In Their Blood (6 page)

Jeremy took a pair of scissors and made the first cut. The sound of sharp metal against metal filled the small room. A lock of brown hair dropped to the counter. Then another, then another. Jeremy took the electric hair trimmer and ran it over the sides and back of his head. The top he left longer, like his father wore his. Then he ran the shaver over his face. And when the beard was gone, he could see it clearly. His father’s face. He folded the cut hair into the red bandanna and tied the bandanna in a knot.

Jeremy pushed open the door to his parents’ bedroom. The smell of blood and gunpowder, whether imagined or real, made him dizzy and he hesitated as he stood in the doorway.

The bed looked different. The crime scene clean-up team must have disposed of the blood-soaked mattress. Flora had made up the high four-poster bed with just the box spring. The white comforter and pillow shams lay in the dark wood bed frame like the fallen sails of a sinking ship.

Jeremy had always said good night to his parents when he still lived at home, regardless of the hour. That was the rule. He would kiss his mother’s forehead and whisper, “I’m home.” And she would smile in her sleep. “Good night, honey,” she’d say. “I love you.”

He slipped the red bandanna under the pillows. He felt her cool hand on his cheek, her warm breath in his hair. And he whispered their names aloud for the first time since he’d learned of their deaths.

“Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.” His voice choked.

“I’m home.”

Chapter 6

Jeremy tried to read the newspaper as he sipped his coffee. The words wouldn’t stick. He was thinking about all the things he had to do today. The collar of the button-down shirt he’d put on this morning was too tight, so he had left the top button open behind his tie. The suit he had found crammed into the back of his closet, the shoulders covered with dust. His high school graduation suit. Too tight under the arms and the sleeves were too short, but it would have to do.

Light footsteps approached the kitchen. Elise, yawning and rubbing her eyes, stopped abruptly.

“Morning,” he said.

“Jeremy. You, you scared me.” She touched his cheek. “You look so much like—” Tears filled her eyes.

“I made coffee.” He slipped off the counter stool.

She was wearing the stained tee shirt and sweatpants she’d slept in, but had braided her hair. “You shaved. And you’re dressed up. Why?”

“I’m going to visit Dwight this morning.” He held out the mug of coffee toward her, but she just stared at it.

“Three teaspoons of sugar and plenty of milk,” he said.

“Why? Why are you going to Dwight? Is, is it about me? The wills?”

He placed the mug on the counter.

“I figured when you didn’t tell me yesterday what the wills said, it meant something bad. That Grandpa isn’t my guardian.”

“He isn’t, but—”

“No, Jeremy. No.”

“But I am. And I’m staying right here, in this house, with you.”

She stared at him without moving. “You? You’re my guardian?”

He wasn’t sure how to interpret her reaction, but in the next instant, she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Jeremy. I knew they wouldn’t leave me with Dwight. I knew it. But it’s you. I know it’s wrong to feel happy, but I’m just so—” She hugged him again.

How could he have considered the possibility of leaving his sister to Dwight? Even if his parents hadn’t named Jeremy guardian, he should have been prepared to fight for her.

“I never really thought about it before,” Elise said, “but they always tried to do what was best for us.”

“I suppose they did.”

“Dwight’s not going to be very happy.”

“No, he isn’t.”

She climbed up on a stool. “He seemed real eager to move into the house.”

“Well, he’ll have to get over it.”

“Yes, he will,” she said. “Yes, he will.” She reached for the sugar container on the counter and poured more into her coffee.

“Did you sleep okay?” Jeremy asked.

“I guess.”

“Do you remember going to Mom’s office?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night. In your sleep.”

“Why would I do that?”

No reason to alarm her about her sleepwalking. She’d get over it once they got back into a routine. He put a couple of pieces of
bread in the toaster. Flora had stocked the house with bread, milk, juice, bananas. He was grateful for that. He didn’t think he’d be able to eat the leftover platters from the funeral. He’d tell Flora to take them home with her.

It was almost eight. The smell of toast filled the room, reminding him of mornings of coffee, toast, everyone rushing about. “Are you going to school today?” he asked.

Elise seemed surprised by the question.

“You’ll have to go sooner or later, Ellie.”

“Later. Let it be later then.”

“How about tomorrow?”

She stirred her coffee with her finger.

“Well, how about this?” He put the toast and butter on the counter. “Stop by school this afternoon, just for a few minutes. Then it won’t be so hard tomorrow. Okay?”

“I guess.”

“Flora should be here soon.” He took his suit jacket from the chair. “I’ll see you later.”

“Jeremy?” she called after him.

“Yeah?” He stepped back into the kitchen. She had picked up a piece of toast.

“You look really good without the beard.”

Dwight rented office space from a law firm in a shabby North Miami neighborhood. The small, one-story building would have been considered modern in the ’70s, when it had probably been built, but now its featureless concrete shell and small windows gave it the appearance of a prison. This was reinforced by the chain-link fence around the parking lot and the uniformed security guard who sat on a folding chair beneath an awning, eating what looked like an over-sized Cuban sandwich.

Jeremy rolled down his window. “I’m here to see Dwight
Stroeb.” His uncle’s black Buick was parked on the far side of the lot. The reserved spots contained a Jaguar and a Mercedes.

“Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.

“No,” Jeremy said.

The guard waved him into the parking lot.

On the side of the building hung a large sign with embossed gold letters naming the law firm. Beneath it, a much smaller plaque read “Law Offices of Dwight C. Stroeb.”

“Mr. Stroeb’s not in,” the receptionist told Jeremy, without looking up from her magazine.

“His car’s in the lot.”

She shrugged.

“I’m his nephew.”

She studied him, a long red fingernail in her mouth.

“If you could just tell me which office is his, I’d really appreciate it.”

“All the way back. Next to the bathroom.” She buzzed him in.

Dwight was leaning cardboard posters against the wall of his small office, pulling on his mustache absently as he studied the sincere-looking face on the poster
. Judge for Yourself. Elect Dwight C. Stroeb County Court Judge.
His uncle was wearing his suit jacket and his tie was perfectly knotted. Jeremy had left his own jacket in the car.

“Good morning, Dwight.”

Dwight glanced up, his face losing color at the sight of Jeremy. “My God. Jeremy. For a moment I thought you were … Well, come in. Come in. Big change from a couple of days ago.”

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

Dwight waved at his empty desk top. “I have a lot to do, but I can always make time for you.” He held up one of the posters. “How do you like it? I just got them from the printer. Too bad you won’t be around much longer; I could have used your help with the campaign.”

“Yeah. Sorry I won’t be able to help out.” There was an absence of photos or other items that might have reflected his uncle’s personal interests. Only Dwight’s diplomas and certifications hung on the wall. Jeremy remembered his father once remarking that Dwight didn’t have time for children of his own— he was too busy admiring himself.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

“Thanks.” The seat of the guest chair was low. Jeremy found himself looking up at his uncle in his own oversized, padded executive chair.

“I imagine you’ll be heading out of here soon,” Dwight said. “I envy you, Jeremy. A young man with an opportunity to see the world. But just so you know, your aunt and I wish to make the minimal amount of disruption in Elise’s life. She’s certainly been through enough without more upheaval. So we’ll be moving into the house on Lotus Island.”

“I read my parents’ wills.”

“Yes. And they provide that your aunt and I may live in the house with your sister until she attains majority.”

“As well as a generous stipend to take care of all related expenses.”

“That’s right.”

“My parents did a good job of providing for us. Life insurance, wills that tried to consider all contingencies.”

“You and Elise are very fortunate. As an attorney, I can’t tell you how many stories I hear about unclear or inadequate wills.”

“Well, my parents were very clear. Their wills state that I’m to be Elise’s guardian. You’re only a backup.”

Dwight’s face reddened. “But, but you’re not responsible.”

“Well, Dwight, I’m afraid there’s nothing about me being responsible in the wills.”

“It’s implicit. A guardian must be responsible. He can’t be gallivanting halfway around the world.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying here. At home.”

Dwight didn’t speak for a minute. Was this how his uncle looked before a judge when he realized he was losing his case? “You know, Jeremy.” His uncle’s voice had softened. “You’re a young man. Why would you want to saddle yourself with the burden of taking care of a teenager? And, of course, your aunt and I are far better qualified. Think of your sister. What’s best for her.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Jeremy stood up.

“Do you really believe I’m going to sit back and let you do this?”

“I’m touched by your concern over Elise’s well-being, Dwight. Though I’m sure rubbing elbows with your influential new neighbors on Lotus Island would have been nice for your career, too.”

“Get out of here, Jeremy.” Dwight’s chin was trembling. “But I’ll be watching you. Any sign that you’re not adequately fulfilling your obligations and I’m filing a motion to replace you as guardian.”

“My parents would be glad to know that. Glad you’re watching out for Elise.” Jeremy saluted his uncle from the doorway.

Jeremy drove a couple of blocks away from his uncle’s office and pulled the car into a 7-Eleven parking lot. His uncle. His goddamn uncle. But at least that was done. Jeremy was ready for the next part of his plan.

He found the business card at the front of his wallet. Detective Judy Lieber. Should he call her? Let her know he wasn’t the slug she’d concluded he was?

No. He put the card back. His dad used to tell him talk was cheap. The only way to impress others was through your actions.

Through your actions.

Chapter 7

The offices of Piedmont Coleridge Miller, known universally as PCM, were located on the thirteenth floor of a downtown Miami office building. Some buildings had done away with the fate-tempting number thirteen, but not the chrome-and-glass one that housed Jeremy’s mother’s CPA firm. “Superstition is nonsense,” she had once said. “Can you imagine what the world would smell like if we all wore cloves of garlic around our necks?”

Maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea for her.

“Can I get you something, Jeremy?” Bud McNally’s secretary studied him from behind outdated glasses with rhinestones at the corners. After giving Jeremy a powerful hug in the reception area, she had brought him to the partner’s office to wait.

“I’m good, Gladys. Thanks.”

She hesitated in the doorway. Jeremy had known Gladys since he was little— her hair had been a steely gray even then. Jeremy used to sit in the staff room doing his homework while his mother finished some important project. Gladys would soundlessly appear with a granola bar with chocolate chips. “Don’t tell your mother,” she would say, then disappear.

“I just want you to know,” she said now. “Your mother—” She looked down at her clumsy rubber-soled shoes. “I’m just so sorry, Jeremy.”

“Thank you, Gladys.”

She wiped her nose with a tissue she pulled out of her pocket. “Well, I guess I’ll go and get after Mr. McNally. Make sure he knows you’re waiting.” She left him alone with the office door open.

Jeremy sat uncomfortably in the modern leather chair, the top button of his shirt closed, tie tightened, and his suit jacket cutting off circulation in his arms. He tried to block the emotion that had built up inside. He needed to keep his head.

An expensive-looking navy pinstriped suit jacket hung from a hanger on a brushed steel coat rack. Framed diplomas and certifications on one of the walls were dwarfed by a red and black banner of the University of Georgia Bulldogs, and the shelves of the credenza housed numerous trophies and plaques. A chessboard near the edge of the desk had what appeared to be a game in progress. The chess pieces looked as though they were made from real ivory. Jeremy picked up a white pawn. Bud liked football and chess. An intellectual jock. Was that an oxymoron?

Jeremy put the pawn back down, noticing as he did a worn leather belt hanging from a hook on the side of the credenza. Its incongruity with the rest of the room caught him by surprise.

“Jeremy, my boy,” Bud said in his hearty southern drawl. He strode into the office, dropping some folders on his desk, then turned to shake Jeremy’s hand. “Well, look at you.” Bud rubbed his own clean-shaven chin. “A bit of a change from a couple of days ago.”

Jeremy was able to take in details that had been a blur at Enrique Castillo’s house, when Jeremy could hardly tell one person from another. The partner was still a handsome man despite looking as though he’d enjoyed a few too many client lunches and dinners. Beneath his crisp white shirt, Bud’s broad football bulk had shifted from his powerful arms and chest down to his stomach. His face looked almost bloated, like a chipmunk’s before its winter hibernation, but his graying blond crew cut and the once square jaw gave Bud a marine-like mystique.

“I want to thank you for seeing me, Mr. McNally,” Jeremy said.