My Brother's Keeper, Page 2
Abigail Roux
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My Brother’s Keeper | Abigail Roux
“Investigation?” Brayden echoed with a frown.
“If you’re not willing to cooperate,” Detective Walker
murmured in a low, growling voice, “we can make the club a
very unsavory place to spend time at this summer.”
Brayden blinked and then bit back the snarl the threat
almost elicited. “Detectives,” he gritted out, “we are, of
course, willing to cooperate with any investigation you deem necessary. But… he wasn’t murdered,” he protested with a
helpless little gesture of his hand. “He drank himself to
death. His heart and his kidneys gave out. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as all that, Mr. Bainbridge,”
Detective Morgan corrected gently. “Your father’s death was not due to natural circumstances, and we suspect the
perpetrator may have been one of your employees or guests.”
“What?” Addison blurted out as he stood up from the
ruffled and striped green and pink monstrosity upon which
he had been seated. “That’s preposterous; no one here could be a murderer! These are good people!”
“Sonny,” Brayden snapped as Addison’s voice
threatened to carry past the soundproofing of the world’s
most hideous wallpaper. There was also soundproofing in
the walls, but Brayden was nothing if not thorough.
Addison glared at him but remained silent, beginning to
pace restlessly instead.
Walker flipped open a little notepad and began scanning
handwritten notes in the ensuing silence, and finally he read 13
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what he’d been looking for. He looked up at Brayden and
asked, “When did your father begin drinking heavily?”
“I’m sorry,” Brayden asked with a hand held up, as if
asking for a timeout. “But what makes you think he was
murdered?”
“Mr. Bainbridge, please answer the question,” Walker
responded in a near monotone.
“It was about two months ago,” Addison interjected. “He
started showing up to events drunk; slurring his speech and falling all over everything. Why?” he demanded.
“Did he exhibit signs of confusion?” Walker inquired
without answering any questions of his own.
“The only thing our father was ever confused about was
the difference between a bishop and a rook. Please answer
our questions,” Brayden demanded, getting angrier and
frustrated with their officious attitudes.
“I’m afraid we can’t divulge the particulars behind our
investigation as yet,” Morgan answered after a moment of
silence. “We’ll need to question all your employees who were working the party the night your father died.”
“Fine,” Brayden allowed with a dismissive wave of his
hand.
“And we would also like permission to exhume the
body,” Morgan added.
“No,” Addison said immediately.
Brayden looked at him in surprise as the two detectives
gave each other a pointed look.
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“I’m not going to bury him again,” Addison told them.
“You do your investigation or whatever, but you’re not
digging him up,” he stated defiantly.
Brayden gave the kid a closer look, seeing determination
that was rarely present in Addison’s eyes, and he remained
quiet because of it.
“Very well,” Morgan acquiesced. “I must warn you,
however, we may have to come back with a warrant.”
“You do that, then,” Addison responded with a nod.
“Until then, may he rest in fucking peace,” he spat, stalking out of the room and exiting with a resounding slam of the
door against the wall before anyone could reply.
Brayden watched him stride down the hallway toward
the reception area and then turned back to the two
detectives, completely mystified. “I apologize for my brother,”
he offered. “It’s been quite an emotional time around here. I hope you understand,” he said smoothly, finally hurtling
over the shock and turning on the ever-present inner switch that forced him to be an ever-gracious host.
“Of course,” Morgan answered with an ingratiating smile
of his own. “Can you tell us, Mr. Bainbridge, what the
Country Club of Coral Gables does with the five gallons of
ethylene glycol it orders every month?”
“With the what?” Brayden asked, nonplussed and a bit
thrown off by the sudden change in questioning.
“Ethylene glycol,” Detective Walker answered with a
smug smirk. “Antifreeze, Mr. Bainbridge.”
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Brayden blinked at the man and cocked his head.
“Well,” he started slowly, “I would assume we use it to keep shit from freezing,” he answered sarcastically.
“What is the size of the club’s motorcade?” Morgan
asked before Walker could respond.
“I’m not sure, right off hand,” Brayden answered
honestly. “There are a few dozen vans and utility trucks.
Several hundred golf carts and roughly a dozen of those
damn green all-terrain things. I can get the numbers for
you.”
“That would be very helpful,” Morgan replied with a nod.
“We’ll also need a list of everyone who was present the night your father died.”
“You mean at the party?” Brayden asked. “The people
who worked it?”
“And the club members present,” Walker added.
Brayden stared at them incredulously. “The guest list?”
he asked
“Yes, sir,” the two detectives answered simultaneously.
“Do you realize how many people that is?” Brayden
asked, aghast.
“I’m afraid we do, sir,” Morgan answered drolly.
“Or who that list will include?” Brayden added as his mind whirled through just how much family money these
two detectives were about to rifle through. “You don’t plan to question them all, do you?” he asked in horror.
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“I’m afraid we can’t say, Mr. Bainbridge. We will, of
course, attempt to remain subtle,” Walker responded
insincerely. “We’re also going to need to see where you store your automotive products. Today.”
“Right now,” Morgan added grimly.
“Of course,” Brayden murmured with one last shell-
shocked look at them both as he tried to process all they
were asking for. “Please follow me,” he requested as he
turned on his heel and headed out of the room.
They received several odd looks from the few members
of the club’s staff they passed as Brayden Bainbridge led
Detectives Morgan and Walker through the upper halls of the club. It was obvious from the stiff way Brayden held himself that he was not pleased, and it was obvious, too, that the
two men following in his wake did not belong in the club.
He asked them to wait in the antechamber of the private
office that was still filled with all of their father’s things while he went in to find the information they had requested.
Brayden looked around the antechamber f
or a wistful
moment, remembering all the times he and Addison had
been relegated to the old leather couch as punishment for
some youthful misdeed.
“Just a moment, gentlemen,” Brayden murmured to the
detectives as he shook off the memories and turned to the
office.
“What the hell, Brayden?” Addison demanded of him as
soon as he pushed through the heavy oak door and stepped
inside.
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It didn’t click closed behind him, but Brayden was too
distracted to pay much attention to it. He had expected
Addison to be skulking in their father’s office. His office, rather. But he hadn’t quite expected Addison to be in his
face as soon as he stepped through the door.
“Calm down,” he urged quietly as he went to the huge
desk in the center of the room.
“No, no. Why are they here?” Addison asked with a
random point in the general direction of the door. “Why are they saying that Father was murdered?”
“Sonny, just be calm, okay?” Brayden hissed. He was
distantly impressed with himself, with how much better he
was handling this conversation than the last one they’d had regarding their father’s death.
He moved toward the desk and shushed his brother as
he thought of how easy it was to hear what they were saying.
He and Addison had always been able to hear his father’s
arguments with his various girlfriends through the air vent that connected the office to the private antechamber. His
father had never known, and it was one of the first things
Brayden planned to have fixed after this was over.
“I don’t know what information they’re going on,” he told
Addison. “But they’re asking very specific questions, and
since they’re not going to find anything, they’ll be gone soon.
Just… hey, why don’t you take a vacation or something,
huh?” he suggested distractedly as he thumbed through a
file, looking for the numbers the detectives had requested.
“What?” Addison snapped, looking at Brayden in horror.
“You want me to pick up and leave after being questioned by 18
My Brother’s Keeper | Abigail Roux
the police about the possibility of my father’s murder?” he asked in a high-pitched voice that wavered incredulously.
“Jesus, Brayden, if you want the inheritance I’ll give it to you, but don’t send me to jail!” he shouted sarcastically.
Brayden looked up with a blink and shook his head.
“Christ, you’re right,” he muttered. He set the file down and pushed away from the antique teak desk. “Sorry,” he offered weakly as he walked over and put his arm around Addison’s
shoulder to calm him.
Addison huffed in return and crossed his arms over his
chest, his jaw setting defiantly.
“It’ll be okay, little brother,” Brayden soothed with a pat to Addison’s arm. “We’ll just have to give them whatever they ask for and make sure they’re gone before anyone starts
getting wind of trouble.”
“If it gets out that they even think Father was murdered, the whole place will implode,” Addison responded grimly as
he shook off Brayden’s hand and began to pace.
“We just won’t let that happen then, will we?” Brayden
murmured.
“SETH, isn’t it?” Brayden called to a short, scruffy man in khaki shorts and sunglasses who was shoveling a load of
bright white rocks out of the back of a club car into an
empty flower-bed.
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The man started violently when he saw Brayden
approaching and quickly reached up to his ear to dislodge an ear-bud that was attached to a small MP3 player.
“Yes, sir,” he answered as he set the end of his shovel
on the ground and straightened up. He glanced from
Brayden to the two men who flanked him and licked his lips
nervously.
Brayden knew it was always a fright for a club employee
to see the bossman with a uniform or with anyone even
resembling a cop. There was never any telling which little
rich girl had called foul for no other reason than to fuck with the locals or which bitter old widow had made an advance
and been rebuked only to scream that her pearls had gone
missing.
Then there were the occasional few employees who
ended up being led away in handcuffs, but Brayden and his
father had always managed to keep those incidents quiet.
“You do some work with the motorcade, yes?” Brayden
asked Ramirez curtly, looking down at the rocks with a
frown as he removed his own sunglasses.
“No, sir,” Ramirez answered as his eyes darted to the
cops one more time. “You’re looking for Mr. Grace, sir. Is
there a problem, sir?” he asked worriedly.
“These gentlemen need to see our… what was it again?”
Brayden asked in annoyance as he turned around to the
detective beside him and waved a hand for assistance.
“Ethylene glycol,” Morgan supplied.
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Brayden nodded and looked back to Ramirez. “Can you
take care of that for me, or do you need to find Mr. Grace?”
he asked in a tight voice.
“You’ll need to get into the storage shed, sir,” Ramirez
answered immediately as he reached for the two-way radio
on his belt. “I’ll call Mr. Grace for you, sir,” he said smartly, obviously relieved that he would no longer be needed. He
pushed a button and put it to his mouth. “Hey, Daniel? Mr.
Bainbridge needs you at the back shed,” he said into the
radio, his eyes on Brayden and the detectives.
Brayden could hear a little voice responding
unintelligibly.
Ramirez put the two-way radio back to his lips, his eyes
still on them as if they might attack him if he looked away, and he answered Daniel Grace’s question with a muttered, “I would think right now.”
BRAYDEN stood off to the side, watching worriedly as the
police questioned the head of his maintenance staff. Daniel Grace, a wiry blond who had the unnerving habit of meeting
your eyes when you spoke to him and never looking away,
stood answering the questions the two detectives asked with curt nods and precise, one-word answers.
Brayden was frowning unconsciously. He had his head
cocked to the side, straining to hear and watching out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t make out any of the questions 21
My Brother’s Keeper | Abigail Roux
or answers, but he was wildly curious as to what Daniel was saying to the two detectives to make them look so annoyed.
As he struggled to overhear the conversation, he caught
sight of Addison moving through the shade of the palm trees that lined a nearby service path. Addison being in the
vicinity of the two detectives made him very twitchy. His
brother was, in a word, volatile.
He cleared his throat and shifted nervously, looking
back at the detectives as Daniel stood in front of them like a brick wall and stared at them expressionlessly. His back was ramrod straight, his feet were set a shoulder’s width apart, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked like an Army drill sergeant. It would have been am
using to watch
the little interrogation if Brayden hadn’t been so tense. He wondered what they were making of Daniel Grace’s body
language.
He glanced back at the path. It was a service path,
hidden with strategic landscaping and fencing. Addison
stood off to the side in the shade of the palm trees with his arms crossed, frowning as he watched the detectives through the palms.
Brayden began to amble his way over to his brother.
“What are you doing?” he asked softly, barely moving
his lips as he slid up to stand beside Addison.
“Observing,” Addison snapped quietly. “What the hell
are they doing? What are they looking for? Have they told
you anything yet?”
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Brayden shook his head, opening his mouth to answer
and then closing it again when no answers came
immediately to mind. Detective Walker glanced over at them, raising an eyebrow as they spoke.
The radio at Addison’s belt crackled with static. Then
Micah Parrish’s voice spoke questioningly. “Sonny?” he
ventured, sounding worried. “They’re looking for your
brother all over the place. Some of the guests—”
Addison snatched the radio from his belt and put it to
his mouth, his eyes never leaving the detectives. “Take care of it, Micah,” he said quietly, his voice low and serious.
Brayden did a double take, looking at his brother as if
he had never seen him before. He had never heard Addison
use that tone of voice with anyone, much less someone he
considered a friend.
“What?” Micah responded with a squeak in his voice.
“But—”
“Micah,” Addison snapped quietly. “Take care of it.”
“I’m the fucking tennis pro, Sonny,” Micah hissed,
sounding as if he were trying not to be heard by those
around him. “I don’t take care of members with problems
unless it’s an ugly backhand!”
Addison clicked the radio off and slid it back onto its
clip with a sigh. He turned and looked at Brayden blankly.
“I’ll escort the dicks around,” Brayden murmured to
him. “Go take care of our members,” he urged softly.
Addison’s jaw tightened and he turned his body slightly to
