Page 11 of Oleander

“It’s hard to tell if there are additional footprints. It rained last night. I’m sure Luke and the boys will look for any evidence. I’m sorry, brother. I know she was a good friend to you.”

“She was the best,” he nodded. “In a lot of ways she reminded me of my granny. But Dorothy was kinder, more caring than my granny.”

It was another week before they all appeared before a judge to validate the reading of the will. Sira and Jill stood up for Roderick and represented the charities that Dorothy Martin had delegated in her estate.

“This is straightforward,” said the judge. “She was of sound mind and this has been notarized. I see no reason to stop any of her wishes from being executed.”

“No! That’s mine!” yelled Stuart Trager.

“Mr. Trager, your lawyer asked for this will to be reviewed and it has been. You have no rights to anything of Ms. Martin’s. Her will was legal, clear, and will be executed as such.”

“This can’t be,” he whispered, shaking his head. He sat back down, lowering his head to his clasped hands. Luke turned to the man, gripping a hand to the back of his neck.

“If I find out you had something to do with her death, we will see you again in this same courtroom,” said Luke. The judge pretended not to hear but hid the smirk on his face. Lord help the man if he was involved in any way.

“Please,” he begged, “you don’t understand.”

“Then explain,” said Rod staring down at him.

“Across the street. The café, we’ll talk there,” said Hex leading them out of the courtroom.

Roderick, Mike, Luke, and Hex followed the man, Sira and Jill with them all the way. When they got a table to hold them all, the man suddenly looked much older than his sixty years.

“Well? We’re waiting,” said Rod.

“I-I got into some gambling trouble. It was stupid but I owed a guy twenty million.”

“That’s not ‘some’ gambling trouble,” frowned Luke. “That’s a danger you can’t afford to have.”

“I know. I know that,” he said with a shaky voice. “I told them the old broad was rich and she was about to die.”

“Bullshit!” yelled Rod. “She was healthy as a horse. There was nothing that indicated she was about to die. That is, unless you’re the one that caused her death.” He was careful to not say ‘murdered her’, but he was damn tempted to say it.

“No! No, I just knew she was old and getting up there. She’d always said her stocks and shit would go to us when she died,” he cried in pitiful moan.

“They would go to her daughter,” said Sila. “My colleagues and I are the attorneys that wrote the will and filed it legally for her. When your wife died, that changed everything.”

“They’re going to kill me,” he cried.

“Not my problem,” said Rod. “You could have visited her. Come and seen her on the holidays, but you let her sit in that house all by herself and rot!” Rod stood, reaching across the table toward the man but he suddenly leaned back in his chair, falling backwards to the hardwood floor, his head hitting with a thud.

“Well, that was elegant,” frowned Luke.

“Wait,” said Mike. “He’s bleeding. From his chest.”

“Down!” yelled Cam to the entire restaurant. They hit the floors beneath the tables, the French doors surrounding the small café wide open as the fans ran on high. That’s why they hadn’t heard the bullet. Gun with a silencer and no glass.

Rod stared at the dead man, then looked up and down the street, high up to the buildings, not seeing anything. Eric let out a long slow breath.

“That’s two dead. Murdered. We’ve got ourselves a problem.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Sorry, boss. He was about to say something stupid,” said the man standing in front of him. “I had to shoot him.”

He was one of the best and knew when to kill and when to beat someone to the point that they wished they were dead. He nodded, flicking his fingers toward the door, basically excusing the man.

The leather desk chair gave a soft, expensive groan as Hollis Burton leaned back and stared through the tinted glass at the Gulf of Mexico.