First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1 (9 page)

She was tired of arguing too, and if he insisted on leaving a dose of Bella in her refrigerator, well, she had a patient on the waiting list. Garth need never know that she’d given his vaccine to Mrs. Porter.

“I guess I knew you didn’t call me here for Bella. But I did hope…” He released her hand and slipped the syringe back in its baggy. “Maybe you better tell me the real reason you wanted to see me.”

Nodding her assent, she spread her quilt-covered arms, inviting him to sit beside her again. Garth rose from his knees and shoved his hands beneath his armpits. “Too damn cold. What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Your nose is blue.”

A gentle breeze poured over her like a soothing balm. Her muscles relaxed. Lifting a steady hand, she pointed at the moon. “Beautiful, isn’t it? The Indians call it a wolf moon, because in winter, packs of starving wolves would surround their villages, howling, stalking and generally terrifying the children…and I bet a few braves as well.”

On cue, the wind picked up, raged through the branches of the ponderosa pines, showered them with a minty fragrance, and provided a fine imitation of a pack of howling wolves.

“Fascinating, Sis. You’re a regular Farmer’s Almanac. But it’s too cold for me out here with the wolves. Come inside.” Garth tried to pull her to her feet, but she resisted. Giving up on the use of force, he beckoned her with his finger and offered a bribe. “I’ll make you a cup of my famous hot chocolate.”

She wiggled her toes. Numb. On the flip side, the soles of her feet, which rested directly in front of the heater, were scorched. “With marshmallows?”

“Depends. You got any?”

“Probably, but they may be petrified.”

For the first time that night, Garth’s face relaxed, and his lips curved into a smile. “I love nothing better than a marshmallow that’s been aged to splendid perfection. Let’s do it. Then after we de-ice your eyebrows, you can tell me the reason for your urgent summons.”

While she dialed off the power on the heater, Garth pushed at the door, but as usual it jammed. Heaving his shoulder against the carved oak, he grumbled, “Damn door.”

Kicking the neglected door shut behind them, she followed him into the living room. “I’ve been meaning to get that fixed.”

“I can take care of that for you.” He rested his chin in his hand. “On second thought, I’ve got a better idea. How about I send someone out here to pack up your things? You’d be better off moving in with me so I can watch over you.” Garth glanced around the sparsely furnished room with obvious disapproval. “Not that there’s much to pack.”

That last remark stung all the more because it was true. Interior design wasn’t Sky’s forte. Recalling the warmth of Danny’s home, she suddenly became acutely aware of what was missing in her own. Anatomical charts lent little charm to the cramped room, but they did add color to the gray walls, as did two china-blue slipcovered loveseats. Stacks of medical journals enjoyed full dominion over a wicker rocker she’d purchased at the Cracker Barrel, and the knob was missing from a coffee-table drawer that contained her household bills. Resolving for the umpteenth time to replace the knob, she turned her attention to her only significant possessions: Books. Lovingly shelved, though not ordered by alphabet or type. Her chin came up, and her shoulders drew back. Maybe her home lacked style and panache, but it was her own, a symbol of her hard won independence.

After her parents died, she’d hidden herself away like a crippled bird under Garth’s protective wing. It’d taken her years to venture back out into the world, and years beyond that to learn to sleep through the noises of the night: The perverse chirp of the refrigerator, the eerie whistle of the furnace, the haunting call of branches rap-tapping against her bedroom window.

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

Skeptically, Garth closed one eye. “Oh yeah, when’s the last time you ate?”

“I had potpie an hour ago.” Uncomfortable with even that innocent lie, her hands twisted, and to compensate, she capped the whole thing off with a truth. “At Danny’s house.”

Garth’s eye popped open again, somehow causing him to appear even more skeptical than before. “Danny who?”

“Detective Benson.”

“Since when are you on a first name basis with Detective Benson, and what possessed you to go to his house?”

“He wanted to ask me some questions about the robbery.”

“So you went home with him. Were the two of you alone?”

“Not initially. His brother and daughter were there in the beginning.”

“And then you were alone.”

“Yes.”

Garth’s hands extended toward her shoulders, as if wanting to shake sense into an errant child. “If he planned to interrogate you, he should’ve taken you down to the station. And you should’ve called me. You don’t have to answer that man’s questions.”

“You make him sound sinister. He wanted to interview me, not interrogate me.”

“Same difference, and you certainly shouldn’t be alone with him in his home.”

“For Pete’s sake, he’s a police detective.”

“Don’t be naïve, Sky. He’s also a man.”

“If I can’t trust the man who nearly lost his life in the process of saving mine—and yours—who can I trust?”

“You can trust me.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

Garth’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched, yet he refrained from reminding her that he, too, had once saved her life. Not that she needed reminding.

There might be a few gaps in her memory, but one thing she could never forget was what she owed Garth. No sister ever had a finer, braver brother. “You know I trust you. In fact, that’s why I called you over here. Danny has a theory that Jack Spurlock’s motive might not have been robbery, that he might have been a contract killer. If that’s true, whoever hired him is still out there.”

“Benson’s a fool.”

“I doubt that.” Knowing how very much Garth hated to be doubted, she chose her next words more carefully. “But I don’t believe his theory either, not really. It’s just that some of what he said is bothering me. I asked you here tonight because I wanted to warn you…just in case. But also because you’re the smartest person I know, and I wanted to pick your brain.”

“About Benson’s cock and bull theories? That’s all they are. If you need more evidence of his witlessness just think about the story he invented about having ten thousand dollars in his boots. You ask me, he put us all in grave danger with that one.”

“We were already in grave danger. The robber had his gun stuck in Nevaeh’s face.” An involuntary shudder swept over Sky as she recalled Spurlock’s expression when he’d grabbed Nevaeh, as nonchalant as if he were holding a ragdoll hostage with a toy pistol. “Somebody had to do something. Danny took a calculated risk.”

“Then he needs a remedial course in math.”

A dull weight settled in her chest. There was no one she respected more than Garth, and being at odds with him was the last thing she wanted, but he was misjudging Danny. She was sure of it. And if he was wrong about Danny, he could be wrong about the robbery. Edmond was dead, and however disturbing the facts might be, she had to face them. “I don’t understand your condescending attitude toward Danny. You don’t know him. And regardless of what you think of him, I don’t see how you can dismiss his reasoning before you’ve even heard it.” She allowed herself a tiny quip. “So very unscientific of you.”

Planting his feet wide, Garth crossed his arms high on his chest. “But I have heard it. Benson went to his captain with that paranoid conspiracy theory of his, and the captain went straight to Bernard.”

“So the mayor knows about Danny’s hypothesis.”

“Yes, and he agrees with me that there’s not one iota of hard evidence or sound logic behind it—just a bunch of rambling about empty cash registers and illogical hostage taking. Crime in and of itself is illogical, so that argument doesn’t compute.”

“Okay. Forget the empty cash register. The fact that the robber took a hostage for no apparent reason. How do you explain the other thing?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Damn Garth for making her say the word out loud. “Halloween,” she whispered, as if keeping her voice low would somehow hold her demons at bay.

His complexion darkened. His lips pressed together in a line, and he touched his forehead pensively. Then he began prowling the room. After a few seconds, he returned to her side. “I don’t want you making yourself nervous for no reason. Time to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

He placed his palms under hers and lifted both their hands. Glancing down, she realized she’d shredded her cuticles. They were bleeding.

Garth led her to the loveseat, then placed one hand on her shoulder and nudged her down. “Sit tight. I’m going to make that chocolate I promised you. Petrified marshmallows and all.”

“Okay.” Right now, hot chocolate didn’t appeal to her nearly so much as a Pepto-Bismol tablet might’ve, but she didn’t want to reject his thoughtful offer. Garth disappeared into the kitchen, and she fell back onto the cushions. Lulled by the sounds of cabinets closing and pots clanging, she placed her hand on her abdomen, focused on her breathing. Her hands rose and fell with each deep breath, and by the time Garth returned with her cocoa, her pulse had slowed from a gallop to a manageable trot.

Pressing a warm cup into her chilled hands, he sat beside her and smoothed her hair. She tested the temperature of the liquid with her tongue and took a swallow of rich chocolate.

“Good?”

The cocoa was over-sweetened, but the silken liquid soothed and warmed as it slid down her throat. She took another swallow, and a strange after-taste made her tongue tingle. “Good. Thank you. But maybe the marshmallows weren’t such a great addition after all.”

“Then I’ll make you another cup.”

A little stale marshmallow never hurt anyone. “That’s too much trouble. This is just fine.”

“If you want me to believe that, you better drink up.”

A few more sips and Sky barely noticed the aftertaste. The cup began to feel heavy, and her hands began to feel hot. She drained the contents, and set the cup on the coffee table. Her body sank deeper into the couch cushions of its own accord. She really was tired. But he hadn’t addressed her question. “Halloween. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Sky, I want you to make an appointment with Dr. Greene.” Garth watched her intently.

Touched by the concern she read in his eyes, she asked, “Why?”

“He helped you before, and I think—”

“No. I don’t want tranquilizers. I barely remember the year after Papa died. I’ve got a clinic to run now. I need to be able to think clearly.”

“But that’s just it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

True, her thoughts were jumbled, but that was just fatigue. “You think it’s a coincidence that my father and my fiancé were murdered on the same day?”

“Not the same day, Sky. Your father died fifteen years ago.”

“Stop pretending to be dense. We both know you’re not. Papa and Edmond were both killed on Halloween…during a robbery. That has to mean something. There has to be a connection between the two crimes.” Her throat constricted, and she could hardly get the words out. “What if
I’m
the connection? What if Papa and Edmond are both dead because of me?”

Garth brushed his index finger across her lips. “Hush. You’re talking nonsense. I know it’s cruel, ironic even. But crime rates are higher on Halloween, and that’s the true explanation. Let me call Dr. Greene. He knows what you’ve been through. I doubt you’ll even have to go in to see him, and I can pick up a prescription for you and bring it by.”

Reaching out, he began to massage the back of her neck. The weight of her head became too much for her now languid muscles to support, and her chin bobbed to her chest. She jerked to attention. “My God. You put something in my chocolate.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pushed his hands away and scooted the few inches it took to reach the end of the
loveseat, as far away from Garth as she could get.

“Don’t be angry.”

“What part of ‘I don’t want any tranquilizers’ didn’t you understand?”

“You said that
after
. It was wrong of me, I know. But I’m worried about my little sister. In fact, you know that idea about moving you to my place—”

“I believe I said no to that as well.”

“Okay, okay. If you don’t want to leave your home, I understand. I’ll bring a few things over and stay with you here. You’re exhausted. Let me take care of you, Sky. Just for a few days.”

The room was spinning, but she shook it off. Garth was right about one thing: She did need sleep. “I’m tired. You should go home. I know you mean well, but like I said before, I can take care of myself.”

“First say you forgive me.”

“I forgive you. Happy?”

“Not really. You didn’t sound sincere, but I guess I deserve a reprimand, and you deserve a little privacy.” Looking at her with the eyes of a puppy whose master is holding a rolled up newspaper, he reached out his hand.

She took it. He was her big brother, and overprotective or no, it was impossible to stay mad at him.