by Sharon Sala
“Good night, Talia. Love you, baby.”
Her eyes welled.
“I love you, too, Bowie. I always have.”
She disconnected just as another clap of thunder sounded, followed by a bright flash of lightning. She jumped when she heard the crack and ran to the window to look out. Since she didn’t see anything on fire, she went back to the living room to her father’s bed.
She leaned over to stroke the side of his face and then gently patted his shoulder beneath the sheets.
“It’s raining, Dad. Lots of thunder and lightning, but that’s all. Everything is okay. I’m going to turn on TV for a bit, but I’ll keep it low. I just want to keep an eye on the weather reports.”
She turned on the TV at the other end of the room, then sat back down in the rocker. If there was a weather bulletin of any kind, she would hear when they signaled the warning. But she was so tired, and it had been a relief to hear Bowie’s voice again so soon. She closed her eyes for just a moment during a commercial and fell asleep.
* * *
Jack Wayne had stewed all day about the dark cloud over the family name. Never in their history had they been faced with anything this vile. It wasn’t to say that none of their ancestors had ever done anything like this, but they’d never been caught.
As soon as the cook served dessert and coffee, he pushed his aside. He slapped the table with the flat of his hand, rattling china and silver, and startling them all.
Blake looked up and glared. “What the hell, Uncle Jack?”
Jack looked pointedly at Justin and then addressed the room.
“Every one of you, save Charles, knew Stanton Youngblood, or at least knew who he was, so I want to know why you think he was worth killing.”
Silence.
Nita’s fork scraped the plate as she took a dainty bite of cake.
Her social faux pas made everyone turn to look.
She poked the cake in her mouth and then committed a second gaffe by talking with her mouth full.
“What?” she asked.
Fiona rolled her eyes.
Blake glared at his uncle again.
“You surely don’t expect an answer to that question, do you? The only person with any knowledge would be the one who did the deed. And I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but I wouldn’t admit to a hangnail in front of any of you. I didn’t do it, but if I had, I wouldn’t trust one of you not to feed me to the lions of the law just to get this monkey off your backs.”
Jack was taken aback. “You aren’t serious?”
Blake gestured toward his family.
“Look at their faces if you don’t believe me! Just look at them. They can’t even meet each other’s eyes right now because they know I’m right.”
Jack leaned forward, staring intently at each one of them in turn.
“So who did it? If you won’t tell me, how can I create the perfect alibi for you? I can, you know.”
Silence.
Jack sat there for a moment and then delivered a question none of them had thought to ask themselves.
“Then answer me this...how many of you can account for your whereabouts on the morning of the murder? Were there witnesses? Who outside of the family can corroborate your whereabouts?”
Fiona spoke up at once.
“Nita and I were in town, and in and out of shops. Dozens of people saw us when we were being waited on,” Fiona said.
“Yes, we talked to lots of people,” Nita added.
Jack nodded, then glanced at Blake. “And you?”
“I was in and out of the office,” he said.
“Out where?” Jack asked.
Blake sighed. “I was out at the resort site, but I was talking to people the whole time.”
“How close is that to the murder scene?” Jack asked.
Blake shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t know where the man was killed, other than on the mountain.”
Jack’s gaze shifted to Justin.
Justin glared back. “What? Before, you slapped the shit out of me to make me shut up, and now you want me to talk? What if I don’t want to?”
Jack shrugged.
“You were acting like a madman, screaming obscenities for so long I actually heard you from inside the house—even though the wind was already gearing up for the thunderstorm that’s here now.”
Blake and Charles looked as startled as they felt.
“You hit Justin?” Blake asked.
“No, I slapped him. If I’d hit him with my fist, he’d still be lying out there in the rain,” Jack said shortly, and gave his great-nephew Charles a studied look. “It’s already evident that you have more manly brawn than your relatives. Pity they took after their mother, God rest her soul. I sincerely hope you have more brains than the rest of them, as well.”
Charles paled and then flushed. It was extremely embarrassing to be held up as an example to all of his elders, and he was pissed off at Jack for doing it.
“I’m sorry, but it’s very rude of you to shame them and use me to do it. I don’t appreciate it. It makes me feel like you’re trying to drive a wedge between us,” Charles said, and then set his cake and coffee aside. “Excuse me. I’ve lost my appetite, and I’m going to go see some friends.”
He walked out without looking at anyone.
Blake sighed.
“Way to go, Uncle Jack,” he said, then left the room, as well.
Justin shoved the last bite of his cake into his mouth and got up, chewing it as he left.
Jack was ticked off that he’d just been told off by the youngest member of the family, but he couldn’t argue the point. There was even a part of him that admired the boy for standing up to him. No one else ever did.
He glanced at Nita and Fiona.
Nita set her fork aside and stared back.
“Are you going to eat your cake?” she asked.
Jack rolled his eyes, slid the dessert plate down the table like a hockey puck on ice and stomped out of the room.
Nita leaned over and caught the dish before it went off the side of the table.
Fiona grinned at her sister.
“Are you really going to eat a second piece of cake?”
“No,” Nita said. “I just wanted to piss him off. He shouldn’t have hit Justin.”
“Oh Lord, Nita, someone had to. I’ve never seen Justin act like that in my life.”
Nita shrugged, took her fork and raked it across the icing for one last bite.
“I love cream cheese frosting,” she said. “I’m going to my room to watch some TV for a while. I’m keeping my own company tonight.”
“Where’s Andrew?”
Nita shrugged.
“I don’t know, but when he called this evening, I told him I wasn’t up for company.”
Fiona arched a brow. “You don’t care what he’s doing without you?”
Nita snorted softly. “No, why would I?”
“You trust him that much?” Fiona asked.
Nita laughed.
“I don’t trust him at all, but that doesn’t have anything to do with our relationship. He has a hard dick and endurance. That’s all the job requires.”
Fiona blinked. “You never used to be so crude.”
Nita laughed again.
“Oh, Fee...I was always crude. I just don’t care enough to hide it anymore.”
She started to leave the table, then stopped, went back for the cake and her fork, and took them with her.
Now Fiona was alone.
She looked about the beautifully appointed dining room, at the elegant table with dirty plates and cups scattered up and down the length of it, and realized the scene before her was a shocking analogy for the family: a beaut
iful setting with a scattered assortment of very expensive, very dirty plates and cups. Cook would wash all of this clean, but who was going to clean their souls?
Eight
Charles had a raincoat over his dinner clothes and was heading out the door when his dad caught him in the hall.
“Where are you going?” Blake asked.
“Like I said, out with friends,” Charles said.
Blake frowned.
“Be careful. There could be flooding on the roads.”
“Yes, I will, and I’ll be home late.” Then he paused. “Can’t you do something with Uncle Jack? He’s getting on everyone’s nerves.”
Blake shrugged. “He’s trying to protect the family.”
Charles stood a moment, eyeing the serious expression on his father’s face. “Are you worried?” he asked.
Blake frowned. “Hell, yes. This has the look of a nightmare for all of us.”
“What happens if there’s no one to pin it on?” Charles asked.
“What do you mean?” Blake asked.
“Well, if everyone has an alibi that can be confirmed, then what happens?”
“Hell if I know,” Blake said. “But I can guarantee someone in this family will go down regardless.”
Now it was Charles who was confused.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You don’t know your Aunt Leigh, but the rest of us do. She’s a Wayne first, and she’s the only one of us who ever defied our father. And she succeeded beyond any of our expectations, then went on to live a happily married life to spite him. She has five sons who, I suspect, would walk through fire for her, because that’s the kind of loyalty she inspires. If the police can’t determine what happened, she’ll take us all down.”
Charles was startled. He’d never heard his father talk like this before. He almost sounded uncertain, which was not how the Wayne family conducted business.
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Charles muttered, and left the mansion, glad he’d had the foresight to park beneath the portico, because the thunderstorm was blowing the rain sideways.
He got into his car and headed up the driveway with his windshield wipers on high. By the time he got out to the street he’d already forgotten the family drama and was thinking about his night’s entertainment.
* * *
Andrew was glad he wasn’t going to have to put up with Nita tonight. She was fun and generous, but sometimes she was also too damn demanding. He knew why she liked him. It was the same reason everyone liked him. Because he was really good at what he did.
And he was simply following in the family footsteps.
In his day, they’d called his grandfather a ladies’ man. In his father’s time, the term was gigolo. Andrew had no qualms about his status and didn’t care if people thought of him as cougar prey for middle-aged women. He happily accommodated the people who could afford him.
He walked barefoot through the house with a plate of fruit and cheese as he headed to the liquor cabinet. After a quick decision, he poured himself a glass of wine from one of the better reds, plugged his iPod into his docking system and smiled when his favorite music began to play. He popped a piece of cheese into his mouth, dimmed the lights throughout the house and then strode to a window to watch the lightning flashes from the storm.
He liked storms, and the wilder the better. Thunder rumbled. It was so loud it felt like it was on top of him. Lightning cracked and flashed as it struck the dark surface of the lake before him.
Just as the flash faded, he saw car lights. His pulse kicked. It was about time. He turned to face the front door and waited for it to open. When it did, his guest blew in with the wind and rain.
“It’s about time you got here,” Andrew said. “I’ve started without you.” He held up his wineglass.
Charles Wayne began shedding his clothes. By the time he reached Andrew, he was naked. He took the wine out of Andrew’s hand and downed it, then set it aside and challenged him with an in-your-face smile.
Andrew threw his head back and laughed.
* * *
Leigh sat on the side of her bed, looking around the shadowed bedroom she’d shared with Stanton for more than thirty years. It still smelled like his aftershave. His clothes were still in the closet, and a pair of his shoes was beside the chair where he’d left them when he had changed into his walking boots.
Wind blew rain against the windows and hammered on the roof above her head. She kept thinking of it as a cleansing. There wouldn’t be a trace of Stanton’s blood left after this, but there was no way to hide his presence here. She kept expecting him to walk in at any moment. Twice today she’d thought she’d seen him from the corner of her eye, only to realize it was Bowie. It broke her heart to be so conflicted about her son’s presence. She needed him here. He was the last link to complete their family circle, and yet, because his resemblance to his father was so strong, he was also a painful and tangible reminder of what she’d lost.
Her eyes were burning from lack of sleep, but it wasn’t going to happen in here, so she gathered up her pillow and a blanket and went into the living room to bed down on the sofa. The storm was still raging, and she was so sleep-deprived she felt faint, but there was no way in hell she could lie down in their bed without Stanton. Not yet. Maybe never.
She stretched out on the sofa, then rolled over on to her side and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. Even with the curtains pulled over the windows and her eyes closed, she still saw the lightning flashes. She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, and as she did, tears pooled and fell.
“Oh, Stanton, I never saw this coming. I thought we would grow old together. I don’t know how to do this yet, but I will.”
Thunder rumbled again. She tensed, hoping it wouldn’t wake Jesse. Then she heard footsteps in the hall and heard Bowie’s voice.
“I’m here, Jesse. It’s just a thunderstorm. You’re okay.”
She rose up on one elbow to look down the hall. Jesse must have called out. Thank God for Bowie. He wouldn’t be here forever, but this respite from Jesse’s every need was a blessing. She lay back down, settled into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
It took Bowie a few minutes to get Jesse settled, and then he went back into his bedroom, but he left the door ajar in case Jesse called out again.
He knew his mother was in the living room on the sofa. He’d heard her leave her room, and when she didn’t come back he’d checked on her and had seen her stretched out on the sofa, then quietly returned to his bed.
He hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk to Samuel before he’d left to take Aunt Polly home, but he and his brothers were meeting in Eden tomorrow morning around nine. There would be plenty of time to talk then while they were waiting to see if the law ever showed.
He glanced at the time. It was almost midnight—too late to text Talia. She didn’t look like she’d had enough sleep in years, so no way was he taking a chance on waking her up, but he couldn’t sleep. He moved to the window and pushed aside the curtain to stare out into the night.
Rain, blown by the storm, hit the glass with such force it made Bowie flinch. A shaft of lightning struck in the forest beyond the backyard. It was like watching fire explode. The tree caught fire, even in the rain, but the flames quickly died out.
He kept thinking of what he’d learned about the Wayne family’s rumored involvement in the resort project. After giving Riordan that information earlier in the evening, he hoped it might point a finger at who had the most to lose, which could easily put a name to the killer. Either way, he wasn’t leaving his mother until the murderer was behind bars.
Thunder rumbled across the sky as he dropped the curtain and moved back to the bed. He was tired and needed to rest, but as he stretched out on the mattr
ess, all he could think of was his father in the morgue and his mother on the living room sofa, crying herself to sleep. It was the sound of the rain on the roof that lulled him, and the next time he woke his alarm was going off.
He rolled over to shut it off as the scent of fresh coffee drifted down the hall. Guessing his mother was already in the kitchen, he headed for the bathroom while it was empty. There was no time to waste this morning. This was Constable Riordan’s chance to do the right thing, and he and his brothers intended to make sure the man was there to do it.
Bowie was in and out of the shower in record time, and dressed before Jesse woke. Leigh was at the stove frying bacon as he entered the kitchen. He paused to kiss her on the cheek.
“Morning, Mama.”
Leigh’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but she had a smile for him.
“Good morning, son. I’m making pancakes shortly, and the coffee’s done. Pour yourself a cup and sit with me while I finish up.”
“Does Jesse need help dressing?” he asked.
Leigh shook her head.
“Not really. It’s strange what he’s still capable of doing. It’s like his view of the world and his vocabulary are childlike, but his technical and motor skills are still there.”
“How do you mean?” Bowie asked.
“For instance, he’s still every bit as good a shot as he was in the army. And he can break a rifle down and put it back together better than Stanton could.”
“Really? That’s actually amazing. I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, and he’s retained his tracking skills. Remember when he went through his Daniel Boone phase in grade school and pestered Dad to teach him the different kinds of animal tracks, and how to track people, too?”
Bowie smiled, thinking of the story he’d read to Jesse.
“Yes, I remember.”
“He was a crack shot in the military, and still is,” Leigh said.
“Translate that to sniper in the war and, yes, I knew that, too.”
Leigh shrugged.
“War is war, and I’m at war right now with my blood kin.”
“I know, Mama, and if Riordan knows what’s good for him, he’ll be at the Wayne estate today.”
