by Penny Reid
Ugh. I wished my father hadn’t left it to me, any of it. I would’ve been happier without having to make the choice, even though I already knew which choice I’d make. It’s not mine to keep.
“Pardon me, sir.” Cletus leaned forward slowly. A peculiar something, a carefulness in his tone had me surfacing from my messy thoughts. He placed a hand on the conference table and narrowed his eyes on Elena as he spoke, “The Miller farm, the dairy, did Kipling wish to transfer ownership, or was that something Ms. Wilkinson initiated—as you say—after his death?”
“Don’t answer that,” Elena stood again, sniffling, swiping at her cheeks. “As my lawyer, I forbid you from answering any questions about me, or my personal business, asked by these people.”
Cletus’s lips parted, he blinked, and he exhaled a short puff of breath. I recognized this combo as a rare display of genuine surprise.
He said, “You—”
She stiffened.
“—and Miller.”
Elena Wilkinson flinched. Her eyes rimmed with true terror, her chest rose and fell rapidly, her whole body shaking as she stared at Cletus and he stared back, and I struggled to catch up with the implications of what he’d just said.
Elena and Kenneth Miller?
She grabbed for the haphazardly stacked letter she’d just discarded, shoved it into her bag, and fled the room, leaving the rest of us staring after her.
Except Cletus. Cletus hadn’t turned his head to watch her go. Likely because he knew where—and to whom—she was going. And why.
I have no idea how long my stupor lasted, only that, when what Cletus had said finally permeated my brain, I felt the weight of Isaac’s concentrated attention on me.
“You had no idea,” my brother said like he was realizing the words as he spoke them.
I looked at him, frowning. “No idea about what?”
“About the will. You didn’t know he’d changed it.” The way he inspected me, like I was someone he didn’t know, felt like a punch in the stomach.
My chin wobbled, and I stood. “Of course I didn’t know, Twilight. Do you think I’d be here if I knew? I don’t want anything from him, I never did.”
“Then why are you here?” He didn’t stand, and his question sounded unpremeditated, like he really had no idea, like he really wanted to know why I was there.
“You . . . are a bastard,” I said, the words barely above a whisper and—to my shame—ripe with tears. “And I wish you well with your brotherhood of bastards. Goodbye, Isaac.”
I turned away from him before he could see the tears fall. Not waiting for Cletus or Billy or anyone else, I strolled right out of the conference room and into the hallway, my chin held high. I might be sad, but I was also mad. Anger would see me through until I made it to the car. Once there, I’d have myself a good cry. When we made it home, there would be wine. But for now, I floated on a cloud of fury.
At least that had been my hastily constructed plan before I came face-to-face with Deputies Boone and Williams, standing next to the reception desk and the gaping receptionist. Behind them were other folks in uniform and a smattering of two or three others in suits.
“Jennifer Sylvester,” Boone’s remorseful gaze betrayed what his steady, deep tenor did not as he said, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Kipling Sylvester.”
Chapter Fourteen
*Cletus*
“I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.”
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Why haven’t they scheduled her arraignment yet?” I couldn’t stop pacing.
Pacing. Pacing. Pacing.
I’d been pacing nonstop for twenty-four hours. If I’d been in a different frame of mind, the frame of mind that entertained worries for anyone or anything else other than Jennifer, I might’ve been concerned for my mental health.
As it was, I was not, and did not, and I couldn’t stop pacing.
“The prosecutor gets three days to decide whether or not to press charges, Cletus.”
“I know, Jethro.”
He held his hands up and watched me like he was concerned for my mental health. “I’m not going to tell you to calm down, but wearing a hole in the pavement outside the station isn’t going to help. You need to come home. Let the lawyers—”
“Don’t.” I sliced a hand through the air. “Don’t say, ‘Let the lawyers handle it.’”
Boone wouldn’t let me ride with them in the elevator, so I’d taken the stairs. I’d followed their car all the way to the station. Beau and Shelly had gone out and rented an RV so we could spend the night in the parking lot. Jethro had arrived at 6:34 AM with coffee and breakfast. He’d even achieved the correct ratios of apple cider vinegar, coffee, and molasses. If I hadn’t been so busy pacing and going out of my mind with worry, I would’ve been impressed.
Jethro leaned back against his car where Beau and Shelly were also leaning, watching me pace. Drew and Billy were inside the station, trying to strong-arm the sheriff into allowing me a visit. All attempts thus far yesterday and this morning had been denied, as I suspected they would be.
Flo had explained several times that, since I wasn’t her husband, I had no rights to her. And she had none to me. Never before had I wished as fervently that we’d already eloped. But Billy, her congressman, had been allowed to see her. He’d said she was in good spirits. I wanted to strangle someone.
Sienna, currently at the homestead watching Benjamin, had called her legal teams from LA and New York. A swarm of lawyers would be converging on our present location any minute. Diane had sent her legal team, and they were inside already, but Sienna assured me that her people were the most ridiculously expensive, poised to argue lawyers she could find. God bless her.
My dear sister, trying a different approach, was right this minute bringing Jackson James a baked good of some sort. Never before had I been so thankful for her influence over blond law enforcement. Hopefully, it worked.
Since I could do nothing but think and pace, I decided I’d figure a way to break her out of jail, should the need arise. I knew I could count on Evans to help. Now I just needed to figure out a way to ensure he had transport duty to the courthouse—
“Your phone is ringing, Cletus.” Shelly’s flat as paper voice pulled me from my machinations.
“Pardon?”
“Your cell phone.” The tall mechanic walked over to me, reached in my back pocket, and handed me my phone. “Answer.”
“Thanks.” Shaking myself into the present, I glanced at the number. When I recognized it, I cursed. “What do you think you're doing?”
“It’s an emergency.”
Fucking Burro.
I paced away from my family toward the RV. “Don’t ever call me on this number.”
“Cletus—”
“Today is not the day.” I reached for the handle to the recreational vehicle, climbing the stairs, prepared to deliver a scathing censure. He knew better.
“Don’t hang up! This is an emergency. Isaac is here. He needs to meet with you.”
I curled my lip in disgust, shutting the door to the trailer behind me. “I don’t care what Isaac needs.”
“It’s about Jenn.”
“Tell him to fuck off.”
“No, you're gonna want to hear what he has to say.”
“I’m gonna want him to eat shit and die.” I began to pace the short length of the vehicle.
“Trust me, stop being so ornery.”
“You know I don't trust you.”
“Okay, fine. Then I guess your fiancée is going to jail for the rest of her life. Is that what you want?”
I stopped pacing, deciding that Burro would be the person I strangled.
“What’s the harm? Give him ten minutes. I promise—I swear—you will not regret it.”
Growling, I spun in a circle, looking for a pen. “Fine. Give me the address.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
/> “Whatever.” I marched back to the door, pulling my car keys from my pocket.
“And bring Jethro.”
“What? Why?”
“Just bring Jethro.”
“Fine, whatever. Goodbye.” Pushing open the door and slamming it behind me, I pointed at Jet.
“Who was that?” He straightened from his car.
“Jet, you’re with me.” I tossed him my keys. I was too discombobulated to drive. “And leave your phone here.”
He caught them easily and withdrew his cell, handing it to Beau. “Where are we going?”
I stopped in front of Beau and Shelly, glancing at the address Burro had just sent, recognizing it as a convenience store up in Hill country, and gave Beau my phone as well. “You two, can you stay here?”
“Absolutely.” Beau answered for them both. “Shop is closed, we’re here for you.”
“Good. Thanks.” I turned to leave.
Beau called after me, “Don’t worry. Jennifer will be fine.”
I lifted my hands in the air and yelled, “You don’t know that, don’t say that. You don't know that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” without turning around.
“I wasn't making a promise,” Beau ground out. “I was—never mind. Just, we’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“You can’t,” I grumbled, sliding into the Geo’s passenger seat. “You have our phones.”
“What is this?” I snapped, glaring at the two men hovering just outside the door to what looked like an old fishing shack. A pile of wood had been stacked to the left of the door and the porch roof sagged, shingled with cedar. It looked like it might collapse should anyone slam the front door in a fit of temper.
Repo gestured for us to follow them inside. “Come on. We need your help.”
“My help? Wait a minute. Burro said this was about you helping Jenn.” I pointed a finger at Isaac once we were inside.
The first address Burro had texted was the convenience store in Hill country. Which is to say, it operated near the Hill family compound in the mountains. Once there, Jethro explained—following standard Iron Wraith modus operandi—we needed to go inside and ask for the keys to the bathroom. The old guy behind the counter wrote something down on the back of receipt paper.
A new address.
Jethro knew it. Before we left, Jet bought a stick of gum, left a twenty-dollar tip, and we were off.
“It’s about Diane. Diane is being blackmailed.” Repo rounded a small primitive table in the middle of the room, around which were set four chairs. “Here, sit down. We’ll explain—"
“I’m not sitting down, and neither is Jet. Who is blackmailing Diane? Or do you know?” I crossed my arms.
Repo was the one to answer. “Kenneth Miller.”
Jethro looked to me. “Farmer Miller? The one who sold Ms. Donner the cows?”
Inspecting the two men and the severity of their expressions, I decided to take a seat. “Okay, now you have my attention. But Jet isn’t sitting. Continue.” I’d put two and two together at the will reading and it equaled Farmer Miller being in league with Elena Wilkinson. The ex-dairy farmer blackmailing Diane offered further proof of what I already knew to be true: he’d been the shooter.
“Diane got a note, a handwritten note”—Repo sat across from me—“on white paper in black marker. It was a few days after the murder. It said something about knowing what she did and having her gun.”
“Diane doesn’t have a gun.” I peered at Isaac. “Unless you bought her one.”
Isaac said nothing. He glared. At me. Mute.
Meanwhile, Repo leaned his elbows on the table. “Right, but the note said they—the blackmailer—had the murder weapon and her fingerprints are all over it.”
I felt like I already knew the answer to the question, but I asked anyway. “Are they?”
“No. She never touched it.” Repo—expression open, honest, candid—looked how I felt. Desperate. “But the note said they’d send the gun to the police.”
“I mean—let them.” I shrugged, standing and turning for the door. “It’s a bluff.”
“Is it?” Finally, Isaac spoke.
Repo was on his feet again, his hand stretched out to me. “I don’t know how much you know, Cletus, but Diane did run from the police that night. She shouldn’t have, and that’s my fault because I misunderstood what I was seeing, but she did run. She didn't kill Kip.”
I sighed, rubbing my face with both hands. I didn’t want to be here, but here I was.
Turning back to the two Iron Wraiths, I spread my arms wide. “Fine. Okay. Why don’t you back up and tell me what happened that night, Repo? What do you know?”
“Diane didn’t kill him,” he said on a rush. “She opened that car door. She tried to stop the bleeding, and when I saw what she was doing, I thought . . .”
“You thought she’d shot him.” Jethro filled in the blank.
Repo nodded, looking gutted. “I got her out of there. Took her to the bakery. I had to get the blood off her hands. Then we ran like hell. They chased us through the woods, but we got to my bike first. She didn’t do it.”
“So you keep saying.” I let my hands drop to my thighs with a smack. “If she didn’t shoot Kip, then why are y’all worried about her fingerprints being on a gun she didn’t fire?”
“Her fingerprints are on the car. Bloody ones.” Repo gripped his forehead, seeming earnestly grief-stricken.
I worked to assemble these missing puzzle pieces into the picture I’d already sketched. “But the police can’t confirm the bloody print is hers because she won’t leave her house. They have no way to lift her prints if she doesn’t leave the house.”
Repo glanced at Isaac, and they both nodded.
“Whose idea was that?” My attention bounced between them.
Isaac shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “My idea.”
“Smart.”
He nodded, accepting the compliment.
“But I still don’t understand the blackmail. Why do you think Miller is the blackmailer?”
“Because of the cows.” Repo jabbed his finger at the top of the table, his other hand on his waist. “The blackmail demands. All they want is the dairy cows from the lodge.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jethro scoffed. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” Repo said, looking like he wished it were.
“What do you need me for? Go get your fancy fraternity brothers to go beat the shit out of him.” I glanced at my watch. We’d been gone too long.
“I can’t.” Repo shook his head. “The Wraiths can’t know about Diane and me. It’ll put her in danger.”
I started to say something, I didn’t know what, likely something flippant, when Isaac added, “And it would put Jennifer in danger too.”
Gritting my teeth, I glanced at Jethro. He nodded subtly, confirming what they’d said was true.
“Well, then turn in the blackmail notes to the police. Call his bluff. What is wrong with you?”
“What if he did put her prints on the gun?” Repo’s stare settled squarely on Jethro, like he was trying to communicate something of importance, or make a request. “Jet. Help me. We can’t take that chance.”
I looked at my watch. Another minute had passed. “He’s probably lying.”
“Cletus,” Jethro stepped up next to me, his eyes on Repo. “Miller might be telling the truth, it could be he put her prints on that gun. We’ve, uh—” Jethro rubbed his forehead, looking agitated “—I’ve done it before.”
“What?” I reared back from my brother. “You did what?”
“I’ve put false fingerprints on a weapon.”
Now I fully faced Jethro, inspecting him. A long moment passed where we stared at each other until I said, inanely, “Is that so.” But it was so. At one point in his past, my eldest brother’s moral compass had been darker than mine.
Jethro looked like he might be sick, and his voice was rough with guilt as he said, “It was
a long time ago.”
“That’s why you wanted me to bring Jet.” I glared at Repo. “Because y’all did the same thing to someone else.”
Repo looked to Jet, an apology clear as day written all over his face, and gave me a stiff nod. “Plus, he’d know how to get here, once you made it to the convenience store.”
“Okay. Fine.” I tossed my hands up. “What makes you think Miller knows how to do something so nefarious as put prints on a gun?”
“Fuck it, Cletus. You’re missing the point.” Repo surged forward, yelling at me with gusto.
“What is the point?” I ground out. We were talking in circles, and I was tired of dancing.
“The point is, it can be done. Miller might not be bluffing. Jenn isn’t the one in danger here. If that gun is turned over and the fingerprints match the print on the car, it’s only a matter of time. They're gonna come after Diane with a warrant. They're gonna arrest her for murder. The FBI is parked outside her house because they’re sending me a message”—he jabbed a finger at his chest—“trying to get me to turn state. They've been trying to get me to turn state’s evidence for years.”
“And they’re using Diane to get to you,” Jethro said, but he was watching me for my reaction. They all were.
“It's not fair to her.” Repo sounded tortured, looked tortured too. Like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Like he was close to tears and his wit’s end.
I’d been right. Repo was in love with Diane. Ass over ankles, destroyed, wrecked for her. What a world.
“Then why don't you just turn yourself in? Hmm?” I gripped the back of the wooden chair I’d been sitting in earlier, leaning forward. “Turn state’s evidence now if you want them to back off?”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? If I turn myself in, I have no bargaining chip if Diane is arrested. I'd much rather her face a manslaughter conviction than a first-degree murder charge.”
“Fine. Fine.” I picked up the chair two inches and slammed it back to the ground, grinding my teeth. I couldn’t think. “Don’t turn yourself in. What I want to know is, why the hell are we here? You say Jenn isn’t in any danger, but she’s the one who’s been arrested.”
