“Huh. Kayden asked me the same question.” I tilted my head. “Are you close to Bob? Sergeant Ackerman, I mean.”
“Nope. But Frank is.”
“Yes, exactly. Which is rather the point.” I folded my hands on the table. “We wouldn’t want there to be any suggestion of a conflict of interest. Bob knowing Frank personally makes it cleaner if someone else leads the investigation. Don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you other than Frank rode out on his horse and never came back.”
“Actually, before we get into all that, would it be possible to get the whole family together? It’d save me asking the same questions twice.”
“No. This is a working property. Everyone’s busy.”
“Of course. Sure.” I nodded like that was perfectly reasonable. “I’ve already spoken to Kayden anyway, so I know?—”
“You have?” Mitch’s eyes sharpened. “When?”
“When I first arrived.” I kept my tone breezy. “As I explained to him, I’ve been ordered by Senior Sergeant Ackerman to stay here until Frank is found. Alive or ...” I cocked my head. “Well. We don’t really want to think about the alternative just yet, do we? Rose has very kindly sorted out a guest room, so I’ll be here for as long as it takes.”
“All right.” Mitch stared at me for a long moment, then raised his hands like he was surrendering to something deeply irritating. “For Christ’s sake.” He shoved back his chair. “Let me find the others.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and the back-screen door banged open and slammed shut.
I let out a quiet breath and looked around the dining room.
A long timber dining table dominated the room, worn smooth by decades of use with seats for ten, though I knew for a fact there were only four Branson siblings. After I’d eaten dinner last night and packed my bag, I’d spent the rest of the evening pulling together everything I could find on the Bransons and Koolaroo. They had quite a history. Not all of it was good.
The only photo in the room hung above the sideboard. The yellowed picture was of Koolaroo’s founder, Augustus Frank Branson, standing rigid beside his wife and children. Poor things looked like death warmed up, hard times written all over their faces. Much like Frank Branson looked. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been walking out of Bob’s office, and his hard expression had told me the visit had not been friendly.
Come to think of it, I’d seen him do that many times. Why did he come to see Bob so often? I added that question to the list that had been mounting since I took this assignment yesterday.
For over a hundred years, this family had been on this land. History like that had a way of accumulating secrets, and skeletons, some that didn’t stay buried. From the police reports I’d pulled up last night, some of those skeletons had been very recent indeed.
Which had me thinking that maybe Bob sending me out here wasn’t the punishment it had first seemed. If there was one thing I was genuinely good at, it was digging into details until something shook loose. Scowling Mitch and cagey Kayden had absolutely no idea who they were dealing with.
In the corner, a grandfather clock with dust along the top stood silent, hands frozen at eleven forty-seven. It probably hadn’t ticked in years. Nobody had bothered to wind it, move it, or throw it out.
Felt about right for this place. Everything I’d seen since I’d arrived had that tired look about it. Some things were well past tired, like the clock.
Boots thumped down the hallway. I shuffled back to my seat and planted a smile on my face.
Declan Branson came in ahead of Mitch, looking like a man who’d been pulled away from something that had a strict deadline. I stood and offered my hand. “Hello, you must be Declan. Nice to meet you.”
He nodded and offered a slight smile. “You, too.” Declan was leaner than Mitch, with the slightly distracted air of someone whose brain was always analyzing the conversation behind the one happening in front of him.
He took the far end of the table. Mitch dropped back into the chair he was in earlier, and I had a feeling these men always sat in the same seats, making me wonder whose seat I was sitting in.
“Mitch said you’d already spoken to Kayden,” Declan said.
“Briefly, yes. When I first arrived.” I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. “Will he be joining us?”
“No idea. Couldn’t find him.” Mitch’s jaw tightened. I couldn’t tell if the frustration was aimed at his younger brother or me.
“And Cassidy?” I flipped my notebook open.
“Out for a morning ride. It’s just us.”
“Perfect.” I smiled at Declan and gave him a small wink. Out of the two, I figured he’d be the easier one to crack. “Let’s get started then, shall we? Tell me about the last time you each saw your father.”
I ran through the standard missing persons questions. Last confirmed sighting. His mood in the weeks before. His movements. Whether anything had seemed different. Their answers came back smooth and consistent, which told me exactly what I’d expected: they’d planned their answers before sitting down. The story had been agreed on. Not necessarily dishonest, but curated.
