Family Sins

by Sharon Sala

  “Yes, but I want you there when I arrest him, because you discovered the evidence. I want the Waynes to know they’re not above the law anywhere—especially not in the town they think they own.”

  Clayton sighed. “Yes, sir. When do you want to do this?”

  “As soon as I can get an arrest warrant. Your day’s not over yet. I’ll let you know when I head your way. In the meantime, no talking about this, okay? And say nothing about this to Leigh Youngblood. I want Justin Wayne behind bars before she finds out her suspicions were true.”

  “I already issued the no-talking order to my deputy, so you have no worries there.”

  Clayton ended the call and headed back to the office. He could at least get off his feet for a bit before the arrest.

  * * *

  As soon as Bowie left the house, Leigh sat Jesse down at the kitchen table and fed him the lunch he’d missed.

  While he was having a bowl of stew and corn bread, Leigh walked all the way back to Stanton’s office. She hadn’t been in there since before he was murdered and guessed there would be emails galore from clients. But first things, first. She sat down at the desk, then booted up the computer and retrieved the contact information for William Frazier. He was one of their clients, but he was also a rather well-known journalist out of Chicago. She gave him a call, then sat back with her eyes closed, listening to the phone ring. Just when she thought it was going to go to voice mail, he picked up.

  “Hello!” he answered, sounding out of breath.

  Leigh took a deep breath herself.

  “Hello, Mr. Frazier, this is Leigh Youngblood.”

  “Oh, hello, Leigh. What’s up?”

  “I have something that I believe you would call a scoop.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, deadly serious. Feel free to record this if you want, or if you’re going to take notes, I’ll speak slowly.”

  “Oh my God...you are serious! Give me a second to get this recorder going and...uh...okay. It’s on now. You may begin.”

  “My husband, Stanton Youngblood, was murdered. Before he died, he wrote the last name of his killer in the dirt.”

  And then she proceeded to give him the whole ugly story. By the time she was finished she was sick to her stomach. The only good thing about reliving the horror was knowing it was going to destroy the Waynes.

  Frazier was stunned at the scope of what she’d told him. Through all the years he’d been the Youngbloods’ client, he had never known the connection between Leigh and the Waynes. Although Wayne Industries was a private, closely held company, they had other holdings and had diversified off and on throughout the years. But the other investors in the resort were public and listed on the New York Stock Exchange. Their shareholders, as well as government regulators, wouldn’t be happy about their involvement in the Wayne family’s problems.The ugliness of this story and the Waynes’ manipulation of the banking industry, causing poor people to lose their ancestral homes, wouldn’t play well in the press. As for East Coast Lending, which was owned by Wayne Industries and had cleared the way for them to buy up the land for a resort, this was enough to ruin both them and the Wayne family, and send people to jail for more than murder. He had a lot of investigating to do before he could break the story, but he sensed the need for haste.

  “Thank you for this. I have a lot of calls to make for verification. If I can get what I need, I will run with it. I thought a lot of Stanton. I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  Leigh’s eyes welled.

  “Thank you,” she said, and as soon as their connection ended, she laid her head down on the desk and cried.

  * * *

  It was a few minutes after four when Andrew arrived at the mansion. He had a date with Nita, which would involve a couple of hours upstairs complying with her endless need for sex and whatever sex toys she wanted to play with, then dinner with the family, after which he was meeting Charles at the lake house for dessert. It wasn’t the first time he’d involved himself with more than one member of a family, but it was tricky.

  He rang the doorbell and winked at Frances when she let him in. Nita met him at the foot of the staircase wearing white skinny jeans and a loose red blouse with a deep V in both the front and the back. She gave him a very brief kiss, and then led him to the library and the pitcher of margaritas she had waiting.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Nita said. “This whole murder thing is getting tiresome. Everyone is mad at everyone else. Even Fee is behaving strangely. If we hadn’t been instructed not to leave Eden I would already be back in New York City.”

  She pouted as she poured him a drink and scooted it across the wet bar.

  “Thank you, my darling,” Andrew said, then ran a fingertip from her chin to the vee between her breasts. “Did I tell you how much I love this blouse?”

  She giggled as he took a sip from the salt-rimmed glass and then lifted his drink to her.

  “This tastes marvelous. Kudos, my darling.”

  Nita smiled. “Nothing is too good for you, because you are so good to me,” she said.

  “Shall we take our drinks upstairs?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  He grabbed the pitcher in one hand and his drink in the other, and followed her out of the room.

  * * *

  The killer sat at his desk, his fingers on the keyboard, his gaze fixed on the computer screen before him. It hadn’t been quite a week since the murder on the mountain, and in that short period of time their world had imploded.

  If he was honest with himself, he would admit that killing Stanton Youngblood had been the single worst mistake of his life. Looking back, it had all been so random.

  * * *

  The sky was cloudless, the breeze just enough to cool the sweat. He’d been concerned about the investors, after hearing nothing from them for days, so he’d come out to the job site to find it completely devoid of people and equipment.

  And then his phone rang.

  With an uneasy feeling, he answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Bryant Booker here. I need to give you a heads-up on the lake resort. The board has decided that since we will not be able to acquire the two key pieces of real estate we needed to follow through, we’re putting the project on hold. We’ll do a flyover in the area to search for another location, but right now it’s a no-go. I’m sure you understand.”

  The uneasy feeling he’d had turned to panic.

  “What about the land that was our part of the investment?” he’d asked.

  “Oh, that will just revert back to Wayne Industries. You haven’t lost a thing.”

  Even after the call had ended, he thought he’d taken the news rather well, considering the shock running through him. This explained why the site was vacant. What pissed him off the most was that they were the last ones to find out. Even lowly workers had been told the job was scrapped before Booker notified Wayne Industries. Furious, he picked up a rock and threw it as far across the water as it would go. He was looking around for another one to throw when he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

  Looking back, if the workers had still been there, he would never have seen Stanton Youngblood leaving his sister’s house, but he was alone and saw him walking confidently, that long hair swaying as he strode along the edge of the forest. In that moment he hated Youngblood all over again. When Stanton’s route took a sharp turn uphill, he guessed he was heading home to Leigh. She was part of this—part of the reason everything was over. He thought of the vast amount of man hours they’d put into accumulating the land for the resort. All the money they’d spent. Money he’d taken from other investments because he’d been sure it would be repaid. Money he’d taken without board approval. From offshore bank accounts. From the company. All to acquire land that was now useless.


  He hadn’t looked at it as embezzling, because he was part of the family and he was taking it on behalf of the family, not to mention he fully intended to put it all back with interest. And now he was in big trouble, all because of that man disappearing through the trees.

  Without thinking what he was going to do when he caught him, he ran for his car and drove to the lake house for one of the hunting rifles. Then he looked up at the trail behind the house, afraid he might never find where Youngblood had gone. Then he remembered the motorcycle and raced toward the garage.

  Within minutes he was on his way.

  * * *

  “Sir, there’s a call for you on line four.”

  The killer blinked, startled that his secretary was standing in the doorway and that he was at the office, then remembered the Sunday conference call and nodded his thanks, glancing at the clock before picking up the line.

  * * *

  Bowie couldn’t sit still.

  Talia had yet to wake up again, and he needed to hear her voice and know she was going to be okay.

  He’d called home earlier and relayed all the information he had on her condition, but his mother had seemed out of it, as if bothered by something else. He’d asked her if everything was okay and if Jesse was causing problems, but she had reassured him all was well, so he’d chalked it all up to this being a bad day for everyone and let it go.

  Aidan had stopped by Talia’s hospital room not long after her arrival. He was upset for Bowie, sorry for Talia, and bothered that his baby boy now had three stitches in his lip. After eliciting a promise from Bowie to call if her condition changed, he’d hurried back down to the lobby, where Leslie and Johnny were waiting, and took his family home.

  When Samuel came home and found out what had happened in his absence, he’d called Bowie to check on Talia’s welfare. Within minutes of his call, Michael had called, too, upset that no one had let him know what was going on. After a quick explanation, Bowie had settled back into the chair by Talia’s bedside and closed his eyes.

  His heart hurt for her in a way he couldn’t explain. The last seven years had been so hard for her, and just as the suffering was coming to an end he showed back up in her life wanting so desperately to be the good guy she needed, and instead this was what he’d brought to her.

  The door to her room opened, and he refocused his thoughts.

  It was a nurse coming to check Talia’s IV. “Any activity?” she asked, as she adjusted the flow of the drip.

  “No, ma’am,” Bowie said.

  She made a note, but when she’d finished what she’d come to do, she hesitated to leave.

  “I’m Amber Stewart. I live at the end of Talia’s block. I guess you don’t remember me. I was in the class behind you and Talia in high school.”

  Bowie stood up. “Amber Hatfield?”

  She smiled, pleased he had remembered.

  “Yes, I was a Hatfield. I just wanted to say that I remember how close you two were back then, and while it’s none of my business, I want you to know I’m so happy you’re back in her life. She sacrificed everything for her father. She deserves to be loved.”

  “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life on that project,” he said.

  She grinned. “When you see Samuel and Bella, tell them Amber said hello. Bella is my first cousin. Her mother and my mother are sisters.”

  Bowie reached across the bed and shook her hand.

  “Well, then, in mountain terms, it appears we’re family. Nice to see you again, and I’ll pass your message along to Samuel and Bella for sure.”

  She smiled and then was out the door.

  Bowie looked down, taking comfort in the faint blush of pink beneath Talia’s skin, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

  “That nurse is Amber Hatfield. She was a year behind us in school. She’s taking good care of you, baby. She’s helping you heal so you can wake up for me.”

  Then his voice broke. He looked up at the monitors registering the strength of her life force. The readouts on the machines were nothing but numbers. But they were talking to him when she could not.

  My heart still beats. I’m still here, they were saying.

  He leaned over the bed to kiss her forehead, leaving his tears on her face. When he reached down to wipe them away, her eyelids fluttered.

  His pulse leaped.

  “Talia? I’m here, baby. It’s me, Bowie. I’m here.”

  Her lips parted ever so briefly as he heard her exhale.

  When he reached for her hand, her fingers curled, holding him fast.

  “She’s coming back. She’s coming back. Thank you, God,” Bowie whispered.

  Sixteen

  It had been a long and frustrating day for the Wayne family. People’s behavior toward them was shifting.

  That fear of lordly power was gone. The head-ducking unwillingness to make eye contact with the family who held the purse strings to the city was all but gone. Mad Jack had even noticed an outright glare from an employee in the restaurant at the golf course. By the time the day was winding down and the family was gathering for dinner, nerves were on edge.

  Nita had already informed Jack that she had invited Andrew and notified Cook of the added guest. And because she was so mellow from a pitcher of margaritas and two straight hours of intermittent orgasms, she’d ordered Cook to prepare a rustic bruschetta to pair with the aperitif she’d chosen for the evening. The light wine was meant to spark an appetite. She could only hope that it might soothe ruffled feathers, as well.

  Andrew was his usual urbane self, keeping her entertained and laughing as they waited, and she was congratulating herself on finding him. They’d been together now for almost six months, ever since she and Fiona had come back from New York City, and he was still holding true to his promise to be the best she’d ever had. He was pricey, but well worth it to her.

  She’d heard the front door open and close several times in the past half hour, which meant more family members were home. Andrew had just moved to the wet bar to refill Nita’s glass when Jack Wayne entered the library.

  “Evening, Andrew. Good evening, Nita,” Jack said, and then politely kissed Nita’s cheek.

  “Good evening, sir,” Andrew said. “Would you care for an aperitif?”

  “Yes, please,” Jack said. His eyebrows arched as he scanned the delicate bite-size toasted baguette slices topped with a black olive and sun-dried tomato tapenade. “How inviting. Is this your doing, Nita?”

  “Don’t be so surprised. Mother had fifteen years of my childhood to induct me into the Emily Post way of life and learning what fork went with which course.”

  “Touché,” Jack said, and tried one. “Mmm, quite tasty,” he added, and chased it with a sip of the wine.

  Blake entered with Charles on his heels.

  Justin strode in with his usual “don’t mess with me” attitude and poured his own wine before claiming his favorite chair.

  Fiona straggled in last, muttering something about the condition of her hair and how it needed a cut, and the sacrifices that had to be made being stranded in this town and left to the services of people who barely knew how to wash and dry a client’s hair. After delivering that gripe, she went straight to the bar and demanded a drink.

  Nita frowned.

  “Really, Fee. Andrew is our guest, not a servant.”

  “Sorry,” Fiona said, and took her wine without bothering to look at him, then sauntered toward Nita, leaned down and whispered in her ear, “It was an innocent mistake, since I had two solid hours of hearing you being serviced by our guest.”

  “You should have joined us,” Nita snapped, relishing the dull flush of red that moved up her sister’s neck and cheeks.

  Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “It is times like this whe
n I am grateful for the fact that we live our own lives in New York.”

  Nita glared.

  Fiona’s lips pursed in disapproval as she headed for the lavishly upholstered chair their mother used to favor. The fabric, huge red poppies on a snow-white background, was still as pristine as the day the chair had been delivered to this house. Rarely did anyone sit in it. It stood mostly as an homage to the mother they’d lost so young, but Fiona felt a little rebellion of her own was long past due and sat down with a defiant glare.

  It was noticed by all but remarked upon by none, which made the gesture anticlimactic, so she settled for lowering the wine level in her glass instead.

  The next thirty minutes spent in familial proximity and booze had the same effect as always. They were already poking at each other to see who would have the most drastic reaction to some snide remark, which was what passed for conversation between them, until Jack put a stop to it.

  “I believe it’s time we moved to the dining room,” he said. He had turned to set his wineglass on the bar when the doorbell rang. “Are we expecting more company?”

  When no one spoke up, he frowned. “I’m going to tell Frances to turn whoever it is away. This is the height of rudeness.” Then he left the room in a huff.

  Blake popped the last piece of bruschetta into his mouth and was still chewing when he heard shouting in the foyer. Everyone except Justin and Fiona ran out into the hall to see what was happening.

  “I’m sick of all this,” Fiona muttered.

  Justin shrugged.

  When the noise from the foyer began coming closer and Justin could hear Uncle Jack shouting at Blake to call their lawyer, he stood. It was a gut reaction, an attempt to avoid being in a vulnerable position should trouble come through the door. And come it did, in the guise of the county constable and the local chief of police, followed by a pair of deputies. He saw the looks on their faces and knew he had nowhere to run.

  As he feared, the two deputies headed for him without hesitation.