Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m an idiot. My girlfriend says if I spent half the time thinking ahead than I do apologizing for not thinking, that I’d have time to read War and Peace .”

His girlfriend sounded like a smart woman. I was about to say so, when another thought caught at me. According to Kristen, Brad had worked for his dad for years. If anyone would know about employee issues, it was him.

Then again, Kristen had mentioned a huge argument between Brad and his father. She’d said it was five years ago, but the fight could have been the result of an issue that had been festering for a long time and maybe the fight hadn’t resolved whatever the problem was and Brad was still carrying a lot of anger toward his father and maybe that anger had gotten out of hand and . . .

I looked at Brad’s open countenance. Spinning out possible scenarios was easy. Proving they had any basis in fact was something else altogether.

“What do you think happened to your dad?” I asked.

“Who killed him, you mean?” His face went tight. “Who killed him and tried to get my sister blamed for it? Who’s trying to ruin her new business?”

His sister, I noted. Not his stepsister. And he seemed as angry about the damage to Leese as about the death of his father. Though I didn’t want to cast aspersions on the dead, I’d heard enough stories about Dale to think Brad wouldn’t take offense. “I hear your dad wasn’t the easiest employer to get along with. Do you think maybe someone he’d fired could have done it?”

Surprisingly, Brad grinned. “If the cops are looking at disgruntled employees, I’m probably the best candidate. The whole town knows about that huge fight we had.”

“Even I’ve heard about it,” I said, semiapologetically, “and it happened before I moved here.”

“Sounds about right. That fight had been a long time coming. I never wanted to be in the construction business. When you’re a kid you do what your dad tells you, and the whole time I was growing up, he kept saying I was going to work for him when I got old enough. So that’s what I did.”

“You didn’t like construction?”

“It was okay,” he said, shrugging. “But it was just a job. And working with my dad sucked. Having me taking over the business was his plan, not mine. I had to quit to get him to see it.”

Light dawned. “That’s what your argument was about.”

“I’d been telling him for days that I was hooking up with some guys who were starting a craft brewery. I kept saying what a great opportunity it was, going on and on about their business plan and projected growth and how important it was to be a part of the company from the beginning.”

“He didn’t catch on,” I said.

“I should have known better.” Brad grimaced. “Dad was never the kind of guy to take a hint. He probably knew what I wanted to do, he just wanted to make me say it straight out.” He half smiled. “Eventually I did. At the top of my lungs. On a Saturday. In the summer. While we were doing an emergency repair job for the Round Table.”

I blinked. “That’s a little . . .”

“Public?” he suggested. “Yeah, that’s what Leese and Mia said. I think part of me wanted it that way, though, so I couldn’t go back.”

I’d always heard you should never burn bridges when you left a job, but for Brad it sounded as if a scorched earth policy had been a necessity. “You’re still at the same brewery?”

His face lit up. “Absolutely. There’s this new recipe I’m trying. Flavorings of maple syrup and chocolate. What could be better, right?”

It sounded horrible, but then I wasn’t a big beer drinker. But I also didn’t see how a five-year-old argument that had ended with Brad in a career he clearly loved could also have caused him to kill his father.

I smiled and wished him well with his new beer. “Were there other guys who worked for your dad that might have . . . well, you know.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I don’t see it. What I can see is one of the guys blowing a gasket, killing dad in the heat of anger kind of thing, but not like this. Anyway, I can’t think of anyone who would go to the trouble of implicating Leese. I mean, how many people even knew she was back in the area?”

Hundreds, actually. She’d joined the chamber of commerce and was attending Rotary meetings, not to mention that article in the newspaper.

“None of your dad’s former employees were the kind of guys to carry a grudge?” I asked.

“Hard to say for sure.” He shrugged. “I just don’t see it.”

I wished I shared his conviction, but it was my feeling that hate-filled grudges could last a long time.

“Well,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I have to get to the brewery. I just wanted to stop by and say I was sorry that my mom socked you with all that work last night.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I watched him walk out and got the feeling that both he and Mia had probably done a lot of apologizing for their parents.

• • •

Ash’s mom, Lindsey, smiled across the table at us. “It feels as if it’s been ages since I’ve seen you two. Anything new?”

We were at the Three Seasons, sitting in what had been a parlor, back when the hundred-year-old building had been a luxurious summer residence for a wealthy family. Kristen herself had advised us on what to have for dinner, which in my case was more telling than advising. As long as whatever arrived didn’t have mushrooms, I was good.

“New?” Ash repeated. “I’ve been working the night shift. Do you really want to know what kind of thing goes on at two in the morning?”

His mother was a gorgeously elegant woman who made an extremely good living as a financial consultant. I had to keep reminding myself that there was no reason to be intimidated, and mostly the reminders worked.

Lindsay tipped her head to one side, considering her son’s question. “Probably not. Unless you have some amusing anecdotes you can share.”

“Nothing funny lately,” he said, glancing at me.

Lindsey noticed the look. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on right now?” she asked. “Or shall it wait until the salad course? Because I will find out, in spite of the fact that I was out of the country researching new investments for the last week and a half.”

“Just tell her,” I suggested.

“Nah.” Ash grinned. “Make her wait. It’ll be good for her and entertaining for me.”

“You are a horrible son,” Lindsey said. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

The horrible son’s dimpled smile bore a striking resemblance to his mother’s. “Nothing. It was sheer good luck.”

She paused, considering, then nodded. “Acknowledged, but the question remains. What’s going on?”

Before Ash could continue baiting his mother, I said, “There was another murder.”

“Oh, no.” Her face fell into sad lines. “How awful. Someone from around here? A tourist?”

I looked at Ash, because I had no idea whether or not Lindsey had known Dale. Was this going to be a shock that we should prepare her for? And how does one do that anyway?

“Dale Lacombe,” Ash said.

A variety of emotions passed over Lindsey’s face. Most of them I couldn’t catch, but I was confident of two. Surprise had been the first one, and finally resignation. Somewhere in there I thought I’d pegged satisfaction, but surely I was wrong about that.

“Well.” Her expressions settled back down. “Isn’t that interesting?”

I frowned. Her voice had been curiously flat. “It is?” I asked.

She flashed a short smile. “Hal Inwood and Ash are going to run themselves ragged trying to figure this one out.”