Untamed. JoAnn Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ She’d continued to go to night school and had earned her C.P.A., but apparently she was more like her parents than she’d thought because she began to find the corporate atmosphere stifling. Eventually, she’d struck out on her own, becoming a consultant, and although she worked harder than she ever had as an employee, she enjoyed the ability to pick and choose her jobs.

      “All the more reason to take a break and visit your mother.” Although Lina’s tone was characteristically mild, she could not keep the seeds of worry from her expressive hazel eyes.

      “We’ll have tea out on the patio. And we’ll talk. About your work, your vacation. And whatever else you’d like.”

      “I definitely don’t want to talk about Brigid’s house.”

      “Of course you do, dear.” Lina laced their fingers together and led Tara into the house. “That’s why you’re here.”

      Tara did not even try to argue. There was no need. Because, although she hadn’t realized it until this moment, once again, her mother was right.

      As she sat overlooking the sun-gilded waters and sipped a cup of lemon balm tea, and helped herself to a second helping of the smooth yellow custard made with crushed marigold petals from her mother’s garden, Tara could literally feel the tension that had her shoulders tied up in knots slipping away.

      “This is nice,” she murmured, enjoying the sight of sea gulls diving for fish out amidst the breakers. “I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve taken a breather.”

      “You work too hard.”

      Tara knew her mother’s comment was not criticism but merely observation. She opened her mouth to argue, but knew she could never lie to this woman.

      “I know.” She sighed. “But it’s not as if I have a choice.”

      “We always have a choice, dear.”

      “That’s easy for you to say,” Tara flared, her nerves more on edge than she’d thought. “You dropped out thirty years ago. Some of us prefer life in the real world.”

      “Reality is where you find it, I suppose,” Lina murmured, frustrating Tara even further.

      As much as she truly loved her mother, she could not remember a single instance in her life when she’d been able to get a good argument going with her. Although Lina Delaney never withheld her feelings, neither would she try to force others into agreeing with her. She was, truly, a free spirit.

      “Speaking of reality,” Tara said, wanting to steer the subject away from her work, “I read in the paper that you’ve started working for the FBI.”

      Although her mother had never used her powers of second sight for profit, over the years stories of her psychic ability had become public knowledge. So much so that Lina’s assistance was routinely requested by law enforcement officials who, while not exactly admitting belief, had solved more than one case with information given to them by Lina Delaney.

      It was Lina’s turn to sigh. Her gaze became distant as she looked out toward the horizon where a line of fishing boats trawled for tuna. “They thought I might be able to help them locate that serial killer who seems to be moving across the country.”

      “And?”

      Lina briefly closed her eyes, as if to shut out the images she’d received from the evidence the police had collected in three western and two southern states. “I believe I may have provided some assistance.”

      Tara saw the pain etched in deep lines on her mother’s tanned face. “I’m sorry.” She reached out and took Lina’s hand in hers. “It was rough, huh?”

      “It wasn’t pleasant.” Lina linked their fingers together. “It also reminded me how very fortunate we are to have each other. All those young female victims had no one to care about them.”

      “Yes, they did.” Tara squeezed her mother’s hand. “They had you.”

      Lina smiled at that, a warm smile that for Tara had always been capable of soothing the cruelest of pains. “A bit late, I’m afraid,” she said. “But thank you.” Her expression sobered. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about Brigid, but there’s something I must tell you.”

      “What?” Tara asked with a sigh of resignation.

      “I don’t believe her death was from natural causes.”

      Tara felt the shock all the way through her body. “What do you mean? Surely she wouldn’t have…”

      “No. Of course your grandmother wouldn’t have taken her own life. She relished every moment too dearly. But I’ve been receiving the most disturbing vibrations. And whenever I dream of the night she died, there’s always a shadowy figure in the background. And a force so powerful it chills my blood.”

      Tara stared at her mother, unable to recall a single time she’d ever seen her looking so distraught. “I don’t understand. With your gift—”

      “You’d think I’d be able to see what happened, wouldn’t you?” Lina broke in uncharacteristically. She shook her head. “I only see the shadow. Your father suggested it’s because I’m too emotionally close to the situation.”

      “I suppose that makes sense,” Tara allowed. “In fact, maybe the reason for the dreams in the first place is because you can’t accept Brigid’s death.”

      “I thought that might be the case, in the beginning. But now I don’t think it is.”

      “Are you saying you think Brigid was murdered?”

      “That sounds so overly dramatic, doesn’t it? And murder is such an ugly word.” Lina sighed. “Honestly, darling, I don’t know what to think.”

      Neither did Tara. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Grandy.”

      “I know. Everyone loved her so.”

      “And you told me the coroner ruled that she’d suffered a heart attack, which made her fall down the stairs.” Tara still felt guilty for missing her grandmother’s funeral. But a late-spring blizzard had kept her in Moscow, where she’d been helping a Russian-American entrepreneur open a pizza parlor.

      “That was his official opinion. But I still can’t shake the feeling that he was wrong. That being the case, I suppose I should be relieved you don’t want to take possession of the house. I certainly wouldn’t want something horrible happening to you, darling.”

      “You don’t have to worry. The only thing I have to worry about is getting burned from too much Hawaiian sun.”

      Mother and daughter sat, hand in hand, watching as the blazing gold ball of sun dipped into the water, turning it a fiery crimson. Neither spoke. There was no need. As always, their thoughts were perfectly attuned.

      Such was the legacy of the Delaney women. The legacy Tara had spent so many of her twenty-six years trying to escape. A legacy she feared, as she sat in the warming glow of the setting sun, she could no longer ignore.

      All the way back to San Francisco she told herself that she was not going to Whiskey СКАЧАТЬ