict me, Annie.” He released her hair.. “You know how much I hate that.”

Her head dropped. “Yes, Richard,” she whispered.

He considered her bowed head for a moment and listened to her pathetic sniffles. Annie had never been good at hiding her emotions, which made her such an easy subject. The hurt on her face when he’d slapped her on their honeymoon had been such an arousing rush that he had taken her right then and there, tearing the fragile silk and lace she wore in his savagery.

After, he had threatened her that if she told, he would kill her and her family, starting with that old geezer Grandmother of hers. She had nodded and ducked her head just like she was now, her fingers twisting around each other as she fought back tears. And just to prove he meant what he said, he made her give him a blow job with the shreds of her ruined wedding dress draped around her.

He stalked into the dining room and poured himself a quick shot of Scotch. Good old Grandmother, always on her last legs to entice them up for the summer. He poured himself another shot and paused with the glass halfway to his mouth, an idea forming in his mind.

Maybe she
could
be on her last legs this summer. Old, weak legs that would tumble her down a flight of stairs and break that brittle neck. Then her only grandchild, his lovely wife, would inherit all those old, dusty millions.

Richard finished the liquor with a satisfied smile on his face. It would work. No one would suspect the dear grandchild, and even if she knew anything, Annie wouldn’t tell. She knew better.

Glad to have a plan, Richard strolled back into the parlor where Annie still sat, waiting. He lay a hand on her shoulder, pleased when her body tensed under his touch. “I think we can manage to visit your Grandmother this summer, Annie.”

She peered up at him with trusting eyes. “Oh, Richard. Thank you so much.”

Any other wife would have jumped up, given him a hug. She did not. Richard frowned upon spontaneous displays of affection. “You can give me a hug. I know how much you appreciate it.”

Annie stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck and gave him a brief squeeze. “Thank you, Richard.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a satisfied smile stretching across his lips. “Give your Grandmother a call to let her know we’re coming.”

CHAPTER TWO

T
he drive down to the Cape was easier than expected for a summer Friday afternoon. As they crossed over the canal into the town proper, Annie glanced over at the seafood restaurant that had marked the beginning of her summers on the Cape as a young girl. She gripped her straw purse with both hands, fighting to contain her excitement.
A whole summer on the Cape with Grandmother Lise.
Two months without the cold blue eyes of her husband watching every single move she made. He would come on the weekends, and she was grateful she would be without his presence most of the time.

Annie let the seatbelt cradle the side of her face and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. Once upon a time, she had considered herself so lucky to have caught the eye of Richard Collins. His rakish, devil-may-care attitude helped her shed her awkwardness. He was affectionate, charming and crafty enough to keep his mean streak under wraps until she had married him. How stupid of her.

“What are you thinking about?” He placed his hand on her thigh and let it linger there.

The heat of his palm leached through the thin summer skirt she wore. At one time, it would have warmed her, now she shuddered under his touch. Annie opened her eyes and forced a smile. “I wonder how it is now. The last time I was there, there was dust everywhere.”

“I’m sure she’s gotten it into shape for us.” Richard flipped on the turn signal and guided the convertible off the main road. “You said she was pleased we were coming.”

She pressed her lips closed against the words she wanted to say. When she had mentioned Richard would be coming along for the weekend, her grandmother’s tone had hardened. Although the invitation had not been rescinded, she knew Grandmother was displeased. But what could Annie do? What Richard wanted, Richard got. Though he would never admit it, he wanted her Grandmother’s home and everything in it. Women didn’t have a monopoly on gold-digging.

Five minutes later, they drove up the long driveway. Annie sucked in her breath. The house looked much better than she remembered. It occurred to her Grandmother might not be kidding about this being her last summer. The roofs on the two turrets were brand new, and the stained glass windows glinted in the late summer sun.

The house itself had been repainted a dark terra-cotta with forest green porch posts. The sagging wooden steps had been repaired and welcomed them with gleaming forest green paint. Annie smiled with delight. The house looked like it did when she was young.

The tires crunched on the semi-circular gravel drive. Even before the car had come to a complete stop, Annie was out and up the seven wooden steps to where Grandmother Lise was sitting on the porch.

“Grandmother!” Annie bent to embrace the old woman, surprised at how fragile she felt.

To her, Grandmother had been a pillar of strength, the warm place she spent her summers between boarding school semesters and where her parents dropped her when they went on their traveling stints. Grandmother had always been there, smelling of lemon mint and verbena.

“You made it. Early too.” Grandmother Lise pushed herself out of the dark green rocking chair. Her grip was firm on Annie’s arm as they walked to the edge of the wrap-around porch. “I see you brought that good-for-nothing husband with you,” Grandmother said in a low voice.

“I told you he was coming.” Annie sighed.

Grandmother had lived in northwestern Florida most of her adult life before moving to New Jersey and didn’t take too kindly to “the white folk”, as she called them. Strange coming from a black woman’s mouth who now lived in one of the wealthiest areas on the Cape. Most of her neighbors were “white folks.”

Richard stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, jingling his keys in his hand as he looked at the house and the surrounding lands.

Appraising it. Judging its value. Just like he judged me.
Annie pressed her lips together, drawing strength from Grandmother’s hand around her arm.
  He won’t have much longer for that.
Annie blinked, surprised at the thought that popped into her head. Why would she have thought that? She took a deep breath, savoring the rich, floral fragrance of the honeysuckle that bordered the porch.  The smell of the small white flowers calmed her.

Richard stepped backward to look at something and the rays of the sunset caught his blond hair, turning it a reddish orange.

Next to her, Grandmother Lise sucked her teeth. “Nothing good about that one,” she muttered. “Pure evil.”

“Grandmother, please.” Annie patted her arm, hoping to calm the old woman. “He let me come to visit you. Be nice.”

Her grandmother nodded even as her expression was set in a grimace. “I’ll be cordial, little Annie. Nice is not in my vocabulary for the white folks.”

If Richard heard the exchange, he gave no indication. He climbed the porch with her luggage and his overnight bag and set them both down. “Hello, Grandmother Lise.” His posture was stiff and formal. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, and he waved his hand at the mosquitoes that swooped to nip at him.

“Hello to you, Richard. Pleased that you would bring my AnnaLise all the way up here.” She didn’t smile.

“Glad to do it.” Richard nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets.

The tension between the two of them was as thick as the shrubbery surrounding the porch. Grandmother Lise had never taken to Richard and had shown her disapproval by skipping the wedding. Two years later, the feeling hadn’t changed.

Annie made a move to wander away to see if the bleeding hearts were still there, but Grandmother held fast to her arm.

“So you’ll be staying too?” Grandmother sniffed. “Room enough, I reckon.”

“Only for weekends.” Richard gave her an easy smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to do at the office.”

“Sure you do.” Grandmother waved a hand, indicating the end of the conversation. “Take the luggage up. Top of the stairs is the bedroom.”