Blood Brothers (12 page)

“Hey, have I said anything about not believing you?”

“And now . . . with this murder . . . and Sheriff Stark asking me questions . . . and the way everyone's looking at me—”

“You were afraid,” Matt concluded quietly. “Of course you were. No wonder you wanted to keep your distance from school.”

“I still think someone's trying to send me a message. A warning.”

“I don't know
what
to think about all this. If it's a prank, then Principal Howser should know about it. But if it turns out to be a real piece of evidence? You
have
to tell the police, Lucy—it could be crucial to finding Angela.”

“Can't
you
just tell them you found it somewhere?”

“Wonderful. Now you want me to lie again.”

“Matt, I'm confiding in you. If you tell, you'll be breaking your vows.”

“Is there a name for this, besides blackmail?” Shaking his head in defeat, Matt began shuffling through some scattered papers on the desk. “Let me have a look at the headstone first. Then we can decide what to do.”

Lucy didn't answer. Matt stopped arranging papers and focused on her dejected face.

“Lucy, like I said before, I don't mean to pry into your private life. But if you can't face coming to school . . . and especially now with the police hanging around . . .”

A long pause followed. Matt's face softened along with his voice.

“The thing is, I've heard all the rumors about what you told Wanda Carver. And of course, I think it's all bull—nonsense. And just so you know, I've had my
own
conversation with Sheriff Stark about your credibility. I think he and I are clear on the subject.”

“You mean, you talked to him and took my side?”

“Great.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Now you're implying I'm not a good enough reference.”

He got up and walked to the front of his desk, then casually leaned back against it. He seemed to be in deep thought, his eyes focused above her on the wall, his fingers running absentmindedly along his collar. The innocent gesture was almost seductive, and Lucy couldn't stop watching him. Embarrassed, she felt another hot flush creep over her cheeks.

What is
wrong
with you?

Dakota was right—no wonder the whole female population of Pine Ridge High was in love with Matt. While he, on the other hand, was completely clueless.

“The sheriff told me you'd had a dream.” Matt shifted his gaze back to her. “And that you were trying to help.”

Lucy wished they didn't have to talk about this. She could feel guilt and depression tightening around her like a straitjacket.

“I did want to help,” she agreed. “But I never thought it would turn into anything like this.”

“And this dream,” Matt continued quietly. “Do you have a lot of dreams like that?”

She hesitated a second. She chose her words with care. “You mean nightmares? I have them all the time.”

“I meant dreams that tend to come true . . . in one way or another.”

“I just . . . have dreams. They don't necessarily come true or mean anything at all. They're . . . you know . . . just dreams.”

Matt's fingers slid from his collar to his face. Lightly he stroked his chin.

“Does Dr. Fielding still have you on medication?”

“Yes.” Lucy shifted uncomfortably. Why was everyone so interested in her dreams all of a sudden? Why was
Matt
? “Sometimes the medicine gives me weird dreams. The doctor says that's normal.”

Matt stared at her without speaking. Looked into her eyes for several long moments, then finally nodded.

“Well.” His shrug was philosophical. “Who can tell about dreams anyway? Sometimes they make sense; most of the time they don't.”

“I did run into her once. Wanda Carver.”
Now why did I say that?
“Literally. Going through a door.”

“Well, there you are. Not so hard to figure out why she ended up in one of your dreams after all.”

“I wish you'd convince the school of that.”

Matt flashed that teasing smile. “Don't worry. I won't let them burn you at the stake.” Reaching over, he ruffled her hair. “Now. Let's talk about another motive I had for bringing you here.”

“What's that?”

“Don't sound so suspicious. It's good news.”

“There
is
such a thing?”

He laughed at that. He folded his arms across his chest and stretched one long leg over the other.

“First,” he announced dramatically, “I spoke with Mrs. Wetherly about your staying there.”

This was definitely something Lucy hadn't expected. She sat up with a hopeful smile. “And?”

“She liked the idea very much. I told her about your aunt being away for a while. And that you needed a job and a place to stay. And that you could do light housework. And that you'd make a very good companion.” Again that deadpan look. “Much better than a pet, in fact.”

For the first time in days, Lucy brightened. “Really? She'll give me a chance?”

“By all means.”

“That's so great! Now all I have to do is convince Aunt Irene.”

“Piece of cake,” Matt assured her. “How about I give her a call and see if she'll let me drop by this evening? I'm guessing you'd rather be gone when I ask her?”

“I'd be too nervous to hang around for that. But if you could get there before she comes home, then I can show you the headstone.”

“Good idea.”

“Do you think she'll say yes?”

“When it comes to the art of persuasion, being a priest has definite advantages.”

“Thank you!” Before she even knew what she was doing, Lucy was on her feet, hugging him tightly. “Thank you so much—you don't know what this means to me—”

Abruptly she broke off.

Matt had already reached for her hands, to untangle himself from her hug. And now, as Lucy glanced up at him, she could see that his face was practically touching hers.

He was smiling, and his deep blue gaze seemed to draw her in. And for one instant, it was easy to imagine him stripped of his vows, with the tenderness of long-ago kisses still lingering upon his lips.

Flustered, Lucy tried to step back, but his arms were in the way.

“Thank you, Matt,” she mumbled. “It seems like you're always there to rescue me.”

Matt was the first to break eye contact. As the laughter slowly began to fade from his smile, something almost poignant took its place ...and then was gone.

“Well, isn't that what priests are supposed to do?” He gave her a brief, brotherly pat on the shoulder. “At least, I think it mentions that somewhere in the Official How-to-Be-a-Priest Handbook.”

And then he was behind his desk again, and Lucy was standing by the door, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Now,” Matt said brusquely. “I have more good news.”

Curious, she watched him open the window blinds wider. Then he checked his appointment calendar and distractedly adjusted the collar at his neck.

“It's news I've been hoping for,” he added.

“And what's that?”

“Byron Wetherly has a brother.”

“A . . . brother?”

Lucy wondered if her voice sounded as stunned as she felt. She quickly sank down into the chair.

“I got a letter yesterday,” Matt announced as he sat back down. “To tell you the truth, I didn't really expect to hear anything so fast. I thought it'd take months, at least.”

“Byron's brother sent you a letter?”

“Well, you know how I was hoping there might be another relative somewhere—someone who could take care of Mrs. Wetherly?” Matt looked pleased with himself. “Sometimes this clergy connection can be a wonderful thing. It's amazing what the church can dig up.”

“I don't understand.”

“All I did was put the word out. I figured since the family's Catholic, that'd be an easy place to start. And it's not like their name's all that common.”

Lucy shook her head. She sat stiff in her chair.

“My idea worked.” Matt grinned. “Like a charm, in fact.”

“So . . . what about this letter?”

“It's quite a story.”

“I bet.”

“Either one hell of a miracle, or one hell of a coincidence,” he added. “Take your pick.”

Before Lucy could answer, he leaned back in his chair, folded his arms behind his head, and began to explain.

“Apparently, Byron's father abandoned the family years ago, when the kids were small. But for some reason, he ended up taking this one son away with him. They moved out of the country, there was never any correspondence between the parents after that, so this boy never had a clue about his former life.”

Matt paused. His eyes strayed to the window, to the snowy world beyond, and his expression grew troubled.

“It seems the father is—was—very wealthy. The boy spent most of his life in boarding schools.”

“That's sad,” Lucy murmured.

“I know. Taking a kid away from his own family, then never spending any time with him. What's the point?”

“So how old is he?”

“He didn't say. The tone of the letter sounds older though . . . you know, mature.”

“Where did they live?”

“Different places. Europe, mostly.”

“What's his name?”

“Jared. Jared Wetherly.”

So it
was
true. The mysterious stranger she'd befriended
had
been telling the truth—even though he still had a lot of explaining to do.

Lucy felt almost dizzy with relief. She twisted her hands together in her lap and kept her gaze on Matt.

“But now,” Matt went on solemnly, “it turns out the father's been sick for a long time. The son didn't know about it.
Nobody
knew about it. One day Jared called home, and his father's dying. And
that's
when his father finally told him the whole story.”

“So . . . Jared didn't remember anything at all about his childhood?”

“No. But his father
did
mention Pine Ridge—that was the last place the family'd been together.”

“Did he . . . say anything about a house fire?”

Matt winced. “I heard those stories, too, about Byron's mother.”

“Do you think they're true? Do you think she's really in an institution somewhere?”

“I don't know. I'm not sure anybody really knows. But I'm not gonna be the one to bring it up.”

Matt rose from his chair. Once more he stood beside the windowpane, his silhouette etched blackly against the pristine backdrop of snow.

“How would you feel?” he murmured. “Suddenly finding out you had a life . . . a past . . . a whole history you never even knew you had?”

Lucy's thoughts flashed wildly to the cellar. What awful thing could have happened to Jared before he'd even had a chance to phone Matt? And what if Jared had
died
? What if he'd had all those hopes . . . come all this way . . . and then died before reconnecting with his family?

With an effort, she picked up the conversation again.

“So . . . what else did he say in the letter?”

“He didn't know he had a grandmother, of course. He seemed really happy about it . . . but scared, too. He said he'd come here as soon as he could.”

“Now?” Lucy asked quickly. “This week?”

Matt shrugged. “I don't know. I offered to meet him
when
he wanted,
where
he wanted—but he said there were things he needed to take care of now that his father was dead. He couldn't be exactly sure when he'd be here. So he said he'd just contact me once he got to town.”

“That's . . . great. So he could actually be on his way here right now.”

“Or not.”

“Or he could already
be
here, maybe.” Lucy tried her best to sound casual. “You know . . . working up his courage.”

“Maybe . . . but I doubt it.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Matt began to pace. Slow, measured steps from the door to the window and back again.

“It's funny how things work out, though,” he mused. “Jared finding all this out from his father right when we needed him to. I mean, when you look at situations like this, and how perfectly they fit together, you can't
doubt
there's a Power out there. Someone—some divine Force—whatever you choose to call it—in total control. Keeping things synchronized and running on time, just like clockwork. Just the way they're supposed to.”

Lucy didn't comment. She was in no mood for divine philosophies at the moment.

“So,” she asked him, “are you sure you still want me to stay with Mrs. Wetherly? Since she'll have her grandson here now?”

“Of course; you have to stay! They'll be strangers to each other.”

“Well . . . I'm a stranger, too.”

“No, you're not. Not like that.” Matt spread his hands in appeal. “I think it's really important for you to be there when they meet. And besides—we don't want Mrs. Dempsey to be the first impression Jared has of Pine Ridge.”

“Hmmm. Good point.”

“Jared needs to get
acquainted
with his grandmother first, not play nursemaid. And we don't even know how long he'll stay.”

“You mean, you don't think he'll move here?”

“Would
you
, if you had all the money in the world?”