Kathy Reichs - Virals

Busted.

My mind blanked.

“What are you doing here?” I babbled.

“What am I doing here? I live here.”

Chance stepped into the room. I tried to block his view of the cabinet, but splintered wood littered the catwalk and the carpet below. He couldn’t possibly miss it.

“If you’re asking why I’m home early, it’s because we lost this morning.” A frown replaced his look of confusion. “The others can watch the finals without me. I’m not interested.”

“You left Hannah there?” I was still in panic mode. How to play this?

As casual as possible, I strolled back down the catwalk, turned the corner, and moved toward the staircase.

“I dropped Hannah at home ten minutes ago.” Chance’s eyes tracked me. “Did you try to call? She left her phone in Jason’s car.”

Oops. Hadn’t thought of that one.

Chance crossed to his father’s desk, leaned against it. Folded his arms. From his new position, he’d be at the stairs well before I could reach the floor.

I stopped in the center of the catwalk, just above the hearth.

“Why are you up there?” Chance’s eyes flicked to the cabinet. “Why did you smash my father’s case?”

I should’ve made an excuse. Lied. Played dumb. Cried.

But my anger was hot to the touch. Hollis Claybourne was a monster, and his son was playing me.

“Just stop it, Chance.” My hands gripped the railing. “I know you’re full of shit. And now I have proof.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The upturned face darkened. “I tried to help you, little girl.”

“Help me?” I spat. “By lying? By treating me like a fool?”

“I told you everything I know.” The dark eyes said otherwise.

“Jimmy Newman?” I sneered. “Bullshit! Where’s your hired goon, Baravetto? Driving someone home?”

Wordlessly, Chance retraced his steps, closed the door, and threw the lock.

I was trapped.

Strolling to a chair, he sat and crossed his legs. His eyes rose again to my perch.

“What is it you think you’ve found?” The velvet tone was now cold steel.

“I know your father is a murderer.”

“How dare you!” Chance shot forward, but quickly regained his cool. “You’re lucky my father is in Columbia. God help you if he found you here.”

“What? He’d kill me too?”

Chance remained silent, but his top foot bounced, dancing the laces on his sneaker.

“I know about Cole Island,” I said. “The deal with Candela Pharmaceuticals. Your father murdered a girl named Katherine Heaton to protect his precious land sale.”

“You can’t prove that. It’s complete nonsense.” Chance pointed at the smashed cabinet. “And you’ve committed a felony. More than one.”

“Nonsense? Really?” I held up the dog tags.

The foot started winging double-time.

“And that’s not all.” I was on a roll. “I found Katherine Heaton’s journal. I know she discovered bald eagles on Cole Island. That’s why your father killed her.”

Chance’s lips drew into a thin, hard line. For a moment he was silent. Then, “You’re right. Congratulations.”

I was stunned. Chance was conceding that his father was guilty of murder. And admitting to his own knowledge of the crime.

“You already know the truth,” Chance said. “And you’re too smart to be tricked again. So why bother? I admit it. The old bastard killed the Heaton girl.”

“You knew about it?”

“He called me in here two weeks ago.” Chance glanced at the desk, as if imagining his father behind it. “Told me the whole story. The eagles. The sale. Some meddling girl he’d been forced to eliminate.” Chance shook his head. “He was so nonchalant. Matter-of-fact. Heaton’s death meant nothing to him. It was incredible.”

“But why kill her?” My voice cracked. “She was only sixteen.”

“Cole Island was all my father had left.” He laughed mirthlessly. “He’s a terrible investor. By 1969 the family fortune was gone, and he was up to his ears in debt. Only the Claybourne name was keeping the creditors away.”

“That hardly justifies murder.”

“My father claims it was an accident. ” Chance avoided looking at me. “That he didn’t mean to kill her.”

“And you believe him?”

“Not for one second.”

“Then why cover for him?”

“Heaton should not have been there!” Chance’s fist slammed the arm of his chair. “Cole Island was private property. Our property. If she’d reported the eagles, it would’ve killed the sale. My father couldn’t allow that. Too much was at stake.”

“He could have tried other things,” I said. “Maybe the birds could’ve been relocated.”

Chance shook his head. “The publicity would’ve forced Candela to back out. There would have been no cash and no position for my father. Our whole future depended on that sale.”

I looked down in disgust. “So it was all about money?”

“My father would’ve been forced to sell Claybourne Manor!”

“So?”

“ So? ” Chance looked up, appalled. “A Claybourne has owned this house since the Civil War. It belongs to us, and no one else. We could never sell it. We’d be disgraced!”

For the first time, I was seeing the true Chance. It sickened me.

“Money isn’t everything,” I said.

Chance laughed bitterly. “Have you even met my father? He’d never take a downgrade. He’d rather die than live a middle-class life.”

“You’re revolting!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You approve of what he did.”

“Watch your mouth.” Chance jabbed a finger in my direction. “I’m not my father. I’m nothing like him.”

“That’s crap. You’re helping Hollis get away with murder.”

Chance nodded. “These things happened when my father was twenty-four years old. One day he’ll answer for his actions. But done is done. I have no intention of losing my inheritance because of events that took place before I was born.”

“Then you’re just like him,” I said.

“Coming from you, that hurts.”

“Go to hell!” My blood boiled. “You’ve been playing me this whole time. Pretending to worry about me. Calling me the prettiest girl in the room. Please. You never cared about me. You manipulated my feelings to protect yourself.”

Chance shrugged. “And it worked.”

“You lied to me.”

“So I gave you a fake name,” he said airily. “You had my driver’s fingerprints. What was I supposed to do?”

“But why have him follow us in the first place?”

“We have a mole at the public library. He tipped my father to your research on Heaton. Hollis sent Baravetto to determine exactly what you’d learned.”

A mole at the library? That weasel Limestone!

“Of course, Hollis didn’t share any of that with his son.” Chance’s jaw muscles bunched. “God forbid he confide in me before confiding in my driver.”

“But he did tell you,” I said. “You’re just as guilty as he is.”

“Only when he had to. When Baravetto reported back, my father got nervous. Guess he decided I was man enough to dig up a skeleton. Otherwise, he’d have kept me in the dark.”

“Poor baby,” I mocked. “Sorry about your daddy issues.”

Chance glared. Then smirked. “Your stolen laptop story fooled me, you know. I didn’t guess what you were up to until I saw the report.” He waggled a finger. “Very clever.”

“This isn’t a joke!” I shouted. “You tried to kill me that night on Loggerhead.”

“Kill you? Hardly. I shot way over your head.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“It’s true. My father ordered me to recover the skeleton. Nothing more. You happened to be there, so we had to scare you off.” The nervous foot was pumping again. “I couldn’t believe you’d already found the bones. Good thing we didn’t wait another night. Thanks, by the way.” The famous Chance wink. “You saved us hours of digging.”