There was no one there but himself. And he could see his own breath in the chill that had yet to fade out of the air.
“Son of a bitch.” He scooped a hand through his hair. “Son of a goddamn bitch.”
She’d used ketchup—at least he hoped it was that benign condiment rather than the blood it resembled—to write her message on the wall.
I will not rest
He studied the mess. “You’re not the only one.”
six
MITCH ADJUSTED HIS glasses and looked more closely at the photographs. Harper had been thorough, he thought, getting pictures from every angle, taking close-ups and wide angles.
The boy had a steady hand and a cool head.
But . . .
“You should’ve called us when this happened.”
“It was one in the morning. What was the point? This is what it looked like.”
“What it looks like is you pissed her off. Any ideas?”
“No.”
Mitch spread the photos out, adjusting their order, while David looked over his shoulder. “You clean that shit up?” David asked Harper.
“Yeah.” Temper seemed to vibrate off the blades of his tensed shoulders. “She got every damn dish in the place.”
“No great loss there. They were ugly anyway. What are those?” David snatched one of the pictures up. “Twinkies? What are you, twelve? Harper.” His face a picture of pity, David shook his head. “I worry about you.”
“I happen to like Twinkies.”
Mitch held up a hand. “Snack choices aside—”
“Twinkies are bombs of sugar and fat and preservatives.” Interrupting Mitch, David tried for a pinch at Harper’s waist.
“Cut it out.” But the move, as designed, pushed a little humor through the wall of Harper’s temper.
“Girls,” Mitch said mildly. “To get back to the matter at hand. This is another change of pattern. She’s never, to your knowledge, come into the carriage house, or caused you any particular trouble.” He looked to Harper for confirmation.
“No.” A glance at the photos he’d taken brought back the shock, the fury, and the time it had taken to deal with the destruction. “And this is a hell of a debut.”
“Your mother’s going to have to know about this.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Still steaming, Harper paced to the back door, scowled out at the morning haze. He’d waited, deliberately, until he’d seen his mother head out for her morning run. “I value my life, don’t I? But I wanted us to go over this first, before we bring her into it.” He glanced up at the ceiling, where he imagined Hayley was getting started on the day. “Or any of them.”
“Strategizing to protect the womenfolk?” David said in an exaggerated drawl. “Not that I don’t agree, son, but Roz isn’t going to care for that.” He jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “She won’t either.”
“I don’t want them going postal over it, that’s all. If we could downplay it some. It was just dishes and kitchen crap.”
“A personal attack, Harper, not on you but on your property, in your home. That’s how it is, and that’s how they’ll see it.” Mitch waved a hand at him before he could speak. “We’ve dealt with worse, all of us, and we’ll deal with this. The important thing is to figure out why it happened.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s crazy,” Harper snapped back. “That might be a small, contributing factor.”
“Takes after his mama when he’s riled up,” David offered. “Mean and stubborn.”
“I’ve noticed. She’s been seen walking in the direction of the carriage house in the past.” Mitch leaned a hip on the table. “You saw her yourselves when you were kids. We can assume she did, at some point in her life, go there. We can assume it was after Reginald Harper brought their love child here to pass him off as his legitimate heir.”