Free The Old Deep and Dark by Ellen Hart Page B

friends.”
    â€œHardly friends,” he said. “I helped the family with a couple of legal problems many years ago. Kit … well, as you can imagine, she’s a hard woman to forget.”
    Cordelia entered the great hall carrying a tray, with Kit bringing up the rear. “I’ve opened a bottle of Pinot Noir,” she said, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “And for those of us who require something stronger, I have a complex little black cherry soda with a velvety mouthfeel, decidedly jammy notes, and a long, elegant finish. I suggested to Kit that once we’ve spent a few minutes relaxing with our various poisons, we should take our merry little party over to Jane’s restaurant, where dinner will be served.”
    Jane watched her father and Kit share a glance. She wondered what that was all about.
    â€œSound like a plan?” asked Cordelia, draping herself over an antique fainting couch. When nobody responded, she held the back of her hand to her forehead and said, “Don’t everyone talk at once.”

 
    10
    Booker no longer had any idea where to buy decent weed in this town, so instead of wasting his time trying to figure it out, when he got back to the house, he changed into his swimsuit, grabbed his bathrobe and a towel, removed two bottles of Corona Extra from the fridge, and headed up to the heated pool. He’d never much cared for lakes, didn’t like all the tiny lake creatures nipping at his legs, nor the tangled patch of slimy weeds about twenty feet out from the beach. If that made him a pansy, so be it.
    From his position on the diving board high above the house, he looked down on the red-tiled roof of the boathouse, where Tommy usually stayed when he was in residence. As he stood motionless, with his eyes closed, he could still feel the hot summer sun of his youth, see the crazy mix of colored beach towels hanging up to dry along the retaining wall. It felt happier in retrospect than it had been in reality. Turning to look out at the bay, he saw that it was one those special, golden autumn evenings on the lake, when all the world looked like a Flemish painting—one with a few jarring modern touches. A Yamaha jet boat, two Jet Skis, and a party barge were all tethered to the dock. The thirty-foot sailboat was kept at the Frenchman’s Bay Marina. Booker had no idea how much his father had spent on water toys in the last thirty years, though he suspected the amount could easily support several small countries.
    Perspective was what Booker craved. If he really had cut his parents out of his life, why did he care about all their deceptions? And, as he was surprised to find, he did care.
    After chugging an entire beer, Booker dove into the water. The frigid shock to his body pulled him away from his thoughts, and it also caused him a moment of intense fury. “Jesus,” he screamed, roaring up out of the center of the pool, scraping water from his eyes. “You’re a freakin’ sadist!” His dad liked to keep his pool water ridiculously cold.
    Without much enthusiasm, Booker swam a few laps, though his system never entirely acclimated to the ice water. Eventually, he gave up. He toweled himself dry, chugged the second beer, then headed back down to the house. He wanted to take a shower before the first “family reunion” event. If he hadn’t taken the swim, the beer might have been enough to achieve a minimal mellow. Instead, he felt wide awake with a pounding headache.
    As he came through the side door, his sister burst past him. “Hey,” he called, watching her wipe tears off her cheeks before plunging into her bedroom and slamming the door. Hearing voices, he tied his robe and hurried down the hall. “What’s wrong with Chloe?” he demanded, coming into the kitchen.
    Archibald and Tommy were seated at the center island, both intently examining the insides of their wineglasses.
    Beverly