Free Bloody Kin by Margaret Maron

hellish autumn for both of us, wasn’t it, Kate?”
    His lopsided grin was wobbly but he took a deep breath as he straightened and walked around the car to slide in beside her. He put the key in the ignition but did not immediately turn it.
    “When Rob Bryant called to tell me about Jake, I couldn’t believe it. I’d just had a letter from him three days before. Kate, you must know that if I hadn’t still been laid up in that Mexican hospital—”
    “I know,” she said quickly. “The flowers you sent were so beautiful. Did you—I mean, what about Elaine and James?”
    “In late October—after the doctors finally let me out of the hospital—there was a little church near our villa that Elaine used to stop in at once in a while. I’m afraid none of us were very religious, but I think she and James would have liked the memorial service.
    “There were services for the others, too. Seven other people, Kate. The Dickersons, Jill and Win Harkness, friends the three of us had known for years. Gone. And then to hear that Jake—”
    He switched on the ignition, put the Porsche in gear, and eased into the lane. “All I could think about was how James had saved his life in Vietnam, and then a freakish accident on his own land, with his own gun!”
    “I know,” Kate said bleakly.
    “And now this,” said Gordon as they drove slowly past the packhouse.
    “Did James talk about Vietnam much?” Kate asked.
    “Occasionally. Especially when he first came home. Not so much in recent years.”
    “Do you remember the other two who were on that patrol? A younger man and a Bernie-somebody?”
    “Yes, he mentioned them. Why?”
    “The man Mary Pat and I found—you didn’t see him, did you?”
    “No, but Major Bryant described him; asked if anyone at Gilead had seen him around. He didn’t sound like anyone . . . wait a minute! Bernie? Was he the man who was killed?”
    “It could be,” said Kate. “I never met him, but Jake told me about that patrol and how Bernie and James killed the sniper. And there were pictures. He had a black mole on his right cheek, too, just like the dead man, only he had a beard back then. Lacy’s misplaced the snapshots Jake sent him, but I think there may be duplicates in the things the movers are bringing tomorrow.”
    “It’s probably not him,” said Gordon. “Why would he turn up here after all these years?”
    “Maybe he came to see Jake. Not knowing.”
    They paused at the top of the lane to wait for a huge, late-working tractor to pass. The sky blazed with silver pricks of stars everywhere except where blanked out by Raleigh’s glow in the north. The new moon was a pristine crescent against the blue-black of the western sky. They crossed the highway. Gilead’s long drive was lined on either side by double rows of tall oaks which were just beginning to push out tiny leaves.
    “Odd business,” Gordon said thoughtfully. “Did you tell Bryant?”
    “Yes, he’s coming back tomorrow to see if I can find the pictures.”
    Gordon drove past the white pillars of the wide veranda and on around to the study entrance on the west side.
    “You know,” he said, cutting off the switch, “there’s a trunk of James’s things in the attic. I remember he had a little chest of war souvenirs. It might give us more information about Bernie. I’ll have a look tomorrow.”
    The study had a low wide window and they saw Mary Pat slip into the room and look out at them shyly.
    “There’s the reason I’ve had to put death behind me and pick up the pieces,” said Gordon. “Children do make a difference, Kate.”
    “I’m counting on it.” The huskiness of her voice made him look at her quizzically. “Yes,” she nodded.
    His lopsided grin widened into a delighted smile. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed and his smile grew as he circled the car to help her out. “Truly wonderful.”
    “What is?” asked Mary Pat from the doorway.

C HAPTER 7
    Lamb is not a meat commonly found on