CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35

"Who?" Leah asked. "Who did Brooke confuse you with?" She shot Brooke a suspicious glare, then said, "And for the love of God, come inside. It's freezing out here." She shivered and held the door open.

Well, the cat was out of the bag now. "Eli is a dead ringer for a guy I used to know when I was selling hospital software," Brooke said, quickly coming up with a partial lie as she walked into the house. "His name was Gideon Ross."

"I get that a lot," Eli said as Shep streaked inside and he closed the door behind them. "People thinking I'm someone else."

"Really?" Leah shook her head. "Well, you must have gotten it wrong," she said to Brooke. "Hard, I know, to think that you made a mistake, but there you go." Then she turned to Eli. "Besides, I think you're pretty unique-looking." She winked. "And, of course, rakishly handsome."

"Of course," he replied, grinning at her but sliding a glance Brooke's way.

Not wanting to be witness to the sickening display, she walked into the kitchen, where she found a towel and started wiping down the counter just for something to do. Thankfully, Marilee was still upstairs.

She started to take off her jacket, then hesitated, considering the contents in her pockets. She considered hiding the knife and wallet in her bedroom and started for the stairs. As she did, she saw Leah kiss Eli lightly on the cheek, then wrinkle her nose. "You promised you would quit."

"After we're married," he reminded her.

"I'm going to hold you to it." Her eyes were sparkling again as she linked her fingers through his and pulled Eli into the living room, where her gaze landed on the stereo. Apparently, she hadn't noticed it before, probably because she was so wrapped up in her fiancé. "Oh my God, are these Nana's old records?" she asked, picking up the sleeves for the LPs and shuffling through them.

"Of course." Brooke shrugged out of her jacket and, with the intent of taking it upstairs at the first chance, kept an eye on Eli.

"I remember her playing these over and over. Do you?" she asked Brooke. She was already setting up the stereo, adjusting the speakers, and slipping an LP onto the turntable. A few seconds later Elvis's voice filled the room as he crooned "Blue Christmas." "Oh man," she whispered, stepping away from the stereo. "Mom used to play this right after Dad left." She seemed wistful. "It always made her so sad."

Neal stepped out of his office area and said, "Maybe we should listen to something a little more uplifting."

"Yeah," Brooke agreed. The last thing she needed was for any of them to get maudlin.

But Leah refilled her champagne flute with the end of the bottle she found on a side table, then began dancing slowly in front of the fire. "Nana used to get so mad at her."

"True." Brooke didn't want to think about it. She wanted to stop the record from spinning and sending out its sad notes, but because of Leah, she tamped down the urge and went back to polish the kitchen counter until it gleamed. She preferred not to think about their mother's grief when Douglas Fletcher decided he was a free spirit who couldn't be caged, that he no longer needed or wanted to be tied down by a wife and two daughters.

Thankfully, the song ended, but all of a sudden Leah was at the turntable again, lifting the needle intending to replay the song.

"Don't," Brooke said. "This is a celebration, right? No need to think about unhappy times."

"But I love this song! It was Mom's favorite!" And Elvis's voice began singing again. She began to sway. "That's your problem, Brooke," she said. "You never want to face the pain in your life so you never get over it."

"So now you're a psychologist."

"I've had a lot of counseling," she admitted.

"From a trainer?"

"And certified psychologists!"

"Because of all your divorces?" Brooke said and wanted to call back the words when she noticed Leah flinch.

Then her sister rounded on her. "Sure I got help dealing with my anger and despair when I went through the breakup of my marriages, all of them. But every time I went to a counselor it came out that most of my ‘problems'"—she used air quotes with her fingers—"were mainly because of you, Brooke. My feelings of inadequacy and my need for love stemmed from our toxic relationship and what you did to me."

"Because of me?" Brooke shook her head so hard her ponytail loosened. "Save me! That's BS and you know it. I didn't put a gun to your head and force you to marry any of those losers!"

Leah sucked a breath through her teeth. She looked like she'd been slapped. "You started it all!" she accused, venom lacing her words. "With Neal."

"Oh whoa. For the love of—" Neal said, coming out of the laundry area, as he stopped short. "Don't," he warned.

"Why not?" she countered, her eyes narrowing on him. "Don't tell me you still feel guilty."

"Leah," he warned.

Brooke caught Eli silently watching the display, his eyes taking in the whole scenario.

Leah was on a roll. "He does, you know," she said to Brooke. "And if you ask me, I think he's never really gotten over me." Her chin was angled defiantly. "Right?" she threw out at her brother-in-law. "Come on, Neal. Admit it."

Neal frowned. "I think you've had a little too much to drink."

"Sure. Blame it on the alcohol. Or me. Or even Marilee, because you knocked up Brooke when you were still seeing me, but why the hell aren't you man enough to admit the truth?" she accused before knocking back the remains of her drink and attempting to set the flute on the mantel. The slim glass teetered. Leah made a grab for it, but it toppled and smashed on the rough stones of the hearth.

"Oh no! Mom's champagne flute!" She glared at Brooke, tears sprouting. "Look what you made me do!"

"Me?" Brooke rounded the peninsula, and while Elvis kept singing about loneliness at Christmas, she used a towel to pick up the shards and dab at the bits of spilled champagne. "I didn't make you do anything."

"Of course you did! You're the reason my life is the way it is! You always try to ruin everything!"

"What?" Brooke was immediately incensed. "Don't blame me!"

Leah threw an angry look at the kitchen, where Neal, standing on the other side of the peninsula, was watching the ugly drama unfold. Then she snarled at Brooke, "You started it all!" Her voice was low, almost menacing, barely audible over the stereo, but Brooke heard it loud and clear. "I shouldn't have listened to Eli! I should never have come back here!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have!" Brooke said. And before Elvis could sing another note she stalked to the record player and clicked it off, the needle skipping over the old grooves with an earsplitting shriek.

"You're horrible!" Leah said and left the room, stomping quickly up the stairs and down the short hallway. A second later a door slammed so hard it shook the entire house.

"And Merry Christmas to you too!" Brooke flung the towel and broken glass into the kitchen sink as Eli took off after his fiancée, his boots ringing on the stairs.

"Christ, Brooke," Neal said. "Can't you ever give Leah a break?"

"Yes. Yes, I can. When she gives me one! What kind of stunt is she pulling, huh? Springing a surprise fiancé on us whom she intends to marry right here, on our vacation. A guy we've never heard of, let alone met! Who does that?" she demanded.

"Maybe someone who wants to be a part of the family again."

Stunned, she stared at him, this man she'd married years before and sometimes didn't think she knew. "Why do you always do that?" she demanded, thinking of the way Leah had goaded him. "Why do you feel some inner need to defend her?"

"Maybe because she needs a champion."

"She's got Gid—Eli! He can be her champion!"

"What's going on?" Marilee called from the top of the stairs before quick, light steps could be heard and she and Shep came into the living room, where Brooke was still picking up pieces of glass. "Wait, don't tell me!" She held up a hand for dramatic effect. "Mom and Aunt Leah are fighting. Again."

"That's about it," Neal said. "Look, I'm out of it." He held up his hands and walked backward toward his makeshift office. "This is between your mother and her sister." Then he closed the heavy pocket door to the laundry room, a door rarely used.

"As if you aren't in the middle of it," Brooke yelled, and Marilee sent Brooke an I-can't-stand-this look.

"Figure it out," Marilee said, her chin jutted out angrily. "And both of you—you and Leah—grow the fuck up! Thank God I didn't invite Wes into this shitstorm!"

"Wow!" Brooke was stunned at Marilee's language. "Don't you ever talk to me like that again!" Brooke warned, but Marilee was out of the room and up the stairs, Shep at her heels.

"Great. Just . . . great." A headache beginning to throb behind her eyes, Brooke leaned against the kitchen counter and took deep breaths. First two. Then five. Then ten. Until she felt her blood pressure returning to normal and some of her mercurial anger subside. She was still pissed beyond pissed at her sister, still didn't trust Eli Stone, and was furious with her daughter, but she tried to rein in all her fury.

It was Christmas.

They were a family.

And Leah, whether Brooke liked it or not, was marrying Eli Stone.

Whoever the hell he was.

The headache fueled by the aftereffects of the alcohol, arguments, and head-splitting memories was really taking hold. She found some Tylenol in the kitchen cupboard near the sink and uncapped the bottle just as she heard a door close upstairs and then heavy steps as Eli returned.

Perfect, she thought, shaking out two capsules and swallowing them dry. For the first time they were relatively alone. Dangerous as that may be, there was a chance she could get some answers, or that he might slip up and reveal himself.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, glancing around.

"They all retreated to their corners. Leah's upstairs, right?"

He gave a short nod. "And pissed."

"She and I got into it," she explained. "Too much alcohol. Too little good judgment. And then there's the problem of the mystery fiancé."

"No mystery," he insisted, but beyond his innocence she saw something darker—or was she imagining it all?

"I just want you to know that I don't believe a word you say. Why aren't you with your family? It's Christmas."

"Don't have one."

"Convenient."

He winced. "That's harsh."

"Okay. Maybe." Was he playing her? Of course. "So why don't you have one?"

"Car accident. Long time ago."

He was serious. Grim. And for the first time Brooke thought there was a grain of truth to his words. "Your parents?"

"And brother."

"God, I'm sorry," she said automatically, though she still didn't trust him.

The corners of his mouth turned down. "Yeah. A Silverado's a great pickup. Turns out it's no match for a fully loaded log truck." His voice was flat. "Dad and my brother died at the scene. Mom a couple of days later. " His eyes had turned dark and she sensed a resentment that hadn't been there earlier. "Anything else you want to know?"

She felt a fleeting pang of regret but reminded herself that this man was an incredible liar, so she plowed on, ignoring the hard set of his jaw. "What about other siblings? I'd think they'd want to come to the wedding."

Something glittered in his eyes. Something dangerous. It came quickly but just as rapidly vanished. He gave his head a sharp shake. "Just Jake, and he's gone."

"When did it happen?" she asked.

He hesitated. Then lifted a shoulder. "A while. Goin' on twenty years or so."

"You were just a kid—teenager," she said, telling herself the story might not be true, not to fall for it, reminding herself this was the man who'd sworn he'd never let her go. And now he was back. Lying. Pretending to be someone else. All her defenses were up.

He shrugged at the mention of his age. "Doesn't matter. I got by."

"Hey!" Leah said, visible through the archway opening to the staircase. She was standing at the landing, where the stairs turned upward. She appeared to have calmed a bit, some of her inebriated anger having disappeared. And she'd changed clothes. Red lace peeked from beneath the thick collar of a fluffy white robe. "What is this? Twenty questions?"

"Fifty," he replied, looking up at her.

Leah glared down at her sister. "What're you doing, Brooke?"

"Just getting to know my new or soon-to-be brother-in-law."

"Sure." Leah let out a long sigh as she started down the steps. "See what I mean?" she said to Eli. "Impossible."

"What's impossible?" Brooke demanded.

"You, to begin with, and this entire hostile situation." She flung out an arm to dramatically encompass the entire house and everyone and everything in it. Then she gave Eli a pouting look. "I told you coming up here was a bad idea, that it wouldn't work."

"It would if you two wanted it to," he said and climbed the stairs. Leah stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. It was just too much.

Brooke needed time and space, some breathing room, so she found Shep's leash and threw on her jacket, then stepped into boots. As she did so, she felt the weight of Eli's wallet and knife in the pockets and smiled to herself. "I'm going to take Shep out for a walk," she said to the house as a whole as the dog trotted up and she snapped the leash to his collar.

"Now?" Neal asked as he deigned to come out of his makeshift office. "It's really coming down outside. I saw on my phone it's gonna be bad, a blizzard."

"Short walk." She was desperate to get out of the house, to sort things out in her mind. "We'll be fine."

"If you say so." For a second she thought Neal might offer to join them, but he only said, "Just be careful."

"Always am," she lied and saw Eli raise a doubting eyebrow. Yeah, he knew way too much about her not to be Gideon. She just had to prove it, she told herself as she walked out the door, Shep pulling on the leash.

Outside the wind had died, at least temporarily. Her headache was lessening and she took in a deep breath of the ice-cold air. The street was quiet, a hush with the snow.

Huge flakes were falling rapidly, providing a veil and, in Brooke's case, a cover.

Her boots crunched, packing down the undisturbed snow as she passed a few houses, noting the winking lights and displays. She remembered that when Nana was alive, they too had strung colored lights over the eaves and at one point, long ago, displayed a wooden Santa with one mittened hand in the air and, over the opposite shoulder, a huge bag with a jack-in-the-box and a teddy bear spilling out of it.

But that had been years ago, when Brooke and Leah were children and life made sense. Now everything was upside down. She walked to the single streetlamp and stood just out of its glow. After checking to see that she was alone, she pulled Eli's wallet from her pocket and flipped it open. His driver's license was visible behind a plastic window. She squinted but saw Eli's picture on the card. His name, Eli John Stone, was legible and his birth date was listed, not the same as Gideon's, but she noted the California license was issued in the last year.... Height and weight, color of eyes and hair were meaningless; all could be altered with lifts, padding, contact lenses, and dye. She made note of his address . . . maybe a landlord could provide information. But behind the California license was an older one, this one issued by the State of Oregon, again to Eli John Stone. He appeared younger in this DMV picture, his hair darker, his eyes listed as hazel, his weight five pounds lighter.

Gideon!

"Got ya," she whispered.

She flipped through insurance and credit cards, then, with her back to the house, pulled off one glove for a steadier hand and took pictures of all of his ID with her cell phone. He had a little cash with him, under a hundred dollars, but there was no other clue within. Who are you really? She wondered if Eli Stone was his real name, if Gideon Ross was the alias.

If there was one.

But why would Gideon have lied on their first meeting?

Why would he get involved with Leah and insist on traveling here and meet her family? Just to taunt Brooke? After over a year? Nothing was making any sense. She stuffed the wallet back into her pocket. Lost in thought, she walked farther along the road that ran along the east side of the island. Across the dark water, blurred by the still-falling snow, the lights of Marwood were visible.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said.

Brooke nearly jumped out of her skin.

Shep gave off a startled bark.

Turning, Brooke spied Gina Duquette as she approached. She was pulling a kid's sled filled with white sacks printed with the name, web address, and phone number of the bakery. In a separate box a scruffy black-and-white terrier was riding in the wagon, a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head.

"Didn't mean to creep up on you," she said. Bundled in a puffy coat, a knit cap, earmuffs and gloves, she dragged the sled into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. "I just love the snow. It's so quiet out, you know. Peaceful. I love it almost as much as I love Christmas."

"What're you doing?" Brooke asked.

"It's a tradition I started about what—maybe eight, nine years ago. I make a few extra cookies, tarts, and rolls, whatever, but extra on Christmas Eve of course. And what we don't sell I donate, mostly to the church, but I always save some for the neighbors on the street. Jasper and I deliver them." She winked. "Goodwill, you know, and good for business. Look, I've got a bag for you and your family." She reached down, picked up a sack, and handed it to a stunned Brooke while Jasper stood and stretched, bright eyes on Shep.

"That's very nice," she said, restraining her dog from climbing aboard the sled to greet the little dog. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Shep, tail wagging as he strained on the leash, whined loudly.

"Brooke?" She heard Neal's voice.

"I guess I'd better get back."

"And I need to deliver the rest of these before the snow gets too deep," Gina said. "The Drummonds are here this year and they've got a new little granddaughter that I can't wait to meet."

"Brooke?" She heard her husband calling for her again, just as Neal's dark figure appeared and Shep, with an excited bark, ran up to greet him, nearly pulling Brooke's arm from its socket. "There you are!"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, the lights flickered again and I couldn't find the backup battery charger we brought, the one that you can plug your laptop into."

"It's in the bedroom, I think, the small overnight bag. Neal, this is Mrs. Duquette. She owns the bakery and is out playing Santa Claus to the neighborhood."

"Gina," the older woman corrected as the terrier made circles before settling back in his bed. "Mrs. Duquette was my mother-in-law, God rest her soul, and she was . . . I guess a woman who knew her own mind is the best way to say it. Glad to see you back here." She was smiling up at Neal.

"Back?" Brooke repeated.

"Yes, yes, I saw you at the house." She was still grinning at Neal. "When I was walking Jasper here. Late last summer, when the weather was a lot warmer than this."

"Last summer?" Brooke said and saw that Neal was standing stock-still.

"Yes, Labor Day, you were here with Leah!" She turned her eyes to Brooke. "Remember, I told you I saw her with a man. So how is she? I assume she's here with you."

"Leah's here," Brooke said, though her gaze was glued to her husband's face. "But this is Neal, my husband."

"You must be mistaken," Neal said to Gina. He was recovering a bit, but again Brooke noticed his telltale tic, pulsing at his temple.

He was lying.

Brooke knew it.

And if she remembered correctly, around Labor Day Neal had been in California, working with a client.... What the hell?

"Oh. Well." Gina frowned. "I must be slipping. I'm horrible with names and I admit it, but I never forget a face." Then, in the awkward silence that followed, she added, "Jasper and I'd better get running along." Wiggling her gloved fingers, she added, "Merry Christmas," then took up the handle of her sled again.

"What the hell was that all about?" Brooke said. "You were here in September? With Leah?"

Neal opened his mouth, about to lie, but thought better of it. "Okay, fine. Yes. You caught me." He let out a long sigh, his breath fogging. "It's about the money she owes us. You know money's been tight, what with Marilee's boarding school and college on the horizon. So Leah and I have been talking."

"About?"

"About selling the cabin," he admitted.

"What?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Nana's cabin? My cabin? You're kidding, right?"

"No." He shook his head. "In September we met with a Realtor, over in Marwood." He motioned to the bay. "Thought we might put it on the market in the spring, when the market's good for vacation buyers. That's why I was so insistent that we come here," he admitted. "I thought it might be our last time."

"And you didn't think to talk to me about it. Your wife. The woman whose name is on the deed?" she said, stunned. "Instead, you went behind my back?"

"I knew—we knew you wouldn't go for it."

"Damn right I won't! This is my cabin, Neal, and someday it will be Marilee's! You and I—we agreed about that. Years ago. We wanted to keep it in the family."

"It's also half Leah's," he reminded her as the wind blew colder and the sound of the surf in the distance became louder.

"Not quite. Because of the loan you gave her."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but that doesn't cover all of her interest. She still owns a portion."

"Nonetheless, you had no right—none—to talk to my sister without consulting me, no right to plot about selling the cabin." She stared up at him through the falling snow. "Neal, what the eff were you thinking?"

Before he could answer she was quickly putting two and two together. "You've been talking to Leah about this, haven't you? Oh—oh crap." It was hitting her like a ton of bricks. Neal and Leah—in this together. "I've seen you behind the woodshed door, and then again, I found out you lied about leaving your wallet at the store. Hank Thatcher told me you were on the phone the whole time."

"You've been checking up on me?" he asked, trying to look outraged.

"No! But I should have."

"You're a great one to talk, Brooke," he accused, but she wasn't going to listen to any outlandish lies or excuses he could come up with. She shoved Gina Duquette's sack of pastries into his arms, then slapped Shep's leash onto his palm. "The answer is no! I'm not selling. Ever. Got that?" So angry she was shaking, she added, "So go tell Leah and . . . and whatever his name is that the cabin stays in the family!"

With that, she took off at a jog, away from her lying husband, away from the cabin that he and her sister planned to sell, and away from Gideon-fucking-Ross.

She didn't look back, just felt the cold air fill her lungs as her blood began to pump through her veins. Her mind spun, the headache at bay now returning. How long had Neal and Leah been plotting to sell the cabin? How many times had they met? Was it all as Neal said, about money and selling Nana's cottage, or was there more to it? Gina Duquette had thought them husband and wife. In fact, she'd seemed certain they were a couple.

Were they?

No, that didn't make sense.

Leah was obviously over the moon in love with the man she believed was Eli Stone. Those emotions weren't faked. Brooke had witnessed her sister in love often enough to know.

But she hadn't met Eli until after Labor Day, sometime in September, so maybe Leah and Neal had been involved before Leah met Eli. Maybe they'd been having an affair for a long while. Maybe that was why Neal was so eager to lend Leah money, to keep her close and to keep her quiet.

Brooke kept running, filling her lungs, stretching her legs, and trying to keep control of her emotions. She needed a clear head no matter how heartsick she felt.

Don't jump to conclusions. Just figure out what's going on.

She reached the landing.

If the general store were open, she would have marched in, bought a pack of Marlboro Lights and a bottle of cheap wine with some of the money in Eli's wallet, and thrown herself a pity party. But the store was closed, and on second thought she didn't need a hit of nicotine or a slug of alcohol to settle her nerves. She needed to think and think clearly.

She felt as if she were a marionette in some dark scheme and her sister, husband, and Eli/Gideon were pulling the strings.

Well, no more.

It was time to turn the tables on them all.

God, she wished she had a cigarette.

No, no! Think, Brooke, think!

Brooke pushed herself and kept running down to the ferry landing and past the tall piers and boats rocking on the water. She felt snowflakes melting on her cheeks and smelled the salt from the sea, which of course reminded her of her struggle with Gideon under the water in Elliott Bay.

Unlike her sister, Brooke didn't like the role of victim; she refused to play it. No way. And she was tired of hiding and cowering and fearing her family would find out the truth. She'd never been a coward in her life, but ever since her affair with Gideon she'd let her own fears and the threats of others rule her life.

No more.

And an idea was coming to her mind, a plan beginning to form.

She made a big loop in the snow and started running toward the cabin.

The words of "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono ran through her mind. She threw a question at herself. It wasn't "What have you done?" No, the question was, "What are you going to do?"

As the wind began to pick up, she knew the answer.

It was time to turn the damned tables.