Family Sins

Family Sins Sharon Sala Felled by a cowardly shot to the back, Stanton Youngblood has just enough time before he dies to leave a single clue to his killer’s identity: the word Wayne, scrawled in his own blood.That word means everything to his widow. Leigh Youngblood was once Leigh Wayne, but she left her wealthy family behind thirty years ago when she fell in love with Stanton, a betrayal the Waynes have never forgiven. Now she publicly vows to discover which of her siblings thinks money and power are enough to cover up a murder.Back in town to find his father’s killer, prodigal son Bowie finds his search for justice comes with an unexpected ray of light. He’s loved Talia Champion forever, but when she said she couldn’t marry him, he left town and never looked back. This time it’s Talia who needs him, and it isn’t in him to deny her anything.But the killer still has a score to settle, and if that means spilling more blood—so much the better. MURDER IN EDEN Felled by a cowardly shot to the back, Stanton Youngblood has just enough time before he dies to leave a single clue to his killer’s identity: the word Wayne, scrawled in his own blood. That word means everything to his widow. Leigh Youngblood was once Leigh Wayne, but she left her wealthy family behind thirty years ago when she fell in love with Stanton, a betrayal the Waynes have never forgiven. Now she publicly vows to discover which of her siblings thinks money and power are enough to cover up a murder. Back in town to find his father’s killer, prodigal son Brody finds his search for justice comes with an unexpected ray of light. He’s loved Talia Champion forever, but when she said she couldn’t marry him, he left town and never looked back. This time it’s Talia who needs him, and it isn’t in him to deny her anything. But the killer still has a score to settle, and if that means spilling more blood—so much the better. Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) “Skillfully balancing suspense and romance, Sala gives readers a nonstop breath-holding adventure.” —Publishers Weekly on Going Once “Vivid, gripping...this thriller keeps the pages turning.” —Library Journal on Torn Apart “Sala is a master at telling a story that is both romantic and suspenseful.... With this amazing story, Sala proves why she is one of the best writers in the genre.” —RT Book Reviews on Wild Hearts “Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.” —Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat “Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.” —Publishers Weekly on Remember Me “[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.” —Publishers Weekly on Nine Lives “Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.” —Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark Family Sins Sharon Sala www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk) For some people, family is everything. They learned early on that nothing on earth matters more than the confidence that comes from knowing you belong—and knowing you are loved. But there are others who bear the burden of their blood and spend most of their lives putting permanent distance between themselves and the people with whom they share a name. I dedicate this book to the people who are wise enough to find their tribe among a circle of friends and the places life takes them. To the misfits in all of us. Contents Cover (#uc25640e5-84a9-5a18-a95d-7911c502f436) Back Cover Text (#u0b223e6f-0eeb-5531-8116-ee59f3fce0b7) Praise (#ub50b559c-dce1-5254-8df8-befd10072d5d) Title Page (#u5f44ce7b-61be-53d5-8bbb-4c45a241aa1f) Dedication (#u955471e4-fcce-540e-9403-bc96b5c8ecaf) One (#ue5c9a939-b4cd-5da7-bb84-9c92af4aa939) Two (#ud32eaf09-deaa-57d6-a8f3-e8589683503f) Three (#u5de1a036-b328-59e5-b94c-56cdad955e88) Four (#uf8a0385f-167a-56ef-ac6b-6ef39e5aa0f8) Five (#ucb7d4ce8-5162-5853-b4c2-b1ed21fcbda4) Six (#litres_trial_promo) Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) One (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) Stanton Youngblood was running for his life, desperate to elude the man behind him. Moving uphill had afforded him the cover he needed, but now the man was catching up and Stanton was lagging from exhaustion. All he kept thinking about was Leigh, getting home to Leigh. Leigh. Oh God, my sweet Leigh. This can’t be happening. I do not want to die. Every footstep was an effort now. His side was burning, his legs were shaking, and his lungs felt like they were going to explode. He could actually hear the man crashing through the brush and trees behind him, which meant he was getting closer. There was no time to turn and look. He knew who was chasing him, and he knew why. This day had been more than thirty years in the making, but he wouldn’t have done anything different. His beautiful Leigh was worth everything. Even this. And the moment he thought it, a bullet ripped through his back. The shot was already echoing down the mountain as he began to fall. He had a moment of overwhelming despair, and then everything began happening in slow motion. The gray squirrel leaping from one tree to another seemed suspended in midair. The flock of birds taking flight from the sound of the gunshot moved like a kite just catching the wind. The flash of sunlight was a laser beam as it came through the forest canopy into his eyes. And then he was down and his line of sight was the forest floor. Something sharp was poking the side of his face. Breath caught in a sob as a rush of blood flooded his mouth. Oh God. He gave in to the inevitable as the pain began to fade. His vision was beginning to blur. He blinked, and as he did, a tiny striped beetle with crab-like pincers came into focus. He watched it crawling on top of a pile of leaves and then saw the tail of a black snake as it slithered away. A dog howled from somewhere nearby, and another answered, and then another, and he heard the footsteps again. But this time they were running away. He could no longer feel his legs. He didn’t have enough air in his lungs to call for help. With the last of his life quickly fading, he pushed away the leaves from beneath his outstretched hand and scratched a name into the dirt. * * * Leigh Youngblood was in the garden behind her house hoeing weeds from the long rows of green beans. It was a repetitious job that required no thought, so she let her mind wander as she worked, thinking of the life she and Stanton had carved out for themselves on this West Virginia mountain. Never once had she regretted giving up her family’s wealth and prestige to marry Stanton. The Wayne family from which she’d come held sway over most of Eden, the city in the valley below. Her family’s rage and disdain for what she’d done back then had known no bounds. They’d threatened Stanton’s life. They’d laughed and jeered at her, saying how far she would fall and how the two of them would fail. But loving Stanton was beyond her control. He was the beginning and the end of her world, and so she’d walked out of the good life and into his arms. Thirty-five years later they were still on the mountain, loving and thriving, and still proving all of them wrong. Of their five sons, Samuel, Michael and Aidan were married and living close by. They had one grandson and another grandchild on the way. Bowie was their oldest, but after the love of his life turned him down when he was younger, he’d left the mountains for the oil fields, mostly working on offshore rigs down south. He came home for Christmas every year but had never put down roots anywhere else. Jesse was their youngest. He’d gone to war with plans of making the military his career, only to be sent home from what the war had done to him. Brain-damaged beyond repair, he would live out his life with the mind of a ten-year-old boy. Leigh loved and supported them all, accepting their rights to strike out on their own as they saw fit, just as she had done. She paused long enough to pull up a clump of grass from beneath the beans, and as she did, a tendril of her hair slipped free from the band holding it out of her eyes and proceeded to dangle in front of her face. She pushed it back as she tossed the grass clump out of the garden, then stopped to wipe away a bead of sweat. She was about to reach for the next clump of grass when she heard the crack of a gunshot, and then the echo as it bounced from peak to peak off the surrounding mountains. Startled, she spun toward the sound just as a flock of birds took to the sky. Noting the direction, she thought of Stanton. He would be taking that route home, but he hadn’t taken his rifle. He’d only gone to visit his sister, who lived down near the lake. Then she heard a dog howl, followed by another and another, and for a second she was so scared that her heart actually stopped. She didn’t know what had just happened, but something told her it wasn’t good. She dropped the hoe in the dirt and started walking toward the front yard. Her son Jesse was sitting in a rocker on the porch, staring off into the trees. “The war’s a-comin’,” he said, as she walked past him. “Stay here,” she said, and when he started to get up and follow her, she turned and screamed, “Stay here! Get in your chair and don’t move until I get back. Do you understand?” He was startled and a little upset that she’d yelled, but he minded her instantly and sat back in the chair. “Stayin’ here,” he said, and started rocking. Leigh was so scared she was shaking. She was afraid to leave Jesse and afraid not to go. She looked back at the forest, willing Stanton to come walking out into the sunlight with a logical explanation for what she’d heard. When his face suddenly flashed before her eyes, her heart dropped. Stanton must be in danger. She started running into the trees, leaving home behind for whatever awaited her below. She set her path in the direction of where she’d seen the birds take flight and wouldn’t let fear lead her astray. She was a woman known for keeping a cool head and today would be no different, but she ran without thought for her own welfare, ignoring the brambles that caught in her skin or on her clothes, stumbling more than once on her downhill race to find the man who was her world. All she needed to know was that he was okay, but she wasted no breath calling out his name. If the gunshot she’d heard had been a poacher’s bullet, she didn’t want to stumble into something and make it worse, and so she ran, ignoring the bramble vine that ripped the band from her hair. She ran without caution, falling more than once on her hands and knees, and once flat on her belly, causing her to lose her breath. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt the tears roll across her lips. It was the sunlight coming through the canopy onto the back of Stanton’s red plaid shirt that she saw first. She stopped in midflight and screamed his name. “Stanton! Stanton!” Any second she expected he would lift his head and tell her it was just a broken leg or that he’d simply taken a fall. But when she was only a few feet from where he was lying, she stopped as if someone had shoved a hand against the middle of her chest. He was dead. She knew that from the bullet hole in the back of his shirt and the amount of blood on the ground beneath him. She fell to her knees from the shock, and then, when she couldn’t get up, began crawling toward him. The lack of a pulse was confirmation of what she already knew, and still she ran her fingers through his hair, through the long tangled strands, sobbing as the tendrils curled around her fingers. Tears continued to roll as she rocked back on her heels, searching the surrounding trees for signs of a poacher, and yelled out, “Are you still here, you bastard? Are you too scared to come out and admit what you’ve done?” Then she noticed the odd crook of Stanton’s right arm and traced the length of it to the finger pointing at the word he’d scratched into the dirt. Sound faded. Thought ceased. A thousand images of the past thirty-plus years with him flashed through her mind, followed by shock and then disbelief. “No! No, no, no, they didn’t! They wouldn’t! Why? Why now?” All of a sudden she was on her feet, her heart pounding in growing rage. Then she threw back her head and screamed. Once she began, she couldn’t stop. One scream rolled into another, making it hard to breathe. Nearby, dogs heard her, heard the devastation in her screams, and started howling. Then other dogs—dogs farther up the mountain and dogs farther down—heard and followed suit, until they were all howling in concert, understanding with their animal senses what humans had yet to discern. Death had come to the mountain. * * * Samuel Youngblood had the strong bones and features of his Scottish ancestors, and looked like a mountain man with his long hair and simple clothes, but looks were deceiving. He made his living as a small business investor and a day trader, but being inside so much on pretty days like today was wearing, so he’d taken the day off to relax. He was just getting ready to mow the yard when his hunting dogs began to howl. He looked back toward their pen and frowned. Not only were they all howling, but they were extremely agitated, which was highly unusual. His wife, Bella, came out onto the back porch, shading her eyes as she looked toward the pen. “What’s wrong with those dogs?” she asked. “I don’t know, but it’s not just ours. Listen. Can you hear them?” She tilted her head and then frowned. “They’re howling all over the mountain,” she said. “Something’s wrong,” Samuel said. “Bring me my rifle.” “What are you going to do?” she asked. “I’m going to take Big Red and find out what happened.” She ran into the house as he headed for the dog pen. He grabbed a leash, clipped it on to his best tracker’s collar and headed back to the house. Bella came out carrying the rifle and his phone as he was tying back his hair at the nape of his neck. “I know the signal’s not good here, but you might need it,” she said, then handed him the rifle and dropped the phone in his shirt pocket. “I love you, Samuel. Be careful.” “I love you, too, honey. I’ll be fine.” Then he let the leash out as far as it would go and tightened his grip as Big Red took the lead and began pulling him up the mountain. * * * Michael Youngblood had gone to his brother Aidan’s house early that morning to help him set up some new software on his home computer. Aidan was a website designer. Michael was in IT for a large computer company and, like Aidan and their other brother, Samuel, worked from home. All three men bore the traces of their Scottish ancestry with pride and kept their hair long. They were still in Aidan’s office when they began hearing the distant sounds of dogs howling. Before they could comment, the dogs that were penned up out back began to howl in return. “What the hell?” Aidan said, and got up from his computer and walked outside, with Michael behind him. The moment they exited the house they heard the sound of distant howling. “Sweet Lord, it sounds like every dog on the mountain is howling,” Michael muttered. Aidan walked off the porch and then out into the yard, looking for smoke or a sign of something off-kilter, but all he could see were trees. He was just about to go back inside and call his mother when he realized there was another sound beneath the howls. His heart skipped a beat. “Michael! I hear a woman screaming.” Michael frowned. “Can you tell the direction?” “No. I need to get my dog. Tell Leslie to give you my rifle,” Aidan said, and headed for the pen as Michael ran back into the house. Like Samuel, Aidan had hunting dogs—good trackers when they had a scent to follow. He wasn’t sure if his dog would lead them to the source, but they were about to find out. Within minutes, he and Michael were in the woods, following Aidan’s dog Mollie down the mountain. He didn’t know whether she was following the sound of the dogs or the sound of the screams, but she was running full tilt. If he hadn’t had her on a leash, she would have run off and left them. * * * Samuel heard the woman screaming about ten minutes into the search. He knew now that Big Red was following her screams rather than the howls, because the farther they ran, the louder her voice became. When he stumbled into the clearing and saw his mother, and then his father’s body on the ground, he thought he was dreaming. Then Big Red began to howl. At that point he tied the dog’s leash to a tree and ran toward her. “Mama! Mama!” Her screaming stopped the moment she heard her son’s voice. Then she realized what was about to happen and leaped across Stanton’s body before he stepped on what Stanton had scratched into the ground. “Stop!” she cried, and then leaned her forehead against Samuel’s chest and began to shake. “He’s dead, Samuel, he’s dead. Someone shot him in the back.” He looked down at his father in disbelief, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his father was dead. Tears rolled. “Mama, what happened?” She pulled out of his arms and pointed down. “I don’t know why this happened, but your daddy named his killer before he died.” Samuel looked down, saw the word and frowned. “Wayne? Wayne who? Who do we know—” “No!” she screamed. “Not Wayne who! My family. Those Waynes! Oh my God, they finally did it. They killed him, just like they threatened they would.” Within seconds Michael and Aidan came running into the clearing. Aidan tied Mollie up and then ran to join their mother. The shock of finding out it was her screams they’d been following was horrifying, and then they saw their father’s body. Aidan leaped forward as if he’d been launched, screaming, “Daddy! No, Daddy, no!” Samuel turned and caught him. Tears were running down Michael’s face as he took his mother into his arms. “What happened, Mama?” “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I was in the garden. I heard a shot, and I don’t know how to explain it, but I knew. I ran until I found him.” She pulled out of his arms and shoved her fingers through her hair, as if trying to gather her thoughts. “Did one of you bring your phone?” All three of them pulled their phones out of their pockets. “Not sure we can get a signal here,” Samuel said. “You don’t need a signal to take pictures. Take pictures of your daddy, your daddy’s hand, and then the name he scratched in the dirt before something happens to it. Someone in my family did this.” Aidan looked down, saw the name and all of his father’s blood that had seeped into the ground beneath him, and then staggered away and threw up. Leigh had set aside her grief. It was rage carrying her through this tragedy, and when Aidan got sick she strode after him, impatience in every step. “We have no time for this,” she said, as she grabbed his ponytail and held it back. Even in anger, she was tending her own as she held his hair back away from his face while the spasms rolled through him. Aidan took a deep breath and then straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, it just... I can’t believe... Why, Mama? Why?” “I don’t know, but I will find out which one of my siblings did this, and I will make them sorry they were ever born.” The three brothers stared at her then, magnificent in her grief with the glare of the sunlight behind her, and her hair all wide and tangled around her scratched and bloody face. She looked like a warrior woman from another time. Michael glanced at Samuel and then pointed at his father’s body. “You two take the pictures. I’m going to try calling the constable.” Leigh stood to one side, watching the proceedings without voicing the obvious. Life as they’d known it was over. * * * Walter Riordan was in his twenty-fourth year of serving as county constable. He’d seen a lot of the sad side of life, but when he got a phone call from Michael Youngblood and heard the details of what had happened, his heart sank. Incidents like this one were how blood feuds began. Michael gave him the GPS readings from his phone, which gave Riordan a clear location. “It will take us at least thirty minutes to get there,” Riordan said. Michael looked back at his mother, who was standing guard over their father’s body. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said, and disconnected, then ran back to the scene. “I spoke to Constable Riordan. It will be at least thirty minutes, maybe more, before they can get here.” Leigh thought about Jesse alone at their house. “Samuel, please call Bella and ask her to go stay with Jesse.” “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and then started walking until he had enough bars on his phone to make a call. Bella answered on the second ring. “Hello?” “It’s me,” he said. “Are you okay? Did you find out what happened?” He tried to say it without breaking down, but the truth was too appalling. “Daddy’s dead. Mama found him in the woods, shot in the back. He scratched the name ‘Wayne’ in the dirt before he died.” Bella gasped, and then started crying. “Who’s Wayne? Why would someone kill your daddy?” “Mama says it’s someone from her family. She’s gone all quiet. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s nothing but pure rage.” “What can I do?” “Mama asked if you would please go to the house and stay with Jesse until we can all get back.” “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll leave right now. Oh, Sammie, this just breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” “So am I, honey, so am I. I’ll see you there later.” He disconnected and hurried back to his mother. “She’s on her way. What do you need me to do?” he asked. She pointed into the woods. “Take Big Red. See if you can find where the killer stood. It has to be in that general direction. If Red can catch the scent, set him on it and see how far he’ll take you.” “Yes, ma’am,” Samuel said, and ran for the dog, then headed into the woods as Michael and Aidan called their wives with the news. Like Bella, the other two daughters-in-law headed to the home place to be with Jesse. It didn’t take Samuel long to find his daddy’s footprints because he recognized the boot tread, and even less time to find where the killer had stood when he shot him. He searched around the area and found an ejected cartridge. Rather than pick it up and possibly ruin a fingerprint, he marked the spot with a small pile of rocks, took a picture of the footprints, then set Big Red on the scent and held tight to the leash as the dog headed down the mountain. It was easy to follow the trail because the killer had been running and making no attempt to hide his tracks. Samuel took note of the length of the stride as he paused more than once to take pictures. Within ten minutes Red stopped and yipped. He’d lost the scent. Samuel followed him as he began circling the area, trying to pick it up again. The ground was hard and rocky beneath the trees, and when Samuel finally saw tire tracks from a motorcycle, his heart sank. The shooter was gone. The hunt was over. He pulled in the leash and then stopped. “That’s good, boy. That’s good,” he said, patting the big hound. “Let’s go back. Let’s go find Mollie.” The dog trotted beside Samuel as they headed back up the mountain, his tongue hanging. When they crossed a small creek Samuel stopped to let Red drink. A little rabbit hopped farther back into the brush, and a pair of squirrels scolded from the canopy above their head. Samuel took a couple of steps upstream from Red and squatted down beside the trickling water to wipe the sweat from his face. As he leaned over to sweep his hand through the water, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. He’d always taken great pride in looking like his father, but now it was a reminder of their loss. He set his jaw as he sloshed the water on his face. Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he stood, mixing with the water droplets as he started back up the mountain with his dog. By the time he got back to the murder scene, cops were everywhere, and the ache in his chest was firmly entrenched. * * * Leigh’s silent vigil over Stanton’s body ended when the constable and his men arrived. Once she had given her statement, she had to watch from a distance as the crime scene investigators began taking pictures of everything from the name that he’d scribbled in the dirt to the position of his body. When the medical examiner rolled the body over and realized the shot had been a through and through, the crime scene officers began looking for a bullet, hoping it had hit a tree. When Michael and Aidan offered to help look, their offer was rejected, so they went to stand beside their mother. They stood for a few moments before they realized she was too quiet, and began to get concerned. Leigh’s expression was evidence of her contempt as she watched the officers stomping around the area and examining the trees in search of the missing bullet. “Both of you, please, go help those fools find the bullet. It’s going to help us name the killer.” “We offered. They told us to step aside.” “Oh my God,” she muttered, as she ran a shaky hand through her tangled hair. “You don’t think they’ll find it?” Michael asked. She pointed. “No. Just look at them. They can plainly see where Stanton is lying and a direct line of shot would be there.” She pointed toward the northeast. “And yet look where they’re at.” Aidan frowned. “I don’t care what they said. I’m going to help search. This is ridiculous.” “I’ll go with you,” Michael said. They were on the other side of the clearing when Samuel came up behind his mother. He tied Big Red up and then slid a hand across her shoulder. She spun immediately. “Anything?” she asked. “I found a cartridge casing, and then the trail ended a ways down. He got away on a motorcycle.” “Where’s the cartridge?” she asked. “I marked the trail and let it lie. I figure the crime scene investigators will need to bag and process it.” Leigh paused for a moment, staring up at her second son, then she cupped his face. Her voice shook as she spoke. “You and Bowie look so much like your daddy.” Samuel pulled her into his arms. “We love you, Mama. We’ll all be here for you and Jesse. Always.” She drew a slow, shaky breath. There were tears on her face when she pulled away, but the fire in her eyes was even brighter. “Do you have Bowie’s number on your phone?” “Yes, ma’am. Do you want to call him?” He watched a muscle jerk at the side of her jaw and then the tears began to fall in earnest. “I can’t say the words yet. Will you call him for me? Tell him I need him. Tell him I said to come home.” “Yes, I’ll call. I have to go find a signal. I won’t be long.” Leigh watched him walking away and for a moment could almost imagine it was Stanton. Oh my God. Stanton. How am I going to live life without you in it? Two (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) Samuel tried to call Bowie but had to leave a message for him to return the call, then headed for Constable Riordan instead. “Sir, I have some information for you.” “I’m listening,” Riordan said. “I took my dog and trailed the shooter all the way down the mountain until the trail ended at a set of tire tracks. It was some kind of motorcycle. I took pictures of the tread and of his footprints. Give me a number and I’ll send the pictures to you. Also, there’s a spent cartridge in the brush where the shooter stood. If you’ll get one of your investigators to follow me, I’ll show him where it is. I marked the spot without picking it up.” Riordan’s eyes widened. “Good job,” he said, and then added, “I’m sure sorry for your loss. Stanton was a good man.” Samuel’s eyes were glassy from unshed tears, and his chest was so tight it hurt to breathe. “Yes, sir,” he said, and waited. The constable called out to one of the investigators, who came on the run. “What’s up?” the man asked. “This is Samuel Youngblood, one of the victim’s sons. He found a spent cartridge. Follow him to bag it.” “Yes, sir,” the investigator said, and took off after Samuel, who was already walking away. Despite being frowned at for interfering, it was Aidan who located the tree where the missing bullet was lodged. He turned and called out, “Here! I found the bullet.” A couple of the investigators came running, one with a small handsaw and the other right behind him carrying his evidence recovery kit. Aidan watched them saw a notch out of the tree with the bullet still in it. “Why didn’t you just dig it out of the tree?” he asked. “It can ruin the striations,” the investigator explained. “Ah, makes sense,” Aidan said, and watched them bag it up, tag it and enter it into evidence. * * * Bella Youngblood was relieved to see Jesse sitting on the porch when she drove up and parked. He was rocking too fast, which told her he was nervous, but at least he was still there. She got out and hurried up the steps. “Hi, Jesse.” He nodded. “Hi, Bella. Mama told me to stay here. The war’s coming,” he said. Bella was a tall, buxom blonde and used to Jesse’s ways. She knelt in front of the rocker and patted his knee until he looked into her eyes. “Are you hungry, Jesse?” He nodded. “Want to come into the house with me? You can show me what you want to eat.” “Mama’s gone. She told me to stay right here.” “She’ll be back,” Bella said, then stood up and opened the front door. “She won’t care if you come inside with me.” Jesse got up and followed her into the house. They were frying bacon for sandwiches when Maura and Leslie walked into the kitchen. Maura was six months pregnant, and Leslie was carrying her eighteen-month-old toddler on her hip. When the baby saw Jesse, he squealed. A big smile broke across Jesse’s face, and in that moment they could see the man he’d been. “Hey, it’s my little buddy,” Jesse said, and sat down immediately and held out his arms. Leslie laughed, leaned over and kissed Jesse on the cheek, and then handed over her wiggling toddler. “Johnny sure loves his Uncle Jesse,” she said. Jesse looked up at her. “Jesse loves Johnny, too.” “I know, honey,” Leslie said, and then quickly turned away before she started to cry. None of them wanted to let on that anything was wrong and get him upset, so there was no mention of what had happened or the sadness they were all feeling. “Are you guys up for a BLT?” Bella asked. Maura shook her head. “No thanks. I was eating soup when Michael called. I’m good.” Leslie held up her hand. “I was feeding Johnny when Aidan called. He’s eaten, but I haven’t. I would love one if there’s enough.” “Yes, there’s enough,” Bella said, and added a few more strips of bacon to the skillet. “Ow, ow, ow,” Jesse said. The baby laughed. They all turned to look. Johnny had his little fists wrapped in Jesse’s long brown hair, and every time Jesse made a face and cried out, the toddler pulled his hair. “Don’t let him hurt you,” Leslie cautioned. Jesse pulled the baby to his chest. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said, and rubbed the baby’s curly head, then looked at Leslie. “Long hair, too?” Leslie nodded. “Yes, Johnny’s hair will get long like yours.” Jesse nodded. “Daddy says ‘Youngblood tradition.’” The women’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re right. It is a Youngblood tradition.” “Like Samson in the Bible,” Jesse added, and hugged the little boy again. Bella swallowed back tears. “There’s enough bacon fried to start making sandwiches. Maura, get the bread and mayo, and, Leslie, would you please slice up a couple of tomatoes, and then put ice in the glasses and pour some sweet tea?” The young women set about their tasks, but their hearts were heavy. These moments here with Jesse were the calm before the storm. Once Leigh returned and the truth of their lives was out in the open, nothing would ever be the same. * * * The killer rode the motorcycle like a bat out of hell, taking all the back roads down the mountain to the Wayne family lake house. He rode straight into the detached garage and parked against the wall behind a half-dozen ATVs, grabbed a rag hanging from a nail and wiped the bike down to remove any fingerprints, then covered it with a tarp. The walk to the lake house was brief, and once inside, he got the cleaning kit and set about breaking down the rifle. By the time he was through cleaning it and then wiping it free of fingerprints, no one would know it had been fired. It would be back in the gun case with the others, with no one the wiser. When the job was finished and the gun replaced inside the case, he locked up and left. After one swift glance around to make sure nothing was out of place, he drove away in a dusty black Lexus. * * * Leigh watched them putting her husband in the body bag, and when they zipped it up, she pressed her fingers against her lips to keep from screaming as they took him away. When Samuel touched her shoulder, she turned to him with purpose. “Samuel, I need to borrow your phone. I have to call your Aunt Polly. That’s where Stanton went this morning. Then I need to call your Uncle Thomas. Stanton’s sister and brother need to hear what happened from me.” Samuel took out his phone and checked the signal. “The signal is good here. Their numbers are in my contact list if you need them.” “I know them,” Leigh said, and wiped her hands on her pants before she took the phone from his hands. Samuel kissed the side of her cheek and then walked a distance away, giving her some privacy to make the calls. Leigh called Stanton’s sister, Polly Cyrus, first. Her thoughts were in a jumble as she tried to figure out how to tell her without screaming, and then Polly answered and Leigh’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Hello?” Polly said. “Polly, it’s me, Leigh.” Polly laughed. “Honey, I know your sweet voice.” “I have something to tell you, and I don’t know how,” Leigh said, and then started to cry, soft, near-silent sobs. Polly’s heart skipped a beat, and then she started to panic. Leigh was not the crying kind. “Honey, just spit it out. What’s wrong?” “Stanton’s dead.” Polly gasped and then moaned. “No, no, no. He was just here. What happened? Was it his heart?” Leigh took a breath and then choked on her sobs. “No, he was murdered. Shot in the back on his way home.” As she told Polly the rest, Polly went into hysterics. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Leigh said. “If I could, I would die for him. I don’t know why it happened.” Polly was sobbing. Leigh had started to hang up when Polly’s husband, Carl, took the phone. “Leigh! What the hell happened? Polly’s done lost her mind.” Leigh told it all over again, and Carl groaned. “Sweet Lord, I am so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. What can we do for you?” “Nothing. I just had to tell you myself. Now I’ve got to call Thomas.” “Do you want me to do it for you?” Leigh wiped her eyes and then her nose on the back of her sleeve. “Yes, I want you to, but I have to be the one to do it. I think Stanton’s family deserves to hear this from me.” “All right, then, but we’ll be coming over to your house soon.” He disconnected, which left Leigh with one more call to make. She punched in the numbers, dreading this call the most, because Thomas sounded so much like Stanton when he spoke. Thomas Youngblood answered on the third ring. “Hello, Samuel. How’s it going?” he said. Leigh sighed. She’d forgotten she was using Samuel’s phone. “Thomas, it’s me, Leigh. I’m just using Samuel’s phone.” Thomas laughed. “Well, you’re a lot prettier than my nephew, so that’s fine with me. What’s going on?” “Is Beth there with you?” “Yes, do you need to talk to her?” “No, I called for you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.” She heard him take a quick breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was deeper, even a bit nervous. “What’s wrong, girl?” She started all over again, saying the awful words: Stanton is dead. She ended by explaining what had happened, and that she bore the blame because it was someone from her family who’d done it. Thomas was crying, but the whole time he kept trying to reassure her. Finally he handed the phone off to Beth. “Leigh, it’s me. I am so sorry. I can’t believe this happened, but we’ll get justice for Stanton. We’ll be over to the house in a while.” “Okay,” Leigh said, and started to hang up, but Beth stopped her. “Leigh?” “What?” Leigh said. “I just want you to know how much we love you. You won’t go through this alone. You have a mountain full of people who love you and Stanton. We’ll stand beside you all the way.” “Thank you,” Leigh said. “I love you, too.” She disconnected and then waved at Samuel. He and his brothers came back on the run. He could tell how hard it had been for her to make those calls. Even though he was broken up about the loss of his father, he was struggling with how to help her first. He picked a piece of vine from the tangles of her hair and then cupped the side of her cheek. “Hey, Mama, how about I run up to the house and bring back Bella’s car so you won’t have to walk?” Leigh glanced back into the clearing, to the huge dark blot on the ground where Stanton had bled out, and then shook her head. “I need to be gone from this place. I’ll walk. Will you all walk with me?” she asked. They gathered around her then, like the little boys they’d once been, fussing for a place in her arms. Only this time, they were the ones who were holding on to her. “Yes, we’ll walk with you. I love you, Mama, and I am so sorry,” Samuel said. “Love you, Mama,” Michael said, and slid his arm across her back. “Yes, we’ll walk with you. Just lean on me.” Aidan cupped her face and then kissed her forehead. “We love you. Let us be strong for you this one time, okay?” he said. Tears rolled down her face as her gaze moved from face to face, and then back to Samuel. “Did you call Bowie?” “Yes, ma’am, but he was unavailable. I left a message for him to call me.” She nodded, leaned against Michael’s chest and reached for Aidan’s hand, and then said in a soft, shaky voice, “I want to go home.” They started up the mountain with Michael and Aidan on either side of her, as Samuel led the way with the dogs. Despite Leigh’s determination to walk, she kept stumbling, until finally Samuel turned around, handed the dogs off to Michael and picked her up in his arms. She never said a word. She just leaned her head against his chest and let him carry her home. * * * The sisters-in-law had cleaned up the kitchen and were doing their best to keep Jesse entertained, but he was bothered, and they knew it. He kept walking out onto the porch and then back into the house. Finally they all decided to sit outside with him, and once he settled in his rocker, he seemed to calm. Jesse was the first to see his brothers walking up the road. He abruptly stood. “Mama’s not walking,” he said. Before they could stop him, he was down the steps and running toward his brothers with a long, loping stride. “Oh, boy,” Samuel said. “Mama, you need to wake up. Jesse’s coming.” “I wasn’t asleep,” Leigh said, and quickly wiped her eyes as Samuel set her on her feet. “Are you okay?” Michael asked. Leigh fixed him with a look. “Are you?” “No.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Sorry. I’ve been emotionally gutted. I lose my manners when I feel threatened.” “We know, Mama. Don’t apologize to us. Just brace yourself for Jesse.” Leigh turned around just as Jesse came to a skidding stop and took her in his arms. “Mama? Are you hurt?” She took a slow breath, and then took his hand and laid it against her chest. “No, I was just tired, and Samuel carried me so I wouldn’t have to walk.” Jesse wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the crown of her head. “You are my mama. Did I make you sad?” She knew he’d seen the tears in her eyes, and she hugged him fiercely. “No, my sweet boy, you did not make your mama sad. Come walk with me. I need to talk to you.” She then took him by the hand and led him toward the house, talking all the way. The brothers watched, but their hearts were breaking. They knew the minute their mother cupped Jesse’s face that she was saying the words. And they knew from the way Jesse flinched and doubled over as if he’d just been gut-shot that one of the legs to his world had just been cut out from under him. “God Almighty, why is this happening?” Aidan asked, his voice thick with tears. Samuel shook his head and then swiped a hand across his face, and when Jesse fell to his knees, he started crying again. Michael wiped his tears and grabbed the dogs’ leashes. “I’m gonna tie them to the porch. You guys go help Mama with Jesse.” Samuel took two steps forward, and then his phone began to ring. He looked at it and groaned. “It’s Bowie. You all go on. I need to do this alone.” They patted him on the shoulder and then walked away. Samuel cleared his throat and then answered. “Hello.” “Hey, brother! It’s me.” “Bowie, I’m not going to beat around the bush. We have bad news.” There was a moment of silence, and then Bowie spoke, but this time the delight was gone from his voice. “What’s wrong?” Samuel tried to say the words, and then the crying got the better of him. Bowie Youngblood couldn’t remember seeing Samuel cry after he’d turned eighteen. Now he was scared. “Is it Jesse? Did something happen to Jesse?” “No, it’s Daddy. He’s dead, Bowie. Mama found him shot in the back.” Bowie’s knees went out from under him. He sank down into a chair inside the office on the drilling platform and then curled his fingers around the arm of the chair. “What? What did you say?” Samuel sighed. “Daddy’s dead. Mama said to call you. Mama said to tell you to come home. She needs you.” “God in heaven,” Bowie whispered, and felt like he was going to throw up. “How did it happen? You said someone shot him? On purpose?” “Yes. He scratched a name in the dirt before he died.” Bowie tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Samuel kept talking. “The name was Wayne. I didn’t get the meaning, but Mama did. She’s certain the killer’s someone from her family.” The shock of that reality transformed Bowie’s sorrow to instant rage. He stood abruptly. “Why now? That was more than thirty years ago. What the hell’s happened now to start this up again?” “I don’t know. It just happened a few hours ago. We just got Mama back to the house. She’s telling Jesse now, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night here.” Bowie glanced at the clock. It was just after 3:00 p.m. “I don’t know how long it will take to get a chopper out here to pick me up, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell Mama I’m on the way. Will one of you come into Eden to pick me up when they drop me off?” “Yes. I will. I’m so sorry to be calling with such bad news,” Samuel added. “I’m sorry, too, for all of us,” Bowie said. “I love you, Samuel.” “Love you, too, bro,” Samuel said. The call disconnected, and Samuel was still standing there, staring at the phone, when he heard footsteps and looked to see Bella coming toward him. He walked into her arms and came undone. * * * Bowie came out of the office leading with his chin, and headed for the boss. “Claude! Claude!” he yelled to be heard over the noise on the drilling rig. Claude Franklin turned, saw the look on Bowie Youngblood’s face and knew something was wrong. He headed toward him at a trot. There were tears still on Bowie’s face when he grabbed Claude by the arm. “I need a chopper, ASAP. My father’s been murdered. There’s going to be hell to pay on the mountain. I need to get home as soon as possible,” he said, then began to explain. Claude was speechless. In his whole life he’d never known anyone who was murdered, and to hear Bowie naming the other side of his family as the ones responsible was beyond understanding. “Go pack. I’ll get you a chopper, son. Just get your head on straight.” Bowie nodded and took off toward their sleeping quarters, the long black braid hanging down his back bouncing with every step. * * * By the time Bella and Samuel got back into the house, it appeared that Leigh’s momentary weakness had passed in her need to care for her youngest son. She was sitting at Jesse’s bedside, waiting for his meds to kick in as he cried himself to sleep. The longer she sat, the angrier she became. By the time Jesse fell asleep, she was so mad she was shaking. She went through the house in search of her boys, calling them by name. They came rushing out of the kitchen, thinking she needed them to tend to Jesse. He was a big strong man and, due to his head injuries, was hard to handle when he got upset, but when they saw she was alone they slowed down. Leigh put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to Eden. I want the killer to know before he lays his head on a pillow tonight that his days are numbered. Will you go with me?” “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. “What about Jesse?” Michael said. “I gave him one of his pills. He’s sound asleep.” “Do you want to change clothes or anything?” Samuel asked. Leigh looked down at the shirt and jeans she’d been wearing in the garden. They had blood all over them. She thought of the scratches on her face and realized she hadn’t even pulled the leaves out of her hair, and then let it go. “No. I’m not changing anything. I’m not hiding the hideousness of what was done.” “You can ride with me,” Samuel said. “Aidan and I will follow you in my SUV,” Michael said. “Bring your rifles,” Leigh said. Bella gasped. Maura and Leslie looked anxious. “Do you think you’re all in danger?” Bella asked. “No, not unless we turn our backs,” Leigh snapped, and then grabbed her purse and the keys to her Jeep. “We won’t be long. Jesse isn’t going to wake up, so don’t worry.” “We’re not afraid of him,” Maura said, and hugged Leigh. “Be careful. All of you,” Bella said, as she hugged Leigh, too. Leslie kissed her mother-in-law on the cheek and then squeezed her hand. “Scare the shit out of them, Mama.” “I fully intend to,” Leigh said, and went out the front door with her sons behind her. She tossed the keys to Samuel and then got in the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel. Moments later they were gone. * * * Henry Clayton had been the police chief in Eden for more than fifteen years. He’d just gotten off the phone with Constable Riordan, who’d filled him in on the murder and the name Stanton Youngblood had scratched in the dirt before he died. Clayton was shocked. He’d gone to school with Stanton and had always thought of him as a friend. He didn’t know what to think, other than that the Wayne family held sway over the town and nearly everyone in it, including him. The constable was in charge of the case, but he would be depending on Clayton for assistance when the investigation got under way. Before Clayton could formulate a plan for himself, he heard the sound of vehicles coming down Main very fast, and when he began to hear constant honking, he frowned. “What the hell?” By the time he got out to the street, a crowd of people were gathering to see what was happening. The two vehicles he’d heard speeding and disturbing the peace were now illegally parked in the middle of the street. He was all ready to start issuing citations when he realized whose vehicles they were. His pulse kicked into high, and he began to sweat. It was already beginning. * * * Leigh Youngblood got out first and stopped just shy of the sidewalk, fixing Henrywith a cold, angry stare. When her sons fell into step and fanned out behind her with fire in their eyes and their rifles cradled in their arms, Henry felt like a cornered rat. “Mrs. Youngblood, what—” Leigh raised her arm and pointed straight at him. Henry had to look twice to reassure himself the only thing she was pointing was her finger. He was horrified at how many of the townspeople were gathering behind her. Now he had to be extra careful of what he let her say and do. “You don’t talk. You just listen.” Leigh’s voice was loud and carrying, but she sounded entirely rational. “My husband was murdered this morning.” The gasp from the crowd was loud but brief as they quickly silenced themselves to hear what else she had to say. “Someone shot him in the back. But there’s something the killer doesn’t know. Stanton named his killer before he died. He scratched the name Wayne in the dirt!” Leigh’s voice was shaking, but her rage remained strong. “My people! My family! They took the man I loved away from me, just like they swore they would do years ago.” Henry blustered, “But that was so long ago, surely you don’t—” “You doubt the last word of a dying man?” Leigh demanded. “No matter. We didn’t expect anything more of you than this. You are bought and paid for by the Waynes just like half the people in this town. So I’m giving fair warning to you and to them. I will find out which one of them killed my husband, and when I do, they will pay.” Then Leigh turned around and walked between her sons to face the crowd. “Yes, look at me. Look long and hard, all of you. As for my so-called family, if any of you are hiding in the crowd, you best take a look, too, because this is what the devil looks like when he’s on your heels. When I find which one of you did this, you will wish you’d never been born. There isn’t enough money between you and God to buy your way out of this.” Michael walked up to flank his mother on her left. Samuel and Aidan stepped into place on her right, and then Samuel slid an arm across her shoulders and raised his voice. “The back-shooting coward and the family who harbors him best remember, you won’t catch us unarmed again.” Leigh lifted her chin as she stared at the crowd. She stared them down until they began looking away. “I think we’re done here,” Leigh said. “Yes, ma’am,” Samuel said, and slipped a hand beneath her arm, then escorted her to the Jeep and seated her inside. Samuel led the way out of town with his brothers behind him. He didn’t speak until they were all the way out of town. He looked at his mother. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were clear, and her gaze was fixed on the road in front of them. “Mama.” She answered absently without shifting her gaze. “What?” “I am very proud to be your son.” Leigh nodded, squeezed his arm and then took a deep shuddering breath. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and quickly shifted his gaze. Her feet were on the dash, her elbows resting on her knees. She took another breath, covered her face with her hands and moaned. Breath caught in the back of Samuel’s throat as her shoulders began to shake and she started to cry—harsh, ugly sobs ripped from the depths of her soul. “Oh my God, oh my God, Stanton Lee, how am I going to live without you?” Samuel didn’t talk, and he didn’t touch her. This grief was for her alone. Three (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) By a twist of fate, Leigh’s sisters had been in the crowd. Nita Garner and Fiona Tuttle were older than her and rarely gave her a thought anymore, but that was obviously about to change. Since Nita was divorced and Fiona widowed, they alternated their residences between the family estate in Eden and their apartments in New York City. They had been in Eden for nearly two months and, to pass the time, were redecorating parts of the mansion. On a whim, they had taken the day off for their own mini-makeovers and were just coming out of the local day spa on their way to have lunch when they’d been alerted by the honking. “What on earth?” Fiona muttered, as she stopped and turned around. Nita pointed at the woman in the passenger seat of the front vehicle racing up the street. “Oh my God! Is that Leigh?” Fiona gasped. “Yes, I believe it is.” They stopped to stare, and when they saw the two vehicles stopping in the street in front of the police station, they stayed to watch. They hadn’t seen their sister up close in years and were horrified by the condition of her hair and clothing, but when they saw the men getting out with her and realized they were her sons, they were stunned. They would not have known their own nephews if they’d passed them on the street. They weren’t the only ones who were curious about the racket, and when a crowd began gathering, they stood at the back out of curiosity. Then Leigh began talking, and when they heard the rage and the pain in her voice, and the accusations she was making, they left in a rush, frantic to get back to the family and find out what the hell was going on. The fact that the crowd was still milling and talking when they tried to slip away set them at a disadvantage. They knew when people began calling out to them that this was going to get completely out of hand. By the time they got in Fiona’s car and drove away, they were nearly in tears. “What in the world do you suppose has happened?” Nita asked. Fiona shook her head. “Who knows? I haven’t heard a single member of the family even say her name in years. Now this. It makes no sense,” she said. Nita pulled out her phone. “What are you doing?” Fiona asked. “I’m calling Blake. If he’s not home, he needs to get there.” “If you’re going that far, then tell him to gather the whole family. This is a mess that’s not going to go away soon,” Fiona said. “Right,” Nita said, and waited for Blake to pick up. When he finally did, his voice was terse and distracted. “What do you want, Nita? I’m about to take a conference call,” he snapped. “Get home. Now. And make sure everyone else is there, too. We have a huge problem.” Blake shoved his chair back from the desk and stood abruptly. “What are you talking about?” “Leigh and three of her sons just drove into Eden in a rage. Someone murdered her husband today. He wrote his killer’s name in the dirt before he died.” “What does that have to do with us?” Blake asked. “The name he wrote was Wayne. Leigh just called us all out in front of Chief Clayton and half the town, and pretty much promised to send the killer to hell.” Blake gasped. “Son-of-a-holy-bitch! You cannot be serious.” “I do not make jokes about the family skeletons. Get everyone home. Fiona and I are on the way.” She hung up before Blake could argue and then dropped the phone in her purse. They rode for a few moments in total silence, and then Fiona sighed. “I can’t believe Leigh would think any of us capable of that.” Nita snorted. “Get serious. Father already threatened to do that very thing, and Blake and Justin backed him.” “But that was ages ago, and Father is dead,” Fiona said, and skidded through the turn into the open gates at the entrance to the Wayne estate. “Uncle Jack is not dead, and they don’t call him Mad Jack Wayne for nothing. For that matter, Blake and Justin have more or less turned into Daddy,” Nita said. “What possible reason would they have to do that after all these years? I don’t believe this. There has to be an explanation. Besides, our family law firm can destroy them in court. That could just as easily be the first name of a man we don’t even know.” Nita looked up at the looming three-story mansion and shifted nervously in her seat. “Leigh was scary, wasn’t she?” Fiona sighed. “Yes. With the scratches on her face and arms, and all that blood on her clothes, she looked like she’d been in a war, not to mention her sons were very protective of her.” “And those sons are absolutely gorgeous,” Nita drawled. Fiona gasped. “Seriously, Nita! That sounded incestuous.” Nita glared. “It was just a comment about their physical appearances. I didn’t hit on them, for God’s sake.” Fiona wheeled the car beneath the portico and slammed on the brakes, then looked up in the rearview mirror. “Charles is right behind us, so I guess Blake is calling in the family as you asked,” she said. * * * Blake’s son, Charles, had just turned twenty-one and was constantly teased by the family that he drove like an old man, never speeding. He was a stocky, muscular young man, more like his mother’s people than the Waynes. After he’d turned sixteen, he’d chosen to live with his father instead of his mother, who’d returned to her family home in Florida. Charles had his eye set on a future in the family conglomerate. As he pulled up beneath the portico, he noticed his aunts were still in the car beside him. He greeted them as they all got out together. “Hey, Aunt Fee, what’s all the rush about getting home?” “You’ll find out soon enough,” Fiona said, and led the way into the house. Within minutes Justin arrived, and Blake was right behind him. As they were pulling up to park, their Uncle Jack came around the corner of the mansion with a tennis racket in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He was the CEO of Wayne Industries and their father’s youngest brother. It was the first day he’d taken off in ages, and it appeared the moment he had, they’d all left, too. “What in the world’s going on?” he yelled. “What are you all doing here? Why aren’t you at work?” “You’ll find out soon enough,” Blake said, and led the way into the house. They went to the library because it was always where the family gathered, usually for festive occasions, although this was anything but. Nita was pacing in front of the French doors that led out to the tiled terrace, and Fiona was already nursing a whiskey and Coke when they walked in. Charles was pouring a Coke over ice for himself. He hadn’t thought much about the phone call to go home until he realized his aunts were nervous. Then, when his uncles suddenly appeared, he set the drink aside and stared. He’d never seen everyone in such a state. Blake and Justin had entered in tandem, well-dressed executive look-alikes. All the Wayne men took after their mother in looks, which was unfortunate, because their mother, God rest her soul, had been a skinny blonde with small features and a less than defined chin, while the girls took after their father—black hair, high cheekbones, pretty features and dark flashing eyes. Nita and Fiona had been coloring their hair for years, and until today, when they’d seen Leigh and that mane of wild, dark hair with only hints of gray, had all but forgotten what their natural color used to be. Jackson Wayne strode into the library in his white tennis shirt and shorts, tall and tan and obviously angry. “Well, we’re here!” he said, glaring at Blake. “What the hell’s so damn important?” Blake pointed to his sisters. “It’s their story to tell,” he said. Nita looked at Fiona. “You tell them,” she said. Fiona nodded. “Stanton Youngblood has been murdered.” Charles frowned. “Who’s Stanton Youngblood?” Blake frowned back at his son and then realized he was within his rights to be confused. Leigh’s name was rarely mentioned in this house, and Charles had been born long after all of that embarrassment had faded away. “He’s your Aunt Leigh’s husband,” Blake said. Jack waved his tennis racket over his head. “What does that have to do with us?” Fiona sighed. “Less than an hour ago, Leigh and three of her sons came into Eden driving all crazy on their way to the police station. When she got out she was covered in blood, her hair was all wild and tangled, and her sons were right behind her, armed to the teeth. She confronted the chief and told him that Stanton had been murdered. He supposedly scratched the name of the killer in the dirt before he died.” “Sweet Mother of God,” Justin muttered. “It takes you forever to tell anything. Just get it said.” “The name he wrote was Wayne. Leigh called us out in front of the chief and the whole town. She said one of us killed her husband and when she finds out who it is, they will wish they’d never been born, or something to that effect.” Justin wiped a shaky hand across his face. Leigh was his twin, and as loyal to her family as he was to his. Imagining her like that felt weird. Jack was furious. “She can’t just come out and accuse someone without evidence!” “Well, there is the fact that Stanton wrote our family name in the dirt before he died,” Nita drawled. “And there is that other fact that our family already threatened to kill Stanton years ago, so trying to claim innocence puts us in an awkward position. What I want to know is, what the hell’s been going on in this family that I don’t know about?” Blake frowned. “Are you insinuating that one of us did this?” Fiona looked at Nita. Then Nita looked at Blake and shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past us.” The silence in the library was shocking. Someone in the family had finally said aloud what they all thought about the others. The Waynes weren’t known for pulling punches or playing fair. They’d been taught from an early age that success was worth whatever it took to achieve it. Jack Wayne shoved a hand through his shock of white hair and then pointed the tennis racket at Blake. “Call the law firm. Get Ed Beale out here ASAP. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back down shortly.” He strode out of the library, banging the tennis racket against the chair, then the doorway, then the hall table and then up the balusters as he went upstairs, cursing every step of the way. Everyone was looking at Blake, waiting for further directions, but he was too pissed to care. He’d had to cancel a conference call, which was probably going to nix the deal he’d been about to seal, and all because of his crazy-ass sister. He stomped out of the room to go call their law firm, leaving the remaining family members on their own. Charles was silent. He wasn’t upset about a dead man so much as wondering if this was going to become a media circus. He’d known his Uncle Justin had a twin sister and that she was persona non grata for shaming the family years ago, but now that she’d been introduced into the conversation, he was curious about her. “So, Aunt Fiona, what does Aunt Leigh look like?” Fiona shrugged. “She looks like a Wayne.” Nita shook her head. “No, she looks better. As much as I hate to admit it, she looked like some Amazon warrior standing in that street. She was always pretty, but today she was absolutely beautiful. Even covered in blood, she was magnificent, and her sons are all well over six feet tall and movie-star handsome with those wide shoulders, long legs and all that hair. I swear, they are something to behold.” “What do you mean by all that hair?” Charles asked. “Their hair is as long as their mother’s. Stanton’s always was, too,” Nita said. Justin had always been self-conscious about his lack of a manly chin, and to hear that all Leigh’s sons had what he coveted pissed him off. “They probably look like a bunch of hillbillies.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Justin. I’ve heard all I want to hear about Leigh and her sons. Someone murdered her husband. That’s what we need to be concerned about, and if any of you know anything about it, now’s the time to speak up so we can formulate a plan.” Charles picked up his Coke and headed for the door. “Well, it certainly wasn’t me. I’m just now hearing that these people even exist, so I hardly have a reason to want one of them dead,” he said, and left the room. Justin’s face flushed. “I’m going to pretend you did not just seriously ask me if I killed a man,” he snapped, and walked out behind his nephew. Nita looked at Fiona. “Did you do it?” Fiona rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun. You’re the one who beats everyone at target shooting. Did you do it?” Nita giggled. “No, silly. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where to find him, even if I’d wanted him dead.” Fiona shrugged. “Someone’s lying,” she said, and walked out of the library, leaving Nita on her own. Nita glanced at the liquor cabinet and then headed to her room. Getting sloshed would serve no purpose other than a temporary fix to this horrible news. She was getting a headache, and needed to take one of her pills and lie down. * * * Bowie was packed and waiting at the helipad for the incoming chopper. He’d showered after removing his work clothes and unbraided his hair to wash it. All of his brothers’ hair had a curl to it, like their father’s. His hair was like his mother’s—straight, and so dark a black it almost looked blue, growing from a widow’s peak at his forehead and hanging well below his shoulders. Because it was still wet and drying, the ocean breeze was rolling it into tangles, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know what strings his boss had pulled to make this happen so quickly, but he was grateful. Word about what had happened to his father had spread quickly on the rig. He’d been working with the men on this shift off and on for about a year and considered most of them friends. One by one they’d gone looking for him to express their condolences. Bowie was touched, but the sympathy made it hard to maintain control over his emotions. It had been a little over an hour since he’d talked to Samuel, and in that short time he’d lost one of the most important people in his world. As children, they’d always known their daddy would keep them safe at night, and as they’d grown older, Daddy had taught them how to keep themselves safe during the day. He’d seemed larger than life then, and even though Bowie had grown bigger and taller than his father, right now his world was shattered. He could only imagine how his mother was feeling. All of a sudden Claude yelled down at him from above and then pointed to the north. “Bowie! Incoming!” Bowie saw the helicopter in the distance. And so it began. It was time to call Samuel. The phone only rang twice before he heard his brother’s voice. “Hello. Bowie?” “Yes. The chopper is landing in a few. I can’t give you an exact time frame for the trip from offshore Louisiana to Eden, but I’m guessing something between two and three hours. You’ll have to come to Eden to pick me up at the helipad.” “I’ll call Chief Clayton to let him know. Unless I send you different info, consider yourself clear to land there,” Samuel said. “Will do,” Bowie said. “How’s Mama?” “Chin up. All business. Taking care of Jesse. Ready to shed blood. Devastated. Broken.” Bowie sighed. “Damn it. Is there anything new?” “Well, Mama got a notion to call out her family in the middle of the street in front of the police station. Michael and Aidan and I went with her—armed, at her request. It was a show of force, but also a visual of a family united. Half the town was there. She’s given the killer the only warning they’ll get. She pretty much promised to take them down.” “Good. Wish I’d been there beside you guys.” “You’re on the way, and that’s enough. Safe flight. See you soon. I’ll be waiting, and don’t be surprised if Mama wants to come with me.” Bowie took a deep breath, thinking about that first moment and seeing her face. “Whatever she wants.” “That’s where we’re all at right now,” Samuel said. The chopper was overhead now, and the noise was deafening. “Gotta go. Chopper’s here. See you soon.” Bowie disconnected, dropped the phone in his jacket pocket and picked up his duffel bag. The chopper landed. Bowie tossed in his bag, then took a seat beside the pilot and put on the extra headset. “Ready?” the pilot asked. Bowie gave him a thumbs-up. And then they were gone. * * * “Was that Bowie?” Leigh asked, as she saw Samuel slip his phone back in his pocket. “Yes. He’s on his way, Mama. He’s got a chopper bringing him straight here. I’m going into Eden to pick him up in a couple or three hours.” “I want to go, too,” she said. The other brothers heard the news, and when it was finally time for Samuel to head down the mountain, the rest of them loaded up, including Jesse, and followed behind him. Stanton’s brother and sister and their spouses were still at the house to take care of things. The men had volunteered to do the evening chores, while the women moved to the kitchen to begin making supper for everyone. Their church family had already heard the news and had begun bringing food to the house so the cooking would be minimal. * * * The ride down was fairly quiet. The closer Samuel got to town, the faster he drove. Bowie was the oldest and the missing piece to the family that Leigh needed. He glanced up in the rearview mirror at Jesse, who was sitting quietly in the backseat of Samuel’s pickup. Jesse seemed calm, but it was always hard to tell. Leigh was in the front seat beside him. Her hands were in her lap, clenched into fists. There was a muscle jerking at the side of her jaw, but she had dressed up for Bowie in one of her church dresses and had tied back her hair. If it hadn’t been for the raw scratches on her face and arms, no one would have guessed they were a family in crisis. They drove into town without the fanfare they had created earlier in the day, and then turned off Main toward the hospital. There was a block of parking spaces in front of the helipad where Samuel parked to wait. Michael and Aidan pulled up beside him. They all rolled down their windows to let in the evening air. Leigh couldn’t focus. Her thoughts were filled with horror. She knew in her heart that her last day of true happiness had ended with Stanton’s last breath. Yes, she would go on, because that was the burden of the living. And, yes, there would be laughter again one day, and there would be times of calm, and times she felt peaceful in her heart. But it would be the absence, the longing, the loneliness, that would be with her always. She took a deep breath and tried not to cry. She was holding on so tight for so many when all she wanted to do was weep. The sounds of kids playing nearby and a dog barking at a passing car made everything seem so ordinary. She heard a siren somewhere off in the distance. The police were at work. An ambulance pulled out from one of the bays behind the fire station next door and took off with lights and sirens running. Jesse leaned forward and touched Samuel’s shoulder. “Someone’s hurt,” he said, pointing to the ambulance as it turned a corner and drove out of sight. “Looks like it,” Samuel said. Jesse looked at his mother. “Mama, do you reckon I better say a prayer for them?” Leigh turned around, reached for Jesse’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I think that would be a fine thing for you to do, son.” And so they sat in the swiftly fading light with the breeze on their faces and aches in their hearts, listening to the sweet halting words of a gentle, broken man. Four (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) Talia Champion heard the news about Stanton Youngblood’s murder when Erin McClune, the hospice nurse, came to check on Talia’s father. Erin was a tall, pretty blonde with strong arms and a gentle heart, and she wasted no time talking about what she called “the showdown” in front of the police station. Talia was shocked by the news, and saddened to learn that the man she’d once thought would be her father-in-law had been murdered. Then the reality of what that meant hit her. The family would gather. There would be constant turmoil until the killer was found. And knowing that family like she did, she was sure Bowie Youngblood was already on his way home. It had been over seven years since she’d refused his marriage proposal and ended the joy in her life. It made her stomach hurt just thinking about seeing him again, even from a distance. She glanced in on her father, grateful Erin was there tending to him for now, and decided to take a quick break. She poured herself a glass of sweet tea and went out on the back porch for a breath of air. After his years of suffering, her father’s Alzheimer’s was finally taking him down. As she sat, she thought back to the night she’d learned her father’s fate, and then leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering what else that realization had meant to her world. * * * Talia was dividing the last of her birthday cake for their dessert that night and thinking to herself that nineteen didn’t feel any older than eighteen, when her daddy came in the back door from work. “Hi, Dad,” she said. “Hi, baby, did you have a good day?” he asked, as he hung his cap and work coat on the rack by the back door. “I guess. I did laundry all day,” she said, and then smiled. “I need to talk to you,” he said. She was wondering what she’d done that had upset him as she took a seat at the kitchen table, and then she looked at his face. There were tears in his eyes. She started to panic; even before she asked, she knew it had to be bad. Daddy never cried. “Daddy? What’s wrong?” He reached for her hands and held them—almost as if he needed her strength to say what had to be said. “I’m sick, girl. And I’m not gonna get better. In fact, it’s gonna get worse, much worse. I wish to God it wasn’t happening. I am so sorry this burden has fallen on you.” From the moment she’d heard him say I’m sick, she’d been shaking. “What’s wrong, Daddy? What is it?” Marshall Champion shuddered. What he was about to say was terrifying, and saying the words aloud would validate the truth of what he aleady knew. “I have Alzheimer’s disease. The doctor reckons I’ve had it for a couple of years now.” Talia gasped. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t make a sound. She looked at her father as if seeing him for the first time and was afraid—afraid of what he would become. He kept talking. “I’ve got my pension coming from the railroad, and I’ll start drawing my Social Security this year, but today was my last day at the gas station. I’m making too many mistakes. I reckon what’s coming in will be enough to put me somewhere when the need comes, but I’ll have to depend on you to do all that, and I’m so sorry.” Now Talia was holding on to her father’s hands in desperation. Life had been so perfect. She and Bowie were finally out of high school and getting ready to go away to college together. She was already toying with the idea of being his wife for the rest of their lives. She had to talk now. Please, God, let it make sense. “It’s not your fault, Daddy, and of course I’ll be here for you. Don’t ever apologize about this to me again, okay?” Marshall nodded as the tears rolled down his face. “You are a good girl, honey.” She took a deep, painful breath and smiled around the heartache. “You are a good father. I’ve been blessed.” Marshall nodded, then turned her loose, patted her hands and stood up. “Well, now, I’m glad it’s been said. I’ll make supper tonight, okay?” “I’ve already got it going,” she said. “Just go wash up. It should be done in about thirty minutes.” Her hands were shaking as she watched him leave the room. Still reeling from the news, she began grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to make this work and still have her life with Bowie. Her thoughts were chaotic as she reached for her laptop. She’d been researching colleges, and now she began researching nursing homes instead, checking them for costs and levels of care. It didn’t take long to learn that not every nursing home would even take Alzheimer’s patients, and the ones that did were nowhere near Eden and unbelievably expensive. She was beginning to research nursing homes that took Medicare and Medicaid patients when she heard the shower turn off. Her dad would be back soon, expecting supper on the table, so she shut down the laptop and got up to finish the meal. They ate in near silence, both of them uncertain how to have a normal conversation when the rawness of a death sentence was still on the table. The next few days passed slowly as the shock wore off. Talia spent every free moment on the computer or the phone, looking into different facilities with increasing dejection. The longer she searched, the more obvious the answer became. With no insurance and not nearly enough money for care, she had no other option but to take care of Daddy at home. The night Bowie got down on his knee and offered her the world, she turned him down. She gave up the love of her life for the man who’d given her life. * * * When the dog next door began to bark, Talia turned loose of the memory and opened her eyes. Lengthening shadows were a precursor to nightfall. Nearly one more day behind them. She and her father had ridden this hell together, and it was finally coming to an end. While the disease had destroyed her father both physically and mentally, it had taken a toll on her, too. She had no future, no hope for one, and no plans for what she would do after his imminent death. She was so used up that she just wanted to sleep until she either woke up or she didn’t. She thought about Bowie again, letting her mind wander to the possible scenarios where they might meet. He would likely be here far longer than the usual brief trip home at Christmas. During those trips he always spent all his time at home on the mountain, and even though she’d known he was up there, she’d never had a fear of running into him after she’d moved herself and her father into town. Bowie didn’t hang out in town, and she no longer had any reason to be up on the mountain. It hurt to think about what she’d done to him. It made her sick to her stomach, and she often lost sleep thinking about what might have been. But this news about his father’s murder changed her anonymous existence. What would she do if they came face-to-face? The gentle sway of the porch swing was soothing, and while she couldn’t hear what Erin was saying to her father, she could hear the murmur of her voice. Marshall had long since lost the ability to communicate, but it didn’t deter Erin. She was all about spreading light and love to all of her patients, whether they could answer her or not. It was less than an hour away from nightfall when Talia began hearing the distinct sounds of an approaching helicopter. Living so close to the hospital, it wasn’t unusual, but it always gave her the urge to say a prayer knowing someone was in crisis. She’d watched plenty of times as patients from the hospital were wheeled out to the helipad and loaded into the Life-Flight choppers. Curious as to what was happening now, she got up and moved to the edge of the porch. It wasn’t like she would be able to see who they were picking up, but she could say a prayer for safe travels. It wasn’t until the chopper began landing that she realized it wasn’t from Life-Flight. She squinted, trying to read the logo on the side, but she couldn’t. Then the door opened on the passenger side, and when she saw an oil company logo, her heart skipped a beat. When two very long denim-clad legs suddenly appeared below the door, she shivered. She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t have to. It was Bowie! Then she saw people getting out of several cars parked on the street in front of the hospital, and when they all began walking toward the helipad, she knew they must be some of his family. A moment later she recognized his mother, and then his brothers. She watched Bowie duck beneath the rotors as he headed toward them. The sight of him after all these years hurt her heart. Unwilling to torture herself any longer, she went back inside as his family welcomed him home. * * * Bowie looked out the window as the chopper was landing. He could see his brothers in their cars looking up through their windshields. Coming home because of a death in the family had been the farthest thing from his mind when he woke up this morning, and yet here he was, about to face the truth. The moment the pilot was down he thanked him, removed the headset and got out. He stopped to grab his duffel bag, and when he turned around, his mother was coming toward him. * * * Leigh felt like she was in a living nightmare. She knew that was her son, but it was like looking at Stanton. She swallowed past the knot in her throat and kept moving. The downdraft from the rotors was whipping her hair to the point that the ribbon she’d tied it back with came undone and blew away. Now all of her hair was windblown and flying about her face, while the blast flattened her dress to her body, outlining her long legs and slender torso. Bowie couldn’t see her expression, but his heart was pounding so hard it hurt to breathe. Facing her was going to be the worst. He knew the loss of their father was an amputation of part of herself. The chopper was already in the air and leaving as Bowie dropped his duffel bag and caught her on the run, hugging her close. “Mama, I am so sorry,” he said. Leigh shuddered as her fingers dug into his forearms. “He’s gone, Bowie. They killed him.” Tears were running down his face. “I know, Mama, but we’ll figure it out together, just like we always do, right?” And then they were surrounded by his brothers hugging him and crying, and then hugging him some more. Leigh stood aside and watched. As children they’d been like a litter of playful puppies. As teenagers they had bonded in a way not all brothers can. And now they were together again, gathered in grief. Oh, Stanton. Look at them. Look at what we made with our love. They are all I have left of you, but they don’t belong with me. How do I learn to live without you and still take care of Jesse on my own? * * * When they started home, Bowie sat in the backseat with his mother, giving Jesse the front seat beside Samuel. He took his lead from her, and when she immediately clutched his hand as they drove away, he held on tight, sensing her need for an anchor. Jesse kept up a running list of questions for Samuel, which left Bowie and Leigh able to sit in comfortable silence. Once he glanced over at her and saw tears running down her face. He undid his seat belt, slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She leaned into the curve of his body and closed her eyes. She hadn’t stopped crying, but it didn’t matter anymore. She wasn’t crying on her own. Halfway up the mountain Samuel turned on the headlights, piercing the growing darkness as they went higher and higher, until he tapped the brakes and turned up the driveway leading to the family home. When the headlights swept across the front yard, it was obvious there were more people there than when they’d left. “Who’s here?” Jesse asked. Samuel patted his brother on the leg. “I don’t know, Jesse. How about we go see?” “Yes,” Jesse said, and got out, but then, when he would have run toward the porch, he stopped and went back to open the door for his mother. “Good manners, right, Mama?” Leigh touched his cheek. “Yes, son, good manners always matter.” Bowie shouldered his duffel bag and steadied his mother’s steps as they climbed the stairs and went inside. The ongoing conversation instantly stopped as they walked in, and then started up again as everyone stood up to welcome Bowie home. He saw his Aunt Polly and Uncle Thomas and their spouses, a good half-dozen cousins about his age, and the preacher from the family church. He glanced at his mother to see if she was upset by all this chaos, but she’d turned into the perfect hostess, and was quietly seeing to everyone’s comfort and talking to her daughters-in-law about food. When Leigh saw all the food from family and friends it seemed to settle her concerns. Home was familiar. Home and family were the comfort she would need tonight. It wasn’t long before she picked up her grandson, Johnny, and began carrying him around on her hip like she’d done when her own boys were small, taking comfort in being able to meet his simple needs. When Bella and Maura announced dinner was ready, Leigh went into the kitchen with Johnny to get him fed first. Leslie already had a plate filled with things he would eat. Leigh asked if she could feed him, and Leslie quickly found them a seat in the kitchen and left them on their own. Bowie was thinking Johnny had been a baby in arms when he’d seen him last, and now he was walking and saying words. But while Johnny was eating well, he noticed his mother wasn’t. Her plate was untouched. He understood her lack of appetite, but he didn’t want her to faint on them later, so he brought her a piece of cake and sweet iced tea. “Thank you, son, but I’m not hungry,” she said. “Just a few bites,” he said, and walked away. Later, he noticed she’d drunk the tea and some of the cake was gone, too. He went back into the living room with a piece of pie and a refill of his own iced tea, found a chair out of the way and let the conversation roll over him while trying not to think of why they were all there. 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 ? 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. “? 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 ? 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 (#u60e14c81-4fa1-5434-91bd-a44cc7ae40b9) 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.” “Yeah, me, too,” a man said. “The bank foreclosed on us, too,” a woman said, and started crying. One by one, all the people there told the same sad tale. Henry’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the bank foreclosing on you has to do with the Waynes.” “You would if you saw what’s happening to our land,” German said. “Then tell me,” Henry said. “Take a drive up to the north side of the lake and check out the land they’re clearing for that new resort. It all used to belong to us,” German said. “Ask around up there. Find out who the biggest investors are.” “What does all of this have to do with Stanton Youngblood’s murder?” Henry asked. “Polly and Carl Cyrus. Thomas and Beth Youngblood. That’s what,” German said. “I don’t understand,” Henry said. “Then it’s time you did your job and found out,” German said. “We’re going now.” And one by one, they laid the signs they’d been holding at Henry Clayton’s feet and walked off into the night. Henry sighed. This wasn’t his case, and he didn’t want any part of bucking the Waynes, but he’d grown up with Stanton. The man deserved his justice. Henry began gathering up the signs and tossing them into the back of his cruiser. He would deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to get home and take off his damn shoe. * * * The killer stood in the dark, watching from his bedroom window as the police car arrived and dispersed the protestors. He was wondering who in Eden would have the guts to protest so openly, knowing full well what his family could do to them. Then he thought about the people who’d already been displaced. They had nothing left to lose, and obviously Stanton Youngblood had been their friend. He frowned. Right now the family had only been called out by a grieving woman. But their lawyer had warned them that the authorities would soon be all over them. They would have no choice but to put up with the interrogations. The final word of a dying man was powerful. He watched until the cop car was gone, and then stepped away from the window and sat down in the dark. He needed to think—to make sure there were no loose ends that would tie him to this. He was thoroughly disgusted that he hadn’t gone to make sure Stanton was dead before he ran. He frowned, thinking back to the day’s events. Even though he hadn’t seen this situation coming, he still wouldn’t change what he’d done. * * * Bowie woke up before daybreak to the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his room. He glanced at the time and frowned. It was barely five. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Every time he’d turned over in the night he’d heard movement somewhere in the house. His mother was struggling. They were all struggling. A death is one thing. A murder is another. It had occurred to Bowie after he’d gone to bed last night to wonder if his mother could be a target, too. Until this was resolved, they needed to make sure she was never alone. He heard a cabinet door bang and guessed she was starting her day, so he got up and dressed, then headed into the kitchen. She’d started the coffeemaker but not the food, and she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He noticed the back door was ajar and walked out, guided by the light coming from the kitchen behind him. She was sitting in the porch swing in the dark, with her hands pressed against her chest. “Mama?” Leigh looked up. “Did I wake you?” she asked. “No, ma’am. Are you in physical pain?” he asked, pointing at the way she was clutching at the blouse over her heart. She shook her head and then patted the seat beside her. “Come talk to me, Bowie. I need to think about something besides the hell we’re living, if only for a moment.” He sat down beside her, kissed the side of her cheek and then pushed off with the toe of his boot, letting the swing rock them into daybreak. “I’d talk about the scenery, but it’s too dark to see it,” he said. “I couldn’t lay in that bed alone,” she said, and then started to cry. Bowie groaned inwardly as tears welled. “I can’t begin to know what you’re feeling, Mama. I grieve from the standpoint of a son, but I know he was your life and you were his. We love you so much. Just hang on to that fact while you find a new way to be in this world.” Leigh leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment before she could gather herself to speak. “When did you get so smart?” she asked, and then felt him shrug. “She didn’t die, but when I lost Talia, I didn’t know how to be here without her. I had to find new footing. It’s why I left.” Leigh wiped her eyes and blew her nose as her mother instinct kicked in. This was something they’d all known, but since he’d never talked of it to them, they’d respected that choice. This opened the door. “What happened, son? We wondered. All of us did. We were so sad for your heartache, but as sorry as we were to see you go, we understood.” “I asked her to marry me. She said no without an explanation. It was a shock, and it broke my heart. I grew up and got over it.” Leigh turned to him then, and even though it was dark, she saw enough—from the set of his jaw to the way he looked everywhere but at her—to know that wasn’t true. “Did you really get over it?” she asked. “I thought so. Until I heard Aunt Polly talking about Talia and her dad.” “Are you going to go see her?” Bowie was silent for a few moments. “I think I have to,” he finally said. “What if you find out you still care for her?” “It won’t matter, not if she’s moved on,” he said. “And if she didn’t forget?” “I’m not sure.” Leigh patted his hand. “If you love someone with all your heart and you walk away, your life will never be as it was meant to be. You will always be unhappy. You will never be rich enough or successful enough to fill that void. Love matters, Bowie. It matters most of all.” He heard, but he didn’t have the composure to comment. His mother must have sensed his dilemma, because she changed the subject and kept talking. “I’ll need a lot of groceries in the next couple of days,” she said. “If I make a list, will you go shopping for me? I don’t want to go to Eden and face the comments.” “I’ll do anything you need of me, Mama. It’s why I’m here.” “Okay, then I also need one more favor.” “Absolutely. What do you want?” “I want you to go to Talia’s house, knock on her door and follow your heart to wherever it leads you. But don’t do this for me. Do it for yourself and for her.” The skin crawled on the back of Bowie’s neck. It had taken him so long to bury that pain, but he knew she was right. “I’ll go,” he said. “Good,” Leigh said, and then pointed toward the east. “Look, the sky is getting lighter. It will be daylight soon. Jesse will do the chores later if you’ll go with him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” “Sure thing,” Bowie said, and then thought about what would happen here when he was gone. “Can you take care of Jesse by yourself?” Leigh tossed her head and then stood abruptly. “I can do anything I have to. God gave Jesse to me twice. Once when he was born, and once when He saved Jesse’s life. I’ve thought all night about this very thing, and I’ve come to a conclusion that gives me ease. God knew I was going to lose Stanton. That’s why Jesse came home from the war this way. He knew I would need purpose or I would die from a broken heart. As long as I have Jesse, I have purpose. It isn’t what I would have wanted, but it’s what I have been given. I’m going to start breakfast. Biscuits or pancakes?” “Biscuits, please. No one makes biscuits as good as you do.” Leigh ran her fingers through the thick length of Bowie’s hair. “I love you with all my heart,” she said softly, and went inside, leaving Bowie alone in the swing. * * * Talia’s sleep was restless. She slept on a cot beside her father’s bed, and every moan he made, every creak of the bed springs, had her up on her feet within seconds. Before hospice stepped in, she’d been in constant fear that he would roll out of bed. Hospice had helped her get a hospital bed, and then she’d moved him from the bedroom at the back of the house to the living room up front. Now it was easier for her to care for him, and cook and do laundry, as well. And, with the hospital bed, she no longer had to be afraid he would fall. Still, every sound he made had her up and checking to be sure he wasn’t choking, or if she needed to change his diaper before he messed up his bed. Even though he was a shadow of his former self, he was still heavy. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on, and seeing Bowie after all these years had been a bitter reminder of what she’d lost. After tossing and turning for hours, she got up and dressed, ran a brush through her hair and then tied it back out of her face. Her feet were dragging when she went to start the coffee. She needed to eat, but the thought of food turned her stomach, so she started the coffee and then went to check on Marshall. His chest was barely moving, but his eyelids were fluttering. She wondered what he was seeing. Mama, she hoped, or maybe angels. Daddy was dying. She didn’t want him to be afraid. * * * It was after ten when Bowie drove into Eden in Stanton’s truck. It smelled like Stanton’s aftershave, and there were bits of paper with notes he had written to himself all over the seat. Bowie picked them up and dropped them into the console without reading them. It was hard enough to accept he was gone without all the tangible bits and pieces he’d left behind. Bowie had his mother’s list in his pocket, but his thoughts were on Talia. If he was honest with himself, he was afraid—afraid to find out that her father’s illness had nothing to do with her telling him no. The supermarket was busy, and because he didn’t know the layout of the store, it took longer than he’d intended to get everything. More than once someone stopped him to ask about his mother and send their condolences. After the sixth or seventh time he got cornered in an aisle, he understood his mother’s reluctance to do this herself. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. 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