Silver Falls (3 page)

He gave her a faint, quizzical smile. “You'll have to excuse me. I have some old acquaintances to renew.”

She was tempted to stay put, or even better, go take her car and drive home. This was supposed to be a safe place, where murder couldn't happen. But It had happened, apparently more than once, and she needed to get to Sophie, fast.

But Sophie was at Maggie Bannister's house—
the safest possible place. She needed to calm down, not rush into anything and end up freaking Sophie out.

She could be reasonable, wait for David. In the meantime she wanted to know who was the man who managed to rattle her unflappable husband.

She followed him into the living room where Stephen Henry had been holding forth. Half the guests had already departed in the wake of the horrifying news, and the ones who remained were looking even more stunned at the sight of the newcomer.

Stephen Henry looked up, his long silver mane pushed back from his face in artistic disarray. His faded blue eyes focused on the newcomer, and to Rachel's astonishment, a smile wreathed his face.

“My long-lost son,” he said. “Welcome home, Caleb. We've missed you.”

W
ith a superhuman effort Rachel shut her mouth, waiting, watching, when she wanted nothing more than to go up to her sulky husband, shake him and say “why the hell did you tell me you were an only child?” In fact, when he'd come into their shattered lives he'd said that was one thing he had in common with Sophie—he knew what it was like to grow up alone. He'd lied. And she really hated liars.

She moved across the room and sat down on one of the uncomfortable antique sofas that Stephen Henry preferred, since he didn't have to sit on them. The other guests were disappearing rapidly, and David was still too caught up in whatever was going on between him and his long-lost brother to realize how much shit he was in with his perfect faculty wife.

“You don't look particularly pleased by the return of your brother, David,” Stephen Henry said
with a slight smirk. “Don't tell me you two are fighting already.”

“Oh, we're not fighting,” Caleb said easily, and he seemed oddly amused by the tension in the room. “I just surprised him.”

“Is that true, David?”

Rachel watched as her husband swallowed some of the cold-eyed anger that was so unlike him. He managed a stiff smile. “Of course. Why wouldn't I be happy that Caleb has come back to town?”

“Maybe because he's already putting moves on your wife? You never could hold a girlfriend, could you, David?” Stephen Henry said with his usual malice. “They all seemed to prefer your brother. And you did it on purpose, didn't you, Caleb, you naughty boy? Always the troublemaker. That's one thing I've cherished about you.”

“Have you?” Caleb said, his low, husky voice at odds with his father's plummy tones. “I always had the impression that you preferred David.”

“Oh, I've never played favorites,” the old man said airily. “You both know that. It's your own sibling rivalry that's gotten you in trouble. How long are you staying this time? One day? Two?”

Caleb glanced at his brother. “I thought I'd stick around this time. I have a few things to work out, a few answers I need. I told the bureau that I was taking an extended leave.”

“What would the wars do without you?” David said, sarcastic.

“Rachel, my elder son is a reporter,” Stephen Henry said. “What you might call a war correspondent—he's always been drawn to death and disaster, and he happened to find the perfect profession—one that allows him to wallow in it. It always followed him like a plague when he was younger, and I must admit life has been a great deal more peaceful with him off somewhere. But of course I welcome both my sons with a full heart.”

At least he didn't say “fruit of my loins,” which Rachel half expected. But since she was finally being addressed directly she decided not to continue with their polite bantering.

“Why is this the first time I've heard of your other son's existence? You have no photos. David's never mentioned him.”

“Hush, child,” Stephen Henry said. “You'll hurt his feelings.”

“I doubt it,” Caleb said.

“The truth is, Caleb never really held still long enough for photographs. And he and David never did get along.” He turned to his younger son. “I would hope you'd both make more of an effort.

I'm an old man—I deserve better than watching my two children fight each other.”

David said nothing, an odd, distant look in his pale blue eyes.

“I don't have a problem with David,” Caleb said, sounding innocent.

“Then keep your hands off his wife,” Stephen Henry said.

Caleb shot her a quizzical glance. “I've barely touched her.”

“Barely?” David echoed, suddenly alert. “Listen, you son of a bitch—”

“That's your mother you're calling a bitch, my boy,” Stephen Henry said. “Rachel, dear, would you be kind enough to get me a Scotch and water? You know how I like it—just a splash of Perrier to make me feel virtuous. And get one for the two boys as well. Not the best Scotch—they don't deserve it. The Glenfiddich will do.”

“I don't want a drink,” David said.

“You'll both drink and be civilized about it. Rachel?”

“I really need to get home to Sophie,” she said, desperate to get out of there.

“But David told me Sophie wasn't home. In fact, she's with the chief of police. I don't think we need to worry about her, do you?”

Yes, she did, but she wasn't going to argue. She rose, reluctantly. Stephen Henry always had the tendency to treat her like “the little woman,” a fact
which annoyed her no end, but right then she welcomed a relief from the tension. “Certainly,” she said in a dulcet voice.

“And take your time,” Stephen Henry called after her as she pushed the kitchen door open. “I need to make a few things clear to my obstreperous sons.”

The Glenfiddich was out on the counter, and she took down three cut-crystal glasses from the cupboard. Stephen Henry had already given her detailed instructions on how he liked his Scotch, and David drank it the same way. She could only assume the unwanted prodigal son would be satisfied with the same thing, and she splashed the whiskey and Perrier into each glass. And then she took out one more glass, poured two fingers of whiskey into it and downed it, neat, smothering the choking feeling. She'd never been much of a drinker—in her wild youth it had been weed, but she'd given that up when she'd gotten pregnant and had never been interested in finding something to take its place. But right then she needed a drink, and badly.

“You always let him treat you like a servant?”

Caleb had come through the swinging door, as silent as the grave, she thought, then shook herself. “I don't think your brother is going to be happy to find you in here with me.”

“I have no intention of letting him find me. I told him I was going out for a smoke—David won't
even notice. The old man is busy reading him the riot act. He doesn't understand why the two of us can't be friends, and I'm not about to let him know exactly what kind of dark secrets lie between us. My father's happier in his ignorance.”

“David doesn't have dark secrets,” she said, putting her empty glass in the sink.

“Then why didn't you know he had a brother?” Caleb reached past her for one of the glasses of whiskey, and his arm brushed hers, probably no more than the cloth of his denim shirt, but she felt it. “I'm sure he'll fill you in on all the morbid details tonight. Just make sure you don't have nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

His smile was cool and wry. “No, I think you're too practical to have nightmares. That's why you married David, isn't it? It was the practical thing to do.”

“Go to hell,” she said, picking the glass out of the sink and reaching for the whiskey bottle again.

He raised his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, did I hit a little too close to the bone? My brother's not one for passionate love matches…unless he's changed in the last five years. He's a very calculating fellow.”

“I'll have you know that your brother is a very passionate man,” she said, pouring another generous dollop of the whiskey into her glass. Lying,
of course. It was David's calm, unemotional demeanor that had first drawn her to him in a time of emotional chaos, when Tessa had been killed. Passion was one thing she could happily do without.

“Really? I never would have imagined it. Why don't you tell me all about it? We can go for a drive, get to know each other, and you can give me all the details about your sex life. Does he go down on you?”

She stared at him, shocked, the glass untouched in her hand.

“No? That's a shame. I would.” He reached over and took the other two glasses. “Don't worry about these—I can be a butler as well as you can be a maid. Why don't you put that glass down and go home before you're too sauced to drive? I'll make sure David gets back eventually.”

“Eventually?” In fact, the thought of getting the hell out of there was incredibly powerful. She couldn't think, not with that man watching her, not with her husband and father-in-law in the other room, arguing in soft voices.

“We have a lot of time to catch up on,” Caleb said. “I promise you we aren't going to kill each other. At least, not tonight.”

She looked at him for a long moment. It was hard to believe the two of them were related. David was fair, with a pale complexion and soft blue
eyes, and he was no more than average height with a slight tendency to thicken up around the middle. He exercised conscientiously, and lectured Rachel on nutrition and health. She hadn't had a candy bar in four months.

Whereas Caleb Middleton was taller, around six feet, and lean, almost skinny. His hair was long and black, his eyes a shade of brown so dark they were almost black. And that narrow, clever, mocking face was a polar opposite of David's pleasant expression.

“So what are you thinking about so intently? Did you already forget where you parked the car?”

“I'm thinking you don't look anything like your father or your brother,” she said.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “You got me there. I'm adopted. My mother thought she couldn't have children so she bought me. And then, lo and behold, she gave birth to David. Clearly she hadn't needed to bother with me at all.”

“Is that your excuse?”

“Excuse for what?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

“For being an asshole. You were a poor, unwanted child who was passed over for the real son, and therefore you go out of your way to make everyone's life miserable.”

He seemed more amused than offended. “Oh,
I wasn't unwanted. There were times when I think my mother preferred me, and Stephen Henry still has a soft spot for me in that selfish organ he calls a heart. I think I preferred David to be the Golden Boy. That way I could fly beneath the radar, do what I wanted, and most people never even noticed.”

“When you walked into your father's living room the remaining guests looked at you like you were a ghost. I think they noticed,” she said.

“So they get to gossip about my return and the murdered girl, and wonder whether there's any connection.” His voice was light, contemplative.

“A connection?” Rachel echoed, horrified. “Why in God's name could there be a connection?”

His smile was cool and dismissive. “It's not that hard to figure out, Mrs. Middleton. Most of the people of Silver Falls would like to think of me as a murderer. Feel free to add yourself to that list if you want to.”

She just stared at him. “That's nothing to joke about.”

“No, it isn't. If I were a sensitive soul I wouldn't have mentioned it, but I think you'd better learn the lay of the land. If there's a murder, I'm your man.” He shrugged. “Go home, Mrs. Middleton. I've already told you enough.” He took the whiskey glass out of her hand, poured it down the sink.

“Good idea,” she said. “I need to go find Sophie. This is going to be difficult for her.”

The kitchen door was pushed open, and David stood there, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sheriff Bannister is here, and she wants to talk to all of us.”

“Thank God,” Rachel said, brushing past the two brothers and rushing into the living room.

Maggie Bannister, a sensible woman in sensible shoes, squatted beside Stephen Henry's wheelchair, taking notes, a patient expression on her broad, leathery face.

She looked up when Rachel rushed into the room, and rose to her full five feet two inches. “Don't worry, Rachel, Sophie's just fine.”

“Thank God she was over at your house,” Rachel said. “Does she know?”

“I've told both girls. I gather you went through something like this in the past.”

There was a sick, sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, churning with the bite of the whiskey she'd downed. “Her best friend in San Francisco. I don't want her to experience that kind of trauma again.”

“Considering her best friend is
my
daughter, I can promise you she won't,” Maggie drawled. “This was a college student, name of Jessica Barrowman. Looks like she was raped and murdered and thrown over the falls sometime today, and her body was
found a few hours ago. We'll know more once the medical examiner has a look. But since our local black sheep has chosen today to return, I thought I'd ask him and his family a few questions.”

Rachel looked behind her, at Caleb Middleton's cool, impassive face. Not the face of a murderer, surely. Not the face of a monster who could do that to someone not much more than a child.

“I don't need you here, Rachel.” Her brisk voice was kind. “Why don't you go on home and the boys will be along soon.”

“The boys?”

Maggie smiled briefly. “Sorry, I'm fifteen years older and I've known them all their lives. We've got the rotten kid and the good one.” Her pale gray eyes drifted impartially over David and his brother. “I just need to ask them a few questions and they'll be done.”