“I know why you’re here.” Uncle Joe eyes me.
He’s thinking about the midnight visit I made to him a few days ago.
“About Dad,” I say. “We want to find out who shot him.”
Uncle Joe nods, seeming to understand. “And you don’t trust the police to get the job done.”
“I just think we, as a family, may have resources the police don’t.”
“We do. I’ve already been talking to some of the people on our payroll.”
“And…?” I cock my head toward Brock.
Has Uncle Joe told his son his theory that he, not my father, was the target of the shooting? I’m not sure, and I can’t get a good read on Uncle Joe. He’s always a hard one to pin down…until he goes red.
Uncle Joe pulls himself out of the pool, sits on the concrete, his feet dangling in the water. “Hand me my towel, will you, Brock?”
“Sure, Dad.”
Brock, with dark hair and eyes, looks exactly like Uncle Joe. Right down to the muscular swimmer’s body. Bradley, Joe’s older son, has the dark hair but the green eyes of his mother, Aunt Melanie.
Uncle Joe towels off as I pull up next to him and push my hair back.
“Sit down, Brock, if you want to be a part of this,” Uncle Joe says.
“A part of what?”
“We’re going to find out who shot my brother and make sure he pays.”
“Dad, I want to put the guy away as much as the rest of you, but—”
“Then stay out of it, son,” Uncle Joe says. “Go inside.”
“Stay out of it? Are you serious? I love Uncle Tal. We all do.”
“Your mother would kill me for dragging one of her precious babies into this,” Joe says.
“But she’ll be okay with you dragging her precious nephews into it?”
Brock has a point. Both Dale and I are very close to Aunt Mel. She saw to our therapy when we first came to Steel Acres. She and Dale are even closer than she and I are.
“Touché,” Uncle Joe says.
“And with all due respect,” Dale adds, “Donny and I are already in.”
“Sit down then, Brock.” Uncle Joe nods to the white wrought-iron table that sits poolside. “We’re about to go on a manhunt to end all manhunts.”
A manhunt to end all manhunts. I glance at my brother. His eyes are narrowed, focused, and angry. He’s with Uncle Joe all the way.
I’m all in too, of course, but has Dale forgotten that we have other things to dive into as well? Say…like whatever else is hidden in Murphy’s Bar?
Joe rises and takes a seat at the table. “Come on. Let’s get to it.” Uncle Joe sends a text, and within a few minutes, his housekeeper brings bottled water, wine, and a martini—Uncle Joe’s favorite.
“Don, Brock, you want something different?”
“I’ll stick with water,” I say.
“I’ll have some of Dale’s wine,” Brock says.
“Good enough. Thank you, Patrice.”
“Not a problem.” Patrice walks back to the house and enters, leaving the four of us alone under the setting sun.
We’re heading into November, and a chill spikes the air. Uncle Joe has heaters set up around the pool, though, so we’re comfortable.
“Son,” Uncle Joe says to Brock, “Dale, I’ve already enlightened Donny with my theory. Well, Ryan’s and my theory. We think I was probably the target of the gunman.”
Brock’s jaw drops. “You? Why?”
“We’re not sure why, but Talon and I look very much alike, and Talon was on the north quadrant property, where he almost never goes but where I am on the daily.”
“Still, that doesn’t—”
Uncle Joe interrupts Brock with a hand gesture. “Talon doesn’t know this theory, and we’re leaving him in the dark until he’s fully recovered.”
Dale furrows his brow.
“You don’t agree, Dale?” Uncle Joe says.
“No, I do agree. I just don’t like keeping things from my father.”
“I get it. I don’t like keeping things from my brother.” Uncle Joe clears his throat. “But we all want him fully recovered before we bring him into this.”
“Why would anyone want to shoot you, Dad?” Brock asks.
“The Steels have all kinds of enemies,” Uncle Joe says. “We have for nearly a half century.”
“Enemies?” Brock drops his jaw once more. “Why would we have any enemies?”
Dale and I say nothing.
Brock, who’s very observant—part of why he’s so great with the ladies—notices right away. “The two of you don’t look overly surprised.”
“Dale,” I say, “shouldn’t we confer—”
“No, Donny. Let’s let him in.”
Okay. Then he can’t be angry at me for letting Callie in. Or can he? Brock is a member of the family. Callie is not. Though I sincerely hope she will be someday. In the immediate future, though, I have to deal with this other bullshit before I can begin a life with the woman I love.
“Okay, Brock,” I say, “here goes.”
Chapter Fourteen
Callie
I’m numb.
Numb, except for my heart, which is racing like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby.