by J. L. Wilson
“It’s hard to believe,” Eleanor said. “Guy was such a nice boy.”
I almost laughed. I’m sure she remembered Guy differently than a lot of his contemporaries did. “My condolences on the loss of your son. I’m sure his death was a shock.”
She drew herself up, the very picture of an aristocratic woman bearing up under severe distress. “Thank you. Yes, Patrick’s death was unfortunate.”
Yeah, dying in the back of an SUV with his pants around his ankles. That’s unfortunate, alright. I caught Isabel’s eye and choked back my laughter at the suppressed humor I saw there. I turned to Richard. “You said something about a memorial? I want to attend if I can.”
A shocked stillness settled over the table. Richard regarded his beer glass. “I planned to speak tonight but I was told it might not be appropriate. So we will have a private service tomorrow before the burial.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
Rob had his own ideas, though. “Yeah, apparently the city council didn’t think it would be good to let Richard talk about PJ—Patrick—at the party. I don’t know why. PJ was a leading citizen in town. It only makes sense Richard should be allowed to talk about his brother.” He sipped his bourbon, his expression a mix of defiance and complicity.
Richard raised his eyes. “It’s irrelevant what the city council thinks.”
Okay, Rob. Leave it, I silently pleaded.
But no. Rob needed to put his whole foot in it. “I still say despite everything that’s happened, it’s only fair you be allowed to talk about Patrick.”
“After what, exactly?” Richard’s icy tone would have frozen me in my tracks, but Rob was either too drunk or too anxious to score points to notice.
“Well, the issues that came to light at the factory in York. I overheard the discussions between you and the Federal investigators.” Rob turned a pitying look in Eleanor’s direction, like he commiserated with the old harridan. “I was manager at the plant but I only did what PJ said to do. I’m sure once the investigations conclude, they’ll show—”
“They won’t be able to show anything, will they?” Richard said coolly. “Patrick is dead so he can’t defend himself. It will be your word against a dead man’s. How will we know what is real and what isn’t? How will we know who told you to do what?” His steely gaze held Rob’s.
My stomach lurched. So that’s how it would play out. Rob would be tossed to the dogs and the Fitz family would be exonerated of any wrongdoing. Poor Rob. So much for Richard treating him like a brother. It was like watching a puppy being thrown to the wolves.
Rob sat in frozen shock, disbelief evident in his slack face, his wide-eyed stare. “What?” he whispered. “What do you mean?”
“You heard me.” Richard glanced at his mother, who gave a slight tilt of her head. “You were given the job and given authority to run the factory. Now there’s a lawsuit pending against the company because of gross incompetence and dangerous business practices. Our accountants have discovered some unusual entries during the latest audit. And my brother, a man who was in a position to reveal the true facts about the workings of the factory, is now dead. His death is quite a convenience, isn’t it?”
Rob lurched to his feet, almost falling over when the chair fell behind him. “What are you saying, Richard? I did what PJ asked me to do. What are you saying?”
“Rob—” I put a hand on his arm but he shook me off.
“I suggest you hire a lawyer, Rob.” Richard said it softly. “The Fitz Corporation cannot be responsible for your legal fees. It wouldn’t be right for our lawyers to represent you while they also represent the interests of the company.”
Rob stared down at Richard. Isabel paled so much two bright spots of pink showed on her cheeks where her blush was applied. “Richard, that’s wrong,” she whispered. “Rob had nothing to do with PJ’s death. You know it.”
“Be quiet, Isabel,” Eleanor said. “Let Richard handle this.”
Rob took a staggering step backwards. “I won’t let you do this to me. I won’t.” He turned, pushed me aside, and raced for the door.
I started after him but stopped and turned to face Richard. “What are you doing to him?”
Richard raised his beer glass. “Me? Nothing. Rob has done it all to himself.”
I looked from him to the old woman, who merely stared back at me like I was some form of insect.
I picked up Rob’s glass of bourbon and tossed it in Richard’s face. “You’re the sort of man who would steal straw from his mother’s kennel. Get out of my bar.”
Chapter 17
“Apologize to my mother,” Richard said, his voice deadly quiet. His face was so red I thought it might explode. His hands, clenched on the table, told me what would happen if he got those hands on me.
“Like hell I will,” I spat.
Richard stood, glaring at me over the table. “How dare you insult her or my family.” He moved behind his mother, heading for me.
“Are you threatening me?” I drew myself up to my full height, facing up to him when he towered over me. “Go ahead. I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’ll hear from our lawyer. You can’t act like this.” The old lady stared up at me, her chin quivering. On any other old woman’s face, I’d say she was hurt. But on this woman’s face all I saw was anger. Her son stood behind her, one hand protectively on her shoulder.
“I did act like this,” I corrected. “Isabel can stay but I want you and your son to leave.”
Richard leaned over and put a hand under the old woman’s arm. “Mother, let’s go.” He straightened, helping his mother to her feet. His eyes met mine and I saw pure, unadorned hatred there. “You haven’t heard the end of this.”
“Bring it on. It’s my bar. I can serve who I want.”
“No, it’s our bar.”
I turned and saw Alan and Miller behind me. Alan met Richard’s stare with one equally as cold. “Get out, Richard. Now. You aren’t wanted here.”
“Here?” Richard peered around the bar, his disdain saying volumes about what he thought of our establishment.
“Yes, here,” Alan said. “I’m sure this will come as a surprise, but the Fitz family isn’t exactly loved in this town.”
Eleanor grabbed her purse from the table. “Isabel, we’re going.”
Isabel remained seated. “I think I’ll stay. I see no reason to leave.”
“We were insulted,” the old woman said.
“Isabel wasn’t insulted,” I said. “I’ve got nothing against her.”
“Fine.” Richard gently tugged his mother toward the door, pausing to regard his sister-in-law. “Isabel, we’ll talk to you later. I hope you know what this means.”
“Oh, I think I do, Richard.” Isabel swirled the wine in her glass. Her hand was trembling but she managed to place the glass on the table without spilling any. “Good night.”
Richard paused to fix me with an angry glare then he and Eleanor left, the door slamming shut after them. “Well, that was a bit of Victorian drama, wasn’t it?” I said loudly, my gaze intercepting several curious glances from the other patrons. “Sorry about the fuss, folks.”
The silent bar around me suddenly broke into a buzz of conversation. Isabel laughed shakily. “You’re in trouble now, Tucker.”
“I meant what I said. Bring it on. I can’t believe that son of a bitch is trying to blame all of his problems on Rob. It isn’t fair.”
“Shit, life isn’t fair, Tucker.” Alan held up a hand when I rounded on him. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll call our lawyer to give her a heads-up in case Richard decides to make good on his threat.” He walked away, pulling his cell phone from his pants pocket while he went.
“That asshole.” I sank into Rob’s chair, trembling. “I guess I shouldn’t have thrown the bourbon at him. That might have been over the top.”
“Nah. I think it was perfect. He wouldn’t have taken you seriously otherwise.” Miller gave me a little tap on the s
houlder before going back to tend to the bar.
“You don’t want to have Richard as an enemy,” Isabel said.
“Look who’s talking. You’re related to him.”
“That doesn’t matter. He and his mother will get rid of me as soon as they can.” When she saw my alarmed expression, she laughed. “No, not that way. They’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse. Richard is the executor of John’s will and he’s free to interpret it however he likes. He made it clear they’d like distance between me and the Fitz family. I’m getting a big chunk of money to get out of their lives. They’ll pay for college for the kids, and Henry Three will get a good job with the company. But I think Richard and Eleanor would like for me to just vanish.” Isabel raised her wine glass. “I think I’ll take them up on their offer.”
I sat back in the chair and sighed. “Probably best for you, for sure. I talked to Alan about the chef idea. He might be interested.”
Her eyes lit up. “Do you think so?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we discussed it a bit.” The door opened and John Smalley walked in. He seemed different and it took a second for me to notice he’d trimmed his beard closely. It was no longer bushy but instead was more of an outline for his chin, revealing a strong jawline. It made him less outdoorsy and more stylish, especially with the sporty dark brown shirt and the lighter colored khaki pants. He cleans up good. Real good.
He carried a large framed certificate and a long narrow case, like one used by florists. I waved him over to join Isabel and me. “Why don’t you talk to Alan about it yourself?” I said to Isabel when John paused by our table. “He won’t bite. I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it.”
“Did you insult Richard Fitz?” John looked from Isabel to me.
“She did it,” Isabel nodded toward me. “And I watched.”
“He’s madder than hell. He and his mother are ranting about it to Lee Knight. Richard is talking about suing you.” John’s dark brows drew together into one line when he frowned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he called the cops.”
“What? That stupid idiot.” I got to my feet. “I’m not going to let him slander me.” I glanced at the bar. I saw Alan in the back hallway, near the staff room. “I’m going to the park, Miller,” I called out. “Tell Alan, okay?”
He nodded. I turned to John. “Where was Richard? I don’t want him yammering all over town without me there to tell my side of the story.” I headed for the front door.
“Tucker.” I stopped when Isabel put a hand on my arm. “Tucker, be careful. When Richard gets angry, he can be dangerous.”
“I’m not worried about him. What’s the worst he can do to me?”
“He can make it hard for people who want to do business with you.” Isabel nodded when I turned to her in disbelief. “Seriously.”
“He doesn’t even live here. What does he care?”
“He believes in carrying grudges. Be careful.”
“I’ll go with you,” John volunteered. “Richard has no beef with me. I’ll talk to him.”
“You don’t need to fight my fights for me. I can do it.”
John put a hand on the back of my neck and squeezed gently. It was a surprisingly calming gesture and my indignation died. “I’m not fighting any fights,” he said. “I’m just helping. You’re not weaker because somebody helps you.” He moved his hand to my back, and gently urged me to the door. “Let’s go deal with him.”
Isabel’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “Good. Take care of her, John.”
“I can handle this.” I pushed open the door. Then I remembered my manners, drummed into me so many years ago by my grandma and mama. “But thanks, John, for being my backup.” I glimpsed his pleased smile and sent a thankful prayer to my female ancestors for their guidance.
“I saw Richard’s mother and Lee leaving the park. Richard and Rob were heading for the other side of the park. I think they were going to the Priory,” John said when we emerged from the bar to the street. People were walking in the direction of the park on our right and the band shell in the middle where speeches would be made.
“The Priory?” That was a tiny, ten-foot square building which used to be a coffee shop on the far side of the park. It was deserted now and rundown, mainly housing garden tools and used as a Fright House at Halloween. “Why are they going there? For that matter, why are Richard and Rob even talking to each other? The last time I saw them, Rob was so pissed off he was either going to split a gut or split Richard’s face.”
“I don’t know. Did you know about this?” John showed me the framed certificate.
I took it from him, reading while I walked. “The Golden Arrow award. That’s great, John. I wish I was there to see it.”
“Totally surprised me.” John took the certificate back from me and tucked it under his arm. “I didn’t expect it at all.”
“Where’s the arrow?” I asked, careful to keep an eye on the crowd. The last thing I needed was another fall. With my luck, I’d break something else and there wasn’t much on me that was unbruised or unbroken. I needed to preserve what working parts I had.
“Here.” He handed me the long green box. I stopped under a tree to open it and peek inside. A long metal arrow, painted gold, lay nestled in white satin lining. Several people walking by stopped to congratulate John while I examined his prize.
“Wow. It’s like a real arrow.” I hoped my envy didn’t show. Damn, that arrow would sure be nice over the bar.
“Except there isn’t any fletching.” He took the box back from me, wedging it under his arm with the certificate.
“Fletching?” I tried to see through the crowd but couldn’t glimpse either Richard or Rob. Most people were heading to our left, where the band shell sat. All of the picnic tables, about a dozen, were full and in the distance I saw people at the softball diamond, the bleachers starting to fill up. It was a perfect night for a picnic and a game, with a gentle breeze, low humidity, and only a few wispy clouds in the pristine blue sky. “What’s a fletch?”
“It’s the feather part of the arrow at one end, near where you nock the arrow to shoot.” John turned aside to talk to a couple who stopped to congratulate him.
I shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, waiting for him. When he finally resumed walking, I said, “I didn’t know you knew anything about archery. Where are they?” I tried to peer through the clump of people in front of us but saw nothing but more people.
“I studied archery in college.”
“Really? I’m surprised you didn’t get recruited for the football team.” I dodged a group of teenage girls, all giggles and cell phones.
“The coach tried to recruit me. I didn’t enjoy getting tackled. There they are.” John pointed ahead but once again he had to stop to accept congratulations. It was several minutes before we shook free from well-wishers and resumed walking.
“Where are they? I can’t see anything.”
John peered over the heads of the people around us. “I saw Marianne following them. The last I saw they were going to the far side of the park.”
“Maybe we should call Owen or somebody. Rob was really pissed off. He might take a swing at Richard.” I grinned. “On second thought, let’s not call Owen and let Rob take a swing at Richard.”
“What happened between them? Rob always idolized Richard. It must be something awful to make him so mad.” John moved slightly ahead of me and I followed, letting him cut a path for me through the crowds.
I couldn’t think of a quick way to summarize it so I settled for, “Rob thinks Richard is setting him up to take the blame for what happened at the factory.”
“Why am I not surprised? Richard always did manage to avoid trouble without getting shit on himself. I think he’s led a charmed life.”
“Well, if Rob has his way, the charm is ending. He was really mad.” There were fewer people on this side of the park, which was on a bluff over the river. A couple of picnic tables in the distance were occupied with wisps of
smoke rising from nearby grills, but otherwise all the action was behind us. Most of the townspeople were now grouped around the band shell where the high school band lurched into a rendition of the school’s fight song.
I turned slowly, trying to find Rob, Marianne, or Richard. I couldn’t see them amongst the different groups. John and I stopped outside the Priory. It was a small building that was rickety and appeared ready to collapse if someone sneezed. There were two windows on each side of the tiny structure, but the broken-out ones nearest us were covered with cardboard and tarp. “Where do you think they are?”
John held up a hand. “Shh.” He leaned toward the Priory. “In there,” he whispered.
“Should we go in?” I whispered in return, reaching for the faded green door.
“I think you’d better,” John said. “Otherwise Richard will make your life miserable.”
“True.” I opened the door as Rob said,
“. . . to happen this way.”
“What did you do?” Marianne said in a sobbing voice. “Rob, what did you do?”
“Is Richard here?” I glimpsed Marianne, standing on the far side of the empty ten-by-ten room, near one of the remaining intact dirty windows. Two saggy wooden chairs were against the wall on my left and a line of garden tools leaned against one window near her, but otherwise the place was dusty, musty, and empty.
Rob faced her, something long and wooden in his hands. “Where’s Richard Fitz?” I moved inside. “I need to talk to him.”
My words faded when I saw Richard in front of me, lying on the scarred wooden floor.
He lay in a pool of blood.
I tried to back up but John pressed against me from behind. “Rob, what happened? Is Richard . . .?” John’s voice faded when he saw what I saw.
Is he dead? Oh, yeah, I think he is. I tore my eyes from the sight of Richard Fitz, his neck mostly missing and blood flowing from what used to be his Adam’s apple. Rob stood a foot or so from Richard’s body. I couldn’t tell what he held. It was like a long pole, red at the end. My shocked eyes focused and I saw it was a hefty wooden rod with what appeared to be the remnants of a hoe at the end. It wasn’t one of those flat-bladed ones, but the triangular kind for really digging into the dirt.