Scratch the Surface (Wolf Within) (24 page)

I could see the back of Jason Allerton’s dark head in the car in front of us. I thought about the conversation we’d had after breakfast. My stomach knotted.

Although it was Kathy Manning’s car, Allerton drove. She perched beside him, her head tilted toward the window as if she were tired but maybe she was just resting, bracing herself for the hell to come. She’d prepared the fatal dose of poison. She should be feeling some sort of reaction to her role in this whole damn nightmare.

The Pack did not own the funeral home. However, there would be no Others there today. One of the New Hampshire pack’s members was a mortician, and he’d arranged to take over the crematorium. He’d been there for Grey’s and Elena’s funerals too.

Pack were nearly always cremated. We took the ashes of our dead and scattered them in the woods where we’d all run together as wolves.

It had been summer when I’d scattered Grey’s and Elena’s ashes in the woods of the Devil’s Hopyard, a state park in the same small town as the funeral home. Riverglow had loved to run there at night together. We knew every square inch of the eight-mile stretch of woods and fields, brooks and bridges. We’d be scattering Grandfather Tobias’s ashes there too.

I stole a glance at Murphy and wondered if he were thinking about scattering Sorcha’s ashes somewhere in the green hills of Ireland. He probably was. It was a natural association.

He had the faintest ghost of a bruise on his cheek and a little split in his lower lip that was only noticeable if I was close to him—the only outward signs of the after dinner fiasco of the other night. The inward signs and scars were legion though, and not so easily healed, I suspected.

Silence crackled between us. I kept my head down and my hands clenched together in my lap.

Sometimes we hadn’t talked, Murphy and I, when we’d been on the road visiting cities between Houston and Boston. But the silence then had been restful and easy. He’d concentrated on driving or the song on the CD and I’d watched the trees and fields blur past as the road unspooled beneath us. Everything had been magical because most of our lives were on hold and we were free.

Well, we weren’t free now and our lives were most definitely not on hold. It occurred to me that maybe Murphy and I existed best in the spaces between time, between responsibility and day to day living. Maybe we would never figure out how to relate when time mattered and life was not one big road trip and instead little bites of reality and pain.

The car slowed as Murphy took the exit for East Haddam. We flashed down a road crowded by a rocky hillside, across a shining silver bridge that spanned the Connecticut River, past the Goodspeed Opera House with its gables and widow’s walk and into the heart of the town.

There wasn’t as much snow piled up in the yards and sidewalks here because we were close to the shore, but there was still quite a bit of accumulation.

The Rosewood Funeral Home was also gabled and had a widow’s walk, just like the opera house. It was on the riverbank and had tall, forbidding dark windows and a shiny black front door with an imperious lion’s head knocker.

Three cars were already in the small parking lot. Murphy parked between Kathy Manning’s Jaguar and a gold Toyota Camry. I was out onto the carefully sanded asphalt before he could take the keys out of the ignition and hurried to stand with Allerton and Kathy Manning, squinting against the sun reflected off the snow.

We waited for Murphy to join us then Allerton strode to the imposing black door and opened it.

The scent of flowers, chemicals and death wafted out and I wanted to gag. I squeezed my eyes shut and kept moving.

Murphy struggled against the smell too. Allerton and Kathy Manning seemed impervious to it. Or maybe they were just older and better equipped to block out strong scents.

It was cold as ice inside the front foyer, which wasn’t surprising since the floor was Italian tile and the fireplace was ornamental only.

Several occasional tables were crowned with huge arrangements of funeral flowers and beneath the bow window was a long sea foam green sofa. Callie, Vaughn, Peter and Nora sat on it, all dressed in black, with their coats on, huddled against the cold.

Jonathan stood beneath a portrait of one of the founding fathers of the funeral home—a dour gentleman with improbable side whiskers and a paunch. Jonathan studied the man’s belly as if it were a personal affront and when he heard our footsteps on the Italian tile, he turned around.

The instant he saw me, his face turned black with wrath. His eyes were red rimmed and very dark. An unwanted surge of sympathy washed over me but before I could say anything, he stabbed a finger in my direction. “You!” he screamed, choleric with rage. His voice was so loud it hurt my ears and the Italian tiles gave it an acoustic boost it did not need. I was sure the whole state of Connecticut heard him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get out of here, you little hypocritical bitch!”

He swung around to face his pack mates, nearly dancing with fury.

“What the fuck is this? You knew she was coming and you didn’t bother to tell me? Fuck you. I may not be Alpha anymore but I damn sure count more than that bitch over there. I deserve a little bit of respect. He was my grandfather, for Christ’s sake, and this is how you treat me? Fuck you. Fuck all of you!”

“Jonathan, calm down,” said Callie in a very soft voice.

Nora, beside her, looked like she might burst into terrified tears. Her eyes were glazed, and once again, from several feet away, I could smell the booze on her breath and soaking through her skin. Being drunk at your bond mate’s grandfather’s funeral was not good. I felt another horrible surge of pity for Jonathan and wondered why they all sat together and he stood alone and isolated.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Callie, goddamn you!” Jonathan shouted. “She’s a hypocrite for coming here, can’t you see that? He’s not even a pack mate of hers. What’s she doing here?”

“We’re not pack mates of his either,” Vaughn pointed out grimly and that only made Jonathan more furious.

“Technically we are. It’s not your birthday yet, it wouldn’t have been official until your birthday!” Little flecks of saliva dotted Jonathan’s mouth and he swiped at his eyes with his coat sleeve.

To my horror I realized he was crying, he was so upset.

“He killed her bond mates. She has no reason to be here!”

“He killed our pack mates and we’re still here,” said Vaughn, his eyes dark and hard. “Sit down, Jonathan, and stop being such an asshole. You barely spoke to the old man when he was alive. All this melodramatic pseudo grief now that he’s dead is the real hypocrisy, if you ask me.”

Stunned, Jonathan stared at him. He looked like a little puppy who’d been kicked into a corner. More tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

“He’s feeling guilty he didn’t pay the old man more attention,” Vaughn said to us all. Angry and disgusted, he drove a hand through his hair. “We don’t have to put up with his crap, today of all days. Sit down, Stanzie. Alfred’s down in the crematorium getting the ashes and we’re all going to go to the Devil’s Hopyard and scatter them together. And there’s not going to be any bullshit scenes, Jonathan, you understand? Or I will kick your ass.”

Jonathan swallowed so hard, his throat clicked audibly.

He looked around the room for allies and found none. Abruptly, he lunged for the door and was gone.

“Motherfucker,” muttered Vaughn, getting to his feet. “I warned him.”

“No,” I spoke up. He froze. “Tobias was his blood relation and his pack mate, Vaughn.”

“You know firsthand how he ignored the old man, Stanzie,” Vaughn argued with me, his mouth tight. “You were more of a grandchild to that man than Jonathan ever was. This is a joke, this parade of grief. It’s guilt, just like I said.”

“So it’s guilt more than grief,” I said. “At least he’s feeling something.”

“I’ll go get him.” Peter started to get up, but I stopped him too.

“Let me try,” I said and they all gaped at me.

“He might take a swing at you, Stanzie, better bring your bond mate. Maybe he can take the first shot,” Vaughn suggested and both Murphy and I paled at the insult.

“I can take care of myself,” I snapped.

Vaughn snorted. “Against Jonathan? I’m sure you can. Be my guest, but if he does manage to actually hit you, don’t come crying to me.”

“Nobody will come crying to you, you cold unfeeling bastard,” Nora snarled at him. Then she took a silver flask from her black purse and guzzled from it.

“Jesus,” said Vaughn half under his breath. “Welcome to our dysfunctional little pack, Councilors.” He gave Allerton and Kathy Manning a sarcastic grin but I didn’t wait to hear if either of them replied.

Outside in the cold parking lot, Jonathan was hunched over the hood of the Camry, sobbing. I didn’t know what to do.

Murphy, who was dogging my footsteps, nearly barreled into me when I stopped dead halfway across the lot.

Car doors slammed nearby and a moment later Colin Hunter, with Devon Talbot beside him, approached us.

“Need some help?” He looked between us and the sobbing Jonathan and sounded sincere. He and Murphy were careful not to make eye contact but Devon and I did and we both held our breaths.

“I think we’ve got it,” Murphy said. His gaze flicked in Hunter’s direction.

I looked at Colin Hunter too and saw that he had a faded black eye courtesy of Murphy’s fist. Otherwise he was perfect, from his crisply curling hair to his Kenneth Cole boots.

Devon Talbot had very long hair. She’d worn it coiled at the back of her neck the first night I’d met her, but today her hair was long and loosely waved, obviously straightened. Her almond-shaped eyes were full of compassion as she looked toward Jonathan.

“Good to see you again, Stanzie. I’m only sorry it has to be under these circumstances.” She gave me a subdued smile, squeezed my shoulder and nudged Colin in the direction of the front door.

He moved forward, gaze still locked with Murphy’s. Devon nudged him again and he reluctantly turned around. Murphy continued to watch him go, his expression unreadable.

I waited until I was sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid, and walked over to Jonathan.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” I guessed when I’d drawn close enough to touch him, only I didn’t. “That’s why you yelled at me, isn’t it? Because you saw Grandfather Tobias standing there with me.”

A fresh gust of tears wracked his body even as he violently shook his head.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Stanzie.”

“Yes, you do. Grandfather Tobias told me you can see spirits. He could too. So could your mother.”

“Bullshit.” Jonathan’s voice held no conviction.

“If you saw him, it’s because of me. Because he can’t rest until I forgive him. He told me he was going to walk until I did.”

“Then he’s gonna fucking walk a hell of a long time, isn’t he?” Jonathan choked out. “He only killed your bond mates. Why the fuck would you forgive him?” He swung around then, his face streaked with tears, chest heaving. “He’s not going to leave me alone, is he? I paid no attention to him when he was alive and now I won’t be able to escape, will I?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Typical, selfish Jonathan. Some of my sympathy began to evaporate. He never saw anything but himself. He’d always been his own best friend and worst enemy.

“I did love him, you know.” He swiped at his eyes again. I reached into my coat pocket and found a clean tissue. When I handed it to him, he took it. “I brought him with me to Riverglow. I didn’t have to. They didn’t even ask me to. I asked.” He drew himself up to his full height and braced himself as if he thought I would argue with him or disbelieve him. “He just...he always lectured me about the old ways and it got boring, Stanzie, you know? Or maybe you don’t because you always listened to him. You probably even liked listening to him, knowing you.”

I smiled a little. “I did. Don’t you agree with the old ways, Jonathan?”

Behind me, Murphy came to attention, very interested in the answer, in Jonathan’s very reaction to the question.

“Oh, I don’t fucking give a shit,” said Jonathan with a petulant sigh. He wiped at his eyes with the tissue and grimaced. “Look at me. I work a dead-end retail job because I never went to college, never mixed with Others unless I had to. And what did it get me? This fucking stupid pack in the ass end of nowhere. But then Elena went to college and had a great job and she ended up here too. So old ways, new ways, what the fuck difference does any of it make? We’re Pack. We go nowhere.” He grimaced again, and I gave him an impulsive hug. He froze in my embrace for a moment, but then hugged me back. He buried his face in my neck and nearly choked on his tears.