Death By The Riverside Part 34

"Yes, mother and child, a daughter, no less. G.o.d forbid that she be exposed to s.e.x," Cordelia commented sardonically, then she was silent for a moment, before saying quietly, "I don't think Dad ever thought there really were consequences. There was always a way out. At least for him. Anyway, Granddad had repeatedly warned him and had finally used the only real leverage he had-money. If Dad were found in an even vaguely compromising situation, that was it. Granddad would take my mother's side in the divorce and Dad would be out without a penny. Granddad knew that that would change Dad's behavior. But I don't guess he knew it would make him a murderer."

"So it wasn't murdering the woman, but just being seen with her,"

I interjected.

"It's insane, isn't it? Dad had to avoid being reported in an accident in the middle of nowhere in the company of a woman not his wife. But...if the woman was in the truck...with the other accident victims..."

"And he sets a G.o.dd.a.m.n fire so that none of the people left in the truck will ever wake up and wonder how another woman ended up with them...how f.u.c.king convenient. His mistress is killed in an accident he had nothing to do with," I finished bitterly.

"Dad wouldn't have to face the consequences," Cordelia said quietly. "He could just drive away from it all."

"It almost worked. Too bad I was hanging around with a shotgun.

But I wasn't really there, was I? Not according to the version Holloway money bought," I said acidly. Then I realized that Cordelia wasn't the right person to hate, that she was letting me throw my anger at her simply because she knew she was the only target left for me.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

* 226 *

I shrugged.

"I guess Granddad figured that Dad got what he deserved and that an investigation and trial would only drag the rest of us through the mud. Granddad wanted to avoid that; so he pulled a few strings. A lot of strings, actually. Dad officially died in an accident forty miles away and a day later. The shotgun blast disappeared and all the deaths were ruled accidental, with no connection between the wreck that killed your father and the one that killed my father. And the books were closed on it. 'Neatly whitewashed,' as my mother said." She paused and glanced at me.

"It's up here on the left," was my only reply.

Cordelia turned into the drive of the s.h.i.+pyard. I jumped out and opened the gate, then closed it after she drove through.

"I've met your aunt," she said as I got back in. I shot her a questioning look. "After my mother told me, for some reason I wanted to meet you. I felt I had to. So I got the address from Grandpa and went there. Your aunt said that you had moved out and she had no idea where you were. She also told me not to bother looking you up, that you had turned out bad."

"Aunt Greta, the soul of generosity," I commented sarcastically. I pointed to the track that led up to the house.

"Did you ever get any of the money? Every month Grandpa sent five hundred dollars to help with your expenses. He went out to your house in Metairie to arrange it. Your aunt said you were getting counseling and that it was expensive."

"That dried-up old thief," I exploded. "She certainly made a nice profit off me. The only reason she took me in was so she could get her hands on my dad's life insurance. Fifty thousand. And now I find out she was getting another five hundred a month out of your granddad.

b.i.t.c.h!"

Cordelia stopped in front of the house. She turned off the motor.

"Then that's where I heard your grandfather's voice," I continued, remembering my reaction when I had turned the film over to him.

"Yes, it must have been."

"Did you know it was me then?" I asked.

"No, but I wondered. I saw a picture of you at your aunt's."

"She kept a picture of me?" I was incredulous.

* 227 *

"A group shot. You were in it. She pointed you out, mentioning that you were darker than a Robedeaux should have been."

"Aunt Greta, a true light of tolerance," I remarked bitterly. The rain splattered on the car roof.

"Let's go inside," Cordelia said. She grabbed the groceries and we made a run to the porch.

"Wait here," I said as I entered. I found a lantern, lit it, then motioned her in.

"Kitchen?" she asked.

I led the way and lit some candles and a hurricane lantern to light the kitchen. I started the wood stove. It was chilly in here.

"Soup and sandwiches?" Cordelia asked.

"Sounds great. If you can find your way around, I'll go light a fire in the fireplace."

She nodded. I went back into the living room. By the time I got a roaring blaze going, Cordelia emerged from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches and two mugs of steaming soup.

"Thanks," I said as I bit into a sandwich, "I appreciate this."

"I haven't had much to eat today. I didn't think you did either,"

she answered.

We lapsed into silence, eating and letting the fire warm us. Cordelia put down her plate while I was finis.h.i.+ng a turkey sandwich.

"I knew that day we met in the park," she said simply.

"How?" I asked between swallows.

"Danny Clayton. I saw a picture of you in her apartment. I casually asked who it was, saying you looked familiar. Which you did, since I had seen you deliver the film. She said you were both from Bayou St.

Jack's and that your parents had died in an auto wreck and you had an atrocious aunt who had raised you. I figured Michele Knight and Michele Robedeaux had to be the same person."

"Touche. You never told Danny?"

"No, that was up to you. If you hadn't, I wasn't going to."

"Thanks."

"Why Knight?" she asked. "Do you see yourself as a knight in s.h.i.+ning armor?"

"No." I laughed. "Here, I'll show you. Remember that I was eighteen at the time." I led her over to the corner next to my room.

* 228 *

There were a number of old pictures and a bra.s.s plate hung on the wall.

I held the lantern up to the bra.s.s.

"Knight of Tides," Cordelia read.

"My grandfather's boat. The name of it. He was a shrimper. Dad took the bra.s.s nameplate off it when he sold it."

"Hence, Knight," she said.

"I wanted a name in the family, but not one that would connect me to..." Both Aunt Greta and the accident, I left unsaid. I shrugged instead and asked, "Why are you James and not Holloway?"

"My mother's maiden name. She went back to it after Dad's death.

She said that I could keep Holloway if I wanted, but we were moving and I was starting a new school and didn't want to have to go around explaining why my name didn't match my mother's. Which one is your dad?"

"That one." I pointed to the best picture of him.

"You don't look at all alike," Cordelia commented.

"We're not related. Not by blood, I mean." She gave me a questioning glance. "A long story," I answered.

"I've got time."

"My mother was a local girl. She got in trouble. Pregnant and sixteen. Her father kicked her out. Just threw her out because she had brought shame to the family name. Dad ended up taking her off the streets and letting her stay here until her father saw reason. Since she didn't get any less pregnant, her father didn't get any more reasonable."

I was telling the story in my dad's cadences, repeating what he had told me. "Dad was thirty-four at the time. As you can tell by the picture, he was not a handsome man. He was wounded in World War II and had a limp." I looked at the picture of my father. He was tall and skinny, with a receding hairline and a covering of freckles. No, not a handsome man, but I had never noticed. "Somewhere along the way he offered to marry her, just so the kid, so I, wouldn't be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He had always wanted kids and a family. Somewhere further along the way, after I was born, they fell in love and decided to stay together. For a while at least. So my mom finished high school and Dad put her through college. The local junior college. He always treated me like I was his child." I stopped. I could feel my voice starting to crack.

"Where's your mother now?" Cordelia asked.

* 229 *

"I don't know," I answered. "She left when I was five."

"Why?"

"She left a note saying that if she stayed here the rest of her life, she would end up hating us. And hating herself. The best thing she could do for all of us was leave. There were some letters and postcards from New York City, telling us she was happy and hoped we were, too.

I think that's why I went to college in New York. In hopes that I might find her. But I never did."

"I'm sorry," Cordelia said. "That must be hard on you."

I shrugged nonchalantly, then I took an old cigar box off the bookshelf and started looking through the pictures in it. When I found the one I wanted, I handed it to Cordelia.

"She's a very handsome woman," she said, looking at the small color picture. "Very like you. Hispanic?"

"No, Greek. Helen Nikatos was her maiden name." I wanted to say more, but I didn't trust my voice.

"Micky, are you crying?"

"No, I'm okay." I hastily wiped my eyes. "I guess I'm pretty tired."

"Can I hold you?"

I could feel her watching me, standing very close, neither of us moving. I started to pull away, my instinctive reaction.

"Yes, I...yes," I finally said.

She put her arms around me. I let myself cry on her shoulder.

"Can we sit?" she asked, finally lifting her head up. "I feel like I've been on my feet all day."

I nodded. We walked over to the couch in front of the fireplace and sat down. Cordelia laid her head on my shoulder.

"It feels so warm and safe here. I almost wish we never had to leave," she said.

I turned my head to watch her, the flickering orange from the fire bringing out the burnished copper in her hair. Her eyes were still amazingly blue, even by the amber glow of the fire. I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, then gently touched my lips to the spot.

She sighed, s.h.i.+fted slightly, and relaxed into me.

I suddenly felt like I was falling, as if I had just stepped off the edge of a cliff. Even though I hadn't moved, I had that feeling, that physical feeling of falling in the pit of my stomach. Part of it was * 230 *

s.e.xual, I knew that, a rush of desire for her. But it was much more than that. I was falling in love and I had no idea where I would land. Based on what I knew about both of us, we didn't have much of a chance. But I knew I would follow this to the end. I could no more stop this falling than I could have stopped any physical fall. And I was scared. You're falling, Micky, and there's no one there to catch you anymore.

Cordelia sighed again and s.h.i.+fted. She caught me watching her. I knew I should turn away, break away from her eyes, because my desire for her had to be visible.

"Cordelia James, you are a beautiful woman by firelight," I said, caught, unable to turn from her.

"How about daylight when you can see clearly?" she said, smiling at me.

"Then, too," I answered, falling deeper. I traced her jawline with my finger, lingering on the softness of her cheek. Somehow the knowledge that her wedding announcement had appeared in this morning's paper seemed very far away, a dream. It was just the two of us in a world contained by firelight, where anything was possible.

I bent my face toward her, slowly, tentatively, giving her a chance to stop me, if that was what she wanted. She didn't look away. I kissed her gently, carefully, savoring the moment. I felt her arms tighten around me, then the thrill of her tongue inside my mouth. I embraced her fiercely, kissing her deeply, out of some need I never knew I had.

I felt the warmth from one of her large hands covering my breast.

She pressed, causing me to gasp.

Then suddenly, she let go of me and pulled away. "I'm sorry, Micky, I can't do this," she said. "It's not right. For me. I led you on and I apologize for that." She stood up.

I let her go, not trying to stop her.

"It's okay," I said, standing up, still aching for her. "I guess we both got carried away by the events of today. We're tired," I babbled, giving us polite lies out of the awkwardness.

"I'm..." Cordelia started, then just shook her head, as if arguing with herself. "I don't..." But she stopped again, wanting to say something, but unable to. "I'm sorry. I guess I am tired," she finally got out, echoing my polite lies.

"I'll make your bed," I said to break the discomfort of the moment.

* 231 *

"No, I'll do it. Actually, how about a blanket? I'm ready to collapse."