style="font-size:15px;"> “You tell them,” she said.
Fiona nodded. “Stanton Youngblood has been murdered.”
Charles frowned. “Who’s Stanton Youngblood?”
Blake frowned back at his son and then realized he was within his rights to be confused. Leigh’s name was rarely mentioned in this house, and Charles had been born long after all of that embarrassment had faded away.
“He’s your Aunt Leigh’s husband,” Blake said.
Jack waved his tennis racket over his head.
“What does that have to do with us?”
Fiona sighed.
“Less than an hour ago, Leigh and three of her sons came into Eden driving all crazy on their way to the police station. When she got out she was covered in blood, her hair was all wild and tangled, and her sons were right behind her, armed to the teeth. She confronted the chief and told him that Stanton had been murdered. He supposedly scratched the name of the killer in the dirt before he died.”
“Sweet Mother of God,” Justin muttered. “It takes you forever to tell anything. Just get it said.”
“The name he wrote was Wayne. Leigh called us out in front of the chief and the whole town. She said one of us killed her husband and when she finds out who it is, they will wish they’d never been born, or something to that effect.”
Justin wiped a shaky hand across his face. Leigh was his twin, and as loyal to her family as he was to his. Imagining her like that felt weird.
Jack was furious. “She can’t just come out and accuse someone without evidence!”
“Well, there is the fact that Stanton wrote our family name in the dirt before he died,” Nita drawled. “And there is that other fact that our family already threatened to kill Stanton years ago, so trying to claim innocence puts us in an awkward position. What I want to know is, what the hell’s been going on in this family that I don’t know about?”
Blake frowned. “Are you insinuating that one of us did this?”
Fiona looked at Nita.
Then Nita looked at Blake and shrugged.
“I wouldn’t put it past us.”
The silence in the library was shocking. Someone in the family had finally said aloud what they all thought about the others. The Waynes weren’t known for pulling punches or playing fair. They’d been taught from an early age that success was worth whatever it took to achieve it.
Jack Wayne shoved a hand through his shock of white hair and then pointed the tennis racket at Blake.
“Call the law firm. Get Ed Beale out here ASAP. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back down shortly.”
He strode out of the library, banging the tennis racket against the chair, then the doorway, then the hall table and then up the balusters as he went upstairs, cursing every step of the way.
Everyone was looking at Blake, waiting for further directions, but he was too pissed to care. He’d had to cancel a conference call, which was probably going to nix the deal he’d been about to seal, and all because of his crazy-ass sister. He stomped out of the room to go call their law firm, leaving the remaining family members on their own.
Charles was silent. He wasn’t upset about a dead man so much as wondering if this was going to become a media circus. He’d known his Uncle Justin had a twin sister and that she was persona non grata for shaming the family years ago, but now that she’d been introduced into the conversation, he was curious about her.
“So, Aunt Fiona, what does Aunt Leigh look like?”
Fiona shrugged.
“She looks like a Wayne.”
Nita shook her head.
“No, she looks better. As much as I hate to admit it, she looked like some Amazon warrior standing in that street. She was always pretty, but today she was absolutely beautiful. Even covered in blood, she was magnificent, and her sons are all well over six feet tall and movie-star handsome with those wide shoulders, long legs and all that hair. I swear, they are something to behold.”
“What do you mean by all that hair?” Charles asked.
“Their hair is as long as their mother’s. Stanton’s always was, too,” Nita said.
Justin had always been self-conscious about his lack of a manly chin, and to hear that all Leigh’s sons had what he coveted pissed him off.
“They probably look like a bunch of hillbillies.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Justin. I’ve heard all I want to hear about Leigh and her sons. Someone murdered her husband. That’s what we need to be concerned about, and if any of you know anything about it, now’s the time to speak up so we can formulate a plan.”
Charles picked up his Coke and headed for the door.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t me. I’m just now hearing that these people even exist, so I hardly have a reason to want one of them dead,” he said, and left the room.
Justin’s face flushed.
“I’m going to pretend you did not just seriously ask me if I killed a man,” he snapped, and walked out behind his nephew.
Nita looked at Fiona. “Did you do it?”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun. You’re the one who beats everyone at target shooting. Did you do it?”
Nita giggled. “No, silly. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where to find him, even if I’d wanted him dead.”
Fiona shrugged. “Someone’s lying,” she said, and walked out of the library, leaving Nita on her own.
Nita glanced at the liquor cabinet and then headed to her room. Getting sloshed would serve no purpose other than a temporary fix to this horrible news. She was getting a headache, and needed to take one of her pills and lie down.
* * *
Bowie was packed and waiting at the helipad for the incoming chopper. He’d showered after removing his work clothes and unbraided his hair to wash it. All of his brothers’ hair had a curl to it, like their father’s. His hair was like his mother’s—straight, and so dark a black it almost looked blue, growing from a widow’s peak at his forehead and hanging well below his shoulders. Because it was still wet and drying, the ocean breeze was rolling it into tangles, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know what strings his boss had pulled to make this happen so quickly, but he was grateful.
Word about what had happened to his father had spread quickly on the rig. He’d been working with the men on this shift off and on for about a year and considered most of them friends. One by one they’d gone looking for him to express their condolences. Bowie was touched, but the sympathy made it hard to maintain control over his emotions. It had been a little over an hour since he’d talked to Samuel,
