Family Sins

by Sharon Sala

  He finished the pie and was thinking about sleeping in this house tonight without Stanton, when something he heard his Aunt Polly say stunned him.

  “It’s so sad,” Polly said. “I heard Talia finally had to call in hospice. She’s been a faithful daughter, for sure, tending to him like that on her own.”

  Her sister-in-law, Beth, nodded in agreement.

  “You know my granny passed the same way. When they get to that point, there’s nothing you can do but wait it out at their bedside.”

  Bowie was speechless, and then his need to know more drove him to ask, “Aunt Polly, are you by any chance talking about Talia Champion?”

  She nodded. “Yes, her father’s Alzheimer’s has just about run its course.”

  “How long has he been suffering from it?” Bowie asked.

  Samuel knew the moment Bowie spoke what he was thinking. They’d all wondered what had happened between Bowie and Talia, but it wasn’t their way to intrude on each other’s personal business.

  “If I had to guess, it’s probably been something like six or seven years, at least,” Samuel said.

  Bowie’s eyes widened as he thought about what that meant, and then he got up and stepped outside onto the porch.

  The night was quiet. The sky was dark—not even a sliver of moon to mark the passing of time. Lights from inside their home spilled out through the windows, painting oblong patches of yellow-gold on to the simple wooden porch.

  An owl hooted from a nearby tree. Somewhere on the mountain, someone was running their hounds. He could hear the dogs yipping as they struck a trail, and he remembered nights like that with his brothers and their dad. It hurt to think all of that was gone.

  Sick at heart about his father, and confused by what he’d learned about Talia, he closed his eyes. Away from home, he’d dreamed of nights like this, lying in bed with the windows up, letting in fresh air and falling to sleep so close to heaven.

  He heard the door open behind him but didn’t turn around. And then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Samuel’s voice behind him.

  “Are you okay?” Samuel asked.

  “Talia never left Eden?”

  Samuel sighed. He’d guessed this was what had driven Bowie out of the room.

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t any of you tell me?” Bowie asked.

  “Tell you what, brother? We didn’t know what broke you up. Why would we suddenly butt into your business? It’s not our way, right?”

  Bowie sighed.

  “She turned down my proposal and led me to believe she just didn’t want to get married. I knew I couldn’t live here and see her every day, so I left.”

  “You never saw her after that? Not even when you were home?”

  Bowie shook his head. “I did drive past their place once, but the house was empty. I thought they’d moved away.”

  “She moved into Eden to make it easier for her to take care of him.”

  Bowie took a slow, shaky breath. “Where does she live?”

  “On the street behind the hospital and fire station. It’s directly behind the helipad, a small white house with black trim. I think she drives a blue Ford Taurus.”

  Bowie listened but said nothing.

  “Are you going to go see her?” Samuel asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s too much else going on,” Bowie said.

  “Her father is dying, Bowie. She’s alone. The least you could do is stop by to pay your respects.”

  Having said what he’d come to say, Samuel went back inside, leaving Bowie on his own.

  In the space of one day, Bowie had learned of his father’s murder and Talia’s lie. It was a hell of a lot to consider.

  * * *

  Finally everyone had gone home, and Leigh was seeing to getting Jesse settled in his bed. Bowie could hear his mother explaining all over again why Stanton wasn’t going to come tell him good-night. Taking pity on the both of them, Bowie got up and went down the hall to Jesse’s room.

  “Hey, brother,” Bowie said. “I’m about to head to bed and wanted to come tell you good-night.”

  The grateful expression on Leigh’s face was hard to miss.

  “Thank you,” she said, softly.

  “Why don’t you go shower first, Mama? I’ll shower after you’re done.”

  “Yes,” she said, then leaned over and brushed a kiss across Jesse’s forehead. “Sleep well, honey. Mama loves you.”

  Jesse smiled.

  “Love you, too, Mama.”

  Leigh gave Bowie’s hand a squeeze as she walked past him and out of the room.

  Bowie sat down on the side of Jesse’s bed. It was hard to look at him and know the injuries he’d suffered in battle had left him with the mind of a child.

  “Do you want me to read to you, Jesse?”

  Jesse nodded, and pointed to a stack of books on the bedside table.

  Bowie saw one with a bookmark and guessed someone had been reading that one to him. He smiled when he saw it was a biography of Daniel Boone.

  When Jesse was a kid in elementary school the class had studied Daniel Boone, and once he learned the famous frontiersman had been from Kentucky, he’d come home with a head full of dreams about killing bears and living in a log cabin and hunting for his own food. He played at that until he outgrew the pretend phase of youth.

  “That one,” Jesse said. “Daddy’s reading it to me.” Then his lower lip quivered as tears suddenly rolled. “Daddy can’t read to me anymore. Daddy is dead, Bowie. Daddy went to heaven like my friends in the war.”

  Bowie patted Jesse’s arm and handed him a tissue to wipe his eyes.

  “I know, man. We’re all sorry. We’re all sad. But let’s read a little bit more tonight. Daddy would want you to hear the rest of the story, right?”

  “Yes. I’m ready,” Jesse said, and turned over on his side and closed his eyes.

  Bowie felt like crying all over again. Instead, he began to read. As he did, he heard the water come on in the bathroom down the hall and knew his mama was probably in the shower.

  Bowie knew when Jesse fell asleep because his lips parted and his breathing settled. He set the book aside, taking care to mark the place, and made sure the night-light was on before he left the room.

  As he was walking down the hall, he paused. His mother was still in the bathroom, and he could hear her crying. Sympathetic tears blurred his vision. His heart hurt. Without the experience of living with the love of his life, he could only imagine how she felt.

  Immediately, he thought of Talia. He thought he’d gotten over her rejection of his marriage proposal—until today. At the time he’d had anger to help him move on. But if her father’s illness was why she’d rejected him, she’d only had the lie and the burden of her father’s future. Had she been able to move on, or had the deception and the years of tending her father broken her spirit? Samuel was right. He would have to go see her. But his first priority was to the family and finding his father’s killer.

  * * *

  Every light in the Wayne mansion was on. From a distance it appeared there was a party going on, but inside it was far closer to a wake.

  They sat around the dinner table, glaring at each other, wondering who was to blame for the current disruption of their lives. Being under suspicion for murder was horrifying. They hadn’t yet been contacted or questioned by the county constable or the local police, but, as their lawyer had warned them, it was only a matter of time.

  He’d ordered every one of them to make sure they had an airtight alibi for the time between eight and ten this morning, then ordered them all to keep their mouths shut in public and feign surprise that anyone had taken the accusation seriously.

  The only two out of the whole family who actually had an airtight
alibi were Nita and Fiona, because they’d been seen in and around Eden all morning. But they were part of the Wayne empire, and depending on what they knew and when they’d known it, it might not be enough to eliminate them from guilt. The sins of a family like theirs could be hard to live down.

  Jack Wayne’s thick shock of white hair was, at best, rarely contained into a regular style, and tonight, thanks to the number of times he’d run his fingers through it in frustration, it looked more like the fanned-out head feathers of a pissed-off cockatoo.

  He was stabbing at the food on his plate and poking it into his mouth in short, jerky movements while glaring at his relatives around this table. His nephew Blake had the same expression of flaring indignation. Jack didn’t know if it was all a show, or if Blake was as upset as he was. What really ticked him off was that his nieces and nephews were looking at him suspiciously, too. The only person who knew the truth wasn’t ready to talk—might never tell unless forced. What was bothering him was why it had happened. There had to be more of a reason than some old threat.

  They were down to dessert when there was a knock at the door. Jack looked up from his pie à la mode and waved his fork in the air.

  “Who the hell comes calling unannounced at dinnertime?” he roared.

  Nita laid her fork on the plate.

  “It’s probably Andrew. I invited him for dessert earlier. After this morning’s events, I felt it best to carry on as a family, as if none of this shit was happening,” she drawled, giving all of them an accusatory look before excusing herself. “I’ll be right back. Have Cook send out another piece of pie and a cup of coffee, please.”

  Jack shoved his hand through his hair again and then rang for the cook as his niece left the room. He was in no mood for a social evening with Nita’s latest lover. She’d brought this one with her from New York but at least had the good sense to put him up in a hotel in town. Last time she’d brought a lover home from one of her travels, she’d put him up in the mansion and he’d stolen some of the family silver when he left.

  Nita was all but bouncing on her toes as she strode down the hall toward the foyer. She had just turned fifty, but she would never admit it. She was a sexual woman and unwilling to live her life without a man in tow. She heard the butler answer the door, then heard Andrew Bingham’s voice and shivered, thinking about how good he was in bed.

  He met her with a smile and a kiss midway between the foyer and the dining room.

  “Um, peach pie?”

  She smiled. “À la mode.”

  He groaned. “Dessert and you? My day just keeps getting better.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Well, the day has gone to hell for us,” she said, and slid a hand through the crook of his arm and led him back down the hall.

  “I heard,” he said. “I assume the mood is less than jovial tonight.”

  “You’ve got that right. Just don’t bring it up. Brag on the coffee, instead. It’s one of Uncle Jack’s favorite blends.”

  “Will do,” he said, and then they walked into the dining room.

  “Good evening, all. Hope I’m not too tardy. I hear the peach pie à la mode is amazing tonight.”

  Fiona smiled politely.

  “Do join us. Cook outdid herself tonight on the crust.”

  “Good evening, Andrew. You almost missed dessert,” Jack muttered.

  “It took a while to get through all the traffic,” Andrew said, and then looked nervous, realizing that was something he shouldn’t have mentioned.

  “What traffic?” Blake asked.

  Andrew looked at Nita and shrugged an apology. “The traffic outside your front gate.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Blake said.

  “The, uh, crowd of people. I might have seen a few picket signs.”

  Blake abruptly stood. “There are people picketing outside our front gate?”

  Nita sighed and took another spoonful of ice cream before it melted.

  Afraid to take a bite of pie for fear someone would slap it out of his mouth, Andrew put his hands in his lap and nodded.

  “What the fuck do the signs say?” Justin asked.

  “I only got a glimpse of one. It might have said something about being above the law.”

  “I’m going to call Henry Clayton,” Blake snapped. “What the hell good did it do putting him in office if he can’t protect us?”

  He stomped out of the room.

  Jack threw his napkin down on the table and followed him out.

  The rest of them looked at each other in disbelief.

  Andrew pulled the dessert plate closer and took a big bite, just in case it was the only one he got.

  Five

  Henry Clayton was at home soaking his foot, glad that the earlier chaos the Youngblood family caused when they came to Eden had ended without bloodshed.

  He had an ingrown toenail that was killing him, and when he’d pulled off his boot tonight, he’d noticed that it was swollen and inflamed. He’d had visions of a doctor’s office and needles and getting part of the toenail removed, and decided to make an antiseptic foot soak in hopes that would take care of it.

  He’d been soaking his foot for the better part of an hour, and the water was just beginning to cool when his cell phone rang. He reached past the reading lamp to grab it.

  “Hello?”

  “Henry! This is Blake Wayne. I want this crowd of rabble removed from my property ASAP.”

  Henry swung his foot out of the water, splashing it everywhere as he launched himself out of the chair.

  “What people? What crowd? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, you should know. You’re the police chief. I don’t know who all is involved, but if I find out names, they’re going to be sorry.”

  “Okay, okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Henry said. “But where are they? What are they doing? Are they destroying your property or what?”

  “No. They’re in the street outside the front gates.”

  Henry’s gut knotted.

  “And what, exactly, are they doing?”

  “Standing there. Protesting.”

  “But why?” Henry asked.

  Blake roared, “I don’t give a fuck why. I want them gone! Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir, and—”

  The line went dead in Henry’s ear.

  He hung up, cursing his toe and the fact that he’d ever let himself become involved with the Wayne family. They were ruthless when things didn’t go their way.

  He dried off his foot, mopped up the splatters with the towel, and then put his uniform back on and headed out the door, pulling out his phone as he went.

  Lonnie Clymer was the deputy in charge tonight, so Henry called his cell, taking care to keep this conversation off the radio. Henry was backing out of his drive as Lonnie answered.

  “Hello, Chief. What’s up?”

  “What the hell is going on out at the Wayne estate?”

  “Aw, just a few people walking around with signs about seeking justice for Stanton Youngblood.”

  Henry groaned. “And you let them?”

  The tone of Lonnie’s voice shifted to nervous.

  “I didn’t exactly let them, Chief. They just showed up. They’re not making a sound. There’s no shouting, no vandalism. They’re just standing on public property holding signs.”

  “Did they get a permit to picket?” Henry asked.

  “Well, no, but there’s no law against picketing in Eden, so technically they’re not doing anything wrong.”

  Henry groaned and disconnected.

  Now his belly was hurting as much as his toe.

  He drove without flashers or siren, because he hoped to clear
them out without a fuss. He was stunned that this was happening. He couldn’t remember anyone ever challenging any member of the Wayne family in any way—except Leigh, the one who got away.

  He saw a small gathering, hardly more than a dozen people, standing beneath a street light as he turned the corner. They obviously saw him, but no one moved or even pretended to make a run for it. They just stood there holding their handmade signs, and as Henry got closer, he could read what they’d written on them.

  Justice for Stanton Youngblood.

  Murder in Eden.

  Shame to the Waynes.

  He groaned as he pulled up and got out.

  “Whose idea was this?” he demanded.

  They all raised their hands, refusing to let any one of them bear the blame.

  Henry sighed. He wasn’t about to give Blake Wayne their names, but he needed them gone.

  “Look, I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s not a good idea to get on the wrong side of this family.”

  A small, clean-shaven man with dark, deep-set eyes stepped forward. He looked to be in his late forties and was holding a sign that read First our land, then our lives.

  “They can’t hurt us anymore,” he said.

  Henry frowned.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “My name is German Swift. I was part of the crew that put the new roof on your house last year.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t home much when that was happening.”

  “No matter.” German pointed to a skinny blond woman wearing threadbare jeans and a blouse. “This is my wife, Truva. My whole family has lived on the mountain above Eden all our lives. My wife and I were living in the home where I was born when she got cancer. About three years ago we took out a loan to pay hospital bills, but we got behind on our payments. It was all fine until recently, when the bank suddenly foreclosed and we lost our home. It had been in the family for over a hundred years. So you can threaten me all you want about what could happen from making an enemy of the Waynes and it won’t matter, because we have nothing left to lose.”