Family Skeletons Page 14

  She brought her knees up to her chest, leaned forward and clasped her arms around them, unmindful now of the view she allowed. Her mind was full instead of past pain. She’d come a long way, but there was still much in her that hurt. She looked down to meet his eyes. She’d gone from serene to disquiet in record time, and she wondered if it showed.

  Apparently, it did.

  “I must have hit a nerve,” he said, and touched her face with his fingers as if to smooth the lines from it. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be.” She took his hand and kissed it. “I’ve got a lot of history, as you know. Sometimes it sneaks up on me.”

  “Do you need to air it?” His gaze held hers. Gently his fingers moved to the back of her neck and massaged.

  You don’t know what you’re asking for, Jonathan.

  And you don’t even want to think about it, Sunny. He’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Don’t scare him away.

  But she said, not allowing herself to talk herself out of it, “Yeah, maybe I do.” And then her gaze left his. It was easier talking if she concentrated on the distant blue of the ocean.

  “I got into drugs early.” She spoke slowly, her voice even. “But somehow I managed to stay away from the hard stuff. No coke or acid, and I never stuck a needle in my arm. Booze didn’t turn me on, either. It was pills, uppers, downers, every combination, any combination. I still don’t know how I didn’t kill myself. I took anything I could get my hands on, but I had favorite combinations that turned me so mellow and warm that I just wanted to stay that way forever. But then when the high wore off, I turned so jittery and jumpy that it scared me, and I didn’t want to ever do it again, but then I did anyway...and...”

  If you want to break it off with him, Sunny, there are easier ways to do it than this.

  But she went on, her voice quiet yet surprisingly clear. “I don’t remember what I was on the day I married Alec. We were both so high we were floating. As young as I still look, I don’t know how we pulled it off. We’d crossed the state line into Nevada. He was old enough, and we just kept going until we found someone who just looked at us, said okay, and then said the words. And that was that.” She paused. “Then Roberta had it annulled three days later.”

  She breathed in, out. Okay, enough. But still she didn’t listen to herself. “She watched me like a hawk after that, and I was forced to back off from the pills. So I got back into school again, and that’s when I met Ryan. We were both seniors, and we hit it off right away. Maybe because both of us were misfits, trying to find ourselves and fit in, and I guess we leaned on each other, supported each other. But then he grew up. And I didn’t.”

  Again she breathed deeply, aware of, but not caring about, the tears building and burning in her eyes. If she blinked, they’d break through. Jonathan remained silent, and she didn’t look at him.

  “I got back on the pills again, even heavier than before.” Her voice was a mere whisper now, barely audible within the quiet room. “Ryan had also hit it off with Roberta. She’d sensed right away that he had his head on. They both saw what was happening, and they ganged up on me. It was the day after graduation. He’d brought me home from grad night. I don’t remember exactly—I was really out of it—but I think he had to use force. They’d already talked it out between them, had a rehab place in mind, all the plans made. Roberta had to get a second mortgage on her house to get me into it, but it was a good place. Out in the country, healthy food, exercise, full-time therapy, physical and emotional, professional company. They cleaned me up.”

  She looked at Jonathan then, noted that his gaze was level and patient, and remembered he already knew much of her past.

  He’d known the facts, but not the feelings. Is that what you needed to tell him?

  Why, Sunny? Why do you want him to know?

  Fast on the heels of the question, its answer struck her, and then the tears broke through. Not only had Jonathan grown to be very important to her, but in many ways he’d shown her the feeling was mutual, and for the first time in her life it seemed something solid was within her reach. It was wonderful, and it was scary, and honesty was as painful as it was essential. Rarely had Sunny looked so deeply inside herself, nor had she ever even wanted to.

  Since no tissue box was at hand, she dried her eyes with the heels of her hands. Feeling shaky but determined, she looked back at the window and resumed her story. “Both Ryan and Roberta wanted me to go to cooking school and then to business school, so I could open my own restaurant. But I didn’t think I could deal with fussy people.” Because she’d already proved to both herself and Jonathan that she didn’t deal well with fussy eaters, she gave him what had to be a weak smile. He smiled back, but made no other response.

  Then again she directed her eyes to the ocean that looked so calm in the distance, yet was constantly in motion. “I talked to Mavis instead. She tutored me and I got my license, and then I got in with a successful agency. I was no whiz, but I made enough to support myself. It seemed I was finally on the right track, and I should’ve been happy...but...I don’t know how to explain it. There was something missing. I wasn’t just unsatisfied. Sometimes I was angry, too, but I didn’t know at what, and sometimes I got the feeling that I just had to break out. Then I met this guy.”

  She leaned her head all the way back against the headboard. The tears were coming in earnest now, and she wiped at them again, the action angry and impatient.

  “He was bad news. I knew that right away, but I didn’t care. I was in self-destruct mode, stronger than ever before. I turned my back on Roberta, Ryan, my job, and was back on the pill scene before I knew what hit me. I even married the bastard, and it was legal this time. No one could annul it.”

  When her hand slid down to the mattress between them, his hand moved to cover hers. Her breathing, which had grown agitated, soothed a little at his touch. “My first marriage had lasted three days. The second one lasted two months. And he put me in the hospital three times during those two months.”

  Her throat had grown so tight and dry that it was difficult swallowing. She concentrated on taking even, calming breaths, and then she went on. “The last time, he came after me with his belt. I tried to run, even though there was no place to run to, and I knocked over a chair—we had one of those really cheap, lightweight dinette sets—and he was so close behind me that he tripped over it. I saw what had happened, and I picked up another chair and hit him with it, and then hit him again and again, until the chair broke. Then I realized he wasn’t moving. And he was bleeding. I’d never seen so much blood, and I thought I’d killed him. The phone was on the wall in the kitchen. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t remember nine-one-one. It just wouldn’t come to me. I had to look at each number in turn, and I finally got to nine, and then I remembered it. But when the woman came on the line I couldn’t talk. He’d broken my jaw, and all I could do was cry and make this funny sound deep in my throat. But she figured out that I needed help. When I heard the sirens, I collapsed. They had to pick me up off the kitchen floor and pry the phone from my fist.”

  Jonathan’s hand was still on hers. She looked down at it, but not at him. “I never saw him again. As it turned out, I hadn’t killed him. I’m glad now that I didn’t, but then I didn’t care.”

  She paused again. Her gaze remained on his hand. “As much as I hated my father, after the divorce I legally changed my name back. I couldn’t stand to wear the same name as the brute I’d married. So I chose Corday. It was still my mother’s name.”

  She curled her fingers under his and squeezed. He squeezed back, and she resumed her story. The telling was getting easier.

  “When I got out of the hospital, I moved in with Ryan. I got clean again, but I did it on my own this time—with his help and my mother’s. No clinic. But I wanted it. I wanted to be clean more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life. That’s why I was able to do it, and that’s why I’ve been able to stay clean.”

  She shifted, bur
rowing into the bed and resting on her hip, facing him. He didn’t look shocked, appalled, disgusted. He just waited, still listening, giving her time. “You were right when you said I was using Ryan. I swore off men and relationships, any relationship. With a track record like mine, that was the only safe thing to do.”

  She lifted her hand, traced his cheekbone with her fingertips, and held his gaze.

  “Until you,” she whispered. “But you’re not just the first man I’ve made love to since then. You’re the first man that I’ve ever really made love to. I’m not saying I never climaxed before, but...but it’s different with you.”

  Sunny was drained, but this was important and she searched for the right words. Then she finished, voice choked. “With you, I feel loved. I don’t feel used.” Her forefinger trembled as it traced the line of his lips. “I don’t feel used, Jonathan,” she whispered. “I don’t feel used.”

  He drew her face down to his and kissed her, long and deep, and then they made love again. Slowly, sensually, thoroughly. When he entered her this time it was more than a physical union. They truly became one, in every possible way.

  At climax, she cried again. With his breath still coming in uneven gasps, he leaned down and kissed her tears away. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

  * * *

  Two days later, Sunny watched Jonathan as he spoke on his cell. He’d been on for a long time and he clearly didn’t like what he was hearing. When he finally clicked off and lowered his hand to his side, he gave her a worried, frowning look.

  “It’s no big deal,” she said, and then she forced a smile but figured her annoyance still showed. “I’ve told you that ten times already. Don’t turn into another Ryan. Please.”

  “I can get another week but that’s it. Then I’ve got to go back, at least long enough for them to go through the interview process and hire someone to cover for me.”

  She merely shrugged. He had enough mother-hen protectiveness in him for a whole brood of baby chicks. But since he only had one—her—she got it all. “It may be settled in a week,” she said as patiently as she could. “I may be home in San Francisco in a week. I don’t know what a week holds any more than you do.”

  “But if it isn’t settled by then, will you—”

  “We’ll talk about it then. Now please shut up.” She smiled to soften the words. “Please. If you keep after me about it I’ll be forced into giving you an outright no. Then I’ll be stuck with that, no matter what, and that wouldn’t be good for either one of us. Right?”

  His expression was both critical and irritated. “I’ve never before met anyone with a sense of logic quite like yours.” Then, exhaling loudly, he looked off at the parlor’s doorway and slipped the phone into his pocket. “Maybe it will be settled by then. It should be. I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”

  “They must be double-checking. They want to be sure.” She paused. “You know, it’s funny, but...”

  When she didn’t finish, he looked at her curiously. “What? What are you thinking?”

  “Well, the longer it takes for them to identify the skeleton seems to lessen the odds of it being Franklin. And I don’t know how I feel about that. On one hand, it’d be closure for Roberta and for me. But at the same time, I don’t want...well, it doesn’t feel good thinking that...” She shook her head, giving up on clarifying the thought.

  But he said, “I think I understand. You don’t want him to have been murdered, but you do want his body found.”

  “Yeah...well.” She stood abruptly. “Time for dinner. And it’s a simple one. I hope you like hamburgers and potato salad.” She figured he’d at least eat the hamburgers.

  “What kind of potato salad?”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “How many kinds are there?”

  “Homemade? Or did you buy it at the deli?”

  “I made it.”

  His face perked. “I think I’ll like it.”

  For a short moment she watched him, thinking about the pickles and onion and celery and eggs she’d chopped up and mixed with the potatoes, and recalled that he hadn’t liked anything mixed with his breakfast potatoes, but she made no comment.

  * * *

  Jonathan liked the salad; none was left for tomorrow. Though Sunny didn’t exactly understand his food preferences, she was learning them. She was almost finished with the dishes when she heard him calling from the parlor.

  “Sunny? Where’s the remote?”

  Good question. She squinted at the wall. “I was sitting in the big chair in the corner. Check the cushions. Maybe...”

  “Is it too much to ask for you to just put it back on—”

  The phone rang.

  Saved by the bell.

  She heard his voice as he spoke on the phone, but she couldn’t discern what the conversation was about. When he came to the kitchen, she looked up. “Who was it?”

  “Tom Fairly. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  She literally didn’t breathe for the space of several seconds. As she remained motionless, he took the towel from her and finished drying the cutlery. She stepped back to give him room.

  “Well,” she said. “We wanted to know, and I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Tom took longer than ten minutes, and the longer Sunny waited, the more nervous she got. She got the broom and was sweeping the hall, even though Jonathan had already done it once today, when Tom finally arrived. His knock on the door made her jump, and the broom clattered to the floor. Jonathan picked it up, stood it upright in the corner and then opened the door. Sunny and the deputy sheriff stared at each other.

  “It’s not good news,” she said. “No matter what it is, there’s no way it can be good. So you might as well just spit it out.”

  When he stepped forward to put his hands on her shoulders, she guessed that her dread showed in her eyes. “We found him, Sunny,” he said gently. “Without a doubt, that was Franklin in the cove.”

  She was aware that the attention of both men rested on her. She nodded once then looked at the stair rail just past Tom’s right shoulder.

  He was murdered. Someone killed him.

  “What took so long?” Jonathan asked. “His dental record must have been the first thing you looked at.”

  Tom nodded, and dropped his hands to his sides. “You’re right. But the powers that be—I didn’t like it, but had no say in it—said to keep a lid on it until the cause of death was also determined. Beyond doubt.”

  Jonathan’s brows drew together. “But that dent in the skull...” But he must have realized the fruitlessness of questioning the powers that be because dispassionately he finished. “And the cause of death is, beyond doubt...”

  “A heavy blow to the back of the head with a blunt instrument.”

  “Like a baseball bat.”

  Tom’s head bobbed once in a decisive nod.

  “And the one we found...”

  “By all odds had killed somebody, but not Franklin. We’ve got a body with a missing murder weapon, and we’ve got a murder weapon with a missing body. But my guess is that we’ve only got one murderer.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tom wanted beer, but he settled for coffee. “Officially, I’m still on duty until I walk out your door tonight. But thanks anyway.”

  Jonathan was a better host than Sunny was a hostess. The identity of the skeleton wasn’t a surprise, yet it hit hard, and part of her wanted to scamper away and hide. And medicate herself with an arsenal of pills as had once been her custom?

  As he settled in the corner armchair—Cat had the bigger, overstuffed one—Tom looked at his mug of coffee. “I have to ask you this, Sunny,” he said, but went no further.

  Because she was slow putting things together, she just looked at him, wondering what she was missing and why he didn’t just go ahead and say it. And then she got it. “Oh.” She looked down at her lap. “Where was I seven years ago? What was going on with me?”

  She laughed without humor, bro
ught her hands up and buried her face in her palms. “Oh, boy. Here we go.” Her voice was muffled.

  And Mom. Where was she seven years ago? Does anyone know where he or she was seven years ago? And what was happening in their lives?

  “I don’t envy you this, Tom,” Jonathan said. “This is not going to be an easy job.”

  “No, it’s not. Local, personal, and high profile. But I’ll have help.” He paused, and his eyes grew distant. “And I expect to be relieved of the responsibility anyway.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, as if the other man’s statement puzzled him, but he didn’t comment on it. “What about me?” he asked after a short moment. “I also stood to gain at Franklin’s death, though I didn’t know it at the time. Should I try to figure out where I was and what I was doing?”

  Tom shook his head. “That’s a long shot if I ever saw one. The contents of the will weren’t yet disclosed. Your name didn’t even come up until this year.”

  “Are you looking at profit as a motive? It doesn’t make sense if whoever killed him stood to gain by his death, and then left him under the sand and berry bushes for seven years.”

  “Exactly. That’s the part I don’t like.”

  His attention returned to Sunny. “Okay, we’ve gotta start somewhere. What can you tell me about your time and circumstances when your father disappeared?”

  “Okay.” She blew her breath out and stared at the area rug and its faded pattern of purple and blue. The colors fit her mood. “I was just out of rehab. Someone said he was up here, and then no one knew where he was. There was some speculation about that, but no real alarm. I didn’t pay much attention. I...didn’t care.”

  “Who said he was up here?”

  “I don’t know. A conversation between Roberta and someone?” She frowned as she concentrated on memories, impressions, feelings. She couldn’t recall who’d borne the news, whether it was Mavis or not, but Sunny remembered speaking to her about the real estate profession around that time. Had she been edgy? Distant? Nervous? That would’ve been close to the time of her and Franklin’s encounter.