The Sibling

by Diane Moody

  “What list?”

  “All the things that need to be attended to now that Dad is gone. Your financial status, insurance changes now that you’re … well, on your own. The shop and all its—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about all that. Your dad took care of everything.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Here we go,” Sarah said, setting the steaming dishes on the table. “Blueberry pancakes and bacon for you, Faye, and a veggie omelet and turkey sausage for Aubrey. Would you like some preserves to go with your toast?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “All right, I’ll be back in a jiff with more coffee.”

  They’d just started eating when Sugar Simpson came swishing over to their booth.

  Am I ever glad to see the two of you! Mind if I join you?” she said, scooting Faye over as she seated herself.

  Faye grinned. “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks, honey. Now. Here’s the thing. Me and Earl were talkin’ last night—Earl, he’s my husband,” she added for Aubrey’s benefit. “And ol’ Earl, he’s one for speculation. Lawd, that man can speculate ’til the cows come home. But last night he got to talkin’ about this water tower business, thinkin’ ol’ Stone Decker is manipulatin’ the whole dern town, tryin’ to get himself that prime real estate. Ol’ Earl, he hates Stone Decker. Hates. Him.

  “Anyhoo, all of a sudden he gets this look in his eyes, and I know what’s comin’, on account he always gets that deer-in-the-headlights look when he’s onto something big. And I mean B-I-G. BIG.

  “So I said, ‘Honey, what is it?’ and he looks at me and says, ‘Stone Decker killed Harley.’ And I said, ‘No way, honey, he’s in jail.’ Then he says, ‘Not only that, but ol’ Harley didn’t die in that baptistry. He was already dead to the world before, on account there wasn’t no water in his lungs.’”

  “How could he possibly know such a thing?” Faye asked.

  “Earl, he knows everyone in middle Tennessee. And one of his bowlin’ buddies—name is Lester Bobbins—is half-brother of the county coroner up there in Ashland City. Now, just so we’re straight here, the coroner had no idea Lester was listening in the night he did the autopsy on Harley’s naked body—”

  She paused as a righteous shiver seemed to shake her from head to toe. “Glory, what a sight that must have been.”

  Another shake, and Sug picked right up where she left off.

  “Lester was supposed to be cleanin’ the place. That’s his job, bein’ night janitor. But with all the hubbub of them bringin’ in Harley’s body, he couldn’t help himself. He hid out of sight and listened while the coroner did the autopsy. See, the way that’s done, there’s a microphone hangin’ over the slab so as the coroner can make a runnin’ commentary of his findings. I saw that once on CSI: New York. It’s on all the forensic shows, but that’s just the one I remember.

  “Anyhoo, Lester heard the coroner say ol’ Harley’s lungs had no water in ’em so he didn’t drown. Now Lester’s dumber than a stick, but when he told that to ol’ Earl, well, right away he knew.

  “Oh, hi there, Sarah. I’ll have the usual.”

  “Already turned in the order. Here’s your coffee.”

  “Ain’t she somethin’?” Sugar added when Sarah headed back to the kitchen. “Lawd, this town would dry up and disappear without Sarah and Gordy. Y’know that’s the gospel truth. Now. Where was I?”

  “You said Earl knew,” Aubrey said. “Knew what?”

  “Oh, right. Earl knew Harley was killed somewhere else. Whoever did the deed just dumped him in our baptistry, knowin’ we’d be havin’ church the next mornin’, and someone would surely find him. And that’s when ol’ Earl had another speculation. He said, ‘Had to be someone who knew there’d be baptisms that evenin’. Which means, chances are high it’s a church member.’

  “Why, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. The murderer was a church member!”

  “Hold your voice down!” Faye chided as heads turned their way. “That’s nothing but idle talk, Sugar. You can’t be going around town spreading such a thing.”

  Sugar shifted, turning sideways to face Faye. “I’m only tellin’ you what my husband reported. I simply thought you’d want to know.”

  “Why would you think I’d want to know such a thing?”

  “Well, it’s your daughter who’s sweet on the pastor.”

  Aubrey scoffed. “How did you—”

  “Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad. I knew it the minute you brought that muffin to the office for him. Then, as it happens, I was drivin’ home from my Mary Kay meeting last night and happened to see you two kissin’ on your mama’s front porch.” She leaned down with a faux-whisper and a wink, “But don’t you worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “But—”

  “Like I started to say, bein’ sweet on him and everything, I just assumed you’d want to know that it wasn’t Peyton who killed Harley.”

  Aubrey’s heart quickened at the sudden shift in the conversation. She leaned in close with a word of her own, keeping her voice low. “Why in the world would you think Peyton had anything to do with Harley’s murder?”

  “Well, why else would he be spending so much time with Sterling LaFayette?”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” Faye countered.

  Sugar’s neck straightened as her eyebrows inched up her forehead. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots, Faye.”

  “Here you go.” Sarah slid several dishes in front of Sugar. “The Denton’s Special with extra hashbrowns. What else can I get for you ladies?”

  “We’re fine,” Sugar said, rearranging the dishes filled with eggs, bacon, sausage, cheese grits, a separate bowl of hashbrowns, and a warm cinnamon roll with a pat of butter sliding off the top.

  “Y’all go on and chat while I eat,” Sugar said.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Faye said, pushing her half-eaten breakfast aside. “Sugar, you and I have been friends for several years now, but I think you should make a concerted effort to keep all these comments and speculations to yourself.”

  Sugar wiped her mouth. “Well, it’ll all come out in due time. But here’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. I stopped by Ida Rose’s house yesterday.”

  Aubrey tried to cut her off before it was too late. “I really don’t think you should—”

  “Did you know she’s under a choke order?”

  “A choke order?”

  Sugar pointed at Faye with her fork. “Yeah, you know when the legal eagles tell you not to talk about something.”

  “You mean a gag order?” Aubrey asked.

  “Choke. Gag. Whatever. Word is, she saw something that night.”

  Aubrey tried again. “I think we should change the subject. Mom, why don’t you—”

  “So I stopped by to have a nice little chat with Ida. And I’ll have you know she wouldn’t say a word. Not a peep. Why, she was locked up worse than a dog with a six-inch rusty nail up its butt.”

  Faye barked a nervous cough and patted her chest. “Sugar! That’s a might bit crude even by your inelegant standards.”

  “Mother! That’s—”

  “Oh, she’s right, honey. I own it. I can be a little crude at times. It’s just the way God made me. We all have our callings in life.”

  Aubrey tried to digest that kind of logic. Suddenly, Sugar sprung from her seat, her silverware clanging onto the table as her coffee mug tipped over, spilling the hot brew on the floor.

  “HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL! I was right!”

  “What?” Faye cried. “Sugar, what’s wrong?”

  Sugar pointed out the window. “There’s Pastor Peyton sittin’ in the back of a patrol car!”

  Aubrey twisted, looking over her shoulder, and immediately locked eyes with Tristan Gellar as he glared into the diner. The vehicle had slowed to a stop at the intersection.

  The likeness was astonishing.

  As the cruiser tur
ned toward the sheriff’s station, Sugar and several other patrons rushed out the front door.

  Aubrey stood. “Mom, stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  She caught up with Sugar, reaching out to grab her arm. “It’s not Peyton!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I saw him with my own eyes. Of course, it’s him!”

  “No, it’s his twin brother.”

  Sugar wheeled around. “A twin brother? Don’t be silly. I’m his secretary. Don’t you think I’d know it if he had a brother, let alone a twin?”

  The crowd gathered near the parking lot at the station. Matt Bryson stepped out from the front passenger seat, then opened the back door. Unfolding himself from the back seat was a young man in handcuffs. Once standing, several audible gasps flew from the crowd.

  “Pastor Gellar was arrested?” someone cried.

  “It’s not Peyton Gellar,” Aubrey said loud enough to be heard. “It’s his twin brother Tristan.”

  Tristan’s eyes darted to hers when he heard his name. He wore his hair longer than Peyton’s, and his eyes sparkled like blue ice. But the smile he gave her was Peyton’s smile. Identical.

  Matt turned his prisoner to walk toward the side entrance of the station. As they approached the door, Tristan turned for another glance over his shoulder, tossing her a wink and a smile before he disappeared inside.

  A chill snaked down her spine leaving a shudder in its wake.

  When all the eyes of those gathered turned toward her, she turned on her heel and left.

  Chapter 21

  Peyton hustled along the back alley to the sheriff’s station to avoid any conversations along the way. As each foot hit the pavement, he prayed for wisdom and patience as a full range of emotions raced through his heart and mind. So many memories, precious few of them good.

  As Peyton opened the back door of the station, his gut knotted like a boxer’s clenched fist. The thought of seeing Tristan again under such dire circumstances quickened his pulse. And while he braced himself for the worst, he also prayed for the slimmest trace of hope that his brother was innocent.

  “Peyton, come on in,” Sterling said, standing in Jeff’s office.

  He shook his attorney’s hand. “How will this work?”

  Jeff stood up behind his desk. “I’ll escort you and Sterling into the interrogation room then bring Tristan to you. He’ll be handcuffed at all times. Then I’ll leave you three to talk until you’re done.”

  “And I have Jeff’s word that there will be no recording of our conversation apart from my own device,” Sterling added.

  “Good. Then let’s do this.”

  A few moments later, as Peyton and Sterling sat on one side of a table in the small and windowless interrogation room, the doors opened in front of them. As soon as Tristan crossed the threshold, his eyes locked on Peyton’s. Those same ice-blue eyes, the same steely stare filled with suspicion and loathing. Yet something broke inside Peyton, seeing his brother like this. He fought the sting that pricked his eyes.

  “I didn’t do it, Peyton. So you need to tell your buddies here this is all a setup. I didn’t DO it!”

  “Hold on,” Sterling said, his voice booming and his hands raised. “Before we begin, we need to set some ground rules.”

  Jeff pulled out the chair for Tristan to sit down. He plopped onto the seat and made a great show of lifting his handcuffed hands on the table, never breaking his stare at Peyton.

  “I’ll be just outside if you need me,” Jeff said before closing the door.

  “Tristan, it’s—”

  “Peyton, if you would, let me speak first.”

  Peyton nodded.

  Sterling opened his valise, pulling out a yellow legal pad, a pen, and a tiny recorder. “This recording is for my use only.” He pressed the button and set the recorder in the middle of the table and stated the date, the time, and the names of all three of them.

  “Tristan, I’m Sterling LaFayette, your brother’s attorney, and he has asked me to offer you my representation as well, to which I’ve obliged. If you would prefer someone else, then we’ll stop right here and postpone this conversation until a court-appointed attorney can be reached.”

  Tristan finally tore his eyes away from Peyton and looked at Sterling. “Why does my brother need a lawyer?” He snorted. “Don’t tell me this choir boy is in some kind of trouble?”

  “We have a witness who’s given sworn testimony that she saw Peyton both entering the church, then leaving not long after, on the night of the murder. Based on the likeness between the two of you—”

  “—you assumed it couldn’t possibly be the fair-haired twin Peyton. No, it had to be the evil, sinister twin Tristan. Right? Because we all know Peyton’s never done a single, solitary thing wrong in his whole life. Isn’t that right, brother dearest?”

  “Look, Tristan, can’t we just have a civil conversation and try to sort this out?” Peyton pleaded.

  “Hold on, Peyton,” Sterling said. “Tristan, do you want me to represent you or not?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his cuffed hands coming to rest on his abdomen. “Are you sure that’s legal? Representing two suspects for the same crime?”

  “Peyton is not a suspect. He was named a person of interest.”

  “Oh, gotcha. Semantics. I’ve got a record so that makes me the suspect, while golden boy here is a mere person of interest. How cozy.”

  “Mr. Gellar, yes or no?”

  He huffed out a long sigh then shrugged a shoulder. “I guess. Might as well keep it all in the family.”

  “Then I’ll need you to sign this, stating that I’ll represent you.” Sterling slid the paper toward Tristan along with an uncapped ballpoint pen.

  Tristan reached for the pen and wrote his signature. Peyton noted the ease with which he wrote while handcuffed, which he attributed to his many previous arrests.

  “Thank you,” Sterling said, signing beneath Tristan’s name. He set the document in his open valise, then straightened his legal pad. “Now, let’s take a brief look at the situation before we get into the specifics. On Sunday morning, October seventh, the body of Harley Creech was found floating in the baptistry of Braxton Community Church during the morning service.

  “On the previous night, Saturday, October sixth, someone matching your description—and here I’m referencing someone matching the description of either Peyton or Tristan Gellar—was seen walking along the sidewalk in front of the church, then turning toward the direction of the back entrance of the church. The witness described the individual as wearing a brown leather jacket, which she found odd considering the weather was still mild. The witness stated that she did not see the individual actually enter the church, since the line of vision from her home across the street does not afford her a view of the back entrance, nor of the parking lot in the rear of the church.

  “Approximately thirty minutes later, the witness saw the same individual rushing back around the corner of the church—where she’d previously lost sight of him—and running down the street toward the parsonage three doors down.

  “Now, this witness, who knows that Peyton is the pastor of the church, swore that it was him, of course, having no knowledge that Peyton had a twin.”

  Peyton watched Tristan, their eyes meeting more often than not. He studied the creases that now sculpted his face, deeper since they’d seen each other at the trial. As with most identical twins, they saw each other for their differences, not the similarities with which others compared them. Like looking in a mirror and seeing the reflection had altered a feature here and there. Like the startling different shades of blue in their eyes. The faintest highlights in Tristan’s hair, now a windblown mess. The fixed smirk ever present on his lips; always the precursor for some smart-aleck accusation or curse. These, the distinctive characteristics that spanned the gulf between them.

  And yet, Peyton could not dismiss the
tug on his heartstrings for his brother. He swallowed hard and looked away.

  Sterling continued. “For the record, Peyton has given his own sworn testimony that he was out walking his dog at the alleged time of the murder. With no corroborating alibi, Peyton was named a person of interest and has remained so until now, even after the discovery of your release from prison on Thursday, October fourth.”

  “I have to ask,” Tristan interrupted. “How did you even know Peyton had a twin brother? If I know my brother, he’s never once mentioned my existence since moving here. He’s careful like that, since I’m the black sheep of the family, you see. And lest we forget, he’s the one who sent me to prison. Though I’m sure Mom and Dad were behind him, cheering him every step of the way as he set me up for something I didn’t do.”

  “Oh please, Tristan. You held me up at gunpoint and stole my car!”

  “So you say.”

  “Gentlemen, that has nothing to do with the case at hand, so let’s stick to the facts.”

  “Okay. Then here are the facts,” Tristan said, noisily setting his cuffed hands back on the table. “I did not kill that guy. Why would I? I didn’t know him. And just for the record, I’ve never killed anyone, and you know it, Peyton,” he growled. “You know it.”

  “All right, let’s get down to the basics,” Sterling continued. “Were you or were you not in Braxton on Saturday evening, October sixth?”

  Tristan took several slow breaths, looking back and forth between them. “Yes.”

  A groan fell from Peyton’s lips. “You were here.” Not a question. A statement.

  Tristan nodded but said nothing as Sterling jotted some notes.

  “Why? What were you doing here?” Peyton asked.

  “I came looking for you. I was going to ask you for money to help me get back on my feet again. I figured it’s the least you could do after sending me to prison for four years.”

  Peyton just stared at him, biting his tongue against the anger simmering in his gut.

  “Is that why you were at the church?” Sterling asked.