Page 8 of Dead Girl Running

“That’s what he told you! He married a girl half his age!”

Cecilia looked down at the cracked granite that formed the cliffs. She inched closer to the edge, wanting to see the waves pounding on the rocks below.

Kellen caught her arm. “You’re not committing suicide on my watch.” She looked back at the estate, at the mansion nestled into the cup of the hill and Cecilia’s tiny home on the edge of the cliff. “You’re not even in the main house. You’re living in the…in the maid’s quarters.”

“Honeymoon cottage.”

“Honeymoon-from-hell cottage! One bedroom, one bathroom. Built in the 1950s with all the ugly styling still in place.”

“The house isn’t awful. When the storms blow in, we lose power. But the Lykke mansion is historic. It would be unkind for me to…to impose myself as Gregory’s wife.” With the backs of her hands, Cecilia whisked away bewildered tears.

“Unkind. That’s bullshit. You are his wife. You should be first.” Kellen looked around. “I’m your cousin, and you can’t even invite me in, can you?”

“I…”

“I couldn’t come up until you called and gave me the all clear. You didn’t want me to drive my own car up here. You didn’t want your Gregory to know you had a relative arriving to support you. Did you even tell him I was coming?”

“I did! I told him.” Because she was afraid not to.

“What did he say?”

“He, um, asked if you were coming to take me away.” Cecilia bent her head and stared at her own skinny hands. “I said no.”

A pause, then with impeccable logic, Kellen said, “That’s because I can’t take you away. But I can help you get away.”

“I said no, you weren’t going to take me away,” Cecilia repeated. She had said no, over and over, while he harangued her, accused her, grabbed her wrist and squeezed and twisted. Finally, in a flare of temper, she had shouted, “Yes. Yes! I’m leaving with Kellen!”

Gregory had released her and backed away. In a low voice, he’d said, “If you leave me, I’ll kill you and I’ll kill myself.”

Cecilia hadn’t cared what he threatened. She’d curled protectively around her wrist, wondered if the bones were cracked, realized she would have to wear long sleeves for Kellen’s visit. For all the good that did, as soon as Kellen had stepped out of the cab into Maine’s summer sunshine, she had seen through Cecilia’s poor attempt at concealment. Kellen had slid up the sleeve and looked at the bruises, and right away she had known the truth.

“His sister is a problem, isn’t she?” Kellen asked.

“Erin is older, an important part of the family business.” Honesty caught Cecilia by the throat, and she confessed, “She doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“She sounds as if she loves her brother a little too much.”

Cecilia winced. “She feels as if she needs to protect him. She thinks I…seduced him.”

“What does she think about him hitting you?”

“I don’t know.”That I deserve it.

“They’re all sick. He’s sick.”

“No. Really, Kellen Rae…”

“Honey. Sweetheart. You’re my cousin. When your parents died and my folks brought you home, you were so timid, so sad. I tried to make you strong—”

“You did! You made me so much braver. But I’m not like you. I’m not—”

Kellen’s interruption was brutal and direct. “A lesbian?”

They had never spoken of this before. “No. I’m not a lesbian.”

Kellen looked out to sea, seeking something on the horizon: understanding, solace…something. “I came out of the closet to Mama and Papa. They threw me out of the house, told me I was going to hell unless I repented.”

Cecilia heard a world of pain in Kellen’s voice. Putting her arms around her, she said, “I didn’t want that for you.”