Promise Not To Tell(28)

Virginia had the good sense to hold her tongue.

“Thank you,” Cabot said.

Octavia met his eyes. “If you’re right, if that bastard Zane is still alive, I will be happy to get a gun and kill him myself.”

“You’ll have to get in line,” Cabot said. “And I’d better warn you, it’s a very long line.”

“Who’s at the front?” Octavia asked. “You and your brothers?”

“No,” Cabot said. “My foster dad, Anson Salinas.”

CHAPTER 16

“Got to tell you, that went much better than I expected,” Virginia said. “Octavia has refused to answer most of my questions about the past.”

“Probably because she doesn’t have many answers and she doesn’t like the ones she does have,” Cabot said.

They were alone in the elevator of Virginia’s condo building. It was located only a few blocks from the Space Needle, but the view of the iconic Seattle landmark had been obstructed by a host of new business and residential towers.

The building had a large footprint – it covered a big chunk of a city block – but it was not a tower. In fact, it was only six stories high. The ground floor was home to some small shops, cafés and a coffeehouse.

The elevator stopped on the third floor. When the doors opened, he gripped the handle of the small, wheeled overnight bag that Virginia had taken to Lost Island and followed her out into the corridor.

“My place is at the end of the hall,” she said.

Cabot looked toward the far end of the corridor and noted the Exit sign marking the emergency stairs. No surprise. When he had gone apartment hunting after arriving in Seattle, he had only looked at units that were located near the fire stairs.

“What do you mean when you say Octavia doesn’t like the answers she does have?” Virginia asked.

Octavia had responded to the questions he’d asked, but she wasn’t able to supply anything that was new or substantive. She hadn’t even been aware of the death of her son-in-law or the fact that her daughter and granddaughter had been swept into Zane’s cult until after Kimberly had taken Virginia to live in the first compound outside of Wallerton.

“Your grandmother blames herself for having driven your mother into the cult,” he said.

Stunned, Virginia went very still, her key half inserted into the lock.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Octavia blames my father for having destroyed my mother’s life. And she blames me for being the cause of my parents’ marriage. She thinks that if my mother hadn’t gotten pregnant, everything would have turned out differently.”

Cabot reminded himself that he wasn’t a trained psychologist. “Maybe I read her wrong,” he said. “Families are complicated.”

Virginia’s mouth tightened. “No kidding.”

“It’s just that there was something about her expression and her tone of voice when she answered my questions.”

“She’s angry and bitter.”

“That, too. But she doesn’t hold you responsible. Like I said, she blames herself.”

Virginia shoved the key into the lock. “Trust me, she blames me and my father. And she’s got a point. If it hadn’t been for me, my mother probably wouldn’t have ended up in Zane’s cult.”

“My mother’s father blamed me and my dad, too. The old man figured that if he disowned my mother, she would see the light, dump my father and go home. Instead, she wound up in the cult.”

“What makes you so sure you’re not wrong about your analysis of your grandfather? Maybe deep down he blamed himself for being so hard on your mother. That’s probably why he left you a little bequest.”

“Maybe.”

“At least my grandmother and I are still speaking to each other,” Virginia said.

“Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay.”

The door of the neighboring apartment opened. A tiny, wiry woman who appeared to be somewhere between eighty-five and a hundred peered out. She was dressed in a sky-blue velour tracksuit and sturdy walking shoes. There were a lot of rings on her wrinkled fingers. She studied Cabot with undisguised curiosity and then beamed at Virginia.

“Oh, you’re back, dear,” she said. “I see you have a new friend. Are you going to introduce me?”

Virginia looked at her. “Hi, Betty. This is Cabot Sutter. Cabot, this is Betty Higgins.”

“How do you do, Ms. Higgins,” Cabot said.

“Call me Betty, dear. How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not staying,” Cabot said. “This is Virginia’s overnight bag. I’ve my own apartment on Second Avenue.”

“Just a few blocks away. Very convenient.” Betty switched her attention back to Virginia, eyes narrowing in a speculative manner. “He doesn’t look like one of your artist friends, dear.”

“No,” Virginia said. “Cabot’s in another line of work.”

“You mean he has a steady job? Oh, how nice. A position with benefits, perhaps?”

“It has a few,” Cabot allowed.

Betty smiled approvingly.

“Don’t get any ideas, Betty,” Virginia said. “Cabot is a… friend. From the old days.”