Rook, p.2
Rook, page 2
Logan leaned back and watched each person at the table, then took a quick look around the room. “We’re attracting a lot of attention. Perhaps we should work on being polite for now and we can have a real discussion somewhere less public?”
“Always the peacemaker,” Chase muttered with a touch of humor. “You’re right. We all need to talk and somewhere that’s more private.” The two of them, Chase and Logan, were about as opposite looking as they came. Chase was a big man with tawny skin and dark eyes, hair about a quarter inch long on top, a trimmed goatee and mustache, and arms that looked like he could bench press the table if they all sat on it. He’d changed out of his dress blues into a dark gray suit over a black shirt that did nothing to soften the image – until he smiled, and a dimple flashed in his cheek.
Logan had a striking resemblance to the actor Scott Eastwood – when he was much younger, with dark blonde hair that curled on top, cut short on the sides and bright blue eyes. Freckles danced across his nose, giving him a youthful appearance – until you looked into his eyes. Those eyes seemed much older than Logan’s thirty-three years.
“What about you, Zach?” Chase asked as he turned to the silent man seated to his right. “You going to brunch at Uncle Red’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Zach replied. Zach’s gaze kept drifting to two men in black suits and white shirts, black ties, that stood near the windows.
Chase followed his gaze and leaned over to murmur near Zach’s ear. “Feds? Why would Feds be here?”
“I know one of them. Agent Martin Crosse. Ran into him down in Columbia a couple of years ago. No clue why he’s here, but he seems to know Uncle Red,” Zach murmured in reply. Zach narrowed his hazel green eyes in a darkly tanned face as Crosse turned to look at the table, then quickly away once more. “I think I’m going to go be friendly.”
“Want backup?” Chase asked.
“Sure, they’re less likely to give me the ‘no comment’ dance if you’re there. Fellow LEO and all that,” Zach replied.
“We’ll be right back,” Chase said as he and Zach rose to their feet and wandered over towards the agents.
“Agent Crosse, what brings you to the mountains of North Carolina?” Zach asked as Chase stuck his hands in his pockets and gave the agents a smile. “Didn’t realize you knew Wes.”
“We know Red Jefferson more,” Crosse replied. “Sorry for the loss of your friend.”
“Are you investigating his death?” Chase asked.
“Detective Payne, are you here in an official capacity as well?” Crosse asked.
“No, Agent. I’m here for my friend. But once a cop, always a cop, right?” Chase replied.
“I would assume so, but then you’d have to ask Ms. Cutler about that, wouldn’t you?” the other agent spoke, and Chase’s smile disappeared.
“Who are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doing, shitting on my friend?” Chase snapped.
“This is Agent Robert Wilson, my partner,” Crosse replied. “And he’ll shut up now,” he added with a glare at the other agent.
Wilson chuckled and gave a half turn to look out the window, a sneer on his face.
“I suggest, Agent Wilson, that you wipe that sneer off of your face before I do it for you,” Chase offered, his tone quiet and deadly.
“Assaulting a federal officer,” Crosse started to say, and Zach sighed. “Shut up, Crosse. You can both leave now, because you’re insulting our friend’s memory. Don’t make us help you leave.”
“Please,” Chase said. “Please make us help you leave.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and cracked the knuckles of one hand with the other.
Crosse put the cup he’d been holding down on a nearby table and tugged Wilson’s sleeve. They both made their way to the exit and outside.
“Guess we’ve got something else to ask Red about tomorrow,” Zach said.
“They’re assholes,” Chase replied. “And they were watching our table more than anything else.”
“Yep,” Zach said. “Something to ask Red about.”
They went back to their seats just in time for one of the catering staff to come around with coffee or water refills.
Zach waited until they’d left before he spoke up. “Agents Crosse and Wilson were here as friends of Uncle Red, to pay their respects. Or so they said.”
“They were focusing pretty heavily on our table,” Grant said. “Any idea why?”
“Everyone knows we were Wes’s friends and that some of us haven’t been back to Lakeridge in over a decade. We’re the talk of the town,” Myke replied. “I got stopped three times by locals yesterday while I was out shopping, and you know how this small town likes to spread tales.”
“But you’ve been back a few times each year,” Lacey said to Myke. “Your aunt and I see each other fairly often at the coffee shop.”
“I’ve been around, yeah, but Zach has been here maybe once a year for a couple of weeks around the holidays, and Logan about the same. Chase used to come around when his parents were here, but when they moved to Florida five years ago, he stopped coming back, and then there’s Grant,” Myke replied. “The only one that stayed in Lakeridge was Wes. I’d spend time with him when I was in town, and he was the one who stood by me when I needed someone the most. So, yeah, people are gonna stare, and people are gonna talk.”
“That’s all fine and good,” Grant replied, “but why are Fibbies focused on us?”
“Something to ask Uncle Red tomorrow,” Zach said. “Not really something to discuss here, is it?”
“You’re right,” Grant replied. “Ma, are you ready to go?”
Lacey looked at her son in surprise, then wiped her mouth with a napkin and laid it on her plate. “It was wonderful getting to see all of you again. Come by the house before you leave town, would you? I’ve missed you all.” She got to her feet and Grant held her sweater for her to pull on.
“I’ll see you all tomorrow morning,” Grant said and turned to escort his mother to the door.
“You know why it’s hard for him to be here,” Chase said, his voice low.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Zach replied. “But he’s going to need a crowbar against the back of his head to get it to sink in.”
“I’m out,” Myke said and got to her feet. “See y’all tomorrow.” She made her way over to Red, kissed his cheek, then left out the back.
“Tomorrow then,” Logan said as he got up and made his farewells to Red.
“I need a drink,” Chase said. “Want to get one with me?”
“That sounds like a good idea. Where are you staying?” Zach asked.
“I got a short-term vacation rental for a couple of weeks over by Creed Creek. Where are you?”
“My brother’s guest room, but I can’t keep staying there. Sammi is due with their third in a couple of months and Zeke is turning the guest room into a bedroom for Gemma.”
“Oof, three under five? That’s a lot. Come stay with me. The place has three bedrooms, so there’s plenty of space,” Chase said.
“I may take you up on that. I’ll stop at the liquor store and pick up a few things, if you get the food. Give me the address and I’ll see you there in a few.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Chase replied, and they rose to say goodbye to Red and reiterate their promise to be there in the late morning.
Red watched the last of the Club leave, then turned to give a polite smile to another guest coming to give their condolences. He had been watching the dynamics of the group all day, and part of him wished he could keep the rest of it from them – but it could cost them their lives if he did. It was time to bring them all in.
Chapter three
Billie Halstead Morris, blonde hair perfectly coiffed, silk dress fitted just so, sat at the head of her dining room table and looked to her right where her husband, Mayor Jeffrey Morris, sat with his head in his hands. “Jeffie, if you don’t stop complaining, I'll have to move your things to the guest room again."
"Billie, you don’t understand. Your brothers are going to get us all arrested,” Jeffrey replied. His brown hair was tousled where his hands had been run through it and his greenish-grey eyes were bloodshot. “They keep doing stupid shit and it won’t be something the Lake County sheriff’s department will handle – it’ll be the feds.”
It was a fine manicure if Billie said so herself. That nail tech at Shelby Sue’s Salon did a beautiful job. She admired her nails as they tapped on the glossy wood tabletop and her brown eyes narrowed. “You’re working yourself into a tizzy, Jeffie. Why on earth would the feds have any interest in our little town? As far as anyone’s concerned, absolutely nothing of importance happens here. Well, not unless you count the Old-Timey festival that happens each October. Now, why don’t you drink that fine bourbon I poured for you and take a breath. Daddy and my brothers will be here for dinner shortly.”
Jeffrey grabbed the bourbon and downed it as if it were water. “I’m not hungry. You can eat with the rest of them without me.” He got to his feet, swayed slightly, and left his wife alone in the dining room while he locked himself in his study and drank even more.
“It’s okay, Jeffie,” Billie said, her words soft in the empty room. “You won’t need to worry about it all much longer.”
An hour later, her father and her two brothers were seated at her table, her father at the far end, her brothers on either side in the middle. They looked so very similar, except Byron was a good fifty pounds overweight and Junior was at least thirty pounds underweight. Her father looked fit and healthy for his age. All of them had blonde hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. For dinner, Cook had prepared pot roast with potatoes and carrots, a salad of spring greens, grape tomatoes, and sweet vinaigrette, with apple pie for dessert. Billie ate a bit of this and that, and watched as Byron ate enough for two while BJ pushed the food around and sniffed through the whole meal. Her father ate a decent serving and complimented the cook, then leaned back with a glass of whiskey and waited for his sons to finish their meals.
“Where’s the mayor this evening, Billie?” Bernstrom asked his daughter.
“He had some business to tend to in his study,” Billie replied. “You know how it is, Daddy.”
“That I do, little girl, that I do. How’s his re-election campaign going?”
“Well, considering no one dares run against him, it’s going just fine. Barely had to spend a penny. Just enough for the signs and flyers,” Billie replied.
“Don’t forget the vid ads, little girl. They’ll need to start running around the beginning of September and through October until election day,” Bernstrom said. “Do you think you could manage to get yourself visibly pregnant by then?”
Billie stared at her father in shock. The last thing she ever planned on doing was letting any man plant a baby in her. That was the most disgusting thing she could imagine. “No, Daddy. We’ve not planned on children yet. There’s plenty of time for that, and he needs to be mayor another four years before he moves to the senate. That’s when we’re thinking about a family, so we have perfect little children for the White House run.”
Bernstrom stared into his glass for a moment, then smiled. “Well, that’s about the smartest thing I’ve ever heard, Billie. You’re quite right. Sullen teenagers would not be a good look for a White House run, but adorable little elementary and middle schoolers? That’s perfect. Good plan.”
Billie simpered under her father’s praise, then tossed a bomb into the middle of the table. “Besides, Daddy, shouldn’t my brothers be the ones making babies? You want the Halstead name to carry on and my babies would be named Morris.”
“Yours could be named Halstead if you wanted them to be,” Byron said. “And if Junior didn’t keep fucking up, I’d have planted a baby or two in that Adler bitch already.”
“You couldn’t plant a baby in a fertility clinic,” BJ snarled. “And I was gonna plant one in her, but she stunned me.”
Byron came up out of his seat and reached across the table for his brother. He grabbed BJ by the collar of his shirt and pulled him half onto the table. “Listen here, you little drug-addled fucktard. Ellery Adler is mine. I’ll kill you, brother or not, before I let you put your shriveled up dick anywhere near my woman.”
“That’s enough,” snapped Bernstrom. “Both of you, sit down and shut up.”
BJ spat in Byron’s face, then Byron threw BJ back into his chair with enough force to tip his brother and the chair both backwards and onto the floor with a crash.
BJ jumped up and went over the table after Byron, a steak knife in his hand, and Byron hauled back one meaty fist and punched his brother hard enough to knock him unconscious in the middle of his sister’s crystal and China dishware.
“Get out of my house!” screamed Billie as she jumped away from the table. “You’re both animals.”
“I’m sorry, Billie,” Bernstrom said. “I’ll get them out of here.” He slapped the back of Byron’s head. “This is no way to thank your sister for the fine meal we just had. Now pick up your brother and get out to the car.”
Byron didn’t say a thing, just hauled BJ up over his shoulder and stomped out of the room. Bernstrom pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, then Billie heard a chime from her phone. “There, I sent you some credits to pay for the damages. My apologies, Billie. The meal was wonderful and much appreciated. I’ll see myself out.”
Broken crystal glasses and fine China plates were scattered across the linen tablecloth. Billie stared at the mess, then sat back down and reached for her wine glass. That hadn’t been broken – or spilled – so she took a swallow of the fine vintage and sighed.
That’s where Jeffrey found her, seated at the table with the damage spread out across the surface. “What the hell happened here? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine,” Billie said. “But my brothers are going to wish they’d never been born.”
“If only we were so lucky,” Jeffrey muttered. “Fucking assholes.”
“Careful,” Billie said, a cold, warning tone in her voiced. “They may be assholes, but they’re still my brothers.”
“Ah, I see. So you can talk shit about them all you want, and I can’t?” Jeffrey replied. “Bullshit. In fact, I’m done with all of this. I hate you, I hate them, and I hate this life. I’m out of here.”
“No, you’re not,” Billie said as she slowly got to her feet. “You’ll go up to the guest room, shower, and get into bed. We'll discuss your options in the morning over breakfast."
"Fuck my options. You can have it all, I’m out,” Jeffrey said as he turned towards the doorway to leave the room.
“Jeffrey, I’ll see you at breakfast,” Billie said, her tone overly sweet. “You wouldn’t want what happened to your Daddy to happen to you, too, now…would you?”
At her words, Jeffrey froze for a handful of breaths, then shook his head. “No, not even a little bit. See you in the morning, Billie.”
As his footsteps faded on the stairs, Billie drained her glass and set it carefully on the table. Her family had cleared the path for Jeffrey Morris to become mayor, then senator, and eventually president of these United States. He wasn’t going to fuck this up for her now. Not even a little bit.
Chapter four
Red’s house on the ridge sprawled across a steep slope with windows that captured the Blue Ridge mountain view from every angle. From the outside, the windows reflected the view and blocked any glimpse of what was inside the stone and log structure. A massive central chimney trailed vapor into the sky that promised rain before the morning was over.
Grant parked the pickup truck in the wide gravel space beside the house and carried a bag up the stairs. Hand raised to knock, the door was opened before he could.
“Good morning, Grant,” Red said as he stepped back. “Come on in. Coffee’s on.”
Grant stepped inside and turned to Red. “Morning. Ma sent over one of her coffee cakes.” He handed Red the bag and turned to look around the space. “Am I the first one here?”
“Myke is in the bathroom, but yeah, you’re the first one.”
“Wait, Myke is staying here?” Grant asked. “You’re not – I mean, you and she?”
Red laughed. “No, we’re not. I’m flattered you’d think so. Her aunt rented out the cottage Myke uses when she’s in town for a few months to a new family getting a place built. I have more than enough room, so I invited her to stay here. I’m enjoying the company, to be honest.”
“I’ll get the rest of the food set out,” Myke called out as she stepped into the main living space. “Oh, Grant. Didn’t know you were here already.”
“Ma sent over one of her coffee cakes. It’s still warm, so she wanted me to bring it now instead of waiting twenty minutes,” Grant replied. “Need any help?”
“Naw, I’d hate to ruin your manicure,” Myke teased as she pulled foil-wrapped pans out of the warmer and carried them over to the island.
“Bite me,” Grant retorted, then shook his head. “I’m back here for twenty-four hours and I’ve already reverted to teenage slang. Gods help me.” He picked up a tray and carried it over, then put it where Myke pointed.
“We’re doing breakfast burritos, bagel sandwiches, cut up fruit, some pastries, and your Ma’s coffee cake. Coffee, tea, juice, or milk?” Myke asked.
“Coffee, black. I barely got three swallows of mine before Ma rushed me out the door,” Grant replied.
A knock sounded and Logan had arrived. “Morning, everyone,” he called out as he hung his leather jacket on a peg by the door.
“Now you look like Logan,” Grant said. “Jeans and a Henley are more what I’m used to seeing you in.”
