The Vines by Shelley Nolden (most motivational books .txt) 📗

Finn thought of Cora’s revelation about the spinal tap. If he told Rollie now, and Cora found out, he’d lose any chance of gaining her complete trust. “You sure about that?”

“Positive. I put up with his attitude toward her because I can’t afford to lose his assistance, but Kristian knows that if he ever crosses the line, I’ll tell Sylvia.” Rollie signaled for Finn to hold out his arms so he could check the seals on his gloves.

Finn nodded. He knew that Kristian cared a tremendous amount about Sylvia’s opinion of him. According to Rollie, Sylvia had delicately honored Petra’s memory while easing into the role of Kristian’s mother. Kristian had learned to look forward to the folded, clever riddles in his lunch box long before he realized how much he adored Sylvia.

Finishing the inspection, Rollie leaned back. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Finn’s pulse quickened. “Shoot.”

Rollie inhaled deeply through his respirator. “Cora killed your grandfather.”

Finn recoiled.

Everyone had told him that Ulrich had died of natural causes. Though, now in retrospect, the closed-casket funeral had seemed odd.

Clenching his fists, Finn pondered if it could be true. The more he learned about his family’s involvement with this woman, the more he sensed that he still didn’t know. The fact that he’d been the only one kept in the dark was infuriating.

“It’s true,” Rollie said softly. “Kristian was there.”

Finn ran his tongue along his teeth. Lily had mentioned Kristian saying something to her about Cora murdering someone in their family. She hadn’t taken him seriously, nor had she remembered his exact wording.

Considering Kristian had also lied about 9/11, when it had suited his needs for their project, Finn believed him capable of twisting the circumstances of Ulrich’s death to vilify Cora.

“Where did it happen?”

“There.” Rollie pointed toward the buildings by the docks.

“You took Kristian’s word for it?”

“I did the autopsy.”

“From what I’ve heard, Gramps deserved it,” Finn said, thinking of the whip mark scars on Cora’s back. Also, an offhand comment that Grandma Angela had once made now had him wondering if Ulrich had played a role in his great-grandfather’s disappearance.

“Did he deserve ‘overkill’?” Rollie asked. “At age ninety-one?”

“Seriously?” Finn asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Kristian brought your grandpa here, one last time, because Ulrich had found religion and wanted to beg Cora for forgiveness. Finn”—his voice cracked—“she showed no mercy. The way his frail body looked: no God-fearing person could have done that.”

Finn didn’t know what to say. He’d witnessed her hatred of his family, so intense she’d wanted to kill him simply because of his last name. Suddenly less confident that she would spare him a third time, he fished from his backpack the scalpel he’d pocketed after their first encounter, which he hoped to trade for his utility knife. Rubbing the small crucifix etched in its ivory hilt, he surmised that Ulrich must have said something that had made her snap. His stomach soured with the realization that the possibilities were endless.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“So, you understand how dangerous she is.”

“Our family made her this way.”

Rollie exhaled heavily. “That may be the case, but it hasn’t been a one way straight. Did Ulrich influence the way Kristian treats her? Absolutely. But the hatred: that came only after Kristian witnessed Cora slay his grandfather.”

Still processing this new information, Finn balanced her scalpel on his fingertip. His father’s admission had been well timed—an obvious effort to reinforce where Finn’s loyalties should remain during his upcoming encounter with her. Did he believe that Cora was capable of the act Rollie had described? Yes, but that didn’t make it true. Or her fault.

“You should keep that knife handy. Give me your arm,” Rollie said, flashing the roll of duct tape. “Low, out of sight.”

Reluctantly, Finn agreed. But what could one scalpel do against an entire pouchful, wielded by a woman skilled in the art of throwing them?

The pair shifted, so their backs faced the opening in the lighthouse remains. Finn held the scalpel to the underside of his left rubber glove as his dad secured it.

“The way Ulrich treated her changed her,” Rollie said, tucking the roll back into his duffel bag. “She’s no longer a rational, feeling human being. If she shows any signs of aggression, get out of there. She’s killed one of us; she’ll do it again.”

Great pep talk, Finn thought as he stood and faced the interior of her island.

“Tell me you heard me.”

“Got it,” Finn replied, his attention on the tree canopy. Taking a deep breath, he waded through the wild grass, toward the woman who’d viciously murdered his grandfather.

Fifteen Minutes Later

inn stepped into the shadow of the nurses’ residence, and a chill passed over his skin. Sapling limbs stretched from the first-floor windows, and kudzu vines covered the facade. Within a few decades they would tear the building apart. Would Cora still be trapped here to witness its collapse? Not if he could help it.

Glancing around the gloomy wild, he still couldn’t believe she’d survived here alone for forty-four years. If she didn’t announce her arrival by piercing him with one of her scalpels, he could offer to install a few “pretty lights in the trees.” Then again, her list of more practical needs had to be a mile long. Not that she would accept any kindness from a Gettler. Returning had been a mistake, yet not doing so hadn’t seemed like an option.

He should continue moving farther from Rollie, but he wanted Cora to find him here, near her favorite building.

To appear nonchalant, he studied the interplay of shade and deeper shadows on the brick façade. If he made it off this island, he would sketch this scene.

The squawking of the herons made it difficult to concentrate. She had to be awake; no one could sleep through that racket. Perspiration was pooling between his shoulder blades, and it would only get hotter within his