Copper Beach

the door and took out the fake sausages.

    “You’re sure you don’t have any idea of why your stepbrother is here today?” he asked.

    “Nope.” She watched him place the sausages on the two plates that held the fried eggs and slices of toast smeared with peanut butter. “That looks good. I think I’m hungry.”

    He set the plates on the counter and walked around the corner to sit down beside Abby. He eyed the soy sausages and reminded himself to keep an open mind. “I take it you’re a vegetarian?”

    “Not entirely.” She took a bite out of a slice of the toast. “I eat fish.”

    He picked up a fork. “When was the last time you saw Dawson?”

    “A couple of months ago. He’s got a house on Queen Anne. We ran into each other by chance in a restaurant here in Belltown. I was with Gwen and Nick. Dawson was having dinner with his fiancée. We said hello. Introductions were made, and that was about it.”

    “You meant it when you said that you aren’t close, didn’t you?”

    She shrugged. “We have nothing in common, certainly not a bloodline. I was twelve and he was thirteen when I went to live with my father and his new family. That happened because my mother died. Dad didn’t have much choice except to take me in. Dawson and I both developed immediate resentment issues. I didn’t like his mother, Diana, trying to parent me. Dawson didn’t like my father trying to parent him. Things got even more complicated when the twins were born later that year.”

    “Okay, I think I’m seeing the dynamics here.”

    “And then there was the inheritance issue. Dawson’s grandmother did not approve of her daughter marrying my father. She insisted on a prenuptial agreement and made it clear that when it came to the Strickland money, I was not considered family. Not that I gave a damn about the financial aspects of the situation. I was just a kid, but by then I already understood that money follows blood. I didn’t have a problem with that fact of life. The little lecture that Orinda Dawson gave me when I turned thirteen was entirely unnecessary, however.”

    Sam winced. “She gave you the talk about inheritance issues when you were just a kid?”

    “The financial stuff wasn’t a big deal. Like I said, I already understood how that worked. But Dawson’s grandmother is one scary lady. She certainly scared the daylights out of me, at any rate. But in hindsight, I think it’s only fair to say that she was horrified by me. Actually, everyone was.”

    “Because of your talent?”

    “I was just coming into it when I moved in. But within the year, it was obvious that I was going to be a little different. Orinda did not want anyone to think that the family bloodline was tainted by weirdness.”

    “She didn’t understand what was going on with you?”

    “No, and neither did the others. I made them all very nervous. I saw a series of counselors and shrinks, and made the fatal mistake of trying to convince each of them that I really did sense paranormal energy in some books. And then there were the incidents I mentioned.”

    “The fire-setting stuff ?”

    “You wouldn’t believe how that kind of thing upsets folks. Eventually, the decision was made to send me to the Summerlight Academy. That’s where I learned to pass for normal. Mostly.”

    The doorbell chimed. Newton growled softly and glared down the length of the front hall.

    Abby sighed and set down her cup. “That will be Dawson.”

    She slipped off the stool and went down the hall. Newton followed, hovering near her in a protective manner. Maybe Abby was right, Sam thought, maybe the dog was a little bit psychic.

    A moment later, he heard the front door open. Polite greetings were exchanged, not the relaxed, familiar sort that friends and colleagues employed, and not the more intimate kind typical of family members. The relationship between Abby and Dawson fell into another category altogether, he decided, one that was not easy to identify.

    Abby reappeared. Newton was still at her heels.

    “Sam, this is Dawson Strickland. Dawson, Sam Coppersmith.”

    Dawson looked exactly as he did on the back cover of Families by Choice. Medium height, brown-haired and endowed with what, in another era, would have been labeled patrician features. He had the toned-and-tanned look that spelled expensive athletic clubs and a lot of time on ski slopes, golf courses and private yachts. His shirt and trousers bore all the hallmarks of