He smiles at me and dismisses my question with a wave of his hand. “I don’t really care about the money all that much.”
“Really?” I say, my skepticism obvious.
“Yes, really. Unlike my siblings, I’ve managed to put away most of my money rather than squander it. I’ll be okay no matter what happens.”
“Then why are you glad to hear we have an answer?”
“Well, for one thing, it will put an end to all this bickering.” He opens the door to the office and holds it for me, his smile broadening. “But even better,” he adds as I walk inside, “is the fact that once your investigation is done, you no longer have a reason to avoid having dinner with me.”
“I see,” I say, feeling myself start to blush. Cass is on duty; at least I assume the long-haired, hippy-looking girl behind the desk is her. Standing beside her is Hurley, who starts to smile but then quickly scowls when he sees Aaron and I walk in together.
“What about this coming Saturday?” Aaron says as we approach the desk. “Are you free? Because I’d love to take you to this fabulous restaurant I know in Green Bay.”
Hurley’s scowl deepens and my wicked side takes over. “Let me think on that, Aaron,” I say, smiling sweetly at him. “I’ll let you know before you leave today, okay?”
“Great!” He claps his hands like a little kid, a gesture I find somehow charming.
Cass walks over to us and says, “Mr. Heinrich, if you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the conference room. The rest of your family as well as your stepsiblings are already there.”
I hand my muffins over to Cass, and as she leads Aaron out of the reception area, Hurley walks over to me wearing an expression that looks like thunderclouds. “You aren’t seriously going to go out on a date with that yahoo, are you?” he grumbles.
I shrug and smile. “I don’t know yet. He’s handsome, charming, and seems to be the only member of his family with any brains or common sense. So why not?”
“Handsome?” Hurley scoffs. “You find that coiffed playboy look appealing?”
“I find many looks appealing,” I tell him. I turn to head for the conference room but before I can take a second step, Hurley grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Don’t do it,” he says.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this denouement for anything. I can’t wait to see those spoiled brats get their comeuppance.”
“I don’t mean that,” Hurley says, looking nervous. He still has a hold on one of my arms and he grabs the other one and turns me to face him. “I mean the other thing. You can’t . . . I mean, you shouldn’t . . . damn it!” He blows out a breath of exasperation. “I don’t want you going on a date with Aaron Heinrich,” he finally spits out.
His hold on me is firm but not tight and I briefly consider shaking his grip loose. But I like him touching me too much to do so. So I issue a verbal challenge instead. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
Hurley pulls me closer and wraps a hand around the back of my head. Then he launches a full-frontal lip assault. Our mouths collide in a deliciously sensual lock and then his second hand is at the small of my back, pulling me into him. As his tongue starts a gentle probe, I feel the hot, throbbing parts of him against my own. My nipples jump to attention and I cop a cheap feel by rubbing my chest ever so slightly over his.
And then I hear an “Ahem” behind us.
Suddenly all that wonderful heat is gone as Hurley breaks his lip-lock and steps back, away from me. The action leaves me breathless, longing, slightly befuddled, and a tad pissed off. I look to Hurley for an answer and see that his eyes are no longer focused on me, but rather behind me. I turn and find Izzy standing there wearing a smirk nearly as wide as he is tall.
“I’d offer the two of you a private room,” Izzy says. “But I’m afraid the best I can come up with on such short notice is the morgue fridge. And not only are those tables kind of uncomfortable, I’m afraid the two of you would thaw out all the bodies.”
“Sorry,” Hurley mumbles, adjusting his pants in a vain attempt to hide the conspicuous bulge that has sprung up.
“No need to apologize,” Izzy says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But we are about to get started in the other room so if you want to attend, you might want to get yourselves together and head that way.”
“Be right there,” Hurley says.
Izzy turns and leaves the room. I look back at Hurley, expecting him to appear embarrassed or chagrined, but instead he’s wearing a smirk.
“So, was my reason good enough for you?” he says.
“Huh?”
“Did I persuade you?”
“Persuade me?” My mind can’t seem to wrap itself around what he’s asking because it’s still muddled up in a haze of glorious sensations and raging hormones.
Hurley shakes his head at me. “How quickly they forget,” he says. “You asked me to give you one good reason why you shouldn’t date Aaron Heinrich. So I’m asking you, was my reason good enough?”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, that.”
I lick my lips, relishing the lingering taste of him there. “Yeah,” I say, giving him a silly-assed grin. “I’d say you made your, um, point”—I shoot a salacious glance toward his crotch—“exceedingly well. Now you better find a way to make it go away or Easton Heinrich might think you’re coming on to him.”
“Want to help me?”
Oh, boy. Suddenly the Heinrich/Conklin fiasco doesn’t seem so interesting. But before I can answer, the main door to the office opens and two cops stroll in: Junior Feller and Larry Johnson.
At first I think the presence of the cops means the families in the other room must have gotten out of hand already, but the relaxed manner of Junior and Larry as they stroll into the room suggests otherwise.
“Hey, Steve,” Larry says, acknowledging him with a nod. He looks at me and his voice warms up several degrees as he says, “Good to see you again, Mattie.”
Hurley doesn’t miss the subtle change in Larry’s tone, but even if he did, the puppy-dog eyes Larry has every time he looks at me is a dead giveaway.
“What are you guys doing here?” Hurley asks, his tone gruff.
Junior says, “Izzy called us and wanted us to stand by. He said he’s got some news to deliver to that nutcase family that went bonkers at the hospital the other day and he wanted some backup on hand just in case.”
“Probably a smart idea,” I say.
Hurley puffs out his chest a bit and says, “I think I can handle things on my own.”
Apparently I’m not the only one whose hormones got a workout during that kiss. Clearly Hurley has more testosterone than brains at the moment. Not only do the Heinriches and Conklins have him clearly outnumbered, they’re also nuttier than squirrel shit. After working in the ER for a number of years, I can vouch for the added strength insanity imbues in people.
As soon as Hurley throws down his awkward gauntlet, a deafening silence fills the room. Larry, who is known for his painful bluntness and lack of verbal filters, remains thankfully quiet and continues to just stand there making moon eyes at me.
Junior, who is a bit more tactful, finally breaks the silence and says, “Oh, I’m sure you can, Steve. But to be honest, we want to be in on whatever’s going down. One of those crazy-assed Heinrich women nailed me in the cojones the other day during that melee at the hospital. And from what Izzy told us, the Heinriches aren’t going to be very happy with what he has to tell them. So personally, I’d like to be here. I can’t wait to see their hopes get crushed into tiny little pieces.”
Yikes! I make a mental note to never do anything that will piss Junior off.
Hurley ponders Junior’s request for a moment, and then says, “Okay, after you.” He gestures toward the door to the back part of the office and Junior and Larry head that way. I fall in behind them with Hurley bringing up the rear. As soon as the two cops are through the door, I pause, turn over my shoulder, and whisper to Hurley.
�
��Is it safe to let you walk behind me?”
He grins and arches his left eyebrow at me. “Absolutely not.”
Ride ’em, cowboy!
Chapter 37
The “conference room” is actually the library since it’s the only space other than the morgue fridge big enough to hold this many people, and Hurley and I already have dibs on that other room. As we enter the library, a cacophony of noise greets us. Everyone is talking to everyone else and most of the voices are a mere gnat’s ass away from shouting. Hurley’s little pup tent is safe, assuming it’s still up, because our entry into the room goes unnoticed by everyone other than Izzy.
Larry and Junior hang out by the door, leaning against the wall. Hurley and I make our way to the head of the table and take the two empty chairs, me next to Izzy and Hurley between me and Grace Heinrich. I take a moment to observe the rest of the group. Grace and Katrina are seated to our left and Easton is seated at the opposite end of the table. On the other side are Sarah and Tom Conklin, with Aaron at the end near his brother.
Grace is leaning across the table lecturing Sarah about the importance of family heritage. Sarah is lecturing right back at her about the ills of greediness and how righteous it is to share. Katrina is mostly listening to this exchange, though she punctuates her sister’s comments periodically with “Damn right!” and “You know it’s true!”
Farther down, Easton is leaning in front of his brother and shaking a finger in Tom’s face, ordering him to “just give it up, put your tail between your legs, and go the hell home.”
Aaron, once again the cool, detached observer in the group, is smiling past his brother’s arm at me. I hear Hurley mutter, “Asshole,” under his breath and know he hasn’t missed the focus of Aaron’s attention.
Izzy makes a couple of attempts to get the attention of everyone, but his efforts are wasted. It’s not until Hurley cuts loose with a shrill whistle that the conversations cease and everyone’s attention shifts to the head of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Izzy says.
“Cut the crap and just get on with it,” Easton snaps. Judging from the red roadmap I can see running over his eyeballs, I guess his blood is somewhere around ninety proof about now. “Which one of them died first?”
Izzy nervously shuffles the folder of papers in front of him. I know the others in the room probably think he has autopsy results in there, but I know otherwise.
“We aren’t one hundred percent sure,” Izzy begins, “but—”
“What the hell!” Grace yells. “If you don’t have any answers for us, why are we here?” The rest of the group chimes in with their own grumbles but another whistle from Hurley silences them.
“I do have an answer for you,” Izzy says. “Just not the one you think.”
I expect more grumbling, but to my surprise, they all remain quiet, waiting.
Izzy opens the folder in front of him and takes out a stack of stapled papers. He doles out one of the stapled packets to each family member in the room, sliding them across the sleek surface of the table.
“As you can see,” Izzy begins, “the papers in front of you are copies of two wills and testaments. The originals are currently tagged as evidence and in the hands of an attorney. We found these wills inside a briefcase that was in your parents’ car.”
Aaron and the women start reading, flipping the pages as they go, their faces taking on disbelieving expressions. Easton, however, tries in vain to focus on the first page and then tosses his packet aside.
“We don’t need to read any goddamned wills,” Easton slurs. “We all have copies already.”
“Not of this one,” Izzy says. “If you’ll look at the last page, you’ll see that they were drafted, signed, and witnessed the day before your parents disappeared.”
Aaron flips a page and starts to chuckle.
Grace flips a page and mutters, “What the fuck?”
Katrina stares at her packet and says, “How could they do this?”
Tom remains silent and keeps reading; Sarah looks up at Izzy and says, “Are you sure this is for real?”
Izzy nods. “We found the lawyer who drafted the wills as well as the witnesses who signed them. They verified both documents.”
Easton, clearly curious now that he’s seen his siblings’ reactions, snatches his packet back and tries once again to bring the words into focus. He doesn’t appear to be having much luck so Izzy summarizes for him.
“So, as I’m sure you can all see, it doesn’t matter which of your parents died first because the outcome is the same either way. All of their money is going to a select group of charities.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Easton screams. “No fucking way.”
Aaron tries to placate his brother by placing a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid it’s true, bro,” he says calmly. “They’ve cut us all out.”
“Fucking sonofabitch!” Easton yells, pounding a fist on the table.
Grace sets her packet of papers down, glares across the table at Sarah, and in a scarily calm and quiet voice, says, “This is all your fault, you fucking bitch.”
“My fault?” Sarah comes back. “If you and your siblings hadn’t been so goddamned lazy and greedy, maybe our folks wouldn’t have felt the need to do this.”
“Greedy?” Grace shrieks. “I’ll give you greedy, bitch!” With that, Grace flings herself across the table and smashes into Sarah head first. Sarah yelps, grabs a chunk of Grace’s hair, and screams, “Get off me, you crazy bitch!” Grace manages to grab Sarah by the throat and at that point Tom joins in and starts trying to pry Grace’s hands loose. That sets Katrina off, who mimics her sister’s maneuver by flying across the table and trying to gouge Tom’s eyes out. Easton, who I’m now convinced is not only a lush but several Froot Loops shy of a full bowl, stands up, rips his shirt open, and dives across the table into Tom.
Seconds later, the room is utter chaos, with Hurley, Junior, and Larry joining the fray. Izzy and I hop out of our chairs and pin our backs to the wall behind us, huddling in the corner farthest from the melee. Across the room I see Aaron slide along his wall and then slip out of the room altogether.
I hear fabric ripping, people screeching, and the sickening sounds of flesh and bone crunching together. At one point blood flies and hits the side wall but I can’t tell whose it is. One of the chairs gets broken and the table is slowly pushed all the way to the other side of the room.
“Well, that went well, wouldn’t you say?” Izzy says to me as we stand watching. He grabs a nearby chair and positions it in front of us like a barricade.
“Thank goodness you had Junior and Larry here.”
Izzy nods. “Think we can get past them to the door?” he says as somebody’s purse flies across the room and hits the wall beside us.
I shake my head and watch as Tom Conklin takes a swing at Easton, who either ducks or falls, allowing Tom’s fist to connect with Junior’s face instead. “Too risky,” I say, grimacing as Junior staggers sideways.
Oddly enough, the Heinrich and Conklin clans seem to be pulling together for a change, ganging up on Hurley and the other two cops. It’s not looking too good for our side when the door to the library crashes open and an unbelievable sight appears.
There, filling the entire doorway, is a behemoth of a man wearing a Lone Ranger–type mask. His feet are encased in red boots and his body is outfitted in tight, red spandex: body suit, tights, and cape. He stands there with his legs spread apart, his fists on his hips, and his arms cocked wide. On his puffed-out chest is printed a giant, yellow, capital letter H for Hacker Man. As odd as this apparition is, it’s one I’ve seen before. Beneath that superhero costume is Joey Dewhurst, the computer savant who saved my life once before.
The sight of him now worries me more than it reassures me. Despite his intimidating presence, Joey is a big softy and I’m afraid he’s going to get hurt. He steps into the room and grabs for the person closest to him, which happens to be Easton. Joey, wh
o probably outweighs Easton by a good two hundred pounds, easily pulls his quarry aside. Easton whirls around angrily, ready to throw a punch, but he freezes, staring at Joey with a look of horror on his face. And then he screams like a little girl.
“Get it off of me!” he screeches. “Oh my God, oh my God! Make it go away!” With that, Easton collapses and starts to sob. This spectacle is enough to distract the others in the room, who glance over to see what’s going on and then freeze where they are, stunned into submission. I can’t say I blame them; Joey the superhero is a rather incredulous sight.
“What the hell is that?” Tom Conklin asks, his eyes wide with fright.
Since Hurley and the other cops know Joey and his predilection for costumes, they aren’t as riveted as the rest of the group. As a result, they are finally able to gain the upper hand and cuff Tom, Sarah, and the two Heinrich sisters.
That leaves Easton, who is lying on the floor at Joey’s feet, still sobbing. He appears to have wet himself, and once Larry and Junior realize that, they look at each other, sigh, and do a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Junior wins and a reluctant Larry carefully approaches Easton and zip-ties his hands behind his back.
By now, I can see there are other people lurking in the hallway just beyond the doorway to the room: Arnie and Aaron Heinrich. I hear Arnie tell Larry, “Yeah, Joey and I were just coming back from lunch and we ran into this guy out front.” He gestures toward Aaron. “He told us about the meeting in here, and when we heard the commotion going on beyond the door, Joey went into hero mode, stripped off his regular clothes, and made his entrance.”
With everyone in the room secure, Hurley makes his way over to me and Izzy. His hair is attractively mussed, one sleeve is torn nearly off, revealing a sexy shoulder beneath, and his lower lip has a small cut on it.
“You guys okay?” he asks.
“We’re fine,” I say. “But you look a little the worse for wear.” I reach up and gingerly dab at a drip of blood on his lip. And as soon as my finger touches that soft flesh, I remember how those lips felt against mine. I feel myself growing hot and quickly pull away.
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