Family Sins

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 mattress, 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.”

She sighed and wiped her hands on the front of her apron.

“I’m starting the pancakes now. If Jesse’s not awake already, just tell him what I’m making.”

Bowie grinned. “And then stand back?”

Leigh chuckled.

“Yes. It’s proceed at your own risk, if you get between Jesse and his food.”

Bowie left the kitchen in a hurry. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he felt like Jesse when it came to Mama’s cooking.

Constable Riordan left the precinct just after eight-thirty with Brady Griffin, the head of his crime scene team, riding shotgun. Two deputies escorted them in a second car. They were on their way to Eden.

Riordan had called Chief Clayton that morning and asked him to send an officer to meet them at the Wayne residence at nine, and then Riordan had called the Wayne estate. When the maid answered the phone, he identified himself and asked to speak to Jackson Wayne. He heard her gasp, and then she asked him to wait. Moments later he heard someone pick up on an extension, and then Mad Jack’s voice was blasting in his ear.

“Do you know what time it is? I do not take calls before breakfast!”

Riordan held firm to his intent. He wasn’t going to be bulldozed by the Wayne family or anyone else when he had a murder to solve.

“I called early to tell you that I’m on my way over. Please, inform the rest of your family that I expect them all to be there to discuss Stanton Youngblood’s murder. If they are not, I will be visiting them at their places of business.”

Jack Wayne cursed. “You do not threaten me or mine!” he shouted.

“No, Mr. Wayne, you do not threaten me or my authority. I am investigating a murder in which someone from your family was named as the killer. The fact that one of you was involved in the death of a good man is not my problem. It’s yours. Do we understand each other?”

“I have connections and will not allow-”

“If you’re referring to our illustrious governor, know that I have already replied to his request regarding you, and once it was pointed out to his office that he might want to distance himself from protecting a murderer, he understood the situation so much better. We will be there around 9:00 a.m.”

“Our lawyer will be here,” Jack fired back.

“This is strictly an interview to get everyone’s statement regarding the day of the murder, but maybe you know something I don’t. So am I to take your insistence on legal representation as an admission of your family’s guilt?” Riordan asked.

Silence.

Riordan guessed Jack was thinking that over.

“No, of course not,” Jack finally said.

“Then we will see you soon.”

“We? Who’s ‘we’?”

“My team and I,” Riordan said, and hung up.

It wasn’t that Riordan was afraid of the Wayne family, but he was afraid of what they might do, and the more witnesses he had to their behavior, the better this interrogation would go.

What he regretted was that he’d hesitated to do the right thing, and if it hadn’t been for Bowie Youngblood’s angry call, he probably still wouldn’t be doing this, which was his fault. If he’d done this to begin with, he wouldn’t be starting on the wrong foot.

But after Bowie’s second call and the news that Stanton had paid off the loans belonging to his brother and sister, meaning that the land the developers needed for the resort was no longer available, Clayton’s call about the picketers had suddenly made a lot more sense.

At that point Riordan had called the bank to confirm the information with the president of the bank in Eden, who’d told him that, yes, they’d sold the loans to East Coast Lenders, Inc. He said when they began foreclosures on some of the notes, he was surprised, but had no say in the matter. He’d also confirmed that Stanton Youngblood had paid off his siblings’ loans on several pieces of property, which he only knew because Stanton had mentioned it to him when he cashed in some IRAs to cover the loans. Those properties were in the same area as the planned resort.Riordan knew if that had delayed or even stopped the developers from building, then he had the motive that he’d been missing.

At that point he’d called in and had one of his officers research the ownership of East Coast Lenders, Inc., as well as the names of the investors on the property at the lake. When he got the call back with information, he wasn’t surprised to learn Wayne Industries was an investor in the resort development and also owned East Coast Lenders.

The ride to Eden was mostly silent, with both men lost in thought. The magnitude of what they were about to do wasn’t lost on either one of them, because they both knew the Wayne family had the power and pull to make their lives miserable as hell if they so chose.

By the time they reached the city limits, Riordan’s gut was in a knot. CSI Griffin had been reading over his notes from the crime scene, so that it was all firmly in his mind. If anyone said anything incriminating, Griffin would know.

When Jack realized Riordan had just hung up on him, he was livid. Furious, he left the library, yelling loudly for everyone to get the hell out there and listen to him. One by one, the family emerged from their rooms to rush to the head of the stairs.

Blake was only half-dressed as he ran out, and when he saw his uncle at the bottom of the staircase, he called down, “What’s going on?”

“Where’s Charles?” Jack shouted.

Charles came out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a big bath towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’m here! I was just getting out of the shower. Is something on fire?”

“Nobody leaves the house this morning,” Jack announced.

Justin frowned. “But I was supposed to-”

Nita shrugged and cut him off. “I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”

“What the hell is going on?” Blake asked again.

“Constable Riordan is on his way here with ‘his team.’ He’s coming to take our statements about the day of Youngblood’s murder.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I thought you said you spoke to the governor about this?”

“It appears the governor has decided to distance himself from our unsavory situation. So one of you has put all the future of this family in jeopardy! The constable will be here around nine. Make sure you are all available, and don’t confront him in any way or do anything to make yourself look guilty. I’m going in to breakfast. Feel free to join me.”

He turned and strode into the dining room, leaving the rest of them staring at each other.

Blake threw up his arms and went back to his room. The others quickly followed suit, leaving Charles at the top of the stairs alone. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he, too, went back to get dressed. This had certainly put a damper on the good mood he’d been in from last night.

Bowie drove into Eden just before nine with his brothers in their separate vehicles right behind him. The convoy of Stanton Youngblood’s sons was duly noted by the citizens of Eden, and when all four vehicles headed for the Wayne estate, curiosity grew. Then news began to spread that the Youngblood brothers were parked outside the gate to the estate. Before long, a small crowd began to gather a short distance away.

Aidan glanced over his shoulder as he joined his brothers beneath the shade of a large elm near the sidewalk.

“We’re drawing a crowd,” he said.

The others turned to look.

Bowie’s eyes narrowed. “I hope the sight of those people ticks every one of them off,” he said.

“So do I. I hope they get as hot as this day is getting,” Michael said, and pulled a band from the pocket of his pants and tied his hair back in a long ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Aidan’s hair was already in a ponytail, and Samuel’s was in a long loose braid.

Only Bowie’s was still loose. His hair was so straight and so black that from a distance he could have passed for Native American, but his tan was from countless hours outside on the oil platforms, rather than genetic. He’d taken after his mother’s people. Scottish to the core. And now those people had become the enemy.

“It’s nine fifteen,” Aidan said.

Then Samuel pointed up the street. “And here they come,” he said.

The brothers turned and watched the duo of county police cars as they neared the gate. They saw the startled expression on the constable’s face as he recognized them, and then he quickly looked away.

“I guess he didn’t think you were serious, because he looks shocked that we’re here,” Michael said. “Oh, here comes one of Eden’s officers, too.”

Bowie didn’t say anything. He just kept watching as the police cars drove past them, then down the driveway, finally pulling up at the main house.

“Since it took him ’til the third day after Daddy’s murder to get here, I’ll be curious to see how long it takes to get everybody’s statements,” Bowie said, and proceeded to make himself comfortable on a bench beneath the tree.

His brothers joined him, and for a few moments they were silent, each man lost in his own thoughts about the tragedy. Then Bowie spoke.

“Tell me about what went down after the police arrived on the scene. Did any of you hear them talking about any evidence they found?”

“Well, it was Samuel who found the shell casing from the shooter’s rifle,” Aidan said.

Samuel nodded, then added, “I also found footprints. Mama asked me to trail them, which I did. They ended almost a mile down the mountain where he got on a motorcycle and rode off.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared down at an ant carrying a leaf across the grass at his feet. “Can we assume Mama isn’t in danger, too?”

The shock on his brothers’ faces was sudden.

“That never crossed my mind,” Aidan said. “Now there’s just her and Jesse at the house.”

“We need to make sure she doesn’t go rambling off in the woods until this is over,” Michael said.

“I’ll mention it to her when I get home,” Bowie said.

“It’s gonna make her mad,” Aidan said.

Bowie shrugged. “Mad is good if it keeps her safe.”

After that, conversation ended, but the crowd at the end of the street continued to grow.

While the people in the crowd were all curious to see if the constable left with a suspect in custody, the Youngblood brothers weren’t nearly that optimistic. For all they knew, the constable was letting the Wayne family run the show.