Flower Power Trip Page 20

  “That's awful. You keep things locked up pretty tight, don't you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “As I said, it wasn't a good time for me. That's why I took this job when it came up. I needed to get away from cities with a lot of crime.”

  “And you thought Wharton County would be a calmer place to work?” I began understanding more about April Montague in the few minutes she let her wall down in front of me.

  “I want to keep the citizens of my jurisdiction safe. I couldn't do that in Buffalo anymore. There wasn't a huge amount of crime, but there were murders and gang shootings. I thought it'd be different here,” she said gently caressing the picture frame.

  “And now we've had four murders in Braxton in the last three months.” It was a statement, and I didn't expect a response, but April laughed.

  “I told you earlier this week. I'm worried you're a magnet for disaster. It was quiet my first few years running this county. Now, you've got me a little flustered about things.” April paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “That's why I put this picture back up again. I needed a reminder of what I was fighting for. What I came to this beautiful place to do.”

  “Saving fine, upstanding citizens like myself from the bad guys?”

  “The jury's still out on whether you're one of these fine, upstanding citizens, but you get the point. I'm not afraid of a challenge, and I won't let things get out of control around here. I'm supposed to keep the law and order. And that includes reminding you of appropriate boundaries.”

  “Duly noted. I consider myself protected and warned, but please remember, April… I'm only trying to help my friends.”

  “I know that. It's why I plan to go a little easier on you. I'm not about to share everything on this case, but I'm glad we're collaborating rather than antagonizing. In the interest of protecting Ursula Power and Helena Roarke, let's talk about some new things that've come up.” April retrieved a bank statement from a folder on her desk and handed it to me.

  After looking it over, I said, “If I'm reading this correctly, George Braun made many large transfers from another account into this one in the last four months. Who owns the other account?”

  “Very good. You're asking the right questions. I'm not sure, but we're trying to pull those details. I suspect he was financing his lab experiments to find the cure he'd lost twenty-five years ago. I think someone was helping to back his research. None of the big medical companies would handle it this way. They'd publicize their work to keep getting more funding. He made efforts to hide it.”

  “You think this other account belongs to George's partner?”

  “Maybe. I should know within the next twenty-four hours. I've also been able to locate his last known residence in Switzerland and confirm he'd been living there up until taking the Mendel flower show to the States. It was held in Chicago last January, then he made this special stop in Braxton.”

  “Can you share anything about George's relationship with Anita Singh or Ed Mulligan?”

  April waffled but eventually conceded. “Mulligan admits he went to see George the day of the costume extravaganza. George wanted more money and claimed he had information that would embarrass the dean.”

  “Did he?” What had Dean Mulligan done? It'd explain the dean's anger on our phone call.

  “Ed Mulligan has a temper, and he did something he shouldn't have done. It's certainly compromising for Braxton, but it only impacts a few people. That's all I can reveal right now.” April pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose to relieve pressure or tension.

  “Okay. You mentioned Yuri was angry with Dean Mulligan and probably exaggerated what she told me that day?” When April appeared to agree, I said, “Ursula did mention Dean Mulligan saw where she'd kept the knife in her office.”

  “I'm aware and following this closely. The same goes for Anita Singh, even though you didn't ask me. The lab coat never turned up, but she has been keeping a secret about her marriage. I can't tell you anything additional at this time.”

  I knew it was best to back away, but it felt comforting to know she was pursuing all the leads I'd suggested to her. Before taking off, I updated April about Sierra Stoddard's skiing trip in Switzerland. She agreed to check it out with her international contacts to find out if Sierra and George were ever in the same place. I was glad to develop a newfound tentative partnership with the sheriff. After I left her office, I squeezed in a workout for the day, quickly downed a protein shake for lunch, and drove across the river to Kirklands to meet Gabriel.

  He sat in a corner booth intently staring at something on his phone when I arrived. Despite the trim beard and leather jacket, my brother still looked naiver than his twenty-eight years. I wasn't sure how he'd explain the nose piercing and tattoo to our parents, but it did give him a certain edge. His dirty blond hair was still spiked and messy, making him look like a cross between a well-known British model and the lead singer of any popular rock band.

  When Gabriel heard my footsteps approaching, he greeted me with a hesitant grin and removed his earbuds. “Just listening to some Callum Scott. His voice is off the charts. So, I ordered us both two of whatever was on tap.”

  “That works for me. I lifted for the last hour, so it'll burn off quickly. I might be drinking here for a while,” I said, explaining my hope to run into Cheney at some point.

  “Where do you want to start?” Gabriel asked.

  I had a lot of topics. How long had he known he was gay? Had he been involved in any serious relationships? Did anyone else in the family know? Why did he jump ship eight years ago? What had he done with his life? When did he decide to come back to Braxton? I didn't want to overwhelm him, so I suggested he tell me whatever he was comfortable with right now.

  “Sure. Let's start with why I left Braxton,” he began as two pints of lager were delivered to our table. “I think I always knew I was different, but I couldn't do anything about it. I met someone when I was a sophomore at Braxton. He changed my life.” Gabriel finished his story, and when it ended, I was proud of my little brother.

  After a few weeks of hanging out with the guy between classes or during meals, Gabriel knew his old life was about to end. The guy was transferring to Penn State and wanted Gabriel to come with him. Gabriel applied and was granted the transfer, which is when our father also accepted the role of president at Braxton. Unfortunately, my brother's fling ended weeks later when the other guy's parents found out and sent their son off to some psychiatric institute for evaluation. Gabriel had gotten one last email before he disappeared, and while it devastated him, my brother knew he couldn't transfer schools on his own. He returned to Braxton, but our father wouldn't budge about giving up his new position. Gabriel didn't want to get special treatment if his father ran the college. In a last-ditch effort to work it out with him, Gabriel confessed his secret to our father and begged for the same opportunity to finish school like all his older siblings without any influence. They fought about it, and our father wanted to talk to our mother, but Gabriel wasn't ready to tell everyone else.

  “So, I took off. I made him promise to keep my secret, which he agreed to do since he didn't relinquish his new job. That's when I moved to San Francisco. It's where I thought I was supposed to go… until I got there. Let's just say it wasn't for me.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

  April was right. We did have similar mannerisms. “Why stay away for eight years?”

  “It's a difficult thing to go through, Kellan. At first, you think because you're different, there's something really wrong with you. Then you go through your own acceptance phase. Enough time went by that I was afraid to tell you guys. I liked my life. I grew up sheltered and quiet, almost as if I never had a chance to become me. It's no one's fault, but it happened.”

  Gabriel stuck it out for two years in San Francisco, earned his bachelor's degree in biology, then moved to Seattle and got a job in a pharmaceutical company. “I focused on my PhD, made good money doing construction work on the weekends
, and held a nine-to-five lab role weekdays. Everything was working out great.”

  “But now you're home again. Why?” I asked, wishing we'd known we were both living in California for all those years.

  “I don't want to talk about it. Something happened, I got angry. Can we just forget it for now?” Gabriel immediately changed topics noting he'd kept tabs on the family by reading local papers. “I'm sorry about Francesca, but I can't wait to meet Emma.”

  What was my brother hiding? I wanted to tell him the truth, but it wasn't the right time. “I think you'll be welcomed back with open arms. Seriously, everyone will be fine.” I explained how Wharton County and Braxton had become more open-minded and tolerant in the last few years, citing Ursula Power as the school's president. I hadn't heard a negative thing about her, which showed our growth.

  “That's what Sam tells me. He's a really honest, caring, and supportive guy. But we're taking it very slow,” Gabriel said, signaling the bartender for two more beers.

  By the time Gabriel and I finished talking about what'd happened to each of us since we'd last seen each other, it'd felt like old times. Part of me was concerned he still concealed something about his connection to George Braun, especially given how withdrawn Gabriel had become at several points in the conversation. We decided I would schedule a family dinner the following week where Gabriel would show up and attempt to reintegrate.

  “Where are you planning to live?” I asked my brother.

  “Not with Mom and Dad. I need my privacy. I was thinking about buying some land and building a house once I got a permanent job again,” Gabriel said as he swallowed the last of his beer and checked if I wanted another round.

  I looked across the bar as Cheney Stoddard hopped on a stool. “I do, but somehow I gotta get that guy to spill some secrets.” After explaining to my brother what I needed to know from Cheney, he offered to handle it.

  “Cheney can be a little rough and has been looking for a job. I think he's angry about the whole situation,” I said as my brother walked away and sidled up to the bar. A few minutes later, he bumped into Cheney causing the beer to spill out of his mug. I worried if my brother was about to start a brawl in the bar. I monitored the situation for at least ten minutes while they drank a couple of beers together followed by at least two shots of a clear liquid. When the two of them turned around and began walking toward the table, they laughed like they were lifetime friends.

  “Hey, Kellan, this is Cheney. Cheney, this here's my brother Kellan,” Gabriel said introducing the two of us like we hadn't already met earlier that week. “You called it, bro, I'm always causing accidents. I totally sideswiped him ordering more beers. I offered to buy him another, and we started chatting. Turns out today's his birthday.”

  Cheney said, “Yes, and I'm celebrating all alone. Did you know your brother's in construction? He knows of a possible job to help me out… hey… wait, don't I know you?”

  I adopted my brother's more relaxed, friendlier attitude, ignoring how much he'd probably already drunk. “Yeah, we do, this is too funny. I came to your restaurant for lunch this week. You're dating my friend, Helena. Such a small town!”

  Cheney clunked his beer on the table, sat across from me, and smacked his hand against his forehead. “Helena Roarke. That beautiful vixen is gonna be my downfall. You won't believe what she's doing to protect me this time. I could use some cool dudes to talk to about how screwed up my life is right now.”

  And just like that, my brother returned to town and busted open the best lead I had on the murder investigation. Wow, it felt good to be home again with Gabriel.

  Chapter 17

  Cheney finished his beer, summoned a waitress to order three refills, and pounded his fists on the table. “Ugh, did you ever live your whole life knowing something wasn't right? Then you find out it's all one big lie!”

  I emphatically agreed with him. “Not my whole life, but definitely a few of those years,” I said thinking about the last couple when Francesca was supposedly dead. Gabriel chimed in with similar woes, and we all commiserated for at least ten cathartic minutes. I didn't want to push Cheney, but the more he drank, the more he might reveal.

  After the waitress dropped off the newest round and took away the rest, Cheney's gaze widened and he whispered, “I can trust you guys, right?”

  I noticed Gabriel's previous glass had still been full when the waitress took it away, and his new one now had a clear liquid that I guessed was vodka. I leaned over to smell it. There wasn't any liquor in that glass. What was he up to? “Sure, of course, you can, Cheney.”

  Gabriel bugged his eyes out at me, then turned to Cheney and took a swig from his glass. “Totally. You were saying something about Helena, right?”

  “Yup.” Cheney belched and shook his head. “She's covering for me because of a stupid argument I had with someone.”

  “Is this about what happened in the library?” Out of the corner of my eye, while Cheney focused on telling me his story, I watched Gabriel pour my drink into an empty glass at his side. He dropped a ten-dollar bill next to it, and a minute later, the waitress came by to collect both the glass and the money. He hadn't been drinking anything since he bumped into Cheney at the bar. Gabriel was keeping us sober, so we could convince our new friend to talk.

  “Exactly. That dead guy… my mother knew him years ago. Twenty-five years today to be exact.”

  Oh, I knew what he was about to say next. My detective skills were becoming top-notch. “That's some weird stuff, man!”

  “Get this. He's my real father. He and my mother had some fling going years ago before he disappeared. So, she married the guy I thought was my father and has been keeping it a secret this whole time.” Cheney growled under his breath about all the disappointments in his life. “You think you can get me a job, so I can get outta this place?” he mumbled at Gabriel.

  “Yeah, I'll definitely try. I've got lots of contacts,” my brother replied as he took another swig from his water glass. He clinked Cheney's, encouraging him to finish his own. “Did the dead guy know he's your father?”

  I didn't exactly approve of Gabriel's ingenious plan to get Cheney intoxicated, but he'd probably have drunk this much on his own if he was by himself on his birthday. We'd be sure to hire a cab to get him home safely.

  “Not this whole time, but he found out last week.” Cheney swallowed the remains of his beer and waved for another before finishing his story. He'd overheard his mother talking to George one afternoon about giving birth to his son but thinking he'd been gone forever. Cheney wasn't aware George was really Hans Mück who hadn't been killed in the explosion. Cheney's impression from overhearing the conversation was that his mother had simply lost touch with his biological father and moved on.

  “I don't understand how Helena fits into this,” I inquired, knowing there was some connection, but perhaps it wouldn't be logical. Cheney wasn't the brightest guy I'd ever met.

  “Helena knows I confronted George in the courtyard. I'd found out the truth the day before the costume extravaganza and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't cut me any slack. That man originally promised me a construction job. When he found out who I was, he took it away.”

  “George didn't want to acknowledge you were his son?” Gabriel asked while swapping his drink again. My brother just realized George had hired him instead of Cheney to work on the cabin.

  “Nope. I told him we were both lied to and deserved a chance to get to know one another. We got into an argument when he told me to leave him alone and forget I ever found out the truth. I don't need another parent to tell me what to do. What a loser!”

  “Sorry, that's some dysfunction,” I said supporting the guy. “Did you tell all this to Helena? Is your real connection with George what she agreed not to share with the cops?”

  “Yep. She only told them about her disagreement in his room. Turns out, someone else overheard me tell Helena I wanted to teach George Braun a lesson and confessed to the cops what'd h
appened at the inn.” Cheney was getting too drunk to keep talking anymore. “I walked away!”

  Yuri was the person who saw George hassling Helena at the inn and Cheney subsequently defending his girlfriend's honor. Was she playing games in the background to cast suspicion in a different path? “No disrespect meant, but did you have anything to do with the guy's death?” I didn't get the vibe that he had, but without asking the question, I might've missed something valuable.

  Cheney stood up and flailed his arms around. “Hell no! I told that jerk he wasn't ever gonna be my father because I was too good for him. I grabbed him by that stupid costume to shut him up. That's when he showed me the knife he had in his pocket. I backed away. I wasn't stupid enough to take the risk he'd stab me. He was acting all sorts of crazy about the way I'd confronted him. I left the courtyard and went back to tend bar for the rest of the night.”

  Cheney leaned too far to the side, but Gabriel jumped up to catch him. Despite Cheney having at least forty pounds and five inches on my brother, Gabriel was able to hold him upright. “We need to get him in a cab,” Gabriel said.

  I nodded and was about to pull out my cell phone when a woman's voice scolded us. “Leave my brother alone. What's going on here?”

  Sierra Stoddard had shown up finally. Layers of curly ebony hair cascaded down her back with a large bunch pulled together at the top and wrapped in a tight bun. High, prominent cheekbones and a beauty mark just above her lip made her look mysterious and contemplative. She wore a mid-thigh black skirt, knee-high leather boots, and a gold-colored silk blouse mostly hidden by a trim business coat. In a way, she reminded me of what Francesca had looked like before the massive makeover.

  Cheney hugged his sister. “It's my birthday, sis, but I gotta use the little boy's room.”

  “Can't you wait, honey? I'll put you in the car and take you home,” Sierra pleaded as she swung a tiny beaded purse across her shoulders. It collided with a chunky necklace and made a popping noise.