The antiseptic stung sharply and I cried out.
“There, there,” Jake soothed. “It'll ease the pain, make it go away.” He wrapped the tape around the bandage three times with surprisingly nimble fingers, sealing it tight. My skin felt warm.
“Thank you,” I said.
He touched my cheek with his knobby finger. “Oh, Jordan. This hasn't been a good weekend, has it?”
Again, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He patted my shoulder and glanced up at the pictures on the wall.
“Oh, Mutt,” Jake murmured, and I heard a distant lament in his voice. “I loved that boy like my own son.”
“He didn't love you, Uncle Jake,” I said. I swallowed. Exhaustion made my face feel numb, and my skin burned and tingled. I rubbed my cheek with my good hand.
“He loved us all, Jordan,” Jake said, and for a moment there was such tender affection in his voice for his nephew I couldn't shatter his illusion. I stood, holding my wounded hand close to my chest.
“Love? Is that what you call what he did?” I stared hard at Jake. “I'm sorry, Uncle Jake, but Mutt's not right in the head. He shot Rufus dead. He killed his own sister.” And what about Aubrey? a voice deep in me piped up.
Jake lowered his eyes. “He didn't mean to hurt Rufus. Rufus just didn't want him to take the boat and tried to stop him.”
“Jake.” I leaned close. My lips felt heavy and I had trouble forming the words. “Mutt isn't dying of cancer. He's been planning to vanish, fake his own death, and hide out on his money. He was going to abandon you.”
“How foolish you are, Jordan. He's gone to seek help.”
I blinked at this utter abandonment of logic. “He wouldn't have left Rufus if that were true.” I felt sick at my stomach and I sat down on the bed. “And-” Argue the other side of the coin. Say Mutt had no reason to poison Aubrey. Aubrey's book was going to get rid of Philip as a problem, right? So who tried to kill Aubrey and Candace? Sass wouldn't poison her own son, Mutt's gone off for his new identity. Who in the original conspiracy is left? Oh, my God. It can't be.
Jake stroked my hair softly. “I was blond like you, when I was a boy. You're a good Texas German boy, like me.” He laughed thinly. “Oh, I know you think Mutt's awful. But he fixes things. He's always made what's wrong right again in our family.”
Anger flared in me. I swallowed the nausea I felt. “No, Uncle Jake. He hides things. He makes sure everyone else hides things, too, until the truth explodes in your face.” I stood. “I know about Paul. I know what my father did. And I still love him. If y'all hadn't hidden Paul's death at the time-Pop probably would have gotten off with self-defense. Pop wouldn't have had such terrible guilt over all these years, Gretchen, maybe she wouldn't have drunk herself into a stupor, and Brian-” My throat, my lips felt coated with novocaine. I sat down roughly on the edge of the bed, my eyes round with surprise.
“Brian,” Jake said airily, “was an annoying little shit who got what he deserved. Just like you are.” He leaned close to my face, his breath sweet like cinnamon. “Can you feel it working in your veins, my boy?”
“What-what-” I tried to stand, but stumbled, fell to the floor, clawed at the bandage he'd kindly wrapped around my hand. My skin burned.
“Monkshood,” he answered conversationally. “Oh, it's very nasty. Very. A little dab'll do you. You might have as little as ten minutes left.”
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like stone. I wobbled to my feet, the door blurring before my eyes. A sharp crack sounded and I realized, as I went to my knees, that Jake had struck me in the shoulder with his cane. I'd hardly felt it.
“I knew of boys in the Great War,” he murmured to me. “Forced to live in the French countryside for what they could forage. Eating monkshood killed quite a few.” I saw, through the haze descending across my eyes, a smile light his face.
Pop! Candace! I wanted to scream. Oh, God, no. Not like this. No.
“Why-why-” I managed.
He leaned down from the bed, prodding me with his cane. “Because you know. Do you know how tired I am of worrying about who knows, and who doesn't know? I'm old, and I deserve some peace of mind.” He tapped my shoulder. “It was my idea to hush up Paul's death. Of course I love your father, and I didn't want him to suffer for killing a no-account like Paul. I knew he would never talk; he was too deeply ashamed, and besides, he'd done the killing. And Mutt and Sass could be trusted-they helped dispose of the body. But Lolly”-he made a tsking sound-”she wasn't very trustworthy. Did you know. she'd even told me she'd been seeing Paul's ghost? And Brian's ghost, here in this house. She was going crazy, slowly. And she was starting to talk about what we'd done.”
The dancing light of the candle made flames appear in the holes of his eyes. I tried to scream, to scream my throat raw. A wobbly moan came out, guttural, unformed.
“Everything was fine until Brian decided to pry into his father's death. Lolly apparently kept Paul's jewelry-but you know that, don't you? Whatever Lolly was thinking by holding on to those baubles escapes me. Her silly sentimentality, I suppose. And Brian found them. And began digging around.” He prodded me again with the cane. “It was very annoying to have to kill a child. I'm not a monster. I have feelings. But children should know their place, don't you think?”
I glanced away from his madman's eyes. My blood felt clogged with ice. I pulled away from him, but my strength waned. I collapsed at the foot of the bed. Huddling on the floor, I tore the bandage away with fumbling fingers. Suddenly the lights came on, power returning to the house. I squinted against the sudden brightness.
“There's no specific antidote for monkshood,” Jake informed me, consideration oozing from his voice. “Don't trouble yourself with the bandage. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't bleed on my rug.”
“You're-you're insane,” I burbled.
“No, you are. For sticking your nose into people's lives, into murder.” He leaned close to me. “I tried to warn you away when I heard you fancied yourself a detective, but you didn't pay attention to the little cards I sent you.”
“But Lolly-”
“Lolly, my ass.” He sniffed. “I sent those cards to you, mailed by my pen-pal friends. They didn't know what was inside the envelopes. They thought I was just playing a little prank on a fellow hobbyist.”
His breath smelled foul against my face. “Didn't it ever occur to you prying could be dangerous? It didn't occur to Aubrey either in writing his stupid book, but look what happened to him.” He paused for a moment and I thought, Don't let the last words I hear be this madman's ravings. Oh, Pop, Candace. I'm sorry. Sister. Mark. Mama. I love y'all. Goodbye. Daddy? Trey? Are you there? Come find me. Tears rolled down my cheek, and I could feel my life ebbing. Fear speared through the numbness in my body.
“And look what you made me do! I have nothing against Candace or your child. Your child's blood is on your hands, not mine!” His voice rose to a shriek. He poked hard at the tears on my cheek. “Quit crying! You don't know what grief is, whelp! Stop it!” I felt a faint poke against my cheek as he jabbed me hard with the rubber tip of his cane.
A hard knock rapped on the door. I heard Pop: “Jordan? Uncle Jake? The phones are working again-”
I tried to yell, but it was hardly more than a gasp. Jake threw a pillow down on my head and called: “Jordan's fallen asleep, Bob Don, and I don't want to wake him. Come back later.”
I yanked the pillow from my head, my vision swimming, and somehow found air to fight past the deadness of my throat and my tongue. I screamed, a long, wavery sound.
“Jordan! Jake, what's wrong?”
The end of the cane slammed against my head.