by J. R. Ward
"It's the truth." He turned his head and looked at his handsome-as-sin brother. "You and I and Gin are William Baldwine's children. Edward is not."
"How did you--I don't understand." Lane's expression vacillated between shock and oh-hell-no. "No, Mother is--she's only ever been with him."
"No, she hasn't."
"Max, I need you to get serious--"
"Right before I left Charlemont, I came home late at night. Gin was out somewhere. You were in Virginia. Edward was traveling on business. Amelia was sleeping over at a friend's house." He pictured the scene like it was yesterday. "I snuck in the back because I was high and looking for food, and I was really fucking quiet in the kitchen. I mean, if I'd woken Miss Aurora up? She'd have killed me."
He made a pair of fists and dug his knuckles into his watering eyes. "So, yeah, I creeped around and when I was done eating, I went out front to the main staircase because my room's right at the top of it."
Lane nodded. "And the staff stairs go directly over Miss Aurora's bed."
"I'd have been busted." Max took a deep breath. "I heard their voices as I came up to the second floor. They were down the hall outside of Mother's room--she was yelling at him for having been out with another woman. And then Father..."
"What?"
Max cursed. "He said she had no right to comment. That they both knew Edward wasn't his--that he'd known it all along, and if she didn't shut up about what he was doing, he was going to tell Edward."
"Oh, my God." Lane closed his lids. "Oh...shit."
"She got really quiet. And then she started crying. He just turned away really fast and disappeared into his own suite. I didn't know then whether he'd seen me or not--and I've always been afraid of him. So I ran out of the house and slept by the pool. I kept expecting him to come find me and...I don't know, he was capable of anything, right? But the next morning, he went to work like nothing had happened. I sat in the pool house for a long time, thinking about him at his desk, ordering people around in the business center. I couldn't stay. Not knowing what I did. Leaving was the only way--so I packed up what I could stuff into a duffel bag and took one of the Mercedes. I drove over the river into Indiana, and I didn't know where I was going--eventually I sold the car for, like, twenty grand in St. Louis and lived off the money. I just wanted to get as far away as I could from this family."
"Does Edward know?" Lane blurted as if he were speaking to himself.
"That's why I came back. I decided I had to tell him. I mean, the guilt. All that shit he did for us when we were kids? He was protecting us from someone who was all but a stranger to him. I couldn't deal with it anymore--so I called him and we met that day. But when I was sitting across from him, I lost my nerve. He looked so bad, so...worn out. And the limping and the scars--it was so much worse than I had seen in the papers."
"So you knew about the kidnapping."
"Who doesn't--it was all over the news."
"Edward thinks Father set it all up." Lane rubbed his face. "If what you overheard is true...maybe that's why Father wanted him dead."
"And why Father was so hard on him for all those years. It wasn't his son, but he had to pretend like the kid was--meanwhile, Edward was a living, breathing fuck you to him, every day, year after year."
"Edward doesn't know, then?"
Max shrugged. "If he does, it isn't from me. And you're right, I am a coward. I just...I couldn't do it. So after he and I talked about absolutely nothing, we went our separate ways, and I kept on moving through town. But then Father died...so I came back to Easterly. For reasons I'm still not real clear on."
Lane's eyes were direct. "You gotta be honest with me. Were you involved in the murder?"
Max met that stare right on. "No, I wasn't. I saw the report on the local news when the body was found. That's as close as I am to it, and I will swear to this on anything you want me to."
"Maybe Edward did do it after all."
"I don't know."
Lane turned back to the windshield and got very still in his seat. "I'm sorry I accused you."
"Don't be. I don't care--and I can see why you'd think it was me."
After a long moment, Lane murmured, "So who is Edward's father?"
"I don't know. And I don't know how to ask something like that of Mother."
"Edward has a right to know."
"Does it really matter anymore? Besides, trust me, recasting an entire family is not a party. It's like...everything you know to be true is suddenly wrong. It makes your head go bad. I mean, are any of us related? Father only talked about Edward not being his, but what about the rest of us?"
"I can't believe this."
The pair of them sat there, side by side in the Rolls, for so long that Lane cut the engine and put down the windows...and eventually, the dawn's glow appeared behind the BBQ joint. And still they stayed put. It wasn't until the first of the commuters began to hit the road into town that his brother restarted the engine and they headed off to Easterly in silence.
From time to time, over the intervening three years since Max had heard what he had, he had wondered how he would feel if he came clean. If he told...anyone...in his family what he knew. He had imagined there would be relief--but also even more guilt, because in unburdening himself, he would be infecting others with the ugly truth.
To his surprise, he felt nothing.
Maybe it was the booze.
As he and his brother traveled down River Road, they followed the curves of the Ohio's shoreline, and he wondered exactly where Edward had taken their father out and dumped him into the water, still alive but incapacitated. Where had the deed been done? How had Edward chosen the spot? Had he been worried about being caught?
"Are you going to tell Edward?" Max said as Easterly's hill came into view.
Behind the house, the sun was rising, peach and pink rays flowing around the mansion's grand contours as if the Bradford family's great house had to be deferred to.
"I think you should." Lane glanced over. "And I'll go with you when you do."
"No," Max said. "I'm leaving. And before you tell me I can't--"
"I'm not going to stop you." Lane shook his head. "I'll remind you, though, that Edward is still our brother. He's still our family. Mother is the connection--actually, Mother has always been the thing, hasn't she. She's the Bradford."
"I don't care about either one of them." Max crossed his arms over his chest. "I wish you well, but Charlemont and Easterly--and this whole family--are a waste of my time. And they're a waste of yours. You need to take that good woman you got and put all this shit in the rearview." He looked over the river to Indiana, to the wide-open highway, to more of a future far, far away from the name Bradford. "Trust me, it's a better life out there. Way better."
Later that morning, Lizzie pried the keys to a riding mower out of Gary McAdams's extremely disapproving and reluctant hands and went to town on the front lawn.
Indeed, the prospect of making neat, clipped lanes all over the acres of grass that ran from Easterly's grand entrance all the way down the mountain to the gates on River Road made her OCD side tingle with happiness--and no, she did not care that it was "hotter'n blazes out," as the head groundsman had put it.
Unfortunately, her enthusiasm proved less enduring than the heat.
Some lemonade, she thought as Easterly came into view once again on the ascent. She'd get something cool, and after a little hydration, she'd be ready to go back at it.
Parking the mower under a dark-leafed magnolia, she had to smile as she dismounted and went right in the front door with grass clippings stuck all over the sweat on her bare legs. Previously, there had been a limited number of ways staff had been allowed to enter the mansion. Two doors. That was it--and both of them were in the back of the house. If that had meant someone like herself or Greta had had to walk all the way around, in the heat, because they had been pulling weeds in the ivy beds or the urns out front? Too bad.
At least she didn't have to worry about that inconvenie
nce anymore.
Although, that being said, she did take her work shoes off and leave them just inside on a mat--and not because some English butler like the one who had quit was going to give her a hard time. Nope, it was again because she was it for housekeeping.
As she moved through the cool interior, her skin goosebump'd all over. The house had had central air added only about ten years ago, and the HVAC upgrade was certainly appreciated on a day like today--although she also knew she was going to come to regret this respite. As relieving as it was to get a break from the heat, going back outside was going to be a bitch.
But she'd been worried she was about to pass out.
Passing by the formal parlors, with all their grandeur, she opened the wide door by the dining room and entered the staff portion of things--and it was as if she were in a different house. Gone were the oil paintings and the silk wallpaper, the drapes and the Orientals. Now the walls were painted a crisp clean white and the only adornment on the floorboards was a coat of varnish well-scuffed by footfalls.
The controller's office was on the left and she put her head in. "Hey there."
Greta von Schlieber looked up from the desk. In front of her, the open laptop and piles of papers were everything Lizzie would have hated to deal with. The German, however, found great peace in making order out of bookkeeping chaos--and after Rosalinda Freeland's untimely suicide, and the subsequent firings of almost all the staff, there was much to do in the land of paper clips and staples, documents and forms.
"Guten Morgen," the woman said as she took off her pink reading glasses and replaced them with a pair of tortoiseshell distance lenses. "How are we doing?"
With the accent, "we" came out with a "v" and there was an "-ink" at the end of "doing"--and the familiar soundings of both made Lizzie want to tell her decade-long friend what was going on about her possible pregnancy. But no. If Lane didn't know, nobody else was going to.
"It's hot out there."
"Ja. I finish processing these dismissals, I go and trim hedges around the pool house. Then I deadhead the pots."
"After Lane's done with the board meeting, I'm meeting him down at the hospital to see Miss Aurora."
"I heard that the calls have been made to family? I have been speaking to the former staff to make sure they get the unemployment and one of her nieces told me. I go after I am finished with work."
"It's really sad."
She hadn't seen Lane for more than two seconds before he'd left for the trustee meeting--because apparently getting Max home in the middle of the night had been a thing. But Lane had told her there was something he wanted to talk to her about, and she wondered what it was. He had certainly seemed distracted and unhappy, although that was, sadly, nothing new--
A bing-bong sounded out high on the ceiling, and Lizzie looked up over her shoulder. "Someone's at the back door. I'll get it."
As she hurried into the kitchen, she averted her eyes as she passed by the door to Miss Aurora's suite of rooms. God, the prospect of cleaning out Lane's momma's things from that space--or having the woman's family come and do that--seemed both surreal and inevitable.
When she opened the back screen door, there was a young guy in a blue uniform and a hat. Behind him, in the courtyard, a van with the name of a local delivery company was parked and running.
"I got something for a Mr. Richard Pford here?" the guy said. "Can you sign for it?"
"Yes, sure." Lizzie took the manila envelope and then scribbled her name on a clipboard. "Thank you."
"Thanks, ma'am."
She was closing things up when she remembered that technically Gin's husband had moved out, and she tried to flag the van down as it pulled away, but the vehicle didn't stop.
Fine, she'd leave it on his bed for whenever he came to pick up his things. Besides, knowing Gin's love life, it was likely that the two would reconcile after Lane's sister got back from dropping Amelia off up north. Gin had a way of getting what she wanted, and she had wanted to be married to Pford.
Although how she could stand being anywhere near that nasty piece of work was a mystery.
Then again...money.
The lemonade was every bit as refreshing as Lizzie had thought it would be, and the idea of going back out to the mower was as unappealing as it had first seemed like a great idea. No matter, however. It was time to get showered and changed and meet Lane down at the hospital. Besides, she'd gotten the left half of the lawn done. Maybe at the end of the day, she could finish the other side.
As Lizzie didn't have time to drive the John Deere all the way back to the grounds-keeping outbuildings, she settled for running it around to the rear courtyard and leaving it in the shade by the garages. Then she forced herself to take a handful of pretzels up with her to the second floor, dropped the envelope just inside Pford's room, and got herself showered and dressed in khakis and a fresh polo.
She was once again down in the kitchen and texting Lane for his ETA at the hospital when she was struck by an impulse. Going over to Miss Aurora's door, she hesitated.
Her first instinct was to knock, and how crazy was that. It wasn't like there was anyone in there.
Opening things up, her heart ached at the memory of when she had come in and found the woman on the floor by her bed, unresponsive.
As with Miss Aurora's workspaces outside, everything was in its place, not just tidy but vacuumed and dusted as well, and although the furnishings were modest, you couldn't help but want to have good posture and your hands tucked into each other as you stood inside the space. There were two BarcaLoungers against a bay of windows, a TV across the way, and a galley kitchen with a sink, a little stove, and a refrigerator. Naturally, there were no dishes left out in the drainer, and a hand towel had been precisely folded and hung on the oven door's handle.
Boy, it felt all wrong to be in here without an invitation.
Moving quickly, she went over by Miss Aurora's chair, to the shelves that ran up to the ceiling. There were over a hundred pictures in frames old and new on them, the photographs ranging from elementary school snaps to college graduations, from smiling summer-camp candids to serious-faced lineups around Christmas trees and at church altars. Many of them featured basketball and football players in mid-jump or mid-tackle, and a couple even had players in NFL and NBA uniforms, the subjects ranging from Miss Aurora's brothers and sisters, and their children, to Lane, Gin, Max, and Edward.
Lizzie had come in with the thought of taking a couple and bringing them to the hospital, so if Miss Aurora had a moment of consciousness, she could see the faces of some of her most beloved people. But now, confronting all of the pictures, Lizzie became overwhelmed.
Reaching out, she took a picture of Lane off the third shelf up. He had been twelve or thirteen at the time and grinning cheekily into the camera. The hints of his adult good looks were all over his face, his features already showing a proclivity to that strong jaw, his eyes flashing with his flirtatious nature.
If Lizzie was carrying a son, he would be just like this at the same age.
Suddenly obsessed, she began searching for more photos of Lane, and she found at least a dozen or so. She followed them chronologically, watching him grow up...until she got to the last one, when he'd graduated from U.Va. Now, he was in a cap and gown, and had Wayfarers on, his handsome assurance making him look like something out of St. Elmo's Fire, even though that had been well before his time. And he had his arm around--oh, that was Jeff Stern.
Funny, where life took people.
Reaching out, she took the large frame from its careful placement and brought it in for a closer look.
As she stood there, staring at the image of the two best friends in the sun, the sky over their heads so blue, the grass under their feet so green, she realized she was looking at Lane's face and trying to read what his reaction would be to her pregnancy news. Which was nuts.
Leaning in to put the frame back, she--
Frowned and stopped.
There w
as something tucked in behind the photograph. A plastic bag?
Lizzie went back there with her hand before she thought about the invasion of privacy...and what she took out didn't make a lot of sense.
It was a large, gallon-sized freezer bag, inside of which was a chef's knife.
Putting the picture of Lane and Jeff aside, she examined the contents. There wasn't anything notable on the blade or the black handle, no stains, chips or abrasions. Nor were there any identifiers, like a special nameplate or whatever.
Lizzie eyed the rest of the photographs. After a moment, she put the knife back and replaced the picture exactly where it had been. Then she left to go downtown.
And resolved to mind her own business.
--
"What do you mean he won't see me?"
As Lane spoke, he leaned into the county jail's registration desk. Like that was going to do any good. And what do you know, the female officer who had taken his name and typed a bunch of stuff into her computer just shook her head.
"I'm sorry." She pointed to the monitor in front of her. "The request was denied by the detained."
"Is Deputy Ramsey around?" He hated bothering the guy unless he had to. But this was serious. "Can I speak with him?"
"Deputy Ramsey has taken his unit in for hostage training all day today. Would you like me to leave him a message?"
"No, thanks." He knocked the counter with his knuckles. "I'll call him myself later."
As he headed for the double doors, he was pissed, but until Ramsey was free, he wasn't going to make any headway seeing Edward.
Damn it.
Then again, he'd had more emotion than agenda as he'd stopped by here on his way to the hospital. It probably wouldn't have gone well. For godsakes, what could he say?
How could he say it?
Passing by the people who were cooling their jets in plastic chairs, he let himself out of the reception area and joined the march along the courthouse's promenade of corridors. Instead of waiting for an elevator, he took the polished granite stairs in the center of the building's seven-story atrium down to street level and exited onto the sidewalk.
He ended up going to the hospital on foot. It wasn't far and he had the time because the board meeting had gotten out early.
But he didn't go to see Miss Aurora first. At the visitors' center, he asked for, and got, another room number.