Chapter Six
“Eavesdropping on your elders, Sue’s girl?” Geralt asked dryly. “Nasty little habit; you should work on it. Or get better at not getting caught.”
They stood for a moment, regarding each other.
Willow broke the silence. “Who was that?”
Geralt waved his hand airily. “No one you need concern yourself with. Just a local buffoon.” He glanced at her with an insouciant grin.
“So, you actually do have some talent on that pipe organ thing. Sue said you did, but I figured she was blowing smoke up our collective behinds. Your playing is a sight better than that Ramsey woman’s, anyway. ”
“You knew I was there, didn’t you? And you didn’t say anything.” Willow frowned, puzzled, as she came to the next realization. “And you kept talking, knowing I was listening. You wanted me to hear.”
As though she hadn’t spoken, he continued breezily, “Everyone pretends she’s worse since she drove her car into a tree however many years ago, but the truth is she was always terrible.” Geralt jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Are we done here?”
“He said, ‘The old lady’s gone and the lesbian’s out of the way,’” Willow pressed, her impatience rising. “So I need to ask you again: How did Sue die?” Her voice was steady, but something inside her quivered violently as she spoke the words. “Did she fall? Or did someone push her?”
The old man’s face darkened. He stepped closer, close enough for her to notice the deep shadows carved out beneath his eyes.
“You need to watch your step, girl,” he said quietly, the intensity of his voice belying his earlier careless tone.
“This island is a sinkhole of secrets, a tangled mess you haven’t got a prayer in heaven or earth of sorting out.
And some of ’em don’t want to be sorted out.
Leave them be,” he said, and stepped back as though to leave.
“And be careful where you start asking questions. I would recommend keeping your curiosity under your vest.”
Too late for that, she thought, a seed of anger twisting out of the mire of her grief. This has gone way past curiosity. She persisted. “Did that man kill Sue?”
Geralt gave a harsh chuckle. “Him? No, almost certainly not. That idiot doesn’t have the balls God gave a vole—or the vision, for that matter.”
“Was it you, then?” Willow cringed inwardly at her own words; Oh God, did I say that out loud? she thought.
Geralt barked out a single mirthless syllable of laughter. “I knew I liked you,” he said almost proudly, “I liked Susan too; we were friends. And I don’t have many of those.”
There’s a surprise, Willow thought, mentally rolling her eyes.
Geralt’s face turned uncharacteristically wistful. “And no, I would never have hurt her. Not in a thousand years.” He looked back at Willow, almost gently. “It’s good you came back. Susan wasn’t sure you would. But you did. Even if—” He stopped, didn’t go on.
Willow nodded. “Of course I came.” She paused. “Even if what?”
His expression unreadable, he replied, “Nothing. Just … be careful who you trust, that’s all.”
She almost smiled. “And should I trust you?”
“Absolutely not,” he snorted, his face returning to its usual half smirk.
“Time to go,” he said breezily, stepping back.
“You may love hanging about in churches, but I’m afraid if I stay much longer, lightning bolts will take me out, and the building along with me.
Houses of God have little use for me, and the feeling is mutual.
” He winked again, resumed whistling, and strolled toward the door.
He seems to be an all-around terrible human being on a lot of levels, Willow thought, and possibly a criminal as well, but God help me, I almost like him too. I’m not sure what that says about me as a person.
He had also, she realized, glossed over one more significant part of the conversation she’d overheard. “And it doesn’t bother you that your friend the vole basically threatened to kill you?” she called after him.
Another snort, a hand waved in dismissal, as he kept walking. She persisted, “Who was he, Mr. Talbot? At least tell me his name. Maybe I’m not the only one who should be careful, you know?” But he was gone.
Willow slowly moved across the village green toward Diana’s Café and Antiques, turning the conversation over in her head. Had Sue’s death been intentional? Surely if there was any suspicion of foul play, there would have been an investigation.
On the other hand, if it had been an accident, someone had clearly found it a very convenient one.
Convenient for whoever it was in the vestibule with Geralt Talbot, her mind whispered to her. Come to think of it, it is pretty convenient for Geralt, the last of the Camerons too. Him and “his” mansion.
Mackenzie Reyes ran a tattooed hand through the tousled rainbow of waves on the unshaved side of her head; she hurried back across the green to her mother’s café, knowing her mom would be yelling for her any minute.
Food-laden tables had been set up inside and out; guests chatted and ate as they moved through the rooms. A sign on one of the patio tables invited guests to choose a handmade ceramic cup to drink from and take home as a remembrance from the day.
Little knots of people gathered around, examining the variety and choosing their cup with care.
Mac’s stride broke a little when she saw Willow Stone, standing a little apart, as though hesitant to approach the gathered guests.
Why did she have to come? Mac thought. Everything about Willow’s presence on the island was awkward. Worse, it was likely to cause Rina more pain, and Rina had quite enough pain right now.
But … Be kind, her mother always said. Everyone has their stories; most of them you will never know.
And Willow’s sorrow and isolation were almost palpable.
Mac walked over to her, gestured to the sea of ceramic cups, and said, “She made them. Rina. For the wedding.” Scanning the table, Mac was pleased to notice a half dozen or so of the cups Rina had let her glaze.
She sighed wistfully. “Now they’ll be remembrances of Sue instead. ”
Willow hesitantly stepped forward and picked up a ceramic cup, light blue with darker teal swirls at its base, then put it down again, as though unsure what to do with it; Mac thought she might have been blinking back tears.
After a moment, Willow turned back to the tattooed young woman.
“I saw you at the funeral, sitting with Rina, right?”
Mac nodded. “Yeah. With my mom—Diana.” She gestured to the combined café and antiques shop.
“This is her place; we moved here about fourteen years ago, when I was little. We don’t have any family to speak of off-island, and neither did Rina or Sue, so we kind of adopted each other.
” She mentally kicked herself when Willow winced at her words—Willow, who had been like family to Sue once.
There was an awkward pause. Willow didn’t know how to ask what she needed to ask, but she forced the words out, anyway.
“I never knew why she left, why my parents and she stopped speaking and I couldn’t come to the island anymore.
But now…” She shifted uneasily. “Did my parents cut her off because she’s… ?” Willow trailed off.
Mac looked at her pointedly, her eyes narrowing a little.
“You can say the word, you know. Gay. Lesbian. LGBTQ. And as far as I know, yes. She came out to them, they kicked her out of the house, told her she was going to hell and was unnatural and all the usual homophobic nonsense, and cut her off.”
The air whooshed out of Willow’s lungs. She didn’t speak.
Mac said accusingly. “She wrote you letters. For months. Years. You never answered. Eventually, she gave up, assuming you and your parents were a united front.”
Willow was slowly shaking her head, bewildered. “I never got any letters. Not until last week. Not a word. I thought—I thought she—”
A voice interrupted from inside the restaurant. “Mackenzie! Mac, come help, please!”
Mac called back, “Coming, Mom!” With a quick, doubtful glance at Willow, she slipped inside.