Dawson's Honor (Welcome to Covendale Book 6)

by Blaze, Morgan

  “That’s me,” Jonah said. “Honorable.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Thank you,” he said. “For what you did for her. Now get out of here, before those yahoos out front get suspicious.”

  Though he really wanted to ask why Patrick cared what he did for Celeste, he thought better of it. Besides, the woman had ended up with a broken leg anyway. He wouldn’t mention that either.

  He left the room without another word. All he could do now was hope for the best.

  Chapter 4

  The Law Offices of Emerson and Rutledge didn’t seem very inviting, even at ten in the morning on a bright, sunny day.

  Piper sat alone in a highly polished, carpeted conference room with lots of windows, where the receptionist had brought her when she came in. The only sound was the soft whir of a hidden vent fan somewhere. She didn’t know much about lawyers, but this firm seemed pretty high-end and expensive. So she figured Celeste’s lawyer was probably in the same tier.

  It made her wonder how her aunt could afford this kind of help.

  The ornate wall clock read 10:05 when the conference room door opened, and a man and woman walked in. The man was older, tall and clean-shaven with a hint of gray at his temples. The woman was maybe late thirties, with brutally short hair and long, bright red nails. Both of them looked like they’d stepped out of a catalog.

  “Miss Starr, thank you for coming.” The woman placed a soft leather briefcase on the glossy table and waved a hand vaguely at the man. “This is Bernard Rutledge. He’ll be leaving us now.”

  “Of course.” Bernard looked a bit annoyed, but he stepped back out of the room. “Call Nancy if you need anything,” he said, and closed the door.

  The lawyer sat down across the table from her and extended a hand. “Malory King,” she said.

  “I guessed that,” Piper said dryly as she shook. “Call me Piper.”

  “Fine.” Barely looking at her, Malory unzipped the briefcase and pulled out a manila folder with a printed label reading DANIELS, CELESTE. “Miss Starr…Piper,” she said. “I understand you haven’t been in contact with Miss Daniels for quite some time. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Piper tried to breathe slowly and control the fluttering anxiety in her gut. She wanted to scream in this polished woman’s face, tell her to just spit it out already. “I haven’t heard from her in eight years.”

  The lawyer’s composure slipped just the tiniest bit, but she recovered. “That qualifies as quite some time,” she said. “I am sorry about this.”

  “About what?” Some of her frustration surfaced, and she clenched her hands together tightly. “Look, I really don’t want to wade through a bunch of legal jargon to find out what’s going on here. Could you please just tell me?”

  Malory pressed her lips together and looked slightly uncomfortable. “All right,” she said. “Celeste Daniels has passed away.”

  “Passed away.” For just a moment, Piper was able to keep it from sinking in. That was a term used for old folks and people who’d spent months in a hospital. And none of that described her aunt. But then she heard herself say, “She’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the lawyer said.

  Piper closed her eyes. Somewhere in a deep part of herself, she’d known that. It really couldn’t have been anything else. But that didn’t mean she wanted to believe it.

  It hurt more than she expected. Still, the hurt didn’t mitigate the anger.

  “Piper?”

  She looked at Malory. “When?” she said. “Where, and how?”

  “I expect the police—”

  “I’m not asking the police. I’m asking you.”

  Malory pursed her lips. “Two weeks ago,” she said. “A car accident in Manhattan.”

  “Manhattan,” she repeated. She couldn’t imagine what her aunt was doing in New York City, and she doubted if Malory King knew, she’d tell her. “Well, where is she now? I mean her…body.” A chill snaked up her spine as she said it.

  Now the lawyer looked genuinely uncomfortable. “The vehicle caught fire,” she said slowly. “It wasn’t possible to separate the remains.”

  “Oh, God,” Piper rasped. “She burned to death?”

  “The medical examiner believes she was dead before the fire,” Malory said in strained tones. “I’m truly sorry, Piper. You should have heard this from…someone better at this sort of thing than me.”

  She pulled herself together forcefully. Now was not the time to fall apart. “Why am I hearing it from you?” she said. “As far as I know, I’m her next of kin. Why didn’t the police tell me?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” The lawyer opened the folder and started shuffling papers. “Most law enforcement personnel aren’t on good terms with attorneys. Particularly those in my line of work.”

  “What kind of work is that?”

  “Criminal defense.”

  Despite her best efforts to stay calm, her stomach clenched. “Why would Celeste need a criminal defense lawyer?” she said.

  Malory gave her a cool stare. “I’m currently representing Miss Daniels as the executor of her estate,” she said. “I’m here to discuss her will with you, and only her will, because you are the sole beneficiary.”

  “All right.” As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t push. She was already emotionally wiped out, and this woman obviously didn’t plan to give an inch. She’d just have to use other avenues to find out what happened—and now that she knew where Celeste had been, she just might be able to. “So, she left me the house?”

  A sound escaped Malory that was almost a laugh. “Yes, the house,” she said, pulling a single sheet of paper from the rest of the small pile. “All of her possessions. And her financial accounts, totaling three point two million dollars.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Three point two million,” the lawyer said. “Of course, it will end up being around two million after taxes and my fees. But your aunt has left you a considerable sum of money.”

  Piper decided she must be insane. She’d just become an instant millionaire—and all she could think about was how impossible it was. Celeste Daniels was not a rich woman. She’d owned a ten-year-old car and a modest house, and she worked in housekeeping at the hospital. “There’s been some kind of mistake,” she said. “My aunt—”

  “Has willed you just over three million dollars.” Malory turned the sheet of paper to face her and slid it across the table, then rolled a pen over. “There is no mistake. Now, if you’ll sign this form, I can initiate the probate process.”

  Piper stared at the paper. “What if I don’t sign it?”

  “Then the money sits in probate until you do sign. Or until you’re deceased.” The lawyer sighed. “This is all very standard, and very legal,” she said. “Nothing will happen to you. I’ve been authorized to represent you until the process is complete, so you’re protected.”

  She picked up the pen slowly. None of this made any sense—but right now, she just wanted out of this office and away from the shark in the fashionable pantsuit. She signed.

  “Thank you.” Malory swept the paper back and placed it in the folder. “Miss Daniels also left you this,” she said, removing a sealed, blank white envelope from the stack of papers. “I can’t tell you what it is. I was instructed not to open it.”

  Piper took the envelope with numb fingers. “Is that everything?”

  “Yes. If you’d like to arrange—”

  “No,” she said, standing from the table. “No arrangements, no appointments, no discussions. Celeste was my family. She’s dead, and I can’t even bury her. I’m going home.” She walked to the conference room door and looked back. “Don’t call me unless you absolutely have to,” she said.

  She left without waiting for a response.

  It seemed to take forever to get to her car. She climbed in and sat behind the wheel, fully expecting to break down in tears now that she was alone. But it didn’t happen. Eventually she decided to open the envelope,
and hope whatever was inside would be the last wrenching shock for today.

  The envelope held a single, folded sheet of paper. She opened it and read:

  Dearest Piper,

  There’s nothing I can say to make any of this better. I had reasons, but no excuses, and an apology isn’t enough. I would have come back for you if there was any way I could, but you may never understand why I couldn’t—and I pray that you don’t.

  I am so sorry about all of this. We had the best of intentions, and still everything fell through so quickly. If you’re reading this, it’s over for me…but it doesn’t have to be for you. Please be careful, and know that I love you so very much.

  I wish I could tell you more, but all I can say is this: Trust the boy. He will never hurt you.

  Love and 99 blue kisses,

  Celeste

  The tears finally came as she got to the end of the letter, but they were more confusion and anger than sorrow. All of this made less sense than ever. She had no idea what Celeste meant by “we”, why she needed to be careful, where that bizarre blue kisses signoff had come from, or who “the boy” was. How could she trust someone she couldn’t even identify?

  She might be able to figure this out on her own, but that was going to take a long time—and if she was supposed to be careful now that Celeste was gone, she might not have enough time to spare. She needed to know what this was all about, and there was only one way to do it. The way she’d been avoiding for years.

  She’d have to confront Patrick Stiles.

  * * * *

  Jonah knew Mark suspected something when he told him they needed to talk in private. He wasn’t looking forward to it either, but he had zero trust in Eddie Verona. The man would try to use his family against him in a heartbeat—so he had to make sure they’d be protected if anything went wrong.

  Around ten that morning, Jonah went into the trailer they used as a portable office on job sites and found Mark waiting for him. He closed the door and locked it.

  Mark’s brow went up. “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse.” Jonah took a reluctant seat across the desk from his brother. He barely knew where to start. There was so much he couldn’t tell Mark, but he had to give him enough to make him understand how serious this was. “A long time ago, we talked about taking a family vacation,” he finally said. “You remember that?”

  Mark’s expression froze. “You need us out of the way.”

  “So you do remember.” Jonah closed his eyes for a moment. Years back, when he realized that he wouldn’t be allowed to quit even though he’d worked off what he owed Eddie, he’d started planning for the unavoidable—that someday, he’d have to part ways with the loan shark. One way or another. And he had to more or less come clean with Mark when he told him about the plan.

  There weren’t many people he cared about, but they were his weakness. And Eddie wouldn’t hesitate to exploit that weakness without mercy. So if the shit were to hit the fan, he’d need them as far away from his boss as possible.

  Mark drew in a slow breath. “How soon?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” The relief that his brother understood was overshadowed by his own guilt. He’d never wanted his family involved in any of this. “There’s a slight chance you might not have to,” he said. “I don’t know how this is going to shake down, but best case, it’ll be over before he knows anything.”

  “Over?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m getting out.”

  Mark blanched. “Alive?”

  “That’s the plan.” He couldn’t stand the devastation on his brother’s face. “But if it doesn’t work out that way—”

  “Don’t,” Mark said. “It’s going to work out.”

  “Mark…”

  “I mean it, Jonah. If you don’t make it through this, I’m going to kick your ass. Somehow.”

  The smirk actually felt good. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Hey, man. You’ll be sorry if I get the chance.”

  “Uh-huh. Sorry I’d have to take you down.”

  “I might be pissed enough to stop you.” Mark shook his head. “Look, whatever happens—I know how dumb this is going to sound, but I’m proud of you.”

  He snorted. “For risking all of your lives?”

  “No. For saving them.”

  “Come on, Mark. That’s a real goddamn stretch.”

  “It isn’t a stretch.” His brother glared at him. “When we lost Mom, we should’ve been finished. All of us. We had nothing. But you went out and got something.” He glanced at the ceiling, as if the words he wanted were written on it. “You were the only one still holding it together,” he said. “I don’t know how the hell you did it, but…now look at us. We’re stable, healthy, not broke. Hell, we’re happy. Even Gage is settled down. We’re all going to make it—because of you.”

  Jonah shrugged. “You went out and got a job, too.”

  “And you think I could’ve done that without you?” Mark’s jaw clenched. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to give it up. And I mean everything,” he said. “But then I’d look at you, how you were busting your ass to keep this family together…and I could keep going.”

  “Right. I’m such an inspiration.”

  “You are, goddamn it!” Mark said. “You’ve always been my hero, Jonah. That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to your plan, even though everything in me wants to stay right here and stand with you. But I’m telling you right now—if there’s something I can do to help, and you don’t ask me for it, I’ll kill you myself.”

  For maybe the third time in his entire life, Jonah almost felt like crying. At least he could still feel something. “All right, man,” he said. “If there is anything, I promise I’ll let you know.”

  “You’d better.” Mark smiled grimly. “Listen, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” he said. “You’ve got other things to worry about, and we’ll manage here.”

  But Jonah was already shaking his head. “I’d rather work,” he said. “I don’t know much about anything at this point. If I start thinking about it, I’ll drive myself crazy. Work keeps my mind busy.”

  “Fine. Get to work, then.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  As he stood and headed for the door, Mark came around the desk and embraced him roughly. “Just remember we’re all here for you,” he said. “Don’t ever think you’re alone. You got that?”

  He smiled. “I got it.”

  If only he could believe that. But he’d started this alone—and that was how he’d have to end it. Anything else was too risky.

  Someday, Mark would understand.

  Chapter 5

  Lucky Six Dry Cleaning sat between a florist and a pawn shop on Main Street, just a few blocks from the expensive lawyer. Piper was thoroughly exhausted, physically and emotionally, when she parked in front of the building—but she wasn’t going to wait any longer. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  She walked inside to find a friendly-looking older woman behind the counter. There were racks of loose clothing, more racks of dry-cleaning bags, a collection of clanking and steaming equipment. At least two other people wandered among the machines, doing what seemed to be normal dry cleaning activities.

  For some reason, she hadn’t expected this place to actually be a dry cleaner.

  “Good morning,” the woman said. “Can I help you?”

  She’d planned to march in here and demand to speak to Patrick—but that was when she’d somehow convinced herself she would find the place full of shady-looking people laundering something other than clothes. Now she thought there might be a better way, since she doubted Patrick wanted to hear from her. “Yes, you can,” she said in her best haughty customer tone. “I need to speak to the owner.”

  The woman blinked. “The owner?”

  “Yes.” She hated treating the poor woman like this, but it was the only way she could get to Patrick, short of storming her way into the back and wandering ar
ound to look for him. “I have a serious problem, and I want to know what he’s going to do about it.”

  “Well, Mr. Stiles isn’t…maybe I can help you with your problem?”

  “It has to be him,” she said. “I had my two best silk dresses cleaned here a month ago, and I expected them to be fine until now. But I took them out this morning, and they’ve been shrunken at least three sizes. Now I have an extremely important event tomorrow and nothing to wear.”

  “Oh, my. I’m so sorry,” the woman fluttered. “If you’ll give me your name or ticket number, I’ll be happy to issue you a full refund—”

  “I don’t want a refund,” Piper snapped. “They’re both ruined, and I want to speak to the owner. Right now.”

  “Well, I…” The woman reached reluctantly for the phone on the counter. “Can I give him your name?”

  “Susan.” She knew of at least three Susans in town who looked like they owned dry-clean-only items. She might not talk to anyone around here, but she did observe.

  “Er. Susan…”

  “Just tell him it’s Susan.”

  “All right. One minute, please.”

  Piper turned her back on the counter while the woman made the call. Now she felt like a complete jerk. She’d make a point to apologize on her way out—she knew exactly how crappy it was to work a customer service job.

  Soon the woman said, “Mr. Stiles will be out in a moment.”

  “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder, and walked a few steps away to wait.

  Less than a minute later, a flat male voice behind her said, “What can I help you with… Susan?”

  She nearly flinched. That tone said he knew who she was without even seeing her face, before she turned around and the angry set of his jaw confirmed it. He was standing behind the counter next to the older woman, and if looks could kill, Piper would be a corpse right now. But she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. “Hello, Patrick,” she said coolly. “I’d like to talk to you. In private.”

  “Fine.” His voice softened as he addressed the counter woman. “Why don’t you go in the back for a while, Julie?” he said. “I’ll take care of this customer.”