BLINDED (Elkridge Series Book 1)

by Lyz Kelley

  Hearing a commotion down the hall, he went to investigate and found his brother-in-law hovering over the half-bath’s pink toilet.

  “Need some help?” Joey asked, assuming there wasn’t much he could do to help with a thirty-plus-year-old commode.

  Franco glanced up with a wrench in hand. “Yeah, talk your father into letting me buy him a new toilet. This one’s been leaking for three years. I’m tired of fixing the damn thing. There’s enough pipe tape, duct tape and sealant on this thing to mummify it.”

  Joey snorted a laugh. “I’ll try, but you know how cheap he can be. Why buy new or even used, if the old one isn’t ready to be taken behind the shed and shot?”

  “That’s my point. This thing should be shot. The toilet clogs every other day and has a constant leak.”

  “Which of course probably increases their water bill by more than what dad thinks he’s saving by not buying a replacement.” For eighteen years, day in, day out, Joey lived with the same type of frustration and it was one of the reasons he hopped a bus to California to take advantage of a full-ride scholarship. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises. You know Dad.”

  His parents hated change. And with Sam’s death came change. Big change. A dynamic shift, guaranteed to set off a family upheaval. An upheaval that had the potential to trigger more changes than some of the family members could handle.

  Pounding footsteps came charging down the hall. Joey stepped out of the bathroom just in time to snag little Divo, toss the giggling boy into the air and then pull him in for a quick snuggle. Decked out in a cowboy costume complete with chaps, holster and a hat, the youngster fit in his arms snugly, and surprised Joey with the yearning it created.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, cowboy?”

  The broad, infectious, peanut-butter-smeared grin made the tension in Joey’s shoulders ease.

  The little tyke’s face turned serious. “Unck Dooey?”

  “Yes, I’m your Uncle Joey.”

  A chubby fist holding a cracker spread with peanut butter, hovered two inches from his nose. “Kwacker?”

  “No, thanks. You eat it.”

  The two-year-old giggled and pushed Joey with a fist. “Down. Want down.”

  Pia appeared in the hall just when Divo started to kick. Moving instinctively to protect his privates, Joey shifted the little boy before setting him on the floor and turning him toward the kitchen.

  “I bet he’s a handful.” The two-year-old barreled around the corner toward the kitchen and then disappeared. Joey studied his older sister. “He’s got your eyes.”

  Pia’s tired eyes sparkled with pride. “Yes, but he’s as stubborn as his father and curious as his uncle. He found a wasp nest last month and naturally got stung. Thank God he wasn’t allergic. Remember when you were sprayed by that skunk?”

  “Yeah, and you thought the tomato sauce bath Mom gave me to ease the smell was hilarious.”

  “You looked miserable.”

  “The same way you looked when you snuck out to meet Tyler Meher and ended up getting Dad’s truck stuck in the mud out on Lonely Ridge. It took Sam and me two hours to dig you out.”

  She deserved pushback and flush of red sliding across her cheeks for bringing up one of the most agonizing months of his life.

  Her eyes filled with bitterness. “Dad beat my butt so hard I could barely sit down for a week. I got grounded for two months and had to wash the truck all summer. On top of that, Tyler started dating Patty Scholler.”

  Patty, a busty redhead with an IQ of ten, had made quite an impression on the neighborhood and not in a positive way. “You’re better off. Tyler switched girlfriends as often as he changed television channels. Are you and Franco doing better?”

  “Better now that finances aren’t so tight. I still intend to pay you back that loan.”

  “When you can,” he offered quietly, though never expecting the money back, not that Pia wasn’t good for repayment. “How are you holding up?”

  “Some days are better than others. Mom seems to be in denial. Dad’s on a rampage. He’s down at the sheriff’s office every other day trying to find answers. Camilla’s burying herself in work and doing her best to make everyone miserable. I’m just barely holding everything together. I miss him.”

  “I can’t believe he’s gone.” Joey wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her closer to feel something, anything other than anger. “Do you want to talk?”

  “Not yet. I can’t.” She took a step back and swiped her fingertips under her eyes.

  “When you’re ready.” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm letting the comforting touch sooth his swirling emotions. “Mom wouldn’t let me make hotel reservations. I saw a couple of new B and B’s in town. Think I’ll call and make arrangements.” The hair on the back of his neck prickled when Pia shifted her weight. “Don’t tell me I’m supposed to stay here.”

  “No, no, not here. Dad decided you should stay at Sam’s place. Mom couldn’t talk him out of it, so she rationalized that staying at Sam’s would give you a quiet place away from the ruckus. Neither of them want you to spend money when there’s a perfectly good bed available.”

  Sam’s place. The prime property and cabin his brother somehow had managed to buy on a sheriff’s salary.

  His questioning instincts tightened with the same angst he’d experienced when his dad reached for the leather belt. “Don’t worry.” He hoped he sounded reassuring. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I can always blow up an air mattress so you can stay at our place.”

  A small pair of peek-a-boo eyes appeared between his sister’s legs, then disappeared and then reappeared again.

  “Naw. That’s okay. I don’t think I need peanut butter smeared in my hair at six o’clock in the morning.” He laughed at his nephew’s antics.

  Pia glanced at her youngest. “They say the oil is good for the skin. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  A fresh sense of connection brought a smile. “Keep it up. You might believe it someday.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Missed you.”

  “If you missed me so much, why haven’t you come home?”

  He’d been ready for the question, or, at least, he thought he’d been ready. The adolescent feelings of restlessness, the inadequacy, the longing to escape came tumbling back, as well as, the guilt. Guilt for leaving his sisters behind to deal with demanding parents and a struggling family business, both of which were enough to crush any kid’s dreams. But he’d paid a price. His only close family relationship now seemed strained and foreign.

  “I…ah…you know.” His fingers twitched at his side before he pulled them in to fists to contain the whirling emotions. “I just got pulled into life.”

  “I get it. But we needed you. I needed you. I want my kids to know their uncle.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry. I had things I needed to do.”

  Things to prove to himself and to his parents. Maybe he should have come home, at least for the summer or vacation. “I called. I even offered you a place to stay in Seattle for a few weeks when you and Franco were having challenges.”

  “That’s not the same. Besides, running away doesn’t solve problems.”

  Running away like you did, he heard. “You’re right. I should have come home more.”

  “Wait!” His sister’s eyes opened wider, and her jaw dropped. “Did I just hear you say I’m right? Frame this day on the calendar with a big, red Sharpie.” She turned to include all her siblings and kids, exclaiming, “Joey Gaccione said his sister was right.”

  “Funny.” Why was it siblings always reverted to their teenage behavior? “Is the funeral still scheduled for Wednesday?”

  The question hung in the air unanswered when the front door opened, causing heads to turn and conversations to stall.

  Adolescent fears made him watch and assess his father. The man’s first few steps into the house were like a
barometer. If his feet shuffled, he’d been out drinking with the construction crews, and the family would spend the evening trying to remain small and quiet. If his feet dragged in pain, the family would retreat to the kitchen, and abandon the living room to give his father space. If his feet clicked along at a brisk pace, the family would breathe a sigh of relief.

  Today the man’s gaze connected with Joey’s, returning his son’s assessment. His feet stilled.

  His father hadn’t changed much. Tall, built like a steamroller, a scowl permanently embedded in his face, only this time a quiet rage simmered beneath the surface.

  “Joey.”

  “Dad.”

  His father turned, hung his work coat on one of the hooks by the front door, then handed his lunch pail to his niece, who managed to lug the large black metal box into the kitchen. “You here to help catch your brother’s killer?”

  Ten years ago the gruff question would have made Joey cringe, but police work and barking sergeants had helped him grow a thicker hide. “That’s what the sheriff’s department is for, Dad. I highly doubt the deputies will share any critical information with the family until the investigation is complete. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”

  “Don’t give me any of your damned excuses. Those idiots at the station can’t find their asses in the dark with both hands. Poacher, my ass. Incompetent, I tell you.” Each emphasized syllable seemed louder than the last.

  Don’t get involved. Let the deputies do their job.

  “I’m not giving you an excuse. I came to say good-bye to my brother and support the family, but then I have to go back to work.”

  “Your job is here, helping to protect this family.”

  “I’ve been assigned to a team working on a big case, the biggest of my career. If all goes well, I’ll get the promotion I’ve worked hard to deserve.” And, maybe, for once, you’ll be proud of me. “People are counting on me, Dad.”

  “Are you telling me your job is more important than finding your brother’s killer?”

  “What am I supposed to tell the six families whose daughters have gone missing or turned up in pieces? Aren’t they important? Huh, Dad? What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to find your brother’s killer.”

  Pia reached for Joey’s hand to silently beg him not to cause a stir. Joey studied the family’s expressions. Every one of them wanted him to defuse the bomb his father had placed in the center of the room. Now Joey understood the pressure an Olympic athlete faced when going for the gold. The expectations. The burden. The self-doubt.

  “I thought Sam’s death was an accident. A poacher. What am I missing?” He kept his tone and body language neutral.

  His father moved closer. Joey fought the urge to take an automatic step out of arm’s reach, but stifled his instinctive reaction. He couldn’t smell peppermint, which meant his father hadn’t stopped at the bar or liquor store on his way home.

  “Anybody worth a damn would know no poacher would be anywhere near Sleeping Bear Trail,” his father spit out into the living room. “It’s too close to that old mine. The waters are contaminated. There’s no deer, elk or moose living within three miles of the place. Plus, add .223 ammo, and you got someone who ain’t from anywhere near here. Go and take a look. There’s trees. Lots of them. And a wide road. No way was this an accident.” His father shoved past him to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath, “Someone’s got to light a fire under those deputies’ butts. There’s a killer out there. I figured, with your fancy college degree, you’d want to find out who killed your brother.”

  Joey’s gut crimped into a complicated knot. Sure, he wanted to investigate his brother’s death, but he wasn’t about to crash into the sheriff’s department with the equivalent of a Dodge 4X4. Forcing his way in would generate zero information. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Politics, personalities and invisible procedures were involved, and the reason why he agreed with his boss to let the local department—at least on the surface—handle the investigation.

  “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll stop by the station tomorrow and see if they’ll let me look at the file. But I can’t promise anything. I have no authority here.”

  His dad glanced up from scrubbing twelve hours of construction dirt off his hands. “Mighty generous of ya, son,” he sneered.

  The sarcastic tone hadn’t changed. This time, however, the fear of disappointing one or both of his parents didn’t automatically follow his dad’s caustic statement. This time Joey didn’t have anything to prove. Or anything to lose. For ten years, he’d lived on his own never asking anything of his family. Never needing anything from them. But the binding tie of obligation still existed.

  He turned to Pia. “When is the funeral?”

  “One on Wednesday. Tomorrow and Tuesday Dad’s working, and Mom’s cooking at the restaurant for the memorial service and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Wednesday, Dad most likely will work until the last minute.” His sister’s intent stare and brow lift meant don’t ask.

  “Then I guess I’ll be at the station seeing if I can’t get my hands on some investigation files.”

  “We need you here at eleven on Wednesday so we can figure out how we’re getting everyone to the church and cemetery.”

  “I’ll be here by eleven. Anything else?”

  “Nope. We’ve got the rest covered.”

  An emptiness closed in, followed by remorse for not having done something sooner about the absence of family in his life. He’d barely spoken to Sam this past year. Maybe on his birthday and a text or phone call now and then. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Too busy working. Paying bills. Focused on promotions. But as his father had accused, they were excuses. Every one.

  The image of his brother bleeding and dying in the mud on a backcountry road flashed across his mind.

  “You should know…” Pia’s tentative hesitation grabbed his attention. “Since Dad’s been all over town raising a stink, the mayor might be expecting you.” The sadness in her eyes jacked up the guilt-o-meter another notch. “Joey, I know coming home after all this time, especially because of Sam, must be hard. Just know that you being here…helps.”

  Oh, man. Regret, shame, remorse closed in. While he tried to think of something to say, his mom popped her head around the corner. “Come eat, you two, while the food is hot.” She disappeared into the kitchen. Saved by dinner.

  Pia rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to end up fifteen pounds heavier if Mom doesn’t stop trying to shove food down our throats every ten minutes.”

  Joey looped an arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Food is Mom’s way of keeping the family together.”

  Pia gave him a speculative glance. “Seems you’ve gotten a bit wiser while you’ve been away.”

  “That or my psychology classes in college helped put things into perspective.”

  “You think you can use your profiling skills to figure out why my eight-year-old has decided to stop talking to everyone?”

  He’d noticed Sophia standing apart from the group. Later, he’d observed her curled in the corner with her nose in a book, the rose he’d given her nestled close to her side. She did seem to isolate herself, but she hadn’t gone to hide in a room, either. “It might just be that she’s an introvert. I know in a family of extroverts that’s difficult to accept. But being an introvert is not a fatal flaw.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Know one what?” his mother demanded, placing plates on the table while Camilla set a large salad and several types of dressing in the center.

  “That some people don’t like to be the center of attention,” Joey responded.

  “Bah. How you ever going to get ahead in life if you don’t stand out?”

  Camilla gave her older brother the familiar raised-eyebrow, don’t-stir-up-trouble look. He said nothing. Instead he took the silverware from his mother’s hands to help set the table. Then Joey selected a seat at the end,
as far away from his father as he could manage, to avoid triggering the man’s explosive disposition.

  Pia lifted her youngest toward the kitchen sink to wash his hands. The other children lined the hall outside the bathroom to do the same. Franco kissed his wife and then took Divo from her arms to set him in a high chair.

  During the family chaos, the little boy studied Joey with an air of concern as if he couldn’t quite figure out how his uncle fit in. Joey stuck his tongue out. The little boy kicked his feet delightedly and then released a prize-winning, three-second fart.

  The kitchen went quiet. The faces in the room leisurely smiled until the baby stink reached them. Then hands waved vigorously while feet backed away in a hurry.

  “Divo!” Pia scolded.

  Joey started to laugh, then Camilla, then the whole kitchen filled with laughter. Even his crusty dad managed to crack a smile.

  Leave it to a two-year-old to provide enough levity to help the family relax a bit and bond.

  “Joey, stop reinforcing my grandson’s bad habits.” The light layer of humor in his mother’s eyes disguised the warning.

  The pride in Franco and Pia’s eyes said they didn’t mind.

  Family. The heartbeat of life.

  He hadn’t realized how much he missed being a part of something bigger.

  Sophia walked the length of the table to squeeze into the chair next to him, then placed a napkin and the rose he’d given her in her lap. He observed his niece while the family settled around the massive table. From the changes in her facial expression, he could tell she was listening to every conversation and had opinions about the exchanges circling the table, even though she chose not to participate.

  He leaned a bit closer to her ear. “I saw you with an e-reader. Are you working on school stuff?” he asked, softly enough to prevent others from jumping in to answer the question for her.

  Sophia stared at her plate to fend off his scrutiny. “Just a story for fun. I like to read.”

  “I used to read a lot, too. Now I don’t seem to have time. Can you recommend a good book?”

  For the first time, his niece’s eyes met his directly, then she quickly looked away. “The Chronicles of Narnia are good, but old people might not want to read them.”