“You’ll find out soon enough,” Fiona said, and led the way into the house.
Within minutes Justin arrived, and Blake was right behind him. As they were pulling up to park, their Uncle Jack came around the corner of the mansion with a tennis racket in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He was the CEO of Wayne Industries and their father’s youngest brother. It was the first day he’d taken off in ages, and it appeared the moment he had, they’d all left, too.
“What in the world’s going on?” he yelled. “What are you all doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Blake said, and led the way into the house.
They went to the library because it was always where the family gathered, usually for festive occasions, although this was anything but.
Nita was pacing in front of the French doors that led out to the tiled terrace, and Fiona was already nursing a whiskey and Coke when they walked in.
Charles was pouring a Coke over ice for himself. He hadn’t thought much about the phone call to go home until he realized his aunts were nervous. Then, when his uncles suddenly appeared, he set the drink aside and stared. He’d never seen everyone in such a state.
Blake and Justin had entered in tandem, well-dressed executive look-alikes. All the Wayne men took after their mother in looks, which was unfortunate, because their mother, God rest her soul, had been a skinny blonde with small features and a less than defined chin, while the girls took after their father—black hair, high cheekbones, pretty features and dark flashing eyes. Nita and Fiona had been coloring their hair for years, and until today, when they’d seen Leigh and that mane of wild, dark hair with only hints of gray, had all but forgotten what their natural color used to be.
Jackson Wayne strode into the library in his white tennis shirt and shorts, tall and tan and obviously angry. “Well, we’re here!” he said, glaring at Blake. “What the hell’s so damn important?”
Blake pointed to his sisters.
“It’s their story to tell,” he said.
Nita looked at Fiona.
“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.”