Distant Blood by Jeff Abbott

if it was a family member?” I asked.
    “Especially if it was a family member,” Yarbrough interjected. “Thank you for your statement, Jordan.” She gathered her papers up and rattled them into order.
    Mendez stood and gestured toward the cards. “I'd like to keep these for evidence.”
    I nodded. “And I'll bag up my clothes for you.”
    “Let me know if you get any more threatening messages, Mr. Poteet,” Mendez said. The interview was over.
    I stood to leave. “One question—are y'all going to tell people my uncle's dying?”
    Mendez's eyes met mine and I saw sadness in them. “Mr. Emmett's business is his own. Not mine, as long as he's not breaking the law.”
    “Absolutely,” Yarbrough chimed in. Real pain flashed across her face briefly, as though news of Mutt's death was a physical prod to her. I wanted to ask Tricia Yarbrough what Mutt was to her—but I didn't.
    I dabbed my tongue on my dry lips. What I was about to say might make me a traitor in Bob Don's eyes, but I couldn't hold my silence. “Tonight—at the dinner table— Aunt Lolly mentioned there'd been another murder in this family. Years ago, Bob Don's brother killed his wife. Did you know?”
    Mendez's expression told me he hadn't. Yarbrough's told me she had. Neither commented—I saw Yarbrough give Mendez one of those
I'll tell you later
looks.
    Dismissed, I left the room feeling just as ill as when I'd arrived. I went upstairs, pulled off my sour-smelling garments, donned a robe, and hurried back downstairs to the front porch. One of Mendez's investigators bagged myclothes and gave me a receipt for them. I could see a dark body bag being loaded on the Coast Guard helicopter. Lolly.
    Mendez came up behind me. “One of my men will be spending the night here, Mr. Poteet.” He gestured toward a compactly built officer who stood near the porch swing, all spit and polish. “You let Deputy Praisner know if you need anything, all right?”
    “Of course.” I paused. “Your leaving an officer here overnight suggests maybe you don't think Lolly's death was of natural causes.”
    “Don't conjecture so much, Jordan. Leave that to us.” Mendez turned abruptly and went back inside. I stood for a moment, watching the helicopter in which they'd placed Lolly's remains.
    Deputy Praisner fixed a baleful eye on me. I bade him good night and went back inside, desperate for a shower. As I passed Mutt's study I could hear his voice raised in anger, followed by Tricia Yarbrough's calm alto. Mendez spoke a few indistinct words, then Mutt railed again. I headed up the stairs, suddenly and tremendously tired.
    On the way up to my room, I stopped by Bob Don and Gretchen's room—everyone had turned in for the night, dulled with shock over Lolly's death. I knocked. I heard someone shuffling out of bed and then the door opened a hair.
    “Son,” Bob Don said, opening the door and stepping outside. He eased the door shut behind him, but not before I saw Gretchen curled into a fetal ball under the covers. “How you?”
    “I'm fine. Okay. How are you?”
    “Holding up.” He gestured at the shut door. “Gretchen's awful upset. You can imagine.” He shrugged. “Just can't believe that Lolly's gone. Just can't believe it.” His voice shook. “And Uncle Mutt's dying—” He didn't finish his sentence.
    He almost looked like a little boy, his usually perfectly big-styled blond hair a messy mop, his blue eyes baggy with restlessness. I reached out, awkwardly, for him. I pressedmy fingers against the fabric of his pajama top, feeling the roundness of his broad shoulder beneath.
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.
That was from some old poem about family, wasn't it? “I am so sorry, Bob Don. So very sorry.”
    He touched the back of my hand with his own. “Thanks, son. It means the world to me that you're here. I'm so grateful.”
    I wanted to tell him about my conversation with Mendez—about my fears, about my suspicions, about the hateful diatribes I'd