Cordelia turned her wineglass around and around, thinking. “Bennett said she died in the night. That her heart stopped suddenly. But what you’re describing sounds more like a stroke. Like she was paralyzed first.”
Gordon flinched, then quickly wiped the anguish from his face, but not before Cordelia noticed. He pushed back from the table. “I think I’ve had enough,” he said with a silent belch.
But Eustace only ladled more soup into his bowl. “Eat,” she encouraged. “Before it gets cold.”
Slowly, he scooted toward the table, as if the promise of another bowl of soup was more than he could refuse. But he scowled as he ate, and a tense lull filled the room, broken only by the scrape of silverware against the china.
Cordelia felt her limbs loosening with every bite. She’d avoided drinking too much wine, and yet she felt like she’d polished off a bottle by herself.
“You know, we used to dare each other as schoolchildren to ride by this property on our bicycles,” Gordon said.
“You grew up in Bellwick?” Cordelia set her spoon down.
He nodded. “I was as curious about this place as I was frightened by it. I’ve never told anyone that.”
Eustace smiled. “Have you always lived in Connecticut?”
“I moved away after high school to pursue music,” he said. “Ijoined a band, did some touring, had a messy relationship with our lead singer. Generally aspired to rock godhood.”
“Anything we would have heard of?” Cordelia asked, thinking that explained the tattoos, long hair, and wardrobe devoted to black.
“I doubt it,” he said, paying her a cursory glance. “You don’t look like the type who listens to a lot of Slavic folk metal.”
“That’s a tad presumptive,” she complained, taking a sulky sip of Riesling. “Never judge a queen by her tiara.” She’d done the same with the wine, but at least she’d been civil enough to keep it to herself.
Eustace leaned on the table. “But you came back to Bellwick?Why?”
He sat back in his chair. “I had an injury, followed by a bad breakup. I needed a change of pace. Support.”
“Support?” Cordelia studied him. It was hard to imagine this man needing anyone.
“It was a dark time,” he said with sudden vulnerability. “And then my mom died. Here.”
“You mean,here?” Eustace topped off his wine, and he took a long sip.
Gordon nodded. “They found her in the woods, her clothes dirtied and torn like she’d been crawling. Every joint in her body was so swollen and misshapen from the rheumatoid arthritis, they could hardly identify her. When I left, she was managing her symptoms. Something happened to advance the disease. They said she just stopped breathing right there in the leaves. Her lungs were horribly scarred. The worst the ME had ever seen.” He looked at them each in turn. “That’s when your aunt took me on here.”
Cordelia fell back in her chair as Eustace let out a low whistle. “I’m so sorry,” she told him. “It sounds awful.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Eustace said ruefully, “someone cut a piece of our mother off and kept it for a souvenir.”
Gordon’s eyes widened.
“She had an aneurysm,” Cordelia tried to explain. “But they found a piece of her, um, skin missing when they found her body.”
He looked horrified.
“They did find yours with all her bits, right?” Eustace asked.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Cordelia snapped.
“There was nothing like that.” He cleared his throat. “Will you, uh, be leaving soon?”
“Not soon enough,” Cordelia muttered, Eustace shooting her a nasty look. “My sister has taken a shine to the place,” she said. “And there seems to be a hang-up with the trust. So we’re here until we can sort out some things.” She didn’t go into what those things were.
“You’ll have to excuse Cordelia,” Eustace said. “She’s leaving behind a once-booming business and a douchenozzle husband to be here.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that,” she added with a punctual hiccup.
“Ex-husband,” Cordelia emphasized with an embarrassed glance at Gordon. “Or soon to be, at least.” She hiccupped suddenly also.
