The Summer Bones (16 page)

She wandered back to the kitchen. Dinner had been wonderful—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade pickles, chocolate cake for dessert. Her grandmother was now coping with the pile of dishes, running hot water in the sink.

“Gran, here, let me help.” She came forward and picked up a towel. “I was going to do this. I said I would. I thought you went in to watch television. I had a phone call to make.”

“Oh, honey.” Pale eyes blinked upward. “I didn't know you were here.”

“Yes, you did.” Victoria felt her chest squeeze.

“Where's Ronald?” Her grandmother cast around the room as if looking for him.

“Gran, I'm Victoria. Ronald is married to Emily.”

“Oh … yes, dear.” The older woman looked lost. “Who did you say?”

Victoria could hear the uncertainty in her grandmother's voice, the almost childlike quality of her anxious response. “Victoria,” she repeated, very gently. “Emily's sister.”

“Who's Emily?”

Jesus,
she thought. Taking the dish towel from her grandmother's damp hands, she adjusted her face into a smile of reassurance. “Why don't you go into the front room and watch your programs. I'll clean this up.”

“Why, I can't let company do the dishes.” Alarm crossed the wrinkled and confused features. “It isn't right.” Her hands kneaded her floral print dress.

“I'm not company, Gran. I'll do this, you go on.” Taking her grandmother by the shoulders, Victoria firmly propelled her down the hall, going so far as to switch on the set and settle the older woman in her favorite chair. Leaving quietly, she walked back to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes. Her fingers felt thick and heavy.

Damon came in from closing up the barn and checking the livestock just as she was wiping off the last plate. She carefully slid it into the cupboard as he took off his shoes. He'd showered before dinner, but he still looked exhausted in jeans and a white tee. His hair was curling and damp from the humidity.

He took his time in getting a belated cup of coffee, pouring it carefully into a cup, and taking it to the table. He sat down and folded his hands around the cup as she closed the cupboard and hung up her towel. His mouth was a tight line.

“I'm sorry,” he said in a subdued voice, “about this afternoon. That whole thing was pretty awful. I … well, I snapped. He's pulled that crap before with me and I guess I can't take much more of it. Just the same, I'm sorry you were there.”

“Ronald asked for it,” she said stoutly. She got out a cup and poured her own coffee, coming to the table. The beverage was strong and hot in her mouth as she took a sip.

Damon smiled ironically. “I happen to agree. But, just the same … maybe I overreacted.”

She lifted a hand and shoved her hair behind her ear, frowning. “He's fixated on the idea that Emily was having an affair. I heard some of his ranting yesterday afternoon. He's so sure that she left him for someone else.”

“That should leave me in the clear then,” Damon said grimly, “as she isn't here.”

“He isn't thinking in that straightforward of a manner.”

“I have to agree again.”

They both drank their coffee, not as comfortable with each other as they usually were, and acutely aware of that fact. She hated it.

For a reason unknown to her or just for something to say, Victoria blurted, “Michael is coming this weekend.”

Damon's arched eyebrows went upward. “Really?”

“He insists,” she admitted. “On Friday. I told him it wasn't the best time, but he says he's worried about me.”

Damon closed his eyes in a weary gesture. “I guess I can understand that. This situation is crazy. No wonder he wants to come and check up on how you're feeling.”

Outside, the night had settled into a blanket of velvet sky and close, warm air. A limp chorus of frogs sang from the pond.

Victoria took in his slumped shoulders, lax hands, and closed eyes. “You're exhausted,” she said. “Good grief, Damon, do you always push yourself this hard?”

“Always,” was the surprising answer.

“It's too much.”

“I do what is necessary to keep this place going.”

“No one but the saints get credit for being martyrs.”

“Like going to school and working a job to pay for it?” His voice was slightly mocking. The dark lashes lifted. “You're thinner than you should be. What does Michael say about that?”

She stiffened. “It doesn't matter what he thinks. We aren't married yet. I know what I have to do to get through school. It isn't the same thing.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyelids flickered.

Her shoulders relaxed, the levity of the situation breaking in. She had no wish to quarrel with Damon, just the opposite. He was the one person she could count on to be cool, calm, and dependable. She had, in fact, counted on him her whole life. It had been Damon who taught her to ride a bike, to do advanced math, to drive a stick-shift car. Damon had been there to dry more than a few tears.

She laughed out loud. “What a stupid argument. Are we actually arguing over which one of us is more noble and self-sacrificing?”

There was a cautious glance from above his cup. “I guess we are.” The dark eyes glimmered.

“You're right about school, of course. And if I went to Purdue it would be easier still because I would get a tuition break because of my father.”

“I understand why you don't do that.”

She looked at her cup. “It has to be me—just me, no obligations.” Her voice was quiet. “Especially not to him. Or my mother.”

“I understand that, too.”

“And I understand that you can't tell Jim Bailey to retire because you need someone younger and stronger, and that Grandpa still thinks he carries his share.”

“Pretty out of the question, isn't it?”

“Yes.” She ran a finger around the rim of her cup, smoothing out small beads of condensed steam. “Gran got me confused with Em earlier. She asked where Ronald was. I reminded her, gently as I could, that I was Victoria, not Emily. Then she asked who Emily was.”

Damon said nothing, just shook his head.

“I wish Emily would call.” Dispiritedly, she took another mouthful of coffee.

“Maybe Gail will hear from her.”

“Maybe Gail has heard from her and hasn't bothered to pass it along. She wasn't exactly the picture of cooperation when I went to talk to her. She acted like my questions were a great inconvenience and that she wouldn't possibly know anything about Emily's personal life.”

“As far as I know, she and Emily were good friends,” Damon mused.

Victoria seized on that. “It's what I thought, too.”

“Seems odd she would deny it.”

“Definitely odd. It felt odd when I was talking to her. The whole conversation was slightly off-key. In fact, I'm thinking of going to Indy again. Maybe I hit her at the wrong time. I just can't believe that someone doesn't know something.”

That said, she glanced over, an idea swimming out of the depths of her mind. She considered the straight line of Damon's nose, the curve of his jaw, the arch of a cheekbone, that glorious head of dark curly hair. He glanced up and caught the overt appraisal. A startled look came over his face.

“Damon,” her voice was high and questioning, “can you get away tomorrow?”

It was never going to rain again. Damon Paulsen looked out the window at the polished sky and felt the corn drying in his fields fifty miles away. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the car door and told himself that worrying about the weather was an exercise in futility and he should know that well by now. Might as well enjoy the luxury of getting away for a day and quit thinking about the sweltering forecast. Taking a pretty girl to lunch wasn't a bad distraction either.

Victoria worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she drove, frowning at the traffic and not saying much at all. He knew she had called Benedict and Sims Interiors earlier and asked about Gail's schedule for that day. He knew there was some specific reason she wanted him along, but she hadn't elaborated.

The building was brick and glass, sitting in a separate parking lot not far from the busy shopping area of Castleton. A small white minivan and a black import were parked next to the building. The minivan had the company logo printed discreetly against the white paint on the driver's side door.

“I don't see Gail's car,” Damon commented as they parked next to the van. Her transportation, a vintage Austin, was distinctive.

“No, you don't,” Victoria said with obvious satisfaction, turning off the ignition.

Puzzled, he said, “I thought the whole point of this was to see her.”

“Actually, what I said was that I was sure that somewhere someone knew something, and Gail was acting pretty weird when I talked to her. Maybe the answer lies here.” She jerked a thumb toward the building and got out of the car. He followed suit, resting his arms on the top of the car and looking at his cousin with raised eyebrows.

“And where do I come in?”

“I'm going to exploit your famous influence over women.” She didn't smile. Her eyes were suddenly disturbingly serious.

He couldn't help but think of Danny Haase standing by the fence in the hayfield and asking him questions about Hallie Helms. “I have no famous influence over women,” he stated flatly.

“Your handsome face then,” she continued with a small quirk of her lips. “I just want you to provide a small … distraction.”

The top of the car was warm under his folded arms. He regarded Victoria with wary cynicism. “Is this necessary? Who am I distracting and why?”

“The receptionist. I want a look at Emily's office, or at least her appointment book. Last time, I was sure all I would have to do was talk to Gail. I didn't even think to ask about Em's office, but I'm pretty sure Gail would have said no anyway. She was pretty adamant about me not contacting any of their clients.”

“What is it you think you'll find?”

“I want to know who Emily went to see that morning she disappeared. I want to know who she saw in the weeks before that. I want to see if there is a name that rings a bell. I just don't believe she could vanish and leave no trace.”

Her passionate declaration didn't surprise him much. Actually, the plan made sense. If anyone could decipher Emily's erratic behavior, it was her twin. A reluctant smile crossed his face. “All right.”

A shade of relief came into her eyes. “You'll do it? I suspect all you'll have to do is turn on that smile and she'll melt. I don't want to ransack the office building or anything. I just want her to be amiable to my taking a look around.”

“Amiable. I suppose I can try.”

His cousin gave him a sidelong look out of blue-green eyes and hoisted her purse firmly to her shoulder. “You can do it, Damon. Trust me. Don't be so self-deprecating.”

She ignored his choked laugh and headed off toward the front door.

He was right behind, barely making it in time to open the door for her. She swept past his mocking gesture of politesse and entered the lobby, pushing through a pair of glass doors into the reception area.

A girl sat behind the desk—young, brown-haired, with smooth ingenue skin. Damon felt another inward twinge of discomfort. This girl wasn't much older than Hallie Helms. Two years more toward womanhood, perhaps, not much more. He inherently disliked the notion of even appearing to be interested in a girl this age. He was at least ten years older. He could still feel the sting at Danny Haase implying he would have anything to do with a teenage girl.

Victoria threw him a brief pleading look over her shoulder. He plastered a smile on his face and cleared his throat. “Hello. I wonder if you can help us.”

* * * *

Twenty minutes later Damon was perched casually on the edge of the reception desk. With a conscious effort, his features did not register relief as Victoria emerged from her sister's office, but he did slide with alacrity to his feet. She gave him a brief look, full of meaning.
Maybe,
he thought grimly,
the whole thing was worth it. It better have been.

“You find anything?” the receptionist, Donna, asked brightly. She looked flatteringly disappointed at his imminent departure.

“I'm afraid not,” Victoria shook her head, “but thank you so much. I really appreciate you letting me look, for my peace of mind. It means everything to me.”

“Gail will be sorry she missed you,” Donna primly reminded.

“Uh-huh.” Victoria pushed her purse firmly to her side. Someone opened the front doors and a bell rang with a small tinkle. They could hear the sound of the person whistling as they came through the small lobby. Victoria stiffened slightly. By the expression on her face, Damon could tell she hoped it wouldn't be Gail Benedict.

It wasn't. It was a young man, no more than nineteen or twenty, wearing a white polo shirt, jeans, and expensive tennis shoes. The shirt had a small insignia printed on the pocket. He had his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, a muscular build, and a square face that shone with a healthy tan. A small gold stud shone in the lobe of his right ear.

Damon took in the dark curly hair and prominent cheekbones and had the vague feeling that he had met this person before. He glanced again at the insignia and recognized the Benedict and Sims logo. Victoria pulled on his arm, heading off toward the doors.

“Donna,” the young man said, giving the visitors a brief glance. “I'm ready to make that delivery—” He stopped midsentence. His eyes swiveled back to Damon and Victoria in surprise.

Donna said, “Sure, I've got the address.”

The young man stared at Victoria, startled, it seemed, by her resemblance to her sister. “Hey, for a second,” he narrowed his eyes, “I thought you were … you were—”