Blood Ties (39 page)

Buck lifted the lid. Nestled in a bed of crumpled plastic wrap was a heavy metal object about six inches
long. He removed it and swore softly. There was no
mistaking the bronze cloak pin with the geometric pattern. "Matthew's Irish piece."

"The one that Karen Knight's killer stole. Keep
looking, boy."

Wrapped in still more plastic were six photographs,
all pictures of children, all roughly eight or nine years
of age. Four of them were African-American boys, and
two were Caucasian. "These look like school pictures,"
Buck said.

"That's what I thought. My Beth used to come home
every year with ones just like this. Had phony bookshelves or the American flag in the background."

Buck turned the photos over. Hand-printed on the
first one was the name Jonah. The second was labeled
Kwasi. When he flipped the third picture, Buck suddenly felt sick. It read Daniel. He raised his eyes to
meet Will's hard look.

"Yeah," Will said, "it's our Daniel." He picked up his
shotgun where it rested against the barn wall.

"But I don't see how these pictures tie in," Buck said,
not wanting to understand ... not wanting to believe
the crazy possibilities that were surfacing in his mind.

Hadn't he found Will coming out of the barn with
the box? Will was casting the blame on George, but it
could just as easily be him. Who wanted to keep the
marina off Tawes more than Will? And who had been
closer to Daniel when he was a kid than Will?

As if he'd read his mind, Will snatched Daniel's picture out of Buck's hand. "You don't need this. Nobody needs it. Look at the other two, Buck," the older
man said.

"That could be evidence. You can't-" But Will was
already shredding the small photograph and tossing
the fragments into the wind.

"Look at the damned name on the back!"

Buck didn't have to. Staring down at the picture, he
recognized the thin face and huge eyes of Le'ron
Brown.

"George is some kind of pervert who likes little
boys," Will said harshly. "He did something to Le'ron
and got caught. Then he had to kill them all to hide
what he'd done."

"By the time we walk to Bailey's farm and you come
all the way back here to launch the boat, it will be getting dark," George said as he dumped the tools on
the beach near Harry's sixteen-foot aluminum boat.
"It don't make sense to me for you to do all this
comin' and goin'. Why don't you jest take the boat
with the stuff and I'll see Miss Abbie safe out of the
marsh?"

"I don't know." Harry glanced at Abbie. "Buck won't
like it. He said that two of us had to be watching over
her all the time." He kicked the sand. "Wish my boat
was big enough to carry us, the dog, and the tent."

"It's not," Abbie said. "But we'll be fine. George has
his trusty shotgun, and I've got these." She tapped the
knives at her waist. "Go ahead. Take the boat. You
don't have lights and you might get lost in the marsh if
you don't go now."

"Storm's comin' in," George said. "I wouldn't want
to be in that marsh in bad weather. Them guts swell up
and burst over the banks. You can't tell creek from swamp. And if you're stuck out there all night, the
skeeters will eat you alive."

"Take the dog and go," Abbie urged. "I can't fit
Archie in the helicopter anyway." She wanted to be off
this site, to put it and the memories of Matthew's hanging body behind her. And she didn't want to be responsible for Harry having to return alone to this
beach, hundred-pound bear-dog for protection or not.

"All right," Harry said, "but if Buck gives me
hell-'scuse me-if Buck gives me heck, I'll tell him
you ordered me to do it."

Abbie laughed. "Sure, blame me. Everyone always
does." She glanced around the clearing. All of the pits
had been closed and leveled. George had sprinkled
grass seed on top. The tents were down, folded, and
stacked on the beach with the cooler, her tools, and
the folding table. She had her laptop in her backpack
and a canteen of water for the hike out. "See you back
in Tawes," she said to Harry. "Are you ready, George?"

"Yep, ready as I'll ever be."

"And keep Archie on the leash," Abbie told Harry.
"I don't want him coming after us." She hoped that
the rain would hold off until she got back to town. If
there was wind, she might decide to stay at Bailey's until the weather cleared. She'd flown the helicopter under dicey conditions, and it had handled beautifully.
Still, it didn't pay to be reckless with her life or the expensive aircraft. Contrary to whatever Buck might
think, she was careful with her father's money.

For the first quarter mile of the hike out, neither
she nor George spoke. It would have been difficult to
hear each other in any case, because the wind was
kicking up. The path was too narrow and slippery to
walk two abreast in some places, and the marsh grass
rustled and snapped as it bent and swayed overhead. Abbie could hear the low boom of thunder to the
west.

"Watch out." George, who'd been leading the way
with his shotgun cradled in his arms, stopped short.
"There. You don't want to step on him."

Abbie looked into the muddy grass, and her heartbeat quickened. There, only a few feet in front of
George, a three-foot, mottled brown snake with dark
irregular bands slithered across the track. She shuddered. "Yuck. What kind is it?"

"Just a water snake, not poison." He peered at her
from under his sweat-stained felt hat. "That one won't
bite, not if you don't bother him. But some. . ." He
looked off into the reeds for emphasis. "But some of
these snakes are bad."

She shrugged. "No rattlesnakes around the Chesapeake. Out West, there are lots of them." She'd seen
her share on far-flung archaeological digs, and she'd
learned to listen for the telltale rattle and not to poke
around in spots where they might be lurking, but
she'd never learned to shed her repulsion for them.

"Nope, not around here. I hear tell they got plenty
of them copperheads out in the mountains. Here, we
got other kinds of snakes. Kings, milk snakes, garters,
all manner of water snakes, and more black snakes
than you can count."

"I don't like snakes," Abbie admitted.

"The only poison one we got on this island is a water
moccasin. They're mean, and they'll come after you,"
George said. "You see a snake, any color at all, what
rears up and gapes its mouth at you-and that
mouth's all white inside like a ball of cotton-you
scoot. That's a moccasin, and they'll kill a man or a
dog quicker than you can say Jack Robinson."

"I'll take your word for it."

The snake vanished into the reeds, and George held
a clump of phragmites up so she could pass under.

"Thanks." She moved on, stepping cautiously as the
trail dipped into a low spot and water seeped up over
the edges of her shoes.

Drops of rain were hitting her cheeks and arms and
blurring her vision. She removed her sunglasses and
tucked them into her shirt pocket as she walked.

"Turn off there," George said.

"No, I'm sure that's not the main path," she said.
"That's just a-"

"I said, turn off!"

At his gruff tone, she turned to stare at him. Her
mouth went dry. George had the strangest expression
on his face, and he held the shotgun level, the barrel
pointed at her midsection.

"You heard me. That way!" He motioned to the
game trail that led into the reeds.

"George ..." Her skin suddenly felt hot, and black
specks danced in front of her eyes. "You don't want to
do anything-"

"Do as I say! Do it or I'll shoot you here. This shell is
loaded with buckshot. You know what a twelve-gauge
will do to a deer?"

She raised her hands. "George, think about what
you're doing. We're friends. We-"

He shook his head. "We're not friends," he said.
"You're stupid. You didn't have sense enough to leave
things be."

"I came here because I was asked to come," she
pleaded. "Because my mother-"

"Drop those knives. Slow. Pull them out with your
fingers. That's right. Now toss them into the reeds.
Both of them."

He smiled, and the smile terrified her more than
the gun.

"I'm one of them," he said. "All these years, I protected them, watched over them. Until you and her
came. You disturbed the dead. You should have let
them rest."

"You killed her, didn't you?" Abbie asked. "You
killed my mother?"

He gestured with the gun barrel. "Git movin'. And
don't think about runnin'. You can't run faster than a
load of buckshot."

The water level was higher along this track. Soon
she was wading through mud and muck that rose over
her ankles.

Throw that pack into the pond," George said. "You
won't have no more need for it."

"Why?" she asked him. "Why did you have to kill her?"

"She wouldn't listen," he answered hoarsely. "She
had to be taught a lesson."

"You won't get away with this. Harry knows you're
with me. If you hurt me, they'll find out. They'll put
you in jail."

"They won't know it was me. They'll think it was the
curse. All I got to do is cut myself with a knife. Or
whack myself on the head. I'll tell them that something came out of the swamp and jumped me. You
won't be able to tell 'em anything different."

Rain was falling harder now. Wind whistled across
the marsh, flattening the phragmites and bending the
tangles of stunted cedar trees that clung to grassy
hummocks. A great blue heron burst up almost at Abbie's feet and flew off over the whipping grass. She
slipped and staggered in an attempt to keep from
falling. George jammed the shotgun into her spine,
and she cried out in pain.

"Not far now," he said. He'd thought about this a
lot, how to do it when he got the chance. He couldn't
just shoot her. No matter what he said, that wouldn't be right. He'd thought of putting a knife in her back
and scalping her. That would be an Indian way to deal
with enemies, the way a blood brother would do it. But
he didn't think he had the stomach for that much
blood. A cut on the head bled bad, and if he cut off
her black hair, there would be a river of blood.

They'd all been scared when they'd seen how he'd
done for Matthew. If he'd strung him up sooner and
filled him full of arrows, maybe no one would have
dug up Le'ron. The boy could have slept there in his
mama's arms. But now, it was too late. They'd found
Le'ron, and nothing would ever be right again.

Killing Dr. Knight's daughter would be different
from the others. He didn't want to do it, but he had to.
Otherwise, he would have failed.

Lightning flashed, and he blinked against the sudden bolt of light. It wasn't far now. He'd stay until it
was over, until he was certain that she was done for,
and then he'd make his way back to the main trail. He
wanted them to find him, to find him hurt. It might be
a long time before they found her body, but that
would be all right, too. It would be finished, and he
could sleep easy at night. He slipped a hand into his
pants pocket and found the little piece of bone. He
rubbed it, and it gave him comfort.

He knew that what he was doing would please them.
He knew they'd want him to teach her a lesson, to
teach everyone that the curse was real.

Buck reached the dig site and found Harry just pushing off from the beach. "Hey, brother!" He kicked
the horse's sides and urged Toby down to the water's
edge.

Harry waved and shut off the electric motor. He was
close enough to shore that when he turned the rud der, the momentum carried the aluminum pram back
into the shallows.

"Where's Abbie?" Buck shouted above the rain.

"She and George walked out. I had the damned dog
on a rope. I didn't take it off until I was under way, but
you know how bullheaded Archie is. He jumped out of
the boat and swam back to shore."

"You were supposed to stay with her!"

"I know. I'm sorry, but Abbie-"

"How long ago did they leave?" Buck demanded.
Lightning arced across the sky, and the Tennessee
walker shied and tossed his head. "Was George with
her?"

"Yeah. He said they'd be fine. He'd see her to the
helicopter." Harry stood up in the boat. "I looked for
the damned dog but-"

"Leave the boat!" Buck shouted. "I need you here!
It's George! George is the killer!" Thunder spooked
the horse and he reared. Swearing, Buck leaned forward and forced the animal down. "Follow me!" he
told Harry, once he had Toby under control.

Eyes wide, Harry leaped out of the boat and
splashed ashore through the driving rain, rifle in
hand. "I'm sorry, Buck. I'm sorry! I didn't know it was
George. You want me to call for help?"

"No need. I've already contacted Daniel and told
him to gather men. Will's coming with his dogs. He's
somewhere between George's place and the marsh
trail. Don't shoot Will by mistake!" Buck pulled the
horse's head around and raced him back across the
barren site and down the narrow track.