Page 126 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Forty-Two
Anthony
Ivy’s pale and cold to the touch, as though remembering Charlene robbed her of color and vitality. Her eyes are darker, haunted. I hate it that coming here has cost her so much already.
How much more will she pay when other flashbacks come? How much worse is it going to be when she actually sees the Blackwood mansion…and faces my parents?
I wish I didn’t have to bring Ivy here…that this was something I could take care of myself. But even if I could, she wouldn’t let me. She worries about me, doesn’t want to burden me if she can share the weight. Which only makes me love her more.
As we leave the scene of the accident behind, I make a mental note to locate Charlene’s parents. It shouldn’t be that hard as long as they haven’t moved. Something like a girl just vanishing, even if it’s been years, tends to stick in the minds of folks in a town as small as Augustine.
Edgar’s place is only a few miles from the family mansion, and isn’t difficult to locate. It’s a sprawling home with three main sections. The surrounding garden is colorful with summer flowers in bloom. Not Edgar’s doing, since he isn’t really into flowers or gardening.
“Welcome to Tempérane!” Edgar opens the door upon our arrival.
Unlike me and Harry, he has Father’s size—wide shoulders, thick torso and strong legs—and Father’s face, the intense green eyes a shade darker than mine and the boldly cut nose and cheeks. He’s dressed in a burgundy Harvard T-shirt and running shorts.
He slaps my shoulder, then hugs Ivy. If he noticed her pallor, he doesn’t comment, for which I’m grateful. She’s trying hard to act normal, and I want her to feel normal after the horrible flashback on the highway.
He gives Bobbi a warm smile. “You must be Bobbi.”
“In the slightly sweaty flesh.” She pumps his hand.
“Yeah, this place will knock you right over if you’re not used to it. Come on in. You all must be tired from the trip.”
He helps us with our bags, then leads us into his home. Earth-tone tiles, dark wood and high ceilings with antebellum fans to help keep the place cool. It’s very masculine, very bachelor-like. But that’s Edgar.
“So let me show you how things are laid out. This is the parlor, and over there is the kitchen,” he explains, starting a slow walk and gesturing with one hand. “Help yourselves to anything you like.”
Even the kitchen’s very male in a way—straight, bold lines, simple green walls. Bobbi’s checking out the four ovens and eight burners with approval, while Ivy barely spares a glance.
“The kitchen’s supposedly fully stocked. I don’t cook, so I’m not sure,” Edgar adds. I see Bobbi shoot him a look.
In one of the rooms we’re passing through, Ivy stops short and stares up at the head of a huge deer mounted on the wall. It’s impossible to ignore, and I feel the old, painful memory picking at the edge of my mind.
“Twenty-point buck,” Edgar says. “Shot it a couple of years ago.”
Not surprising. He’s always been a good hunter. He has the necessary patience and temperament for it and taught me how when I was old enough. I’m sure he’s only gotten better. I quit hunting the day Katherine died. I can’t stand the feel of a rifle, the weight of one in my hands. The sight of her bleeding out on the forest floor… It’s etched onto my mind, and even now, I can cope only by ensuring I don’t do anything that reminds me of that day.
“You don’t mount all your…uh…deer?” Ivy asks.
“No. That’s the only one. Mom insisted, because it was such a handsome beast.”
Mom was right. The buck was worth the effort. Part of me wonders if she’s no longer bothered by deer hunting. Why the hell not? Doesn’t it remind her of Katherine?
Bobbi wanders over to a wall with a couple dozen guns mounted on racks. “Nice collection.”
“Thanks.” Edgar smiles. “You shoot?”
“Yeah. Gotta keep the skills up in my line of work.”
Edgar nods. “Well, there’s ammo in the drawers there and a range out back if you want to get some practice.”
“Is it safe to keep everything out like that?” Ivy asks, studying the weapons.
“It’s just me here. If I ever get married and have kids, believe me, I’ll lock it all up.”
Edgar takes us through the rest of the house, pointing out bathrooms and a laundry room. Finally, we reach our guest suite in the west wing. It’s huge, with a king-sized four-poster bed and a well-appointed sitting area with a love seat, an armchair and a medium-sized coffee table made of cherry.
