Family Sins(47)

Bowie smiled, and combed the unruly strands of her hair away from her face, “My three able brothers and their wives and a bunch of relatives are on hand. Mama said Samuel and Bella are spending the night, so, no, she doesn’t need me tonight. And even in the middle of her grief, like me, she was worried about you. I’ll go home in the morning. I would ask you to go with me, but I know you have things to do here, funeral arrangements to make.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Talia said. “Everything was decided months ago, but I still need to stay here, and your mother doesn’t need guests when she’s grieving.”

“The offer stays open,” Bowie said, as he finger-combed his hair and fastened it back at the nape of his neck. “I’m getting hungry. How about you?” he asked.

“A little,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of groceries in the house, but we could make omelets.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, then leaned down and kissed the smile on her face. “You’re perfect, too.”

Talia was still smiling as she led the way to the kitchen.

*

Dinner at the mansion alternated between sardonic discourse and silence. The storm was making more noise than they were. When a nearby flash of lightning made their lights flicker, Justin cursed.

“Oh, hell, yes. Let’s add to the mood by winding up in total darkness.”

Nita glanced at her younger brother.

“Who tied your tail in a knot today?”

Justin looked up and then at the family seated around the table—everyone except Jack. Acknowledging his presence, even for propriety’s sake, wasn’t happening. He wasn’t going to let go of being bitch-slapped.

“All of you. None of you. One of you. I am so weary of having the police on our ass from sunup to sundown that I can’t think. If my sister wasn’t such a royal bitch, this wouldn’t be happening.”

“No, if your sister’s husband hadn’t lived long enough to point a finger at his killer, this wouldn’t be happening,” Nita snapped. “And that means the killer is the one who f*cked up, and I’m tired of hearing you whine. Someone at this table caused this. Not Leigh. Not Stanton. Not the cops. One of us,” Nita said, and then picked up her spoon and tapped it against her water glass until the maid came in. “We’re ready for the dessert course,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said, and hurried out of the dining room.

The whole family stared as one at Nita.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you ever have serious thoughts?” Jack asked.

“I’m serious about dessert,” Nita snapped, and then clinked her spoon against the water glass one more time purely for the sake of aggravating him.

Fiona rolled her eyes.

Blake ignored her.

The lights flickered.

Justin glared up at the chandelier.

The maid returned with the pastry cart.

“Pecan pie with bourbon-infused chantilly cream, sir,” she said, and served Jack first.

Jack nodded.

“Looks good. My compliments to the chef tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, then moved around the table, serving the others. She followed up the pie with a carafe of freshly brewed coffee and filled their cups before leaving the room.

“This is really good,” Charles said, as he dug in with enjoyment.

“Indeed,” Jack said, eyeing their youngest family member. “So how did you feel being questioned by the police this morning?”

Charles glanced up from his pie. “Who? Me?”

Jack nodded.

“It was strange, for sure,” Charles said.

“Did any of the questions upset you?” Jack asked.

Charles chewed and swallowed. “No, sir.”

Justin slapped the table. “Why don’t you just spit it out, Uncle Jack? You want to know what each of us said, because you’re mad that the cops showed up at the lake house, right?”

Jack glared. Justin was the nephew who always picked at the scabs this family had until they bled. Every damn time. But now that they knew what he was getting at, he asked point-blank, “So how did they know the guns and motorcycle were out there? I didn’t even know we owned a motorcycle.”

Blake sighed.

“They’re the police. They research shit, Uncle Jack. Since nothing was here, they searched the next place we owned. It’s simple.”

Nita poured two scoops of sugar into her coffee and stirred with enough vigor that it sloshed on to her saucer.

Jack’s eyes narrowed when he saw her fingers shaking.

“What did you tell them, Nita?”

She shrugged and took another bite of pie without looking at him.

Now Jack was the one slapping the table, hard enough that the dishes rattled. “It was you who did it, wasn’t it?” he shouted.

“Who did what?” Nita asked. “You told us to play it cool. You told us to comply without anger. I complied.”

Charles was now completely silent, listening as his uncle began harassing his aunt. Finally he stood up and then clinked his spoon against his water glass.

“Excuse me,” he said, as everyone turned to look at him.

“They interviewed me last. I don’t know what everyone else said before they got to me. They already knew we owned them, remember? I assumed since the killer rode a motorcyle and the family owned one, and Youngblood wrote the name Wayne... Obviously the only thing the cops didn’t know was where they were kept.”