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“I don’t know yet. I have to locate the right Bryan Sutherland first. I’m also thinking about tracking down all the kids in Trey’s circle, including Benji Pearson. Talking to the kids ourselves means we cover the bases, don’t leave any loose ends dangling.”
“Something bothers me. According to Susan, Trey belonged to a tight-knit group of kids. Could his friends have done something to him? Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.”
“That’s why I said it’s too early to speculate. We have a lot of digging to do—which is why I’m considering a new direction, asking Birch Callahan to help us with background checks. How do you think Jack would take that?”
“I don’t know. But Maeve has hinted she wants to use this time in her life to travel more. Has Jack ever said anything to you about retiring and traveling?”
“Once or twice. But that was months ago. If he was serious about it, I figured Jack would have sold his business by now. But he did seem reluctant to take on this twenty-year-old case. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about diving into the Dolworths’ background like he usually does.”
“Look, it’s silly to wonder. The only way to know what’s going on is to ask them point-blank. In the meantime, getting Birch and Beckett involved wouldn't hurt. You’re about to hire them anyway to use the ground-penetrating radar. So why not bring them on board for a more detailed job.”
As soon as they pulled up to the house, Brogan groaned and pointed to the black GMC Yukon parked in the driveway. “Any bets who that is?”
“Are you kidding? I’m surprised he waited this long to show up. How do my parents do it? For two people who claim they never talk to each other, how do they always manage to know what’s going on?”
“Oh, they talk. They want you to think they don’t.”
“Makes you long for the days when they were estranged,” Lucien mumbled, holding up his phone. “Graeme sent me sixteen text messages this afternoon. He’s livid about Mother getting me involved with Pollock. Hard feelings don’t die off in my family. We don’t let them. We keep stirring the pot.”
“You knew it was coming,” Brogan grunted. When the Yukon’s back door flew open, she let out a sigh. “The nature of the fireworks will tell us how mad your father is.”
Sure enough, as soon as Brogan killed the engine on the Range Rover, Graeme Sutter—the lead guitarist for Indigo and the singer Rolling Stone magazine dubbed a rock legend—popped out of the backseat bringing a solid wall of attitude with him.
Loud and belligerent, the pillar of rock and roll had sussed out his enemy. Screaming in Lucien’s direction in his most obnoxious British voice, the thin, aging rocker bellowed, “Are you out of your mind, mate? You know how I feel about that worm Chad Pollock. Decades don’t change a slimeball into a human being. Why would you take a case knowing how I feel about this sad excuse for a man? Why would you give him that kind of attention?”
“I thought I was doing Mom a favor.”
Graeme rolled his eyes skyward. “Blast that woman. She did this on purpose. Your mother never passes up a chance to stick it to me. Any chance this bloke falls on his arse soon?”
“There’s always a chance,” Lucien returned, trying to sound optimistic. “But I don’t think Mom’s involvement was personally aimed at you. She bumped into him at a party. Chad approached her. If you calm down, I’ll explain the rest over a cup of tea.”
“Tea, my arse. I want bourbon, straight up, no ice.”
Lucien arched a brow and studied his father. He could tell his dad had already been sampling whatever liquor was in the SUV’s well-stocked bar. “I thought you were on the wagon.”
“Not anymore. Tour ended two weeks ago. I’m free to drink. No reason to deny meself a good time if that’s what I want to do. I don’t need a lecture from you, either.”
“Yeah, sure, getting blitzed is the answer to everything,” Lucien murmured under his breath. “Getting hammered always helps the situation.”
But Graeme was oblivious to the diss and the sarcasm. He finally spotted his daughter-in-law and tossed an arm around her shoulder. “Brogan, love, give us a kiss. How is my favorite girl?”
“I’m good,” she said, letting herself get bear hugged. “How are you? Other than mad as a hornet?”
“I’ll listen to Lucien’s version of the story. But I don’t want him using the man’s name in my presence. That dodgy two-bit prat wanted to drop us because our album didn’t go platinum. Indigo. He wanted to toss Indigo to the curb. Imagine that. He’s not even a good record producer. He’s a smarmy used car salesman, he is. He wouldn’t know good music if it bit him in the arse. Even now, he’s back to promoting talentless hacks with less singing ability than a farm goat.”
“And the entire band has never forgiven him for trying to dump them,” Brogan returned as Graeme continued to rant all the way to the front porch.
Lucien and Brogan traded exasperated looks as Graeme disappeared beyond the front door, still airing his moody wrath and leaving them standing next to the SUV.
She looked over at her pups. Stella and Poppy were cowering next to each other, their bodies trembling where they stood. “You’ve got to do something about Graeme’s mood. He’s scaring the dogs.”
Lucien scooped up Poppy and rested his hand on Stella’s head to steady the greyhound. “Do me this one favor. I’ll unload the bike and take it around to my workshop. You go try to entertain Sir Grips-A-Lot. At the moment, he likes you better than me.”
Brogan chuckled and took Poppy out of his arms. She tried to comfort Stella by bringing the greyhound closer. “You’re giving me too much credit. Nobody stops your dad from offering his opinion about anything, least of all Kate and now, Pollock. Does your family ever get along with anybody without turning it into an overblown soap opera?”
“Oh, come on, you know as well as I do that the Sutters thrive on hyped-up drama. What else is there but equal parts ego and narcissism?”
“I’m not sure you’re talking about Graeme or Kate.”
