You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 18


Dern kept his distance.

There were just too damned many people from the island in town today. He’d seen them. Ava’s husband, Wyatt, was in town, meeting with the psychiatrist. Odd, that.

And Ian had sailed into the marina a couple of hours earlier. Spent some time in the bait shop and coffeehouse, looking as if he were waiting for someone.

And then there was Mrs. Garrison.

He’d been careful with all of them. Didn’t want anyone to know he’d been in town. Didn’t need the wrong eyes catching a glimpse of him. If a witness noticed that he was keeping Ava Garrison in his sights, it could spell trouble. Big trouble. So he’d kept to the shadows, collar up, baseball cap low over his eyes as he’d viewed her leaving the police station. He’d hung back as she’d walked to the beauty salon, then nearly missed it when she and the hairdresser, Tanya Denton, had ducked out the back entrance and hurried along an alley to have lunch at that Italian place. Nearly two hours later, she’d left her friend back at Shear Madness while she’d trudged up the hill to the hypnotist’s quarters.

Yep. Mrs. Garrison had been busy today.

By the time he’d observed her leaving Cheryl Reynolds’s hillside home, it was dark. He managed to catch up with her a bit later at the marina, though he still kept to the shadows.

Even from a distance, he could tell that she was upset as she walked beneath the streetlights, sipping from a paper cup with an emblem of a local coffee shop, her mouth pulled into a tight line.

Eventually, nearly forty minutes after leaving the hypnotist, Ava was able to catch a ride to the island by good old Butch Johansen, sea captain of the Holy Terror.

So her little foray into town was over for the day.

He watched until Johansen’s boat disappeared into the fog, and then he walked to the far end of town and down through the trees to the edge of the bay where he’d docked his small boat.

Now that it was dark, if he worked things right and his luck held, no one would know that he’d ever left the island.





“Geez, Ava, I didn’t realize you’d be so bent!” Butch cast her a sidelong glance as he helmed the Holy Terror toward Church Island.

“I thought you hated Wyatt.”

Butch was squinting into the night as the boat chugged and bounced over the choppy waters of the bay. “I don’t like him, but I don’t discriminate. I give rides to anyone, including Wyatt.” He gave her a look. “At least I didn’t marry the guy.”

She was bundled up in one of his old waterproof jackets that smelled of cigarettes and the sea. “I just thought you would have said something to me.”

“And get you all riled up?” Scowling beneath his ever-scraggly beard, he added, “You were riled enough as it was.” Another glance sent in her direction.

“Fair enough.” She was tired of fighting, tired of second-guessing, and tired of being suspicious of everyone she knew. It was exhausting.

With the boat’s engine grinding loudly, he crossed the bay, slowing near the dock at Neptune’s Gate. The second and third stories of the old mansion were dark, though lights were visible from the first floor and even the small window of Jacob’s basement apartment.

“Just so you know,” Butch said, “I’m supposed to pick up Wyatt in about an hour and bring him back to the island.”

She glanced out to the cold, dark water. “I didn’t really know when he’d be back.”

As he lashed the boat to the dock and let the engine idle, she unzipped the oversized jacket and slung it over the back of one of the seats. “Thanks,” she said, paying for the ride.

“Any time, Little Sister,” he said with a quick smile.

She headed up the stone steps leading to the front door. As she pushed open the door, she caught the scent of roast pork wafting from the kitchen and saw the door to Wyatt’s den slightly ajar. Tossing her purse onto the table in the foyer, she straightened her still-damp sweater coat before walking to her husband’s office . . . to find Jewel-Anne behind his desk, sitting in the near-dark, only the computer screen giving off any light in the room where the shades were already drawn for the evening.

At the sound of footsteps, Jewel-Anne looked up sharply and tried to maneuver away from the desk toward the door, but it was too late. One wheel got caught against the leg of Wyatt’s desk chair, which had been pushed aside.

“Busted,” Ava said softly, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I left something here and I just wanted to see if I could find it.”

“You left something on Wyatt’s desk? Maybe dropped it on the keyboard of his computer?”

Jewel-Anne was nodding; then as her gaze met Ava’s, she gave it up. “Okay, so you caught me. I was snooping.”

“Snooping.”

“Things are . . . weird around here.”

“Really.” This from Jewel-Anne?

“I overheard you and Wyatt fighting and”—she glanced at the doorway off the front hall and lowered her voice—“I thought you should know. I heard him, too.”

“Him?” Ava froze. “Wyatt?” she asked, but she knew, even before Jewel-Anne whispered the words.

“Noah. I heard the baby crying. I heard him.”

Ava’s knees quivered. Was this some trick? She pressed one palm against the top of the desk for support. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did! I heard something and it sure sounded like a baby crying to me!”

Okay, for once take this at face value. “What are you looking for on the computer?”

She shook her head. “This room is where I thought the crying was coming from.”

“No.”

“Noah’s room is right above this one,” Jewel-Anne stated flatly.

“Yes, but . . .” As she began to argue, her gaze moved to the ceiling. She pictured her son’s room directly above.

“The heat ducts.” Jewel-Anne rolled over to the space under the ceiling duct, which connected to the duct that opened into the nursery. “I remember playing here when we were kids. We would talk through the vents and try to ‘spy’ on each other.”

Ava remembered all too well the games they’d played, all the cousins, how they’d run through this house, chasing each other, playing hide-and-seek or, yes, spying on each other.

“I always tried to hear what Jacob and Kelvin were doing,” Jewel-Anne admitted. “And this was a good spot to hear what was happening upstairs.”

From the corner of her eye, Ava noticed a shadow pass near the door, but Jewel-Anne, oblivious, was still babbling on. “. . . so I thought I might look here and see if there was anything . . .”

She let her voice drift away as Ava placed a finger to her lips, silently sending a message for Jewel-Anne to be quiet. Then, as her cousin watched, Ava crept to the doorway and peeked outside.

Of course there was no one loitering in the hall. Not a soul around. Graciela’s soft humming was drifting down from the upper floor, and the sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen could be heard, but nothing else.

“What?” Jewel-Anne whispered, her eyes huge behind her glasses.

“Nothing. I guess. But . . . you know what? I appreciate that you’re trying to help. I’m glad that someone can confirm that I actually heard a baby crying, but you probably shouldn’t be snooping in Wyatt’s office.”

Jewel-Anne’s neck arched defiantly. “Because this is your domain?” She yanked back hard on her wheelchair and faced the door. “I thought you’d be glad that someone believes you!”

“I am. But . . .”

“But what?” Jewel-Anne demanded.

“This is Wyatt’s private office. He’s not . . .”

“What? Come on, Ava, when have you ever cared about his privacy or anything else about him?”

“He might not like it. That’s all.”

“Sure.”

“I do appreciate it, Jewel. And the heat ducts . . . that’s something.”

“I know a secret,” she suddenly said.

Ava lifted her brows, noticing that Jewel-Anne seemed coldly sober and adult, as if she’d stripped off her little-girl mask for the first time in years. “What kind of secret?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Jewel-Anne,” she murmured, exasperated.

As quickly as it had disappeared, the mask returned, Jewel-Anne’s expression becoming sly and secretive. She poked a button on the arm of her chair, switched on her iPod, blasting Elvis’s “Puppet on a String,” and threw Ava another knowing smile as she zipped through the French doors leading to the main hallway.

Jacob was just rounding the corner from the family room and nearly collided with his sister. “Watch out! Jesus!” He jumped back and dropped his iPad. It hit the floor with a sickening crrrrack, then slid noisily toward the stairs. Stricken, he yelled, “Crap, if this is broken!” then scooped up the device, examining it closely. “Shit! The casing’s split! All my notes and research and papers are on this thing. God. Damn. It!” he exploded, his face turning the color of his hair as Jewel-Anne whirred off and Demetria came running from the dining area.

“What’s going on?” she asked, breathing hard.

“My damned iPad is ruined!” Straightening, his mouth a tight line, he ran his finger over the crack on the electronic tablet’s shell. “Why the hell can’t you get along with Jewel-Anne, huh?” he demanded, seething as he glared at Ava. “She’s in a f*cking wheelchair, for the love of God. Can’t you cut her a goddamned break?”

Ava gazed at him incredulously. “This is my fault?”

“You’re just always so right, aren’t you? The f*cking bitch who runs this damned island! You know, Ava, it was fine when you were smart, when you knew what you were doing. You could be a bitch. But now you’re too f*cked up!”

“What the hell is this?” she shot back, her temper sparking white-hot.

“You can’t tell us what to do anymore!”

“Tell you what to do? When have I—” She caught herself up, realizing Jacob was a half beat ahead of her in this conversation. “You know what? I don’t remember telling you to do anything, but I’m going to start. And here it is: move out. Just go. Find another place to hole up and do whatever it is you do, but leave Church Island. Make it today.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what took me so long. Too much care, maybe. Too many pills.”

“You’re throwing me out?”

“Yeah. I think I am.”

Demetria stepped in. Holding up a hand as if her palm could quell the quarrel, she said. “Now, wait. Both of you should maybe just take a moment.”

Jacob didn’t pay her any attention. “I’m your driver,” he pointed out, hooking a thumb at his chest as he glared at his cousin.

“I can drive myself,” Ava said.

“So now you’re firing me, too?” His eyes narrowed angrily. “You’re un-be-liev-able!”

“No,” Ava said, standing her ground. “Actually, for the first time in a long while, I think I’m finally real. And I don’t like what’s going on here.”

“I have school!” he blurted, clearly unsure how to handle this new Ava.

“So get an apartment in Anchorville,” she suggested. “It’s closer to the damned campus anyway.”

“Who’s going to keep this place running? I’m the person who makes sure the Wi-Fi works. I’ve installed the special equipment you need out here. Everything from the damned boat lift to the televisions and computers, even the security system. We’re on a damned island, Ava, in the middle of f*ckin’ nowhere! I even pulled out the microwave and put in a new control panel for Virginia last week. You need me here!”

He was right, but there was no way she was going to admit it. She took a step forward, closer to him. “Contrary to everything you believe, you’re not indispensable, Jacob. We’ll muddle through without you.”

“Jesus Christ, you really are a bitch. Everyone’s right!”

That stung a bit, but she didn’t so much as blink.

“You can’t kick me out!” he insisted, a finger pointing at her accusingly, his chin jutting in rebellion. “You don’t own the whole damned island, not even all of this house. Jewel-Anne owns part of it, too. So unless both of you throw me out, you’re stuck with me. The last time I saw Jewel-Anne, she didn’t look like she was going to play on your side.”

“Whoa,” Demetria said.

Rather than argue further, he strode toward the back hallway.

Ava was left with Demetria, whose eyes followed Jacob’s departure across the wide foyer. “I’ve never seen him that mad.” Reaching behind her neck, she unclipped her hair. It fell in straight, lank waves around her face. “I’d say he has a few unresolved issues, too.”

“Too?”

“He’s not exactly the Lone Ranger when it comes to emotional problems.” Leaning forward, she let her hair fall around her face, then clamped it into a fist, straightened, and clipped it tightly behind her ears again. She headed away from Ava and toward the back stairs and the elevator. “Sometimes I swear this house is worse than Sea Cliff ever was,” she called back. “And trust me, that place was a nightmare.”