Rook, p.1
Rook, page 1
Rook
A Chess Club Mystery - Book One
TK Eldridge
Graffridge Publishing
First published by Graffridge Publishing 2022
Copyright © 2022 by TK Eldridge
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
TK Eldridge asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
TK Eldridge has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
Cover by Lizzie Dunlap of PixieCovers.com
Editing by Donna A. Martz of MartzProofing.com
Contents
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
Sample of Knight - Chess Club Book 2
About the Author
To everyone who has found family and home in places they never expected to find them.
This one is for all of you (us)
“He who understands you is greater kin to you than your own brother. For even your own kindred neither understand you nor know your true worth.” -Khalil Gibran
Prologue
It wasn’t every day a guy woke up dead. Wes stared at his body, sprawled across his workshop floor, and had a moment of wondering if this was just a weird dream, but then he realized he couldn’t feel anything – nor could he smell the coffee he’d just brewed, or feel the heat from the electric fireplace that kept the shop warm during the early spring rains.
“Well, fuck,” Wes said. He heard a loud bang outside and went to the window. A black SUV was driving away, gravel kicked up off the driveway as it sped off. The only thing Wes could see was that there were government plates on the SUV, but not the details. Not like he could tell anyone, anyway. He looked back down at his body and sighed.
“I really hate Mondays.”
Chapter one
Grant Foster drained the last of the wine in his glass and handed it to Asha, the flight attendant, as she prepped for landing. She smiled at him with a glint of interest as she moved to the rear of the private shuttle to find her seat. Sure, Grant found Asha attractive with her tawny skin, dark hair, and light green eyes, but he made it a point to not mess with his employees.
To be honest, Grant couldn’t remember the last time he’d ‘messed’ with anyone. The Ascension merger had taken up every ounce of his time and patience for the past eighteen months, but now he could say he owned the best company for every kind of transport in the universe – on planet or off. His father would probably have found something to bitch about, but Grant knew his mother was proud. The old man’s death had handed Grant the keys to the kingdom, as it were, and he’d taken Foster Consolidated from a national trucking company to a universal transport entity in a little more than a decade.
The whine of the engines shifted pitch as the shuttle descended onto the private runway in the exclusive mountain community a few short miles from where he grew up in the mountains of western North Carolina. His mother lived in one of the homes in the gated community, chosen because it was still near her friends, but more secure overall and easy for him to visit – which he never did.
It felt strange coming back to Lakeridge after all this time. He’d paid to fly his mom out to visit him in whatever city he happened to be in when the holidays rolled around, but he’d not come back here since he graduated high school. Now he was back, to bury one of his friends.
As the shuttle taxied closer to the hangar, Grant ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the scruff on his face. His reddish-brown curls were kept short, and he usually had a permanent five o’clock shadow of reddish blonde, no matter how much he shaved. His dark blue eyes and pale skin spoke to some Scots Irish ancestry, but he didn’t bother with that as much as his mother did. The papers said he looked like a young Richard Madden – an old-time actor - but he didn’t see it. He didn’t really care, as long as his presence and demeanor kept the bullshit to a minimum. When the shuttle stopped, he stood and pulled on his suit coat, picked up his messenger bag, and headed for the door.
As Asha unlocked the door and pushed it open, Grant took a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing,” Grant muttered. When Asha looked at him in confusion, he smiled and added, “Thank you, Asha. Have a good evening,” then descended the steps to the car that waited below.
“Mr. Foster?” the man in the black suit and cap said. “I’m Rivers, your driver. If you’d like to wait inside, I’ll get your bags.”
“Thank you, Rivers,” Grant replied and slid into the back of the car. Two rows of seats faced each other, and a console held refreshments. He buckled in and let his bag rest on the seat beside him, then took a deep breath of the mountain air. It smelled like spring – damp earth and green things – and the memories flooded him. He shoved them away and pulled out his phone to let his mother know he had arrived. The fact that his hands shook? That was something he’d completely ignore.
As the car pulled to a stop in front of the timber and stone edifice, his mother threw open the door and stepped outside. Lacey Davidson Foster looked ten years younger than her fifty-five years. Her silver-streaked auburn hair was cut in a short pixie that only enhanced her wide blue eyes and high cheekbones while her peach tunic-length top, black leggings, and flats showed off healthy curves and muscles.
Grant had barely stepped out of the car before his mother wrapped her arms around him.
“There’s my boy,” Lacey said, then cupped his face in her hands. “You look tired. Come inside and I’ll get you a drink. Are you hungry?”
Grant leaned over and kissed her cheek. “In a minute, Ma. I need to get my bags.” He stepped back and turned to Rivers to swap the luggage for the credit chip in his hand. “Thank you, Rivers. I appreciate the service.”
Lacey took the rolling bag and headed into the house while Grant slung his messenger bag over a shoulder and picked up the other two. He stepped inside the foyer and took a moment to appreciate the beauty.
“This is nice, Ma,” Grant said. “You did a good job.”
“Bring those bags and you can put them in your room and wash up while I get us some lunch,” Lacey said.
He followed her down a set of stairs with a ninety-degree turn halfway down and paused at the bottom. “Wow,” Grant breathed, then moved to follow her once more.
The lower level opened up to a wall of glass across the back with a view of the Blue Ridge mountains unencumbered by other buildings or tall trees. A sitting area around an electric fireplace and an entertainment monitor had doors that opened onto a flagstone patio sheltered by the deck above. To the left, a door opened into a storage area and to the right, a door led into a bedroom with another wall of glass on one side and a luxurious en-suite bathroom on the other. Done in shades of blue and gray with cream accents, the whole space spoke of quiet elegance.
“This is really nice, Ma,” Grant said as he put his bags down at the foot of the bed.
“This is your suite,” Lacey replied. “I had it all made up so if you ever came to visit, you’d have your own space. The side door under the stairs leads out to the driveway, so you have your own entrance, and there’s a kitchenette behind the sliding doors off the sitting area.”
“No one’s used this guest room?” Grant asked in surprise.
“This isn’t the guest room. This is your room,” Lacey replied. “The guest room is upstairs.” A hand rested on his arm, and she gave him a knowing smile. “You’ve not yet made a home for yourself, and everyone needs to know there’s a place that they can call home. I made you one here, until you decide to make one for yourself.”
Grant’s heart twisted a little as he bent to kiss her forehead. “Thank you, Ma. I’ll be up in a minute. I want to wash up.”
“Take your time. I’ve had meatballs, sausage and red sauce in the slow cooker all day,” Lacey said as she left the room.
Grant shut the door and turned to look at the space, then shook his head. She’d even put a desk unit near the glass doors, so he’d have a work space. That was his mom – she thought of every detail. He was hungry, but after a morning of meetings, a rush to the shuttle and the flight here, he wanted a shower and clean clothes more than anything else. He pulled black jeans and a medium blue t-shirt out of his bag, clean underwear and socks, and left them on the bed while the water heated up in the shower. Fifteen minutes later he was showered, dressed, and headed back upstairs.
“Feel better after a shower?” Lacey asked. She had crusty rolls split open and lined with sliced cheese as she ladled hot meatballs and sausage into them, then carried the plates to the table. “Salad and subs, and I made sweet tea the way you like it – not too sweet.”
“Smells great, Ma,” Grant said and took a seat. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“Grant Davidson Foster,” Lacey chided. Yep, she’d used all three names, so he knew he’d stepped in it. “You’re my son and it’s the first time you’ve come to my home. This isn’t trouble, this is appreciation for you finally showing up at my front door.”
“Ma, you know coming back here isn’t easy,” Grant started to say, and she lifted a hand, palm out to stop him.
“That wasn’t a smack at you, son. That was me stating that I’m beyond grateful you’re here.” A hand laid over his and she gave him a smile. “I know it’s difficult, and I love you even more for taking the step to be here. Wes would appreciate it, and the others will as well.”
“Others?” Grant asked as he took a sip of the cold tea.
“What? You think you’re the only member of the Chess Club to come home for his funeral?”
“What have you heard?” he asked.
“Everyone’s back in town already. You’re the last one to show up. All five of you will be there for Wes tomorrow. I’m just glad they finally released his remains so he could be buried, even though the case is still open.”
“Everyone?” Grant asked.
“Everyone. Logan, Chase, Zach, and Mykal are all back in town. Logan is going to officiate. Wes was cremated, per his wishes, so they don’t need pall bearers, but they do want us to sit in the family row. I said we would be honored.”
“Ma…,” Grant sighed. “He’s got family, doesn’t he?”
“Just his Uncle Redmond. His mother died two years ago from cancer, and you know his father hasn’t been around since he was a baby. You and the rest of the Club were his family. We’ll sit in the family row with Red and the rest of your friends, for Red’s sake. We’re not discussing this, Grant.”
When his mother put her foot down on something, he knew better than to argue. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured and took a bite of his sandwich. He used to consider the Chess Club his family, but that was a long time ago. Fifteen years since they graduated high school and went their own ways.
Fifteen years since murder had torn the heart out of the group of misfit kids and scattered them far and wide.
Chapter two
Wes watched the people file into the church and take their seats. The stone chapel could hold maybe two hundred, but he didn’t expect that many to show up. There were a lot more people than he expected to see, though.
It was weird to see Logan in a priest collar, all dressed up and doing the Mass. The last time he’d seen Logan was when they’d graduated from high school. That had been a rough day all around. While the rest of their graduating class was celebrating and going to parties, his friends were packing their shit and getting out of town. Not Wes, though. He didn’t have anywhere to go.
All of them had gone on to college, except Wes. He’d been accepted to MIT, but his mom hadn’t been doing so well and needed him at home. His Uncle Red had helped him forge a different path, so things happened for a reason, he supposed.
There was Chase Payne – in his dress blues. He was a detective now, Wes had heard. Graduated from Duke, then went into the police academy. Mykal Cutler, the only girl in the group, had been at UNC Chapel Hill, then into a police academy as well. Since she wasn’t a cop any longer, she wore a black pants suit. Then Zach Hawthorne, who’d gone north to Harvard and ended up a journalist and author. Last, but definitely not least, was Grant Foster. Local boy who became a billionaire. His mom looked good, Wes thought. Content that her son was finally back home.
Sucked that it took someone dying for Grant to finally land his ass back in Lakeridge, but if it brought Mrs. Foster some happiness, it wasn’t all bad, right? No, it was really all that bad. At least he’d outlived Mr. Layton, their surrogate father and the head of the Chess Club by three whole years.
They never figured out who’d killed Alexander Layton fifteen years ago, and they probably wouldn’t figure out who killed him, either. Wes had a few ideas on who might have taken him out, but the rumors of who killed Layton? There was no telling how many of those were founded in truth. His suspicions led him to think the only connection was that they both happened in Lakeridge.
He'd been wrong before.
The town car pulled up to the country club and Grant escorted his mother inside. The service had been nice enough, he supposed. It wasn’t as if Grant had attended a lot of funerals to make comparisons. Mr. Layton’s funeral, then his father – now Wes’s were about the extent of his experience.
Redmond Jefferson, Wes Davenport’s uncle, shook hands at the doorway and thanked people for coming. He was Wes’s mom’s brother. Martha Davenport had died two years earlier from breast cancer, and Colsen Davenport, Wes’s father, had disappeared when Wes was a baby. He’d heard that Colsen had been shot in a drug deal gone wrong when Wes was about fourteen, but from what he could tell that was no great loss.
“Grant, thank you for coming. It’s good to see all of the Club members here, today,” Red said as he shook Grant’s hand. “Lacey, so kind of you to help with all of this,” he added as he leaned in to kiss Lacey’s cheek.
“Of course, Red. You know you’re family and we do for family around here,” Lacey replied. “I’ll just go make sure everything’s going smoothly,” she added as she slipped away towards the kitchens.
“How long are you in town for?” Red asked Grant.
“I’m not sure,” Grant replied. “A few days, at least. Why?”
“I want to talk to you and the others as soon as possible. Could we maybe get together tomorrow?” Red asked.
“I can do it. Not sure about everyone else. I’ve barely said two words to them so far today,” Grant replied.
“Everyone else said they could meet for a late morning gathering. How about brunch at my place, say ten o’clock?”
“I’ll be there. You still on Lickskillet Road?”
“I am. Top of the ridge.” Red paused, then let out a soft huff of breath. “Thank you. It means more than I can say that you’ll come.”
Grant gave Red a polite nod. “You’re family, as Ma said. I’ll be there.” He walked away from Red then and rolled his shoulders. It was like putting on an old jacket that felt a little tight at first, then settled into place. A little awkward and uncomfortable, but he was adjusting.
He filled a plate, then looked for a table. His mother waved him over and he crossed the room to take a seat – then noticed the rest of the Club were also seated there. Food was picked at, but no one spoke until Lacey slapped a hand on the table and leaned in. “Y’all need to stop this shit and behave like the grown-ass adults y’all are. This is silly. You five are family and you’re acting like strangers on a bus. Get over yourselves. Is this the kind of celebration of life that Wes would want?”
“I’m the only one here that would know what Wes would want because none of the rest of you bothered to speak to him in the past twelve years,” Myke said. “Except for maybe Mrs. Foster. And you’re right, Mrs. Foster. He’d be pissed at us.” She looked as fierce as she sounded, her words hissed across the table. Her hair was shorter than everyone else’s, except Chase who had a brush cut. Tousled curls of medium brown with light purple streaks at the top, the sides and back shaved to stubble gave her an edgy look. Her wide brown eyes flashed angrily at them. Warm sable-hued skin stretched over sharp cheekbones, a slender nose and narrow jawline - her full lips drawn tight as she stabbed her fork into the potato salad.
