The Burnt Island Burial Ground Part 12

"Yes, that's true," Lindsay said quietly.

"Do you still talk to your mother?" he asked.

"Sometimes. Our relationship is probably better now than it was when she was on the outside."

"So you've managed to forgive her? For all the stuff she's done?"

"Can we talk about something else?" Lindsay said sharply.

"I'm sorry," Adam replied, the color rising in his cheeks. "I should've known that would be a sore subject. Mother says this is why I don't have a girlfriend, or, well, friends. I just say things without thinking. She's always saying how I'm 'on the spectrum.' A few years ago, she actually made me a list of safe topics to discuss when I first meet people. You know, the weather and hobbies and stuff."

Lindsay smiled tightly and took another sip of her wine. "It's okay. I'd be curious, too, if I'd read a news story like that about you." She paused. "Actually, I Googled you, too."

"This is the modern age," Adam said with a smile.

"Anyway, hardly anything came up. Just your website, which sounded pretty vague. What exactly does a Business Security Consultant do?"

"I mainly work for high net worth individuals to do contingency and disaster planning. Making sure they have appropriate strategies and countermeasures in place."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, like coming up with plans for what they'd do if their personal data was severely compromised, or if one of their family members was held hostage."

"Oh."

Adam cringed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring the kidnapping thing up again."

"Well, it's a shame you weren't there when that happened to me. It would've been good to have a professional contingency and disaster planner," she replied, as usual trying to use humor to ease the tension.

"It sounds like you made your own plan. Not everybody could've escaped like that, you know. Most people just crumble. Like your mother. It sounded like she played right into that lunatic's hands."

Lindsay picked up her menu. At first she'd been a little baffled that such an impossibly handsome man could be single and seemingly friendless, but she was beginning to understand why that might be the case. Each time he attempted to delve into her past, the magnetic appeal of his looks began to wane. His looks were almost too perfect, she thought, like he'd been sculpted as someone else's idea of a perfect man. Were all the normal guys taken? As soon as the question popped into her brain, she banished it. This most definitely was not a date, and she was most definitely not looking for a boyfriend.

"It's not a very pleasant topic of conversation for me," she said. She held the menu in front of her and began surveying it. "So, what looks good to you?"

"Sorry," he said again, seeming finally to get the signal that he'd strayed too far into unsafe territory. "I meant it as a compliment. Clearly, you're somebody who's able to keep their wits about them when things get tough. I admire that."

When she remained silent, he continued. "I'm really much better with computers. It gives me more time to think of what I'm going to say. I've done online dating a few times, and that part of it always goes pretty well."

Lindsay glanced up at him. She could imagine that his profile picture would attract a lot of interest. His face was almost too perfect. Angled jaw, sensuous lips, and that unbelievable, penetrating gaze. Warren was handsome in a wholesome, freckly kind of way. But his frame bordered on gangly and in certain lights, his skin looked sickly pale. Even Mike, she thought, who shared his younger brother Drew's arresting green eyes and perfect white teeth, had his attractions. But he tended to look unkempt, and his midsection bore the telltale thickening of middle age. Adam, though? It was like a sculptor had chiseled him out of some rare and precious stone.

The waitress came by to take their orders, and an awkward silence descended. Adam drummed his fingers on the table. "So, do you play any sports?" he asked.

"Are we back on the list of safe topics then?" Lindsay said.

"Absolutely. I'm going to stick to weather and hobbies from now on," he said, with a sheepish half-smile. "So do you? Play sports?"

"Not really," she replied.

"Not even in school?"

"Nope. Whenever we had to play games, I just tried to keep as still as possible. No one wanted me on their team because I'm such a pipsqueak, and I could never manage to hit the ball, or catch it, or throw it, or, you know, whatever you were supposed to do with it."

"You don't seem like a pipsqueak. I mean, I guess you're small, but I wouldn't say it that way. You're, uh...concentrated."

"Oh, no," Lindsay said.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong? Again, I meant it as a compliment. Because pipsqueak sounds insulting," Adam said.

"No, no, it's not that. I just noticed a family at that table over there in front of the windows that I really don't want to see right now," she explained.

Without even looking, Adam said, "You mean the pudgy guy, the horsey woman, and the supermodel daughter?"

"How did you do that without turning around?" she asked.

"I noticed them when we came in. I always try to scan a room when I come into it and memorize details about people. It's one of my parlor tricks."

"I guess they're pretty noticeable. Jess is so stunning. And, Yancy. What's with his mustache? Is he trying to look like one of the perps on To Catch a Predator?"

Adam laughed out loud. "You really are funny."

"Sarcasm is my parlor trick, I guess," Lindsay replied flatly, not taking her eyes off the Philpots.

"Who are they?" Adam asked.

"It's a long story, but Mr. Philpot seems to have gotten it into his head that my great grandmother's nurse and I are conspiring to steal away his wife's family fortune."

"Are you?" he asked, his lips curling into a smile.

She frowned. "Last summer, I had an FBI agent trying to implicate me in a murder, and now this. Do I have a suspicious face or something? In between working double shifts at the hospital, visiting my mother in prison, walking my dog, and taking care of my elderly great grandmother, when exactly do people think I find the time to be a criminal mastermind?"

"Well, whoever said small towns are dull definitely didn't live in the same town as you," Adam said.

"Oh, shoot. He saw me," Lindsay said, trying, too late, to duck behind her menu.

Yancy Philpot had indeed locked eyes with hers. His eyes bulged in rage, and red splotches burst out on his cheeks. He tossed his napkin on the table, rose, and began walking quickly in her direction.

He walked right up to their table and leaned over it, putting his meaty palms flat on the surface. "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face in public," he growled.

"Mr. Philpot," Lindsay said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady despite her racing heart, "your father-in-law's decisions were as much of a mystery to Dunette and me as they seem to have been to your family. Please sit back down and enjoy your dinner. Nothing is going to be solved at the New Albany Olive Garden on a Sunday night."

"That money was supposed to come to us," Yancy continued, leaning over until she could almost feel the anger rising off of him like heat. "I put up with that old b.a.s.t.a.r.d's insults for thirty years, and you," he punctuated the word by slamming his fist down on their table, "think you can come in at the eleventh hour and take it all away?"

By now, people at nearby tables had turned their attention towards the fracas and were listening with rapt attention. Jess and Margo made their way quickly towards them. Adam rose to his feet. His expression remained as blank as a freshly-painted wall, but the mere act of his standing caused Yancy to back off a little. Although Adam was a well-built man, looking at his lithe body alongside Yancy's ex-football-player physique, his action seemed either extraordinarily brave or astonishingly foolhardy. Lindsay, too, rose to her feet. She hated drawing additional attention to their conversation, but it felt ridiculous to remain sitting while Yancy hung over her like a thundercloud about to burst.

"Please, Yancy," Margo said, taking hold of her husband's arm and trying to pull him backwards.

"People are staring." Jess said flatly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"She stole your inheritance," he said, shaking himself free of Margo's grasp.

Jess stepped towards Lindsay and Adam, narrowing her amber eyes into a cat-like glare. She then turned to her parents and said. "This is completely stupid. I can't wait to get out of this G.o.dforsaken town. I'll be out in the car."

"Should we go, Lindsay?" Adam said. His voice had a pleasant neutrality, as if he attached no particular significance to the question or its answer.

"No," Margo said, stepping between Lindsay and her husband. "You don't need to leave. Just enjoy your food." She looked imploringly at Yancy. He took stock of her and of the general hush that had settled over the room, and at last he yielded.

"This isn't the end of this, Reverend," he said before stomping out of the restaurant.

Margo stood next to their table, clutching her hands to her heart. "Oh, dear," she murmured, to no one in particular. "We haven't paid. We can't leave without paying." She patted her pockets absently and her head whipped back and forth, scanning the restaurant like a meerkat. "I don't have my purse."

"I'll take care of it," Adam said. "It's on me."

Lindsay smiled gratefully at him. By now their fellow diners had resumed their meals, although their conversations had no doubt shifted to the topic of what Jonah Harding's eccentric daughter had done to get herself into hot water this time.

Margo turned to Adam, wide-eyed, as if he'd just materialized out of the wallpaper. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that. I'll get Yancy."

"Let's leave him to cool off for a few minutes," Lindsay suggested.

"It's my pleasure, really," Adam said, flashing his 1,000-watt smile. He walked off to find the Philpots' server, leaving Lindsay and Margo standing awkwardly beside their table. Margo held the top of the booth for support, looking as though she might fall if she released her grip.

"Are you okay?" Lindsay asked. "Why don't you sit down?"

Margo sank gratefully into the seat Lindsay offered to her. She looked drained and defeated. "I'm so sorry about Yancy. I don't know what to say."

"It's okay," Lindsay said. "Death brings out both the best and worst in people." She paused. "You don't seem to share your husband's anger, though. I'd have thought you'd have even more reason than Yancy to be upset."

Margo shrugged. "I suppose this was just one more of my father's nasty surprises."

"What do you mean?" Lindsay said, taken aback by the other woman's candor.

"I didn't grow up with him. I only met him when I was about Jess's age. I lived with my mother when I was a child. I suppose I don't feel like I ever really knew his mind."

"So you don't have any idea why he would've left his money to Dunette? She said he sought her out in particular. She never knew why. She was more surprised than anybody when she found out about the inheritance."

Margo's large eyes searched Lindsay's face. "He sought her out? That just can't be right. She's a Lumbee, right? That's what Yancy said."

Lindsay nodded.

"Well, that just doesn't make any sense. I thought Yancy must've got that wrong. My father hated Lumbee people, I'm sorry to say. I know that sounds awful, but it's so. That's one thing I did know about him. He blamed them for ruining his life."

"Ruining his life?" Lindsay repeated. The words seemed to bounce around in her skull. She wished that she hadn't had a gla.s.s of wine before eating-it had gone straight to her head.

"Yes. He and my mother were down in Maxton to make some kind of charitable donation to the Lumbee tribe. She was pregnant with me at the time. Anyway, there happened to be a protest of some sort going on, and my mother and father got separated in the crowd. The Lumbee men told her my daddy had turned tail and run away, and left his pregnant wife all alone. After that, my mother couldn't forgive my father. A few months later, she left him and never came back. My father couldn't let go of what happened. After all he was only trying to do something good. I never heard a word about any of that from my mother, mind you. She never talked about him or any of it. I didn't really even know who my father was until after she died."

"Did he tell you that story?" Lindsay asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"And you've never looked into it? It was a Klan rally, Margo. It's pretty well known. I mean, it seems strange that he just happened to get caught up in the middle of a Klan rally. And did he ever explain why he wanted to give the tribe a donation? Was it money, or what?" Lindsay asked.

Despite the seriousness of Margo's revelations, Lindsay felt strangely giddy. In fact, could only barely suppress the urge to giggle. Her head was starting to spin and she could hear herself slurring her words.

"What do you mean?" Margo asked, her cheeks beginning to color.

"It's just, people's memories can be..." she searched for the word, "faulty."

"For your information, I trust what my father told me, whatever his flaws were. And I'm sure whatever he did, he did because he thought it was right. He only wants what's best for me and Jess. You really should be careful what you say about people's daddies," Margo said.

It was the first time Lindsay had ever heard Margo's words be anything but soft and cloying. "I didn't mean to upset you," Lindsay said. "I really am sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry I was sharp with you," Margo said, her anger seeming to dissipate almost as quickly as it had risen. "His pa.s.sing has been difficult for all of us. Especially Jess. He just adored her. For a long time, I didn't think I could have children, so she is especially dear to us all."

"I have a friend who's going through that now. It's hard," Lindsay said. Although she was able to hold up her end of the conversation, she was experiencing the odd sensation that she had no connection to the words rushing out of her mouth. They just emerged, like water from a spigot.

"Yancy and I married while I was still in high school because I was expecting, but then I lost the baby. We lost five little ones after that. It was a terrible, terrible time. My daddy took it harder than we did, I think. He was so beside himself he couldn't work. He sold his company. Everything he'd worked for. And wouldn't you know it? I got pregnant with Jess right after that. She's been such a blessing to our family. He was always superst.i.tious about the timing of that afterwards. Said selling the company lifted a curse that had been on us."

"A curse?" Lindsay repeated the words.

Adam came back into Lindsay's line of vision. "Sorry that took so long. Credit card machine problems. Anyway, you're all set."

Margo rose to leave. "Thank you." Turning to Lindsay she said. "I'm sorry again for snapping at you. Please tell Dunette I don't blame her, but Yancy said we can't let her take that money. Jess needs money for college, and Yancy says it's not right that a stranger should get it. He thinks maybe my daddy was confused near the end and someone took advantage of that. We have no choice but to fight this."

Lindsay wanted to ask her more questions, but her brain couldn't form the words. It was as if suddenly her skull had filled up with mola.s.ses. She watched Margo walk across the room and then said to Adam. "I don't feel very well. I think I need to go home." Again, the urge to laugh arose from her chest like champagne bubbles. "You're really hot. You know that?" she said, giggling like a middle-schooler.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked, his brow creasing with concern. "Did she say something to you?"

"No, I feel..." her words trailed off as she began to slouch in her seat.

"Whoa, I think you overestimated your tolerance," Adam said, seeing her empty gla.s.s and her inebriated condition. He put some cash on the table for their wine and said, "Let's get you out of here."

Lindsay found herself almost unable to stand under her own power. Her surroundings were now coming through in broken flashes. Adam hooking his arm around her waist. The fresh, sea salt smell of his skin. The eyes of the restaurant patrons on her as she stumbled out the door. Sitting in the pa.s.senger's seat of her Honda. Adam fishing through her purse for the keys.

The car was moving and she saw lights flashing by. "Sorry, I shouldn't have taken you out when you were so tired," Adam was saying. "I'll just drop you at your house. I can get a cab home."

Suddenly the car juddered to a halt. She saw him try the Honda key, and she watched it fall straight out of the ignition and onto the floor of the car. She tried to tell him that the key didn't usually work. When it fell out like that, you had to jimmy the ignition switch with the small metal rod attached to the keychain. But the words came out as if her mouth were filled with marbles.

"Lindsay? Are you okay?" Adam asked, seeming to suddenly realize that her condition was more than just fatigue and tipsiness. He leaned over her, looking into her eyes, and she could feel his warm breath on her face. Sweet and perfumed with wine.

Chapter 17.

When Lindsay regained awareness, she was lying alone in a hospital bed. She immediately recognized the spot as the area next to the main ER where patients waited to be seen by a doctor, or to be discharged or admitted. A curtain was drawn around her, but she could hear the sound of voices and hospital machines. Her head pounded; it felt simultaneously weightless and heavier than lead. She rolled onto her side and pressed the nurse call b.u.t.ton.