Found Money - James Grippando [109]
“Don’t try to hide behind Sarah.”
“I’m not hiding. Not anymore. Meet me at her house. Then Sarah, you, and I will discuss this. Like a family.”
“Or what’s left of it.”
“Please, son. See me on this.”
A bitterness swelled from deep within—but he swallowed it. “All right, Mom. I’ll see you there.”
50
Ryan took the long way home, down the lonely gravel side roads he’d discovered years ago as a boy on a bicycle. It wasn’t a shortcut by any means. It was a detour that would keep him from coming upon the scene of the crime on Highway 287. He assumed the police would already be there. After the promise to his mother, he didn’t want to be tempted to stop and say something he might regret.
He drove faster than he should have, kicking up loose gravel that pelted the floorboards. Scattered potholes made the largely one-lane road even more treacherous. A few bumps were so big they brought his chin to his chest. It was a jarring ride at such high speed, almost like off-road. A sane driver would have slowed down. But not Ryan, not tonight. The bumps, the jolts, the disoriented sensation—it was a perfect complement to the jumbled thoughts in his present state of mind.
In all the confusion, the thought of Brent lying dead on the highway was foremost in his mind. He was no fan of his brother-in-law, especially after his testimony this morning. Still, the very thought of money in the attic leading to murder in the family was unsettling. He wondered what Liz would think. He could only imagine what her lawyer might make of it. Even without the gun and the audiotape Kozelka might use to frame him, Jackson was bound to point the finger at Ryan. Who else had such obvious motive?
Perhaps he even deserved some blame. Fact was, Brent was dead because Ryan had threatened Kozelka. That made him feel guilty in a way, mostly because of all the times in years past he had wished Brent were gone. Now he was.
The long dirt road fed into the highway near an old barn and wind-ravaged silo. Ryan steered onto the pavement without slowing down, reaching Sarah’s house in record time. The truck skidded to a stop in the driveway, and Ryan jumped out. The porch light was on, brightening the rain-slicked path to the front door. He didn’t bother to knock. The door was unlocked.
“Mom?” he said as he entered the living room.
“In here.” The reply had come from the kitchen.
Ryan hurried inside. His mother was seated at the kitchen table. Sarah was a lump in the chair right beside her, leaning on her like a grieving widow. Ryan saw sadness in his sister’s eyes. Slowly, it turned to rage.
“Oh, Ryan,” she said with contempt. “How could you?”
“How could I what?”
“I’m giving birth next month. How could you do this to my husband?”
“I didn’t do anything to Brent.” He looked at his mother, pleading. “Mom, tell her.”
“I did,” said his mother.
Sarah scoffed. “Framed? Right. I don’t believe it for one second. Brent told me everything before he went to court this morning. He was afraid you might retaliate. But neither one of us ever imagined this.”
“Look, I don’t know what Brent told you, but—”
“He told me that you called him from Panama and asked him to beat up Liz’s lawyer. He wouldn’t do it, so you hired some thug.”
“He said the same thing in court. It’s a lie.”
“Did you hire the same guy to kill my husband, Ryan? Or did you do this job yourself?”
“Sarah, I had nothing to do with Brent’s murder.”
“It all goes back to that night Brent asked you for some money at Mom’s house. You went berserk and started burning it. You almost killed him then. Mom says you even had Dad’s gun that night. You tried to hide it when she walked in, but she saw it. You were gunning for Brent!”
“I didn’t kill Brent, so just shut the hell up!”
Sarah leaned into her mother, crying. Jeanette pulled her daughter close to console her, then looked at Ryan. “We all need to just calm down before we say things we don’t mean. Let’s get a good night’s sleep and talk about