“Of course.” I gazed at him across the desk between us. “You don’t sound surprised by that.”
“Surprised? No.” Owen sighed. “I knew Will longer than anyone. I was well aware of how he operated. There’s probably nothing you could tell me about my brother’s seemingly endless intrigues that will surprise me.”
“How about this?” I challenged. “Will gave Peyton your business card. He told him you were his attorney. And that should Peyton wish to reconsider turning him down, any further business would be conducted through you.”
He was already shaking his head before I’d even finished speaking. “That’s not right.”
“Are you calling Peyton Hancock a liar?”
“Of course not,” Owen snapped. “I’m calling my brother a liar. And it wouldn’t be the first time. Considering Will’s proclivity for disreputable behavior, you can imagine how useful he thought it was for his brother to possess a law degree.”
That admission caused him to wince visibly. It looked as though my questions were getting on his nerves. Good.
Owen growled under his breath. “Having trouble convincing one of your grifter cronies to make good on a debt? Toss down my card and threaten to sue. See a crack in a sidewalk? Hit the ground and threaten to call your brother—who will sue for pain and suffering. Unless, of course, the store owner would like to pay handsomely to make the complaint disappear.”
“I thought accidents and personal injuries were your specialty,” I said mildly.
“Legitimate accidents,” Owen ground out. “I make my living helping people whose cases have true merit. I have no need for clients who are looking to rake in big bucks through dishonest means. I’m nothing like my brother. I told you that the last time you were here.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I nodded anyway. Anything to keep Owen talking.
“In my business, reputation matters,” he said. “How would it look if word got out that I was willing to abet the shady deals that kept paying my brother’s way back to the roulette wheel and the craps table?”
“Pretty bad,” I agreed.
“You got that right,” Owen snapped. “Handing out my business card was a stupid maneuver Will used to make himself appear more important than he was. Giving one to Peyton wasn’t the first time he’d done it, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
My breath lodged in my throat. I didn’t say a thing.
It took Owen several seconds to realize why. Abruptly the realization that his brother would never attempt to use him again took hold. His face cleared of all emotion. Then his shoulders slumped, and he sat back in his seat.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”
“Not entirely,” I replied. “I asked the questions.”
“Losing a sibling is a terrible thing. Especially when you’re not even sure how you should feel. Of course I’m grieving Will’s loss. But there’s also a sense of relief that he won’t be around to screw up my life anymore.”
“Families are tough,” I said. I knew that from firsthand experience.
Owen gave a clipped nod. “Are we done here?”
“There’s one more thing,” I said.
“I’m sure you’ll understand if I ask you to make it quick.”
“I was talking to one of Will’s associates—”
Owen stood up and walked out from behind the desk. He was ready to see me out. “If Will owed him money, you can tell him there’s nothing for anyone to claim.”
“No, it’s not about that. The man told me that Will had been in desperate financial straits. That he was in debt for a large sum of money to someone he couldn’t avoid. Someone who could hurt him if he didn’t pay.”
Now Owen looked exasperated. “Considering what happened, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”
“He said Will needed to raise money fast because he was afraid of someone in his family.” I rose to my feet. “Maybe his brother.”
“Me?” Owen stopped in shock. Then his tone sharpened. “I’m willing to swear that Will wasn’t talking about me. I’m sure your mystery informant didn’t mention me by name. He didn’t, did he?”
“No,” I admitted. “He wouldn’t give me a name.”
“It figures.”
As Owen strode across his office and opened the door, I quickly thought back. I was trying to remember what Rory’s exact words had been. “He said the person Will was afraid of was someone close to him. Someone like a brother.”
Owen gestured toward the open doorway, indicating I should leave. “That makes more sense then.”
“What does?”
“Someone like a brother is entirely different. The guy was probably talking about Will’s best friend, Brad Luft. Those two had everything in common. They were closer than Will and I ever were. Thick as thieves, you might say.”
Chapter 31
I guessed that let me know who I needed to talk to next.
When I’d spoken to Detective Sturgill, I’d made a point of telling him that Brad was mixed up in what Will was doing. Then, Sturgill hadn’t been impressed by the information I’d passed along. Maybe, this time, I could turn up something that would pique his interest.
First, I called Frank at The Bean Counter and told him to reserve me a table. Since the café didn’t take reservations, my brother gave me some grief about that. I had to promise him free babysitting before he eventually acquiesced. Brad was easier to convince than my brother.
I called and offered him a free lunch.
“Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“Because we need to talk. I have new information about Will’s death that I know you’ll want to hear.”
After a pause, he said, “Where?”
“Same as last time. The Bean Counter.”
“Will your brother be there?”
“Probably,” I said. “But don’t worry. You’re bigger than he is.”
Brad grumbled a little more before we settled on a time. But by then I already knew that he’d be coming. Frankly, I was pretty sure I’d had him at “free lunch.”
I arrived at The Bean Counter a few minutes early. Frank saw me and motioned toward an empty booth in the café’s only dark corner. Considering his reaction when Brad and I had eaten here the previous week, I figured that was my brother’s idea of a joke.
“Very funny,” I said, stepping up to the counter. “But I need to order first.”
“No, you don’t.” Frank grinned. “You and your guest will be eating the specialty of the house.”
Oh joy.
“You mean the current specialty? Or something you’re thinking about adding to the menu?”
“The latter. Lucky you, you’ll be the first to sample it.”
Some of Frank’s culinary creations were nothing short of genius. Others belonged in the trash can. Unfortunately, you never knew which option you’d be served.
“Will you at least tell me what’s in it?” I said.
“Of course not. I want you to be surprised.”
Like that was a good thing.
“Soup, salad, or sandwich? You can tell me that much.”
“Sandwich,” he replied. “And that’s all you’re getting.”
I poured a drink and sat down. Brad walked in a few minutes later. He started to head to the counter, but I stood up and waved him over. He helped himself to a giant-sized cup of Diet Coke, then joined me in the booth.
“I thought you were buying me lunch,” he said.
“I am. My brother decided to make us the specialty of the house.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
Brad frowned. “Then how does he know we’ll like it?”
“That’s the whole idea,” I admitted. “Frank’s trying out a new dish.”
“Like he’s using us as guinea pigs?”
Or crash dummies, I thought. Take your pick.
“I’m sure it will be something good,” I said aloud.
The point was for me to find out how much Brad knew about Will Grace’s murder. Not that I had any intention of telling him that.
“Enjoy!” Frank said cheerfully. He slid two platter-sized plates onto the table in front of us, then quickly left.
I stared down at my lunch. The sandwich itself was massive. Beside it, Frank had piled a mountain of french fries. Brad and I would be here all afternoon if we had to eat all this.
While I hesitated, Brad looked eager to dig in. He lifted one edge of the big ciabatta roll and peered inside. “Let’s see,” he murmured. “Looks like pulled pork, plenty of barbecue sauce, provolone cheese, coleslaw.” He leaned down to give the sandwich a delicate sniff. “And maybe some sweet pickle relish. I take back what I said before. This thing has potential.”
Frank was back behind the counter, making himself look busy. He pretended he wasn’t watching us, but I knew better. Since Brad was already tearing into his sandwich with gusto, I took that as a good sign and gave my brother a subtle thumbs-up. Now he could go back to running his café and leave us alone.
“You told me you had new information about Will,” Brad said presently. Half his sandwich was already gone. Now he was stuffing fries into his mouth. “What is it?”
I had cut my large sandwich into quarters. Each piece still looked like a whole meal to me. I picked one up and was nibbling around the edges, while trying to keep its overstuffed ingredients from falling out. It actually tasted pretty good.
“The new stuff I learned was about you,” I said.
Brad abruptly stopped chewing. His mouth was so full that his cheeks bulged outward. He managed to talk around that problem. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know you didn’t tell me everything you knew last time we were here.”
“So what?” He shrugged. “It’s not like I owe you any explanations.”
“Sure,” I said easily. “But you’re going to have to talk to someone. If not me, then maybe Detective Sturgill of the Stamford Police.”
Brad swallowed heavily. Trying to look nonchalant, he wiped his greasy fingers on his napkin.
“You do know who Detective Sturgill is. Right?”
“I guess.” He grabbed his sandwich, took a bite, then made a show of chewing it. Like that was the only reason he wasn’t talking.
“If you prefer, I can go and tell him what I’ve learned. Detective Sturgill and I have worked together before.”
Okay, that was stretching the truth—maybe almost to the breaking point. But Brad wouldn’t know that.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear what I have to say.”
“Which is?” Brad growled.
“I know you’re hiding something important. Two people I’ve spoken with have pointed to you as the person most likely to have been involved in Will’s murder.”
Brad’s hand slammed down on the tabletop hard enough to make me jump in my seat. Out of my eye, I saw Frank give us a sharp look. I waved him off—and hoped he’d listen to me.
“Who?” Brad demanded. “I want names.”
“So what?” I echoed his earlier question. “You want names, and I want information. It looks as though we’ve reached an impasse.”
“Look,” he snapped, “I don’t know what you think I know. But I don’t know anything.”
“You and Will were as close as brothers. Everyone says so. If Will was in trouble—and clearly he was—he would have gone to you for help first.”
“What kind of trouble are you talking about?”
There was only one possible answer. Because where Will Grace was concerned, it always came down to the same thing.
“Money problems,” I said. “Will needed cash. Fast. He had to pay someone back, someone who’d threatened him if he didn’t come through.”
“Okay, yeah.” Brad slumped back in his seat. “Maybe he did come to me looking for money. And maybe he was really on edge about it. I would have helped him if I could. But I was as broke as he was.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A few months ago.”
“April maybe?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Will had proposed his deal to Peyton Hancock around the same time. Then he’d set up the disastrous poker game with Rory Scott. That had led to the theft of Rory’s Dalmatians. April had been a busy month for Will Grace. It was beginning to look as though he’d spent most of it running scared.
But who was the person he was so afraid of?
“Who did Will owe money to?” I asked.
Brad didn’t say a thing. He just shook his head.
“Maybe there was nobody else,” I mused aloud. “Maybe the person Will was in debt to—the one he was so scared of—was you.”
Brad’s face grew red. The man looked like the poster boy for heart attacks. He grabbed for his soda and gulped some down.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said after a few seconds. “Of course it wasn’t me.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “I’ve eliminated everyone else. Yours is the only name left.”
“You’re wrong.”
I stopped breathing. I didn’t move or make a sound. I didn’t want to do anything to spook him. Any minute now, Brad was going to stand up and go storming out of the café. I really wanted him to tell me what he’d been holding back before he did so.
“All I know is there was some kind of family connection,” Brad said finally.
“Family?” I frowned.
Just that morning, Owen had sent me to Brad. Was Brad now trying to send me back? Maybe the two of them were playing me for a fool. Or maybe one of them was legit, and the other was guilty as sin.
“It was a relative of his,” Brad said. “You know Emily.”
Damn, I thought. Not Emily.
“Yes.”
“It was some guy Will knew through her. An in-law.” He paused and smirked. “Will never said the guy’s name. He used to call him the Outlaw. That’s who was yanking Will’s chain.”
I had a suspicion I knew who he was talking about. But I wanted to be sure. “What else did he tell you about him?”
“Nothing, really. All I know is that he didn’t live around here. That made Will feel like he had some breathing room when the guy first started making threats. Although I guess that didn’t last.” He paused and thought back. “He came from one of those snowy states up north. I think he worked in a school or something.”
And there it was. The final piece of information I’d needed locked into place.
Damn, I thought. How had I missed that earlier? Not a brother. A brother-in-law.
“Did you tell that to the police?” I asked him.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Brad snorted. “I’m not stupid. The last thing anyone needs is for the police to think you know stuff. Because then they start wondering what else you might know. And where Will was concerned, there were always more secrets tucked away. It was much safer to never even start that conversation.”
“Oh, it’s going to get started, all right,” I said.
Brad quickly slid out of the booth. Then he leaned down and stabbed his index finger toward my face. “You better make damn sure you leave my name out of it. You hear me?”
Frank suddenly materialized behind him. He placed a heavy hand on Brad’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, the whole place hears you. I think it’s time for you to go.”
“You got that right!” Brad snapped.
Frank and I both watched as he pushed his way through the room. Brad yanked open the café’s front door and ran down the outside steps. Frank waited until he was out of sight before turning back to me.
He surveyed the half-full plates on the table with a sigh. “That wasn’t about the food, was it?”
I almost laughed. Trust my brother to think about his own interests first. Then I stood up and gave him a hug instead.
&nb
sp; “No, Frank, it wasn’t about the food. Brad loved your new sandwich. I think you should put it on the menu.”
He smiled. “Maybe I will.”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” I said.
I hadn’t needed him to. But Frank would be happy to hear that anyway. My brother lapped up praise like a puppy.
“Anytime,” he told me.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
* * *
As soon as I got to my car, I put in a call to Detective Sturgill. He wasn’t there, but I was offered the opportunity to leave a message. So I did.
The officer who was manning the phones probably hadn’t expected as much detail as I gave her. But she said she was writing everything down. And if you can’t trust a policewoman, who can you trust?
I told her I was calling with regard to Will Grace’s murder. At that point, I could have skipped ahead and given her Miles Harlan’s name. But I knew Detective Sturgill. He never wanted to hear about conclusions that seemed to appear out of thin air. So instead I started by laying a strong foundation of evidence.
I gave the policewoman the timeline of events that began with Will being in dire need of funds in the spring. I mentioned his meeting with Peyton Hancock and his futile attempts to borrow money from both Rory Scott and Bradley Luft. Those disclosures were followed by an account of Will’s subsequent disappearance when he’d been unable to come up with the cash he needed.
Then I reminded Sturgill of the things that had taken place at Graceland School in the days leading up to the murder. First, Will’s Dalmatians had been put in jeopardy. Then his antique truck had ended up in a pond. After that, his ex-wife’s school had been set on fire.
Looking back now, it seemed clear that Emily had never been the real target of those escalating threats. They’d been orchestrated by Will’s killer, and their purpose had been to draw Will out of hiding. They’d obviously had the desired effect because two days after the fire, Will Grace appeared in Stamford.
And he was dead.
Shortly thereafter, Emily’s brother, Miles, had also showed up at the school. Supposedly he was there to provide his beleaguered sister with support. I suspected, however, that he’d actually come to keep a close watch on how the investigation was proceeding.
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