Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  Dorchester and I were only going to be in the way. Whatever evidence we had hoped to find had gone up in flames. Our only hope was that Robertson put his latest notes—if they existed—in his safe deposit box or gave them to his lawyer.

  “Let’s go see Rylan Broadman,” Dorchester said. “We’ll get there a little early, but you can show him your bad cop if he gets lippy.”

  Goodville was eighteen miles north of us, and it took thirty minutes to get to Broadman’s office. Instead of getting stink-eye from the receptionist that we were an hour early, she offered us a cup of coffee while we waited for the attorney to finish his call.

  “We were so sorry to hear about Mr. Robertson’s passing,” she said sadly. “He was a sweet man.” I found it interesting that every person we talked to seemed to have a different impression of the man, although the receptionist’s comments were very similar to Alice Davenport’s.

  We accepted a cup of coffee and had a seat in the reception area, which looked more like someone’s comfortable living room. The print and floral stripe fabric on the sofa and adjoining chairs was a little fussier than I would’ve picked, but it worked well with the classically styled furniture. I sat down in an armchair and looked through the magazines on the polished mahogany coffee table while Dorchester read the newspaper.

  I had just chosen the latest Sports Illustrated magazine when a deep voice said, “Come on back, Detectives.”

  I rose to my feet and faced the man who spoke. He didn’t look anything like I associated with an attorney. Instead of an expensive three-piece suit, he wore a pair of khakis, loafers, and a pale blue polo shirt. I noticed the calluses on Rylan Broadman’s hands when we introduced ourselves, which told me that sitting at a desk wasn’t all that he did each day.

  When we got to his office, I noticed a collection of antique tractor toys on shelves and several aerial photos of a large farm hanging on his walls. “Family farm?” I asked.

  “Yes. Fifth generation farmer,” he said proudly.

  “Lovely place,” Dorchester said, admiring the black and white photos of an antebellum style mini-mansion that also hung on the wall.

  “Thank you. It’s a lovely feeling to live in the same house as your family did dating back to almost the civil war era,” Rylan remarked and gestured for us to have a seat. His office was masculine and professional, but a welcoming place nonetheless. It felt more like someone’s home office rather than a professional one, but I could see where most people would prefer his type of environment. “Man, I hated to hear about Lawrence,” he said once we sat in the chairs across from his desk. “He was a good man.”

  We broke the news to him that his client hadn’t died of natural causes because it wasn’t public knowledge yet. His reaction was as startled and genuine as Alice’s the previous day. We started off with the basic questions, like how long Robertson had been a client and what kind of services he provided him. We learned that Rylan had taken the practice over from his grandfather when he retired just like Kyle had taken over his grandfather’s veterinary practice. It seemed to be a common circumstance in smaller communities. Rylan told us that all of Robertson’s holdings—land and money—were in a trust and he became the trustee upon Robertson’s death.

  “Were you his attorney of record during his negotiations with McCarren Consortium?” Dorchester asked. We knew that he had been from the notes that Robertson made so the question was thrown out there to see if we could trust the man to be straightforward with us.

  “I was,” Rylan said nodding.

  “How upset was Robertson when it didn’t go through? That was a lot of money,” I remarked.

  “It wasn’t about money for Lawrence,” Rylan told us. “It was about being in control of what happened to his land long after he died.” He smirked a bit and added, “And, to make sure his nephews didn’t get any money off the land they wanted no part of until it was convenient for them.”

  “Can we have the names of his nephews please?” I asked. “We’d like to interview them.”

  “Sure,” Rylan said, opening a file. “Scott and Mark Robertson. They both live and work in Cincinnati for Greg Sharpe Homes. You probably already know this, but Scott and Mark pitched the idea of selling the land to Greg Sharpe so he could build a new subdivision on the land.”

  “Was Mr. Robertson open to that idea until he learned that his nephews would profit from the sale?” I asked.

  “He was,” Broadman confirmed. “He was adamant that they would never own or profit from the land and even had McCarren add clauses to prevent it from happening.”

  “McCarren was okay with that?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

  “I was surprised also,” Broadman admitted. “Honestly, he seemed eager to help Lawrence thwart his nephews. There were other surprising clauses that he agreed to.”

  “Such as?” Dorchester asked.

  “Lawrence wanted a guarantee that a certain percentage of profit was put back into the county schools, library, and hospitals. He also had asked for money to be given to local law enforcement to purchase modernized equipment. Lawrence just felt that the county would benefit more from the casino than another housing development.”

  “It would’ve brought thousands of jobs to the community,” Dorchester said.

  “Yes,” Broadman agreed. “It’s all water under the bridge now. I’m surprised you brought it up.”

  “We’re not convinced it is water under the bridge,” I said then explained to him that we thought the casino talk might’ve started back up again. “Had he mentioned it to you?”

  “No,” Broadman said in surprise, “but he did schedule an appointment with me for next week. I thought maybe he wanted to discuss trust business, but my receptionist, Lucy, said he evaded the reason for his appointment.”

  “Can you tell us the names of the men you met with during the land sale negotiations?” Dorchester asked.

  “Sure, I can,” he said confidently then proceeded to rattle them off the top of his head. “Drew McCarren was present a few times with his lawyer, Rick Spizer, and then there was Michael Larkin and Tommy Thompson. Michael was the development guy, and Tommy was the money man.” I sat up straighter when I heard that McCarren had the same attorney as Nate and Jonathon.

  “How did the negotiations go?” I asked. “Were there any tense moments or disagreements over the terms?”

  “There was only one heated moment in the beginning,” Broadman told us. “Apparently, Drew McCarren doesn’t usually get involved in the actual negotiations because he has a team for that. Lawrence wanted to be able to look McCarren in the eye and assess if he was a man of his word. Larkin was pissed because he felt like Lawrence doubted his character. Larkin implied that Lawrence’s demand for an in-person meeting with McCarren would be a deal breaker, but it seemed to have the reverse effect. McCarren appeared to be very honest with Lawrence.”

  “You didn’t get an underhanded or sneaky vibe from any of them at any time?” Dorchester asked.

  “Honestly, no. It was going to be a circumstance where both parties seemed to come out ahead in the deal.”

  “One last question,” I told him, “and then we’ll let you get back to your day. Alice mentioned that the nephews were making noise about Mr. Robertson being unfit to handle his affairs. Is that true?”

  “Lawrence did tell me that, but there was never any evidence to substantiate his claim. He couldn’t tell me of a single incident where one, or both, threatened him in any way.”

  “Odd,” I remarked. I wondered if perhaps Robertson was paranoid when it came to his nephews. I rose to my feet, and Dorchester did too. We pulled cards out from our jacket pockets and handed them to Broadman. “Please let us know if anything comes up.”

  “The safe deposit box,” Dorchester mentioned to me then looked at Broadman. “Does the box need to be audited by the county clerk before we can look through the contents?”

  “Lawrence had a trust, so there will be no probate.
The contents belong to the trust, and I’m the trustee, so you won’t need a warrant to search the box. I’ll check with the bank to see if they’ll accept my permission in writing or if I need to be present.”

  “We’d like to get in there today, or tomorrow at the latest,” Dorchester told him.

  “That won’t be a problem, Detectives. I’ll rearrange my schedule if needed,” Broadman assured us.

  I’d dealt with lawyers hundreds of times during my career, and I could honestly say that none of them had been as helpful as Rylan. “Thank you for your assistance. We look forward to hearing from you,” I said, shaking the man’s hand once more.

  There wasn’t anything local left for us to look at so we headed to Cincinnati to update the task force on what we learned. We ordered in lunch and gathered together in the large conference room we’d taken over.

  “This is what we’ve got so far,” I said, addressing the task force after lunch. I told them about Bandowe telling us that Nate mentioned investing in a casino and how Dorchester told me about the failed attempt to build a casino in Carter County in 2013. “Since Nate was killed in Carter County, I started to question if Nate’s death could be related to resumed talks of building a casino. It seemed like a long shot until we found the landowner shot dead in his home yesterday.”

  “Let me guess, he was shot with a forty-five, and both the casing and bullet are missing,” Jade said.

  “The M.E. hasn’t provided the caliber of the bullet, but the entrance and exit wounds look consistent with a forty-five to me. You’re right about the casing and the bullet, though; neither were found at the crime scene. It would appear to be the same person who killed Nate Turner and Owen Smithson. We need physical evidence and a name instead of supposition and guesses.” I blew out a breath in frustration.

  “There are two trains of thought here,” Dorchester said, speaking up. “They might’ve been killed to prevent the casino from going up, or maybe they were killed by a competing casino who didn’t want attention drawn away from them. We’re not ruling anything else out, but these seem to be the most likely scenarios.”

  “We need to start with McCarren Consortium,” I said. “He’s a Cincinnati-based guy. What do you know about him?”

  “Douche,” Weston said in disgust. “He’s another one who vice was looking at for prostitution and drugs.”

  “He has a reputation for being ruthless,” Harris said.

  “Does anyone have a contact inside the Casino Control Commission?” I asked.

  “Paul does,” Harris and Weston said at the same time. Of course, Paul does.

  I rattled off the names of the guys involved in the meeting, except for McCarren’s attorney. I was saving that little bombshell for last. “I need you guys to dig up everything you can on these men. I want to know about any hint of illegal activity they’re suspected in.” I paused for dramatic effect. “We found the one string that’s connected to both Turner and McCarren.” That had everyone’s attention. I told them about Robertson’s notes and the initials he used to identify people at the meetings. “Robertson’s attorney confirmed that Rick Spizer was the attorney representing McCarren Consortium.”

  “Whoa,” Jade said.

  “That could be huge,” Harris said.

  “We’re about to find out how huge it is,” I replied. “The connection,” I said to clarify, earning a lot of laughs from the team.

  Dorchester divided tasks while I took my phone out and stared at it for several long moments. I dreaded the call I needed to make, but I couldn’t see a way around it. We’d gotten off to a terrible start, but I had to put that behind me. I just hoped that he could too because I was certain I’d need his assistance to solve these three crimes.

  My call went to voicemail. I left my contact information, stressed the importance of my call, and asked Silver to get back to me at his earliest convenience. I disconnected the call with low expectations for a prompt response, but he proved me wrong when he returned my call within fifteen minutes.

  “Detective Wyatt,” I said, answering the phone.

  “You rang, Detective,” Jonathon Silver said sleepily into the phone. It was sometimes easy to forget that some people slept while you were awake and worked while you slept.

  “I’m sorry that I woke you, Mr. Silver. There’s been a development in your brother’s case, and I need your help.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, suddenly sounding alert. “Um, give me an hour to wake up and get my crap together. Where do you want to meet me?”

  “You name the place and time, and we’ll meet you,” I said.

  “We?” Silver asked.

  “Yes, you met my partner,” I reminded him.

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “I was hoping you were coming alone.” I was somewhat flattered by his attention, but that was all. My heart and body belonged to a man I adored more than life.

  “Not going to happen,” I assured him. “Dorchester and I will meet you. When and where?” I asked him.

  Silver let out a dissatisfied sigh and said, “Four o’clock in my office. I’ll even wear clothes this time.”

  “We’ll be there,” I replied, ignoring the rest of his comment. I appreciated his attempt at humor to lighten the tone of the conversation, but I felt it was better to keep things very professional between us and laughing at his jokes might’ve given him the wrong impression.

  I hung up from Silver and sent a text to Josh. Promising break in the case. Interview will run late. Hope to be home around 6. Love you! It was Josh’s night to work late so he wouldn’t even know I wasn’t home, but that didn’t matter. I wasn’t fucking up the best thing that ever happened to me.

  Dorchester came over once he finished and I updated him on our interview appointment. “Maybe he’ll keep his clothes on this time,” he commented.

  “He said he would,” I replied.

  “You asked him?” Dorchester wanted to know.

  “No, he volunteered after he hinted that he wanted me to come alone,” I told him.

  Dorchester blew out a low whistle. “What did you say?”

  “I told him it wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Looks like we need to find your other boy toy, Paul, and have a chat with him about his contacts in the Casino Control Commission,” Dorchester joked. I pinned him with my bad cop glare, letting him know I didn’t think he was that funny. “Okay, I was over the line. I won’t do it again.”

  “Yeah, I won’t hold my breath,” I told him.

  “I wouldn’t either if I was you.” Dorchester whistled a jaunty tune as he walked away.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming text, I knew it was going to be from Josh before I even looked. Crossing my fingers it goes well. Be safe. Love you. Those ten words gave me energy and propelled me out the door to find Paul. I could start making some phone calls and make use of my down time while we waited to meet with Silver.

  I had weird-ass dreams involving my new neighbor and didn’t sleep very well. They weren’t sexy dreams or anything to be ashamed of, but I didn’t talk about them with Gabe. He had enough on his plate already without adding my paranoid premonitions to the mix. Included in the myriad emotions, was the guilt I felt about my new neighbor.

  Even though I remained unsure of his reasons for being in town, and I in no way believed it was coincidental, it was wrong of me to blatantly lie to him. Finding out about him losing his husband and the ways he tried to right the wrongs punched me hard in the gut. Being skeptical of his presence was one thing, but being outright rude wasn’t acceptable. Letting down my defenses and falling in love with Gabriel Wyatt changed how I viewed the world. Pre-Gabe, I wouldn’t have felt bad about my behavior with Emory, but post-Gabe, I realized that our first impressions weren’t always accurate.

  I had set out on my morning run with Buddy, hoping to get the blood pumping and wake myself up for the long day ahead of me. I noticed that the lights were on inside Emory’s house as I ran by and I wondered what his
life was like before the accident. What did he do for a living before his world turned upside down? How long had he known his husband? Random questions kept popping up, and the inquisitive side to my personality was quickly taking over the cautious side.

  I decided to stop at The Brew for a cup of strong coffee and a pastry on my way back through town. I couldn’t take Buddy inside with me, but there was always someone willing to wait with him outside while I ran in for a coffee. I pretended not to see Mrs. Perkins give Buddy a bite of her strawberry cream cheese pastry.

  There were a few people ahead of me in line, and I took that time to peruse the baked goodies in the display counter. My eyes caught on the large chocolate chip cookies and thought they’d make a nice welcome to the neighborhood gift. I doubted they were as good as my homemade ones, but I only gave my cookies to Gabe, literally and figuratively, otherwise I might have a mutiny on my hands.

  I ordered a half dozen cookies and a lemon poppy seed muffin for myself with my coffee. “Can you put those cookies in a cute box? They’re a gift,” I remarked.

  I accepted my goodies and turned from the counter to leave when I saw a familiar figure coming through the door. It was all I could do not to groan out loud at being in the same room as Rocky Beaumont. I had never forgiven the way he treated Georgia, who I was proud to call my friend, even though she wasn’t perfect. I had forgiven his second wife for the hateful things she said to Georgia before her death because I felt her genuine sorrow for the way she treated Georgia. We all screwed up in life and deserved a second chance. Rocky had been given plenty chances to prove that he had an ounce of decency inside him, but he never did. He was a user, a liar, and a motherfucking cheater.

  I might not have groaned out loud, but my facial expression must’ve given me away because Rocky narrowed his eyes and scrutinized my reaction. I told myself to keep my mouth shut and not betray any of the secrets Gabe accidentally spilled about Rocky having an affair with Commissioner Wallace. I nodded politely at the mayor then walked right past him and out the door without a word.