Adventure tainted by murder.
Mac shivered. “What was Perry’s motive to murder his partner? Didn’t you say they were close friends?”
“I don’t know. His reasons were lost—”
“Then what other proof do you have that Perry did something so terrible? Did O’Shea leave any descendants to accuse—”
“No.”
“But if all you have is that letter—”
“He all but admits he did it.”
“Then why haven’t I heard about this before? How did he cover such a thing up?”
Homer shrugged. “Who knows? Money can buy secrecy, Brat. Except in one’s own heart.”
The guilt in the letter. That was what Homer meant. But the way he spoke, the regret in his eyes—it was as if Homer had become Perry and taken that guilt upon himself.
Mac stood up. “All right. It’s a terrible thing and I’m very sorry. But you had no part in whatever Peregrine did. None of us were there.”
“We didn’t have to be. The blood Perry spilled is still on Sinclair hands.”
God. Mac looked away. The illness had finally begun to affect Homer’s once razor-sharp mind. This morbid delusion wasn’t going to help him, not so close to the end. She had to pull him out of it.
“How long have you believed this, Homer?”
“Believed? Not so long.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “Certain things have just become clearer to me lately. Clearer and more important.”
Mac felt a profound desire to take the blasted photo and tear it into little pieces. She picked it up and held it taut between her hands.
How did you leave this world, Liam O’Shea? Did someone you trust betray you? Did you curse the Sinclairs as you died?
Good grief, she was getting as bad as Homer, “Why are you telling me this now?” she asked. “If you’re worried that I’ll suffer from this ‘curse’—”
“You already have, Brat. I don’t want you to come to a bad end like the rest of us.”
“Damn it, Homer.” She leaned fiercely over the bed. “You’re not making any sense.”
He pushed up with a burst of strength. “I know why you withdrew from the challenges of life, MacKenzie. Maybe you didn’t realize it. You lost too much too early. Couldn’t risk losing more, saw what happened to anyone who did. I can’t blame you. But now I have to ask you to take a risk. Not only for me and for our family, but for yourself.”
A chill ran through Mac, a premonition of sudden and terrifying change. “Homer, I—”
“I have a mission for you, MacKenzie. An old man’s last request. And your first quest. Fitting.”
“Quest?”
He looked at her squarely, all the old stubborn authority behind a stare that could quell the most rebellious student. “It all happened in that jungle, Mac. And this”—he gathered up the stone Maya pendant in one clawed hand—”this is the symbol of an act that’s haunted our family. Haunted me. A Sinclair betrayed O’Shea and left him without anyone to avenge him, to expose the truth. A Sinclair deliberately covered it up. I want to be able to leave this world knowing one Sinclair tried to make amends.”
The heavy feeling of anticipation coiled more tightly in Mac’s stomach. “Make amends how?”
“By returning this chunk of stone to the place Perry found it. By standing in that jungle, among those ruins, and asking Liam O’Shea’s forgiveness.”
It was as bad as she thought. “You want me to go to Guatemala?”
He sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask this of you, Brat, if I didn’t—”
“Look at me, Homer.” She concealed her desperation, all the fear for Homer’s sanity and of her own limitations. “I wasn’t built for great things or wild adventures or breaking family curses, even if I did once beat up the neighborhood bully.” She attempted a smile. “Isn’t there something I could do a little closer to home?”
“No.” He slapped the bedspread. “No way out of this, Brat. For your own sake. I know in my heart this has to be done. It’s not logical. I don’t pretend it is. But I ask it of you.” His breath grew short and his face flushed with emotion. “I’ll even beg if I have to, but you have to go back there and set things right. At the place where it happened.”