“Ah, but Laura and Zeke thought Chelsea would be killed on Monday. Neither of them had any reason to believe they’d need to track her. You, however, saw her after the murder attempt. You took her to the hospital. You brought her back here. You could have slipped that tracker in her purse at any time.”
“But I didn’t. And there’s no way you can prove I did. But if I had done something like that, I’d have done it because I wanted to make sure she was safe. Somebody was trying to kill her.”
“Sure, sure. That makes sense. And you hired a team of investigators and had them investigating, and you were sure the killer was someone who thought the rumors were true, someone who wanted to stop her from moving the company. All the pieces fit together. You did nothing wrong. And everybody can go on believing that.” Dylan stepped forward, held Frank’s gaze. “As long as nobody digs too deep.”
Frank took another step back. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He licked his lips again, looked around.
The sky was blue, the sun scorching. The forest that surrounded the house on three sides stood beyond the yard, the pines, maples, oaks, and birches paying them no mind. The drop-off that led down the side of the mountain was another twenty-five yards beyond. The lake shimmered below.
Frank stared at Dylan, his cold brown eyes a contrast to the bright world all around them. “I was under the impression you cared about my niece.”
“I’m utterly, completely in love with her.”
The older man blinked, tilted his head to the side. “I don’t understand, then. Why haven’t you gone to Cote with all of this, if you’re so sure?”
“I’ll explain. If you and I are going to make a deal, we both need to understand the other’s motivations, don’t you think?”
A long pause, then a slow nod.
He waited, hoped Frank would start, but the man was patient. Once, a long time ago, Frank’s brother had told him he was too impatient, that he didn’t know how to play the long game. Seemed he’d learned.
“I want to be with Chelsea,” Dylan said, “but I hate the idea of bringing nothing to the table. She’s wealthy, and I’m just a two-bit PI, as you so aptly described me. I need money. I figure you can contribute to my cause.”
“So you’re going to bleed me dry?”
He held Frank’s gaze. “I know what you’re capable of, Frank. You and I will need to come up with a win-win. I’d really rather not end up as another one of your victims.”
Frank swallowed, nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“Why.”
His snort of a laugh was humorless. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”
“Not money,” Dylan said. “You own a sizable share of HCI, thanks to your brother’s generosity. The company’s going through a slump, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a very wealthy man.”
“It was never about money.”
Dylan hadn’t thought so. “Control, then. You want control of—”
“You have no idea.” Frank scoffed, turned to face the beautiful view.
“Explain it.”
The man just stared, shook his head.
Dylan blew out a breath. “Fine. Let’s start with Laura. Why’d she do it?”
Frank tsked. “Not that complicated. Maeve was generous with Laura, very generous. She’s been paying for Laura’s crazy daughter’s care for years. She and Peter gave Laura the shares in the company a long time ago, back when Laura’s husband left her. She shouldn’t have had any trouble paying her bills, but Laura likes the high life. She likes to run with the rich and famous. And she likes to gamble.”
That tracked with the golf resort membership near the casino in Connecticut.
“For years,” Frank continued, “whenever Laura got into a financial bind, Maeve bailed her out. But about a year ago, Maeve had had it. She told her she wasn’t an ATM machine, and that Laura was going to have to manage her finances better. Laura didn’t take it well.” He shook his head. “It’s unbelievable how people can go from grateful to entitled. Laura was furious. She hid it well and worked to find another way out of debt. That’s when she came up with the idea to move the factory. She figured the move would increase the value of her stock, and she could sell out, take the cash.”
Dylan said, “You and Laura are close, I guess.”
“Nothing romantic, of course. She’s way too old for me. We’ve known each other forever, formed a friendship based on our mutual connection to Maeve. Her attitude toward Maeve shifted.”
And Frank had exploited it. Probably added fuel to the fire. Talked her into this scheme.
“Which one of you lured Maeve up to the mountain the day she died?”
“That was all Laura. She called Maeve in tears, said she’d made a mess of her life and wasn’t sure she could go on. She told her she was up at the point and begged her to keep taking care of her kid, acting like she was going to jump. And Maeve, of course, bought it.”
“And Zeke was there, waiting.”
Frank just shrugged.
“I wonder, though,” Dylan said. “Laura’s been questioned extensively, but she hasn’t said anything about you.”
“If she goes to prison, with Maeve dead, who’ll pay her daughter’s hospital bills?”
Ah. That would motivate a mother to keep her mouth shut.
“That explains Laura,” Dylan said. “Doesn’t explain why you did it.”
As Dylan studied this old man—this old, pathetic man—the truth started to come to him. “We talked to Arthur Andris the other day. He said Peter was exceptional. And you were average.”
Frank glared at him. “That’s what everybody thought.”
“But Peter’s gone. No more living in the shadow of your younger brother.”
Frank turned toward the lake, said nothing.
“Must’ve been hard,” Dylan said, “everybody knowing how much better he was than you. How you owed your wealth, your career, your success to your baby brother.”
He turned back toward Dylan, squared his shoulders. “HCI would’ve been nothing without me. Nothing. Peter and Maeve had the idea, but I’m the one who sold it. I’m the one who met with retailers and got the goods on the shelves. But to everybody, I was always just the loser brother.”
“And then, you were the only brother.”
The man’s lips twitched, almost a smile.
“And nobody ever suspected you.”
Frank turned his gaze back to the view. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t confirmed. They both knew what happened. Frank had had Peter killed.
His own brother.
Because of petty jealousy.
And then, thirteen years had passed. Thirteen years, and suddenly…
“You stepped into your brother’s shoes with Chelsea,” Dylan said, “became her father figure. You wanted Maeve, too. But she wasn’t interested.”
“I didn’t want her. I just wanted—”
“The conquest. To have taken her, because she’d loved Peter. But she rejected you. Maybe even suspected you.”
Again, Frank said nothing.
“And you wanted to run HCI. Not for the money. But to prove you could. Because he had.” But Frank had risen as high as he ever would at HCI.
It was all coming together. “You were never going to be able to step into Peter’s shoes. Peter was exceptional, and you were average. You were good at sales, but as chief operating officer, you were abysmal. Everybody knew it. I bet Maeve was planning to demote you. Certainly take away some of your duties. You’d been promoted beyond your abilities.” Dylan chuckled. “What do they call that? The Peter Principle? I wonder if your brother would have appreciated the irony.”
The evil in Frank’s gaze almost had Dylan stepping back. Again, he fought the urge to reach for his handgun.
“Meanwhile,” Dylan continued, “Maeve was digging. She knew Peter’s murder wasn’t random. She must have suspected you but didn’t want you to know. So she kept you on at HCI. Kept you close. Maybe she was afra
id of what you’d do to her if you knew she’d been collecting evidence.”
“Which I thought you and Chelsea had,” Frank said. “All night, all morning, I’ve been waiting for the police to come knocking. So maybe Maeve’s evidence didn’t amount to anything. Or maybe—”
“We don’t have it.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured to the house. “I’ve searched every nook and cranny of this place, and I can’t find it.”
That’s what Chelsea got for trusting her uncle with a key.
“The only place I don’t have access to is her office. If you and I are going to make a deal, you’re going to have to destroy that evidence before Chelsea finds it.”
“It’s gone.” He explained about the empty box in Maeve’s office.
Frank’s lips pressed together. The evidence Maeve had collected, whatever it was, scared him. It was irrelevant at this point, but Frank didn’t know that.
“So you had Maeve killed,” Dylan said, “and targeted Chelsea, because you wanted HCI.”
“I wasn’t about to work for that entitled child.” He swallowed, and his face paled slightly. As if, maybe, there was still some residue of conscience in his heart. “I didn’t want to kill her. I thought she’d want to stay in Europe. Maeve made me think—made all of us think—that Chelsea had little interest in working for HCI. I figured she’d let me run the company.”
That explained why Maeve had lied to Frank and Laura about Chelsea’s desire to come back to New Hampshire. In everything, she’d been trying to protect her daughter.
Frank continued. “I figured I’d move the factory to Mexico, and—”
“Why? Even if Chelsea had let you take over, you didn’t need the money. You could’ve hired someone to run operations, turned it around yourself. You’d have been a hero.”
“I didn’t want to be a hero. I wanted to destroy it.” The proclamation was low, savage. “Destroy the town that Peter’d worked so hard to save, the town that never respected me, never loved me like it did him. And yeah, if that meant killing his daughter, then so be it.” The words were out, and Frank’s eyes were bright, excited. It seemed the man was relieved to have finally spoken them. Because this had been about jealousy. But more than that, it had been about proving everybody wrong.
Proving to everybody that Peter’s accusation when they were kids was wrong. Because Frank was indeed capable of playing the long game. He’d been playing the long game for thirteen years, and he’d nearly won it.
And nobody knew. That was why Frank had confessed to Dylan—so somebody would understand. After all this time, Frank had proved that, like his brother, he was exceptional. An exceptional liar. An exceptional schemer. An exceptional killer.
Frank laughed, an evil, ugly sound. “So now you know. And you’re not going to tell a soul. You’re going to just take my money and live your life. Is that what I’m meant to believe?”
“Doesn’t matter what you believe.” Dylan inched his hand toward his handgun. “I know the truth, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Chapter Forty-One
Chelsea knew something was wrong the moment she saw the police cruiser parked fifty yards from her driveway, the officer on the side of the road waving Tabby to the shoulder.
Tabby didn’t look surprised as she parked on the side of the road.
“What’s going on?” The fear Chelsea had been trying to force away all day returned, bringing a chill despite the heat.
“I don’t know.” Tabby turned to face her, eyes filled with compassion. “Dylan wanted me to get you out of the house for a while.”
Dylan had planned this? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me not to. Asked me to trust him, and since you do…” She shrugged. “I should have told you the truth. But he promised he’d explain after.”
After what? Clearly, based on the police presence, this wouldn’t be a happy surprise. Chelsea pushed open the car door and walked toward the uniformed man. “This is my home.”
The officer took a few steps toward her. “Sorry, Miss Hamilton, but you’ll need to wait here.”
“According to whom?”
“It’s for your own safety.”
Her safety. But what about… “My friend…” The word seemed so small considering what Dylan meant to her. “He’s there. Someone needs to make sure he’s all right.”
The cop nodded. “Detective Cote’s got it under control. Just sit tight.” He nodded toward Tabby’s car.
The man didn’t seem willing to bend, so she turned and made her way back.
So, she was supposed to sit tight, where it was safe, while who knew what was going on in her house?
Sit tight while Dylan did… whatever it was he was doing.
Why had he wanted her gone?
Chelsea peered through the trees toward the driveway. She could barely make out the glint of red paint. Frank’s car was there. Frank and Dylan and… who else? Laura was in custody. Maybe the second man from the night before, the one who’d wrapped her hands in tape. The accomplice…
A shout carried through the trees. Uncle Frank’s voice, and he sounded angry.
It had come from the backyard.
She glanced at the cop, but he was looking at the house.
A bodyguard was headed toward her. She ignored him.
Tabby joined her. “What did you learn?”
“Frank and Dylan are there with… somebody, I suppose. Maybe it’s some sort of a trap.” The words sent her heartbeat racing. Were Dylan and Frank all right? The two men she loved most in the world—had they put themselves in danger to keep her safe? The thought turned her stomach.
If she could only get a look.
She inched toward the woods, gaze on the cop. He continued to watch the house.
“What are we doing?” Tabby asked.
“I think they’re out back. I just want to have a look.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Ma’am.” The bodyguard stepped toward her. “You need to stay here.”
She faced him. “This is my property. I’ll go where I choose.”
“It’s not safe,” he said.
“I’ll be quiet. I just need to hear what they’re saying.”
He moved to block her path to the backyard. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”
“You work for me. Get out of my way.”
When he didn’t move, she skirted him and stalked into the woods. She waited for him to stop her, but he didn’t, though she thought she could hear him behind her.
Tabby walked beside her. They picked their way through the bushes. The underbrush scraped against her bare skin below the hem of her capris, caught on her T-shirt, but she paid it little mind. They were maybe fifty feet from the house, forest on all sides. It was quiet. Even the birds seemed to be straining to hear the conversation going on in her backyard.
The voices were becoming louder. Uncle Frank’s. Dylan’s. There should have been a third voice. What was the accomplice doing? Where was he?
She was nearly to the edge of the woods that rimmed the backyard when Chelsea realized she couldn’t hear her friend or the bodyguard anymore.
She turned to check on them, but a hand slid around her mouth and held in her scream. She struggled to get away, but the man held her tightly.
“It’s Detective Cote.” His voice was barely a whisper in her ear. “You’re safe. But you have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
She nodded, and he slid the hand away.
She spun to face him.
He held up his hand as if to stave off her questions, then pointed to the ground.
Tabby was already seated, eyes wide, watching them. The bodyguard stood behind her, arms crossed. He’d probably alerted Cote, the traitor.
The detective leaned close. “It’s under control. Unless you want to get someone killed, sit and don’t move.”
Killed?
She sat, and Cote made his way closer to the house.
No third man.
She strained to hear what they were saying. Most of the words were lost. A few carried on the wind.
Her name.
Her mother’s name.
Even her father’s name.
And then, Uncle Frank’s voice rose. “HCI would be nothing without me. Nothing.”
But he lowered it again.
Tabby crawled closer and took her hand. Chelsea looked down, saw the pretty pink polish on her own fingernails. While she’d been enjoying the manicure, what had gone on here?
Tabby squeezed, and Chelsea looked at her. She saw only compassion in Tabby’s eyes. As if she understood something Chelsea didn’t. As if what was happening were obvious.
A shout from the yard had Chelsea turning to watch.
Frank dove, tackled Dylan.
Dylan screamed in pain.
Chelsea gasped as her stomach filled with acid. She yanked on her hand, but Tabby held on tighter. “They’ve got it.”
The bodyguard stood on her other side.
She wanted to wrench away, but police were streaming into the yard from the forest, the house. Guns drawn. Shouting. They pulled Frank off Dylan.
Threw her uncle on the grass, facedown.
Handcuffed him.
No.
No. It couldn’t be.
Tabby pulled her close, but Chelsea wouldn’t be comforted. She wouldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe her uncle had done anything wrong.
She shook off the arm, ran through the woods, and burst onto the yard.
Cops were everywhere. They’d had the place surrounded, and Chelsea hadn’t seen any of them.
She ran toward her uncle as Cote yanked him to his feet.
“Uncle!”
Frank turned to her. Glared at her.
His eyes were filled with pure evil.
She froze. Stepped back.
Then, someone stepped between them. She blinked, focused.
Dylan.
He held his arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry.”
His image blurred through her tears. This man… this man she’d trusted had just… just trapped her uncle. Gotten him arrested.
Legacy Reclaimed Page 26