The Sibling

by Diane Moody

  “Like I said, I made two walk-throughs to make sure no one was still in the building. Five minutes tops. Probably more like three.”

  “And you spotted his body in the empty baptistry—”

  “The water was running, so it was mostly empty. Maybe a couple of inches at most.”

  “Right. So where were you standing when you could see Harley? That’s a narrow hall that leads to the steps going down into the baptistry. Did you come all the way to the steps? Did you go down them?”

  “Not at first. My heart started racing once I spotted him. I panicked and started to get the hell out of there, but …” He glanced off to the side.

  “But what?”

  Tristan took his time letting his eyes troll back toward Peyton again. “I thought I should check. In case he was … still alive.”

  Peyton sensed the subtle shift in the space between them. A vulnerability. A trace of compassion. Something he hadn’t associated with his brother in a long time.

  “Did you?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “You checked his pulse?”

  His eyes drifted down at his thumb as he nodded again.

  “He was gone?”

  Tristan cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  Peyton let that sit a spell as he pictured the scene in his mind. Harley, laid out in the baptistry, the fatal angle of his head. Tristan slowly making his way down the dry steps, close enough to press his fingers against Harley’s throat. The sound of the open faucet, the water beginning to rise around him.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “What?” Tristan said.

  “Close your eyes. Put yourself back there in that baptistry.”

  He might have grown a second nose for the way Tristan looked at him.

  “Tristan, just do it.”

  With an exasperated sigh, he did as Peyton asked.

  “You’re there, first on the steps, looking down at Harley. Notice anything? Picture his face. Any marks or bruises? Scratches?”

  “No. But his skin was that … what do you call it? Real splotchy?”

  “Mottled?”

  “Yes. It looked really weird, but I knew he hadn’t been dead long. And when I touched his neck, his skin was still a little warm.”

  “Okay. Anything else? Think of the five senses. Sight, smell, touch—”

  His eyes flew open. “A smell. I remember a smell … like, I don’t know, cologne? Perfume? But not flowery or anything.”

  “Maybe aftershave?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Harley always wore aftershave. I used to tease him about marinating in it.”

  “That was probably it.”

  “If I found out what he used and brought a sample for you to smell, would you know it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. Anything else? Did you see anything? On the steps? Down in the floor of the baptistry as water was covering it?”

  “No. But I’ll be honest, as soon as I knew he was dead, I got outta there. I knew right then and there I had to get as far away from Braxton as I could. And I would have made it if that stupid Buick had a decent gas gauge. I couldn’t risk running out of gas, so I filled up at your station there off the interstate. The cameras never even occurred to me. I should’ve known better.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure this out.”

  “Why don’t I feel at all relieved to hear you say that?”

  “You’ve just got to trust me, Tristan.”

  “Yeah, right. What about that attorney? Does he have any leads? Or was he so sure it was me, he and his detective didn’t bother looking elsewhere?”

  “There’s been talk about the possibility of Stone Decker’s involvement. He’s a local builder who’s shifty, to put it nicely. He and Harley had ties based on Harley’s gambling debts, and he’s no angel.”

  “Yeah, I was warned about him when I got here.”

  Peyton sat up. “So you’ve met him?”

  “Seen him, but not met him, and I don’t intend to. He runs the inmates like a cartel. I could totally see him knocking someone off who got in his way. Or more likely, ordering a hit by one of his sidekicks. That is one manipulative dude.”

  “I’ll have to pass that along to Sterling,” Peyton said. “He could be the kingpin of all this. I sure wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “But that’s it? No other leads?” Tristan asked.

  “Actually, there was something I forgot to ask you about. What were you wearing that night? You had on a leather jacket, but what else?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “A button was found in a crack of those stairs leading down into the baptistry.”

  “What kind of button?”

  “Like off a jacket or blazer. Gold edges, navy blue with a gold oval inset, and in the middle of the oval, a gold nautical anchor.”

  “Do I look like someone who wears blazers with nautical buttons?”

  “So, it’s not yours.”

  “Not mine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Peyton said, smiling.

  “That’s it?” Tristan raised his hands. “One lousy button? You’ve got a hundred folks coming and going in that church. It could be anyone’s.”

  “I know. But like Jeff’s deputy said, who wears a jacket into baptismal waters?”

  Tristan leaned back again. “Well, then, let’s get me out of here! There’s a nautical button that proves it wasn’t me. Great. Just great.”

  “Hey, we’re doing the best we can. So knock off the sarcasm, will you?”

  “Look, I’m sure this makes you feel real warm and fuzzy, coming here to visit me like this. But you can’t help me, so save yourself the time and trouble.”

  “Time’s up,” the guard said, tromping over to Tristan. “Let’s go.”

  Peyton stood and slapped the photograph against the glass again. “Tristan, if you never hear another word I say, I promise you this: I will do whatever it takes to prove you’re innocent if you’ll just …” Emotion clogged his throat and stopped him mid-sentence.

  The guard took hold of Tristan’s arm and turned him toward the door.

  “Tristan, please!” he shouted.

  His brother ignored him, continuing toward the door.

  The finality of it shook Peyton, prodding a strange sob from deep inside him.

  Tristan stopped and looked back over his shoulder, locking his eyes on Peyton’s. Then, with the faintest hint of a smile and the slightest nod of his head, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

  Chapter 31

  When Aubrey awoke on Monday morning, she was surprised to find daylight streaming through the window. She blinked when she looked at the clock, startled that she’d slept until eight-thirty. When it dawned on her that the other side of the bed lay empty, she sat up with a jolt.

  “Mom?”

  She stepped into her slippers and checked the master bathroom, then hurried into the hall. The scent of coffee beckoned her to the kitchen.

  “Mom?”

  As she rounded the corner, there she was. Seated at the kitchen table, her red-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose as she read the paper while eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Mom?”

  “Good morning, Aubrey,” she said, finally looking up.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

  “No. Why?”

  Aubrey studied her—neatly dressed with makeup on, hair reasonably fixed, and acting for all the world like the mother she’d always known. “Never mind.”

  Faye turned the page in the paper. “There’s coffee if you want some.”

  “Thanks.” She reached for a mug from the cabinet and poured the hot brew from the carafe. “What time did you get up? I didn’t hear you.”

  “The usual time.”

  She took a seat across from her at the table, stirring the cream into her coffee. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’m fine. Just reading about the up
coming book festival in Nashville. If you’re still in town, we should go.” She paused and looked over her glasses at Aubrey. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” Aubrey sipped her coffee as she tried to discern her mother’s current state of mind.

  “What are your plans today while I’m at work?”

  “Mom, you can’t go to work.”

  She looked up with an expression of surprise. “Why ever not? Of course I’m going to work.”

  “No, you need to stay home and rest.”

  “Don’t be silly. I slept well, I feel fine, so I’m going to work.”

  She placed her hand on her mother’s wrist. “Mom, look at me.”

  Her brows drew together as she looked first at Aubrey’s hand on hers, then tilted her head to glance up at her daughter. “What’s all this about?”

  “You remember what happened yesterday, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You went missing. You were gone for more than twenty-four hours. Don’t you remember?”

  “I did no such thing. How could I go missing if I knew where I was?”

  Aubrey’s huff of exasperation escaped before she could stop it. “Okay, call it what you like, but a policeman found you sleeping on the grounds of the Farmer’s Market in Nashville. You did not know where you were. When they asked your name, you couldn’t remember.”

  Faye stared at her for a long and uncomfortable moment, then stood and carried her dishes to the sink. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Honestly, Aubrey, I don’t know why you think—”

  “Mother! They took you to St. Thomas Hospital. Don’t you remember?”

  “I haven’t been in a hospital since I had my appendix out in ’ninety-nine.” She giggled as she put the dishes in the dishwasher. That same peculiar giggle. “Honey, I think you must still be asleep, because you’re making no sense whatsoever.”

  Aubrey groaned, covering her face with her hands. Then, straightening, she gripped the edge of the table. “No, you’re the one who’s not making any sense. You got into the car of a complete stranger. He drove you to Nashville. Somehow you ended up at the Farmer’s Market in the middle of the night. Do not stand there and act like it never happened.”

  Faye stared her down then slammed the door to the dishwasher. “I don’t have time for this.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m late for work, thanks to you, so if it’s all right with you, your majesty, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Mom, STOP IT!” Aubrey stood and reached for her mother’s arm, but Faye yanked it free.

  “No, you stop! What’s gotten into you? You may be a grown woman now, but I will not allow you to talk to me in that tone of voice! Now get out of my way before I do something we both regret.”

  As her mother left the room, Aubrey reached in her pocket for her phone and called Peyton. She struggled to keep her composure when he answered.

  “She’s losing it again, Peyton. She thinks I made the whole thing up about her going missing, and she’s determined to go to work. I don’t know what to do … how fast can you get here?”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  “Park in the driveway to block her car so she can’t drive off.”

  “Got it.”

  Aubrey took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. She was still wearing her cotton pajamas, but couldn’t risk going upstairs to change, so she pulled her father’s cardigan off the hook on the hall tree and slipped it on. Her eyes teared at the faint whiff of his scent and wished with all her heart he was here. He’d know what to do. He always did.

  Faye emerged from her bedroom carrying her purse. “I can’t find my keys. Do you have them?”

  “Yes.”

  Her mother turned and held out her hand. “Well, hand them over. I’m late.” She glanced at her appearance. “Why do you have your father’s sweater on?”

  When someone knocked on the door, Aubrey rushed to open it.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Peyton said, as if he just dropped by for a visit. “How are you?”

  “Hello Pastor. What are you doing here?

  He approached Faye, giving her a pat on the back. “Just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  She looked over at Aubrey, scanning her from head to toe. “Goodness, honey, go put some clothes on. Can’t you see we have a visitor?”

  Aubrey wrapped the sweater around her then folded her arms across her chest.

  “Faye, might I trouble you for a cup of coffee?” Peyton said. “I was hoping the three of us might sit down for a chat.”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m late for work as it is. Maybe another time,” she said, once again digging in her purse to find her keys.

  “Mother, this is important,” Aubrey said, reaching for Faye’s hand. “If we could just—”

  Faye yanked her hand free.

  “I TOLD you, I’m LATE FOR WORK. Now give me my keys before I—”

  “Faye!” Peyton shouted, stepping in front of her and gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “I think we all need to calm down. I’ll take you to work in a minute if you like, but for right now, I need you to come sit with me. All right?”

  Aubrey bit her lip, trying to think rationally as Peyton slowly led her mother to the living room.

  “Peyton, I just don’t understand why we have to do this now?” Faye said, the anger subsiding from her voice.

  “It’s important. You and Aubrey and I need to talk.”

  “Well, if you insist. Aubrey, go get Peyton a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She returned and set Peyton’s coffee on the end table beside him where he sat next to Faye. She sat in her father’s recliner across from them tucking her leg beneath her.

  “Thank you, Aubrey.”

  “Now what’s all this about?” Faye asked, folding her hands on her lap.

  “I’m concerned about you, Faye. You gave us all quite a scare these past couple of days.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I understand. Sometimes life gets confusing for all of us. It certainly has been for me lately.”

  “I’m sure managing a church can be difficult at times.”

  “Yes, it can.”

  “Especially with Harley’s death there,” Faye added. “I can only imagine all the hoopla that’s caused.”

  He glanced over at Aubrey. “It’s been a challenge to say the least.”

  “Because of your twin?” Faye asked. “The one we saw in the back of that police car?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “He’s the spitting image of you.”

  “Yes, we’re identical.”

  “Is he like you?”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  Aubrey watched as Faye leaned back, relaxing as she listened to Peyton talk about his brother. Something about his presence and the calm, soothing tone of his voice seemed to drain the angst from her mother. Even the lines on her face seemed to soften. A few minutes later, her eyes slowly closed as she drifted off to sleep.

  Peyton kept talking, tossing a wink at Aubrey. She smiled, relieved that the tension seemed to have passed. They waited several minutes until Faye’s breath was rhythmic and steady as she slept. Then they quietly left the room and retreated to the kitchen.

  “How did you do that?” Aubrey whispered. “It’s like you hypnotized her.”

  “I’m a preacher, remember? Lots of practice putting my parishioners to sleep on Sunday mornings.”

  She smiled, grateful for his corny sense of humor. “Thank you for coming. I’ve never seen her so angry at me.”

  He took her hand and led her to sit with him at the table. “Tell me what happened.”

  She recounted her mother’s roller-coaster behavior, her mood swinging from completely normal to outright denial of what had transpired over the past couple of days.

  “I feel like
I need to watch her every single minute. Even now, sitting here, I’m worried she might try to sneak out if she wakes up.”

  “We’d hear her. And besides, you have her keys, and I’m parked behind her in the driveway.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Listen, I had an idea that I’d like to run by you. I have a friend over in Franklin who runs a home designed for people like your mother.”

  She stiffened. “I’m not taking her to a psychiatric—”

  “No, that’s not what this is. It’s simply a home setting for people who are being evaluated. Instead of subjecting her to a sterile, hospital environment surrounded by people with all kinds of mental disorders, this is a low-key, laid-back, cozy residence where she can be observed around the clock by trained professionals who know precisely what to look for. They’ll evaluate her entire medical history, review various aspects of her health, and monitor her motor skills, her hearing, her emotional state of mind—all kinds of different things that can tell them whether this is something related to the shock and grief of losing Jed, or if it’s something entirely unrelated.”

  “You’ve seen this facility?”

  “I have. It’s called Magnolia Place, and I’m extremely impressed with how it’s run, how it looks, the way the patient guests are treated. I’d thought about driving you down to see it for yourself, let you talk to my friend, ask questions—whatever you need. But we no longer have the luxury of time for that sort of visit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took hold of her hand again. “I think we need to take her there today.”

  Aubrey pulled her hand free and shook her head. “She won’t go. She’ll never allow it. On top of everything else that’s going on, my mother can be stubborn as a mule. There’s no way you’ll convince her to go.”

  He nodded slowly, lowering his voice again. “Then I think we need to take her there under false pretenses.”

  “You mean lie to her? Tell her we’re going out for … for dinner or some other ruse?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. This isn’t the first time I’ve been involved in situations like this. But it’s a thousand times better than having some guys in white jackets come drag her out of her house.”

  She closed her eyes, hating the idea. Hating everything about it. She stood up and looked him in the eye. “No. Absolutely not.”