Blackthorn

Chapter Nine

NINE

MAVEN

When my reaction to his question is stony silence, Ronan says, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t. Otherwise, you’d already have started running.”

“Maven.”

“Don’t you dare say my name like I’m being unreasonable.”

“I don’t think you’re being unreasonable. I think you’re being protective. But she’s just as much mine as she is yours.”

“An accidental sperm donor isn’t the same thing as a parent. And if I recall correctly, you weren’t feeling quite so paternal when I told you I was pregnant all those years ago.”

I spin away, but he catches me by the arm and pulls me back. When I refuse to look at him, he takes me by the chin and forces me to.

“I was seventeen. A boy.”

“Get your hand off my chin before you lose it.”

“I want to meet her.” After a pause, he chuckles. “There’s no need to make that face.”

“Actually, there is. It’s the face I make before I draw blood. Let go of me, Ronan. This is your five-second warning.”

He examines me in tense silence for a moment before releasing me.

“Smart call. Now, forget you ever asked me that question and go away.”

“You forgot our deal. I’ll only go away if you answer the question.”

“I guess this is a stalemate then, because I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than speak one word to you about my daughter.”

He draws himself to his full height and folds his arms over his broad chest. Imperious as a liege lord facing the peasant who stole his prize cow, he gazes down his nose at me.

“Our daughter.”

“Say that again. I dare you. Say it again, and I will shoot you dead right where you stand.”

He arches both brows. “You’ll kill me in a funeral home? That’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

“I think you can go straight to hell, Ronan Croft.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. A dark, strange emotion surfaces for the briefest of moments before he gets control of it and snuffs it out.

His voice low and cold, he says, “What makes you think I’m not already there?”

We stare at each other until a voice calling my name distracts us.

“Miss Blackthorn! Oh, Miss Blackthorn, you’re here!”

I look over to see a frantic Mr. Anderson hurrying across the foyer.

He’s mopping his forehead with a damp handkerchief. Sweat stains darken the armpits of his white dress shirt. His tie is askew, and his slacks are rumpled. I wonder how long Granny’s body was missing before he finally called because he looks as if he hasn’t slept since I last saw him.

When he reaches us, I demand, “Tell me you found her.”

“Well…” He clears his throat. “Not exactly.”

“It’s a yes or no answer. Did you find her or not?”

Why he looks so guilty, I don’t know, but it makes me suspicious.

Wringing his hands, he says, “We found her clothing.”

“Her clothes? What are you talking about?”

My infuriated tone makes him even more flustered than he already was. He begins to stammer out an explanation.

“Sh-she was wearing a long green dress a-as you saw at the viewing. Y-your aunt Esme provided it, and we dressed her in it after the, uh, preparation of her body. It’s a delicate process, of course, and we took the utmost care to adhere to your aunts’ instructions—”

“Get to the point!”

He blurts, “Lorinda’s dress, shoes, and undergarments were found on the ground outside the open window of the room where her viewing took place. It appears that’s how she was removed from the premises.”

Whatever my face is doing makes Mr. Anderson turn pale.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re telling me someone took my grandmother’s corpse from its casket, stripped it, then took it out through a window?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Well … yes.”

I stare at him in open-mouthed shock.

Ronan says, “This is where you hope your liability insurance premiums are up to date, Anderson. Let’s see the clothing.”

With a little cry of distress, Mr. Anderson spins on his heel and takes off toward the hallway. Ronan and I follow behind, watching when he stops at the locked door to the viewing room. He fumbles with a set of keys pulled from his pocket, then unlocks the door.

I push past him and cross straight to the windows on the opposite side of the room. The drapes have been pushed back, and the windows stand wide open on their hinges.

Careful not to touch the sill, I lean out the window and look down. Sure enough, a pile of clothing lies on the ground directly underneath. A pair of low-heeled black flats are off to one side, peeking out from under the spiky green leaves of a holly bush.

Coming up behind me, Ronan leans over my shoulder for a look. After examining the scene, he grunts.

“That’s odd. There are no footprints in the dirt. And everything’s neatly folded.”

“Plus, her shoes are placed like they were in her closet. Heels together, toes facing forward. Not like they were dropped or thrown. Why would someone strip a body, take it out a window, then take the time to make sure the pile of clothes they left behind on the ground were so carefully arranged?”

“Maybe they were going to bring the body back?”

We turn and look at Mr. Anderson, who appears to be regretting his decision to speak.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “I understand you reviewed the security footage.”

His gaze darts back and forth between Ronan and me. “Um. Uh.”

I take that as a yes. “And? What did it show?”

“Nothing amiss.”

“A body disappears into thin air and there’s nothing amiss? How do you account for the clothing outside the window? Did it just appear on the security video from one frame to the next?”

He coughs into his hand, then looks up at the ceiling and grimaces. “The camera that covers the south side of the building seems to have malfunctioned. For some reason, it didn’t record anything from six o’clock on.”

“How convenient. Let me ask you something. Are you operating an illegal body farm here? Did you sell my grandmother for parts?”

I’ll give him credit. Mr. Anderson is either an incredible actor, or he’s sincerely traumatized by the suggestion because he turns a soggy shade of green and gags.

“Good heavens, no! Oh, my word, we would never be involved with anything of the sort! We take extreme pride in our good reputation, Miss Blackthorn, and operate our business with the highest of ethics. We’re very careful, very careful indeed, especially with clients of such…”

Realizing he’s headed into dangerous territory, he trails off, blinking in panic. “Standing in the community.”

Like a flower unfurling its petals, heat blooms over my skin. I inhale a slow, calming breath, then mutter, “Oh, I’ll give you standing. I’ll give you such standing, it’ll make your eyes bleed.”

A strong hand wraps around my biceps, then Ronan says, “You have until the close of business today to find out what happened to Lorinda. If I don’t hear from you by five o’clock, I’ll make a call to the State Board of Funeral Directors and have you permanently shut down. Maven, let’s look at the casket.”

Ronan steers me away by the arm, chuckling as I mutter curses along the way.

“Temper, temper. I forgot how sharp those claws of yours are.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He chuckles again. “You’re right. I didn’t. I’ve still got the scars on my back.”

I glance at him but can’t tell from his expression if that comment had a sexual undertone. Then he sends me a heated sideways look, complete with his signature smirk, and I have my answer.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Stop grinning like a clown.”

“This is just my face. I can’t help how my face is.”

“Sure you can. Pick up a rock and bash yourself in the nose with it. Or I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

“I adore it when you threaten me with violence. Did I ever tell you that?”

“God, I regret I came home.”

“I don’t. This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

I pull my arm from his grip and walk ahead of him to the casket. I don’t know what I was expecting to see when I lean over and look in, but there’s nothing there.

No Granny.

No silver coins.

No pearl-handled knife.

Whoever stole my grandmother’s body didn’t want her clothing, but the grave goods that were supposed to be buried with her made the cut?

When Ronan walks up beside me, I say, “There’s something extremely strange going on here.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Use that sarcastic tone with me again, and I’ll ensure you can’t have children.”

“More children, you mean.”

I close my eyes and exhale a hard breath through my nostrils. It feels like fire.

“It’s not unreasonable for a father to want to see his child. Aside from also being my legal right, that is.”

“Are you kidding me with this? My grandmother’s naked corpse was stolen through a window, and you’re suddenly interested in discussing visitation rights to a daughter you never wanted in the first place?”

“I wanted her. I just didn’t know it then.”

“I’m not going to dignify that nonsense with a response.”

“I searched for you, you know. For years, I’ve had the best private detectives looking for you. But it was as if you vanished. Outside Solstice, Maven Blackthorn doesn’t exist.”

“If you’re hoping I’ll congratulate you for attempted stalking, good luck.”

“You changed your name, didn’t you? Made yourself a whole new identity so you couldn’t be found.”

“I’m in the middle of a family emergency, if you hadn’t noticed. I don’t have time for the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Look at me.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

He takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face him. Eyes blazing with intensity, he looms over me, the beautiful monster who’s haunted my nightmares for years.

“I want to meet my daughter. Stonewalling won’t change that. It’s up to you if we do this the hard way or the easy way.”

That makes me scoff. “You’re threatening me with legal action?”

“I don’t want to have to do that, but what’s mine is mine. Let’s do this on good terms.”

I can’t help the small laugh that passes my lips. “God. The arrogance is astounding. You’re really something else.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a no because your child doesn’t exist. I miscarried shortly after I left. Bea’s father is an ocular surgeon who lives in Los Angeles. Dr. Brett Lattman.”

Ronan stares at me with thinned lips, narrowed eyes, and an air of raging doubt.

“I can tell by that constipated expression you don’t believe me, but all you’d need to do is see her. She’s nine, Ronan. The math doesn’t work.”

When I tire of him staring at me in doubtful silence, I pull my cell phone from the pocket of my coat and enter my passcode to unlock it. I navigate to a recent picture of Bea, then turn the screen toward him.

“That’s Bea. Notice the date on the photo is from a few weeks ago. Also, notice how she looks nothing like you, especially those unnerving colorless eyes that peer from under the Neanderthal foreheads of everyone in your family. Finally, notice how small she is. Satisfied?”

He stares at the photo so long, my arm starts to ache. Then he says, “Only the men in my family have those eyes. And she could just be small for her age. That picture proves nothing.”

I drop my arm to my side and sigh. “Why would I lie?”

His answer is immediate. “Because you don’t trust me. Because you don’t like me. Because maybe I hurt you in ways that can’t be fixed.”

His voice drops, and his gaze grows even more intense. “But mostly because you’re ashamed you fucked your family’s sworn enemy, and you don’t want anyone to find out.”

If he keeps saying the word “fucked” in that throaty tone, I’ll have to change my panties.

“You got most of that right, except I’m not ashamed because you were supposed to be my enemy.

I never cared about some stupid ancient grudge.

I’m ashamed because you treated me like dirt, and I kept coming back for more.

But we’re not teenagers anymore, and all of this is water under the bridge.

Thanks for the nauseating trip down memory lane. Goodbye, Ronan.”

And good riddance.

I turn to walk away, but once again, he stops me. Wrapping his hand around my upper arm, he pulls me against his chest and growls, “It isn’t over, Maven. You can’t just walk away from this.”

“Watch me.”

I pull my arm from his possessive grip and head to the door, ignoring the smoldering Spanish moss in the base of the potted palm in the parlor where he threw his cigarette.

Hopefully, it will ignite into a blazing inferno and the entire town will burn to the ground.

Back in the Caddy, I direct Q to take me to the police station so I can report Granny missing. Instead, he turns on the radio and drives straight back to the house.

As we drive past the rusted iron gate of Blackthorn Manor, I stare at the dead stump of the maple tree I axed down so long ago in a fit of rage.

From one side of the dull gray wood, a tall leafy branch has sprouted.

Only the branch isn’t green. Its leaves aren’t, either.

They’re all the same vivid red of freshly spilled blood.