she had ripped it into pieces. Then, before leaving Mountain Ridge for good, she’d painstakingly taped the bits together again.
The girls in the photo seemed like ghosts to Shelby now. One had hair the color of a chestnut; the other’s locks were as fair as a magnolia bloom. Friends since early grade school, they’d loved each other unreservedly. Had shared everything.
But some things were off-limits, even where best friends were concerned.
Three
As he headed home, Dex’s thoughts were dragged away from Shelby Scott’s ever-growing allure when his cell phone buzzed. He connected the call, and his younger brother Wynn’s voice swelled out from the hands-free speaker. Frowning, Dex caught the time display on the dash.
“Bro, it’s two in the morning in New York. What’s up? Decide to get a head start on the morning’s five-mile run?”
“I’m not that organized.” Really?
Wynn had his father’s tenacity and his mother’s heart. Unlike his older brothers, early on Wynn had decided he wanted to settle down and have a family. He wanted the happily ever after his parents had shared before their mother had passed away.
Maybe that’s what this call was about, Dex thought now. Maybe on the heels of Cole’s engagement news, Wynn had an announcement of his own. Absolutely made sense, given he and his photographer girlfriend, Heather Matthews, had been inseparable for over two years.
“Did you get Cole’s message?” Dex asked. “Can’t believe he’s found the woman of his dreams. She must be something else to hold his attention away from the boardroom.”
“Great news. I’m happy for him.”
“No chance of you and Heather making it a double ceremony?”
“Heather and me…We’re taking a break.”
Dex almost swerved off the road. They’d seemed smitten whenever he saw them on family get-togethers back home in Sydney. Committed. Or Wynn had been, at least.
“Actually,” Wynn went on, “it’s pretty much over. We’re still friends.”
“God, Wynn… Man, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s late afternoon in Australia but Cole’s not picking up. Any more news on Dad and his situation?”
Respecting Wynn’s feelings—his need to move the conversation along—Dex got his thoughts together and summarized.
“Well, you know that after that first incident when his vehicle was run off the road, Dad was targeted again. Gunshot missed him by inches. Thankfully his P.I. was on hand when that maniac showed up a third time.”
“He’d been visiting Uncle Talbot.”
“Guess after all these years, Dad finally wants to mend fences.”
Decades ago, Guthrie had assumed the chairmanship of Hunter’s then much smaller family business, which had comprised print media only. Although he’d been assigned a position of authority, Guthrie’s brother had felt marginalized, patronized. Eventually he’d walked out. The grudge festered into a long-standing feud.
Dex believed that break was part of the reason why, after Guthrie’s heart surgery a few years back, he had divvied up Hunter Enterprises’ now worldwide interests evenly among this generation of brothers. Wynn had been given rule over Hunter’s print sector.
As far as Dex was concerned, Wynn had drawn the short straw. Steering that side of the business through the digital revolution needed not only brains but also a steely nerve. In times such as these, profits could be made but long-standing empires could just as easily crumple.
If Wynn felt the pressure, he never complained or asked for help. Which, Dex deduced, might one day be his brother’s professional undoing.
“After that shooting, Dad’s P.I. chased the guy, right?” Wynn was saying. “Can’t believe the fool ran straight into traffic.”
“Apparently he’d had a beef with the Broadcasting News Division,” Dex said, easing onto the freeway that would see him home in five. “When he didn’t regain consciousness, that should have been the end of it.”
But the worst was yet to come. Wynn also knew that, not long after the incident outside Uncle Talbot’s, their father had been assaulted in broad daylight. Dex’s stomach muscles clutched remembering how close Guthrie and Tate had come to being shoved into that black van something like a week after the shooting incident, perhaps never to be seen or heard from again. He’d give his eyeteeth to know who and what was behind it all.
“Tate’s coming out here for a visit,” Dex told Wynn. “Dad wants him out of the way in case there’s more trouble. He wanted his wife, Eloise, to vacate Sydney, too, but in her third trimester, she’s staying put.”
“Guess she wants to be with her husband.” Dex couldn’t contain it. “You and your rose-colored glasses.”
“We might not approve of his marriage, but we should support it.”
Dex wondered if Wynn even suspected. Last Christmas Eve, when the family was all together under one roof, Dex had interrupted their dear stepmom trying to play pucker-up with a repulsed Cole. Dex’s older brother had thundered out of the room while Eloise tittered on to Dex about having a lash in her eye. Quite a piece of work.
He’d been torn for a time, as Cole must have been. No one wanted to see someone they loved be made to look like a fool. But neither did a son want to cause trouble in his father’s marriage. When these attempts had begun on their father’s life, Cole had admitted he’d suspected Eloise. Private checks had cleared her of involvement—on that score at least.
Wynn said he’d keep in touch and ended the call at the same time Dex pulled into his garage. As he exited the car and passed through the internal door leading to the kitchen, he shook his head over the torment his father had endured. Some deranged people imagined they had the right to intimidate others. Some felt compelled to hurt—financially, emotionally. Physically.
On his way through to the living room, Dex lifted his nose and frowned. Smoke? A movement outside, beyond glass sliders, caught his eye. Something on the back lawn, no more than a foot high, was glowing red. He edged over, slid open the door and moved outside.
Positioned before the palm-fringed pool, a box that resembled a crude miniature coffin stood smoldering. When a piece fell to the grass, sparks spat out. A couple hit his trouser leg but, while a chill ran up his spine, Dex didn’t move to slap them away. This message was patently clear.
Recently he’d received a threatening letter; if he didn’t pay, an unfortunate incident years back would come to light. He knew that the incident to which the letter referred involved his friend Joel and an industrial building burning down. Thankfully the building had been empty at the time. That didn’t excuse the act. Arson was a criminal offense. So too was withholding evidence.
Although Dex had mentioned the note to Cole, he hadn’t taken the threat seriously. But now he wondered. Could this somehow be connected to his father’s trouble? Was the scum involved with his father’s assassination attempts for some reason widening his net?
Either
