Twilight at Blueberry Barrens (Sunset Cove #3)(27)
“It’s time, honey.”
She straightened and rested her fingers on her grandfather’s arm. Holding the skirt of her dress up, she descended the stairs from the deck and walked through the grass to where the white paper runner began. Everyone stood and looked her direction, but Claire locked her attention on Luke’s face. His tender smile brightened, and he took a step toward her until his best man, Beau Callahan, put his hand on Luke’s arm and said something.
Kate stepped out and began to sing “Make You Feel My Love.” The lyrics enveloped Claire, but she was barely conscious of the smiles and nods sent her way as she walked to meet her destiny.
*
The past week had sped by, and Kate had turned over the cottage keys to Drake yesterday. She had been busy with her sister’s wedding until this morning, so he’d arranged their few belongings, then taken the girls beachcombing until she started work, but today he could finally concentrate on his brother’s murder.
Kate had done a fine job with the little cottage. The scent of fresh paint still lingered in the air, and most of the furniture was at least clean and semi-new, probably purchased from a secondhand store. She had a sharp touch with color and furniture arrangement, and an enjoyable summer here with the girls stretched in front of him.
The sound of Kate singing “Father Abraham” with the girls drifted in through the open window as he settled onto the overstuffed sofa. She had a beautiful voice that reminded him of Adele’s. His phone rang, and he glanced at the screen before answering it. “Good morning, Lakesha. How’s it going?”
“About as well as you’d expect with the boss gone.” Her husky voice held an edge of impatience. “Can you come back, even just for a couple of days? Fish and Wildlife’s regional director wants to meet with you personally. I don’t think this deal will go forward if he can’t speak with you to get a sense of how hard you think it will be to implement his changes. Did you get the documents I e-mailed?”
He’d gotten them but hadn’t reviewed them yet. Could one of his competitors know about this? He made a mental note to check with his attorney again. “Hold on, let me take a look.” He opened the first document and absorbed the request. “They want me to add the capability to drop supplies? That’s a fairly easy fix, I think. It could be a real boon to remote areas.”
“They like your drones because of the size. We need you here, Drake.”
He sighed and shoved a lock of hair off his forehead. His employees depended on him, and everything in him itched to plunge into the needed modifications. His attention strayed to the box of Heath’s belongings he’d been about to dig into, and he wanted to talk to people who might have known about Heath’s mental state the week he died. “I just can’t come back right now, Lakesha. Let’s arrange a video meeting.”
“I suggested that. No go.” She bit the words out as if she was holding back what she really wanted to say.
“Look, I know you think trying to dig into Heath’s death is stupid, but it’s something I have to do. I’m trying my hardest here. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
“I know you do, and I’m sorry to bring you more pressure. But this is important, too, Drake.”
“I know. I’ll think about all this and get back to you.”
Her heavy sigh came over the phone. “I could try to put him off for another week.”
“I don’t think that will be long enough. Maybe he could come here if he’s so determined to meet with me.”
“Get real, Drake. The regional director isn’t going to go somewhere so remote. They’ll just take their business elsewhere. But I’ll keep you posted.” She sounded resigned.
He ended the call. He pushed the problem away for now and pulled the box to him.
The sight of it in front of him shouldn’t have caused his pulse to ratchet up. It appeared innocuous enough. Just a standard twelve-by-twenty-four box, but his hands were clammy as he ripped the tape off the top. His chest squeezed when he saw his brother’s baseball on top of the pile. All these things had been cleaned out of Heath’s desk. Heath’s pride and joy was this ball signed by Reggie Jackson. It had been owned by their dad who had caught a fly ball in Reggie’s final game in ’87.
Drake ran his fingers over the ball and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. This jumble of belongings had to be gone through just in case there was a clue to what had happened to Heath.
He lifted out the contents: a tweed jacket that still held Heath’s scent, basketball trophies, framed educational diplomas, a desk pen and pencil set, several leadership books, and then a stack of folders. Two files, both a couple of inches thick, contained copies of every scrap of information Heath had on the Chen Wang case. There was a file of bills also, but Drake set it aside until he’d gone through the more important files.
He rubbed his eyes and opened the first file. The details of the Wang crimes made him want to slam the file shut and go play in the sunshine, but he forced himself to keep reading about murders, robberies, extortion, and beheadings. He’d need a shower by the time he was done. His eyes grew bleary as he flipped through page after page until only a couple remained in the second folder.
No doubt about it, these guys—Wang in particular—were some of the worst criminals in the world. Terror and death followed the gang’s every movement. Why hadn’t Heath backed away from defending Wang immediately?