Dark Debts by Karen Hall Page A

out later.
    Halfway to the front door, a sound caused her to stop.
    An old man was standing in front of the living room window, staring down at the street. He looked up and saw Randa. His face showed no sign of surprise, or any other emotion.
    â€œIt’s a long way down, isn’t it?” He had a soft voice and a refined Southern accent, as smooth as old scotch. “Me, I’d go with pills. It wouldn’t hurt, it wouldn’t make a mess, and it wouldn’t bother anybody else’s life.”
    Wearing a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and maroon tie, all of which looked expensive, he was an attractive man for his age, with a full head of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. There was a calmness in his eyes that would have been comforting under different circumstances.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Randa said, putting the scrapbooks down. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.” It sounded stupid, but she had to start somewhere.
    â€œI’m Ryland Parker,” he said, simply. “Cam’s uncle.”
    Lucy’s twin brother. Now she recognized him from the photos she’d seen, although he was much older. She had completely forgotten about him when the cops were asking about Cam’s relatives. Actually, it had never dawned on her that he would still be alive.
    â€œOh, yes. Of course. I’m sorry, I guess the detectives wondered why I didn’t tell them about you, but I didn’t remember . . .”
    â€œWell, I’m sure Cam didn’t talk about me very much. We weren’t close.”
    She wondered how the cops had managed to find him, but there was no polite way to ask.
    â€œI’m an old friend of Cam’s,” she said. “I was just . . .” Just what? Just sitting on the floor of his closet, sobbing?
    â€œWhat were you planning to do with the books?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but Randa felt guilty just the same.
    â€œOh. I thought someone in the family should have them. I guess that would be you.” She picked up the books and started to hand them to him, but he waved her off.
    â€œNo, not me. Jack should have them.”
    â€œWell, that’s what I thought, I’d try to find a way . . . Do you know where he lives?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen I guess you could take them . . .”
    He was shaking his head. “No.” He didn’t offer an explanation. He turned toward the window again, this time looking straight out, at the lights of the city.
    â€œCam would have to have a place with a view, wouldn’t he? Always looking somewhere. Looking in, looking out, looking back. Where did all that looking get him, except looking in a rather unfortunate direction when he finally decided to follow his own gaze.”
    Randa suddenly remembered what Cam had said about Ryland.
    â€œHe makes my mother look sane.”
    â€œBut,” he went on, “he was doing the best he could, all things considered. Like they all did.” He looked back at her. “You have to take the books to Jack,” he said suddenly.
    â€œMe?”
    He nodded. “And tell him about Cam’s death. Everything you know about it.”
    â€œThat’s crazy. Why can’t you tell him?”
    â€œI doubt he would see me,” Ryland said, shaking his head.
    â€œThen leave them at his door with a note. I’m not going to fly three thousand miles to hand two scrapbooks to someone I’ve never met when you know him and you’ll be there anyway . . . that’s crazy.”
    He was suddenly right beside her, staring intently into her eyes. “Listen to me. This is not about the books. It’s about getting through Jack Landry’s thick skull, and I can’t do it.”
    â€œWhat on earth makes you think I could?”
    â€œIn the first place, you’re the only person left alive who might conceivably want to. And you’re a very