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Beckett exchanged looks with Lucien and waited for the nod to proceed. A few minutes later, he eyed Chad. “Why don’t we plan on getting together later? Your cabin, or mine, doesn’t matter to me. Let’s have a drink to celebrate our newfound brotherhood. I’ll bring the whiskey. You drink whiskey, don’t you?”
“A good sherry would be better,” Chad suggested, finishing his third glass of wine. “Tell me, Julian, does anyone know you made the trip here? I mean, anyone in your immediate circle?”
“Nope. Why?”
“Just wondering. Do you have a will drawn up? You really should make a will, especially with a real estate asset such as your house.”
“Uh, no,” Beckett answered, glancing up at Lucien. “I’m still young; I haven’t even hit forty yet. There’s plenty of time for wills. But Lucien tells me there’s this trust fund on the table. Thanks to dear old Dad, I might be looking at coming into some serious money.”
Chad threw a nasty look toward Lucien. “What are my accommodations like?”
“You’re in Cabin Number Five, the nicest suite available,” Lucien answered. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you the way.”
“And Julian?”
“Don’t worry. We put Julian next door in Cabin Number Six. It’s less than thirty yards away from your front door. That way, you guys can visit all night if you want.”
“What about Samson?”
“Your driver is staying in one of the rooms upstairs. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine,” Chad replied, growing weary of the situation. He stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, and wobbled to the bar. “I’ll take a bottle of your best sherry for later—the one from Spain if you have it. It’s liquid sunshine in a glass. Be sure to put that on Lucien Sutter’s bill. Will you do that?”
“Sure, if it’s okay with Mr. Sutter. It’s two hundred and fifty dollars a bottle.”
“That’s fine,” Lucien acknowledged, eager to get the pompous bigwig settled into his cabin.
Chad turned to walk out of the dining room, holding the bottle of liquor close to his chest. At the last moment—before reaching the reception area—he seemed to remember Julian and backtracked to the table. “Come to my cabin in an hour. We’ll sort out this brotherhood business.”
“I’d love to know more about Anna and Matthew,” Beckett tossed out, forcing Chad to digest the names. “You haven’t said a word about them. What were they like?”
“Anna was a self-centered bitch, who only cared about herself, screwed anything in pants, and couldn’t decide if she wanted to stay married. Matthew was a boozehound who frittered away his money on gambling and hookers. I don’t think you missed knowing them.” Disgust in his eyes, anger on his lips, he pivoted toward Lucien. “Don’t bother showing me the way. I’m sure Samson will get me there.”
They watched him toddle out the double doors and into the night, with Samson dutifully following.
“You did great,” Lucien whispered, looking at Beckett. “You needled him just enough to get under his skin until he lost it at the end.”
“Yeah, but what a piece of work,” Beckett exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair. “How would you like to havethatfor a brother?”
Birk stood up to look out the window and watched the mighty producer disappear behind the trees. “That guy is hiding much more than Anna and Mack’s murders. You realize that if he also killed Matthew—and by that, I mean he pushed his brother off that balcony—he’s a serial killer and has probably done this to anyone who got in his way since 2002.”
“Fascinating,” Jade muttered. “This would make a great subject for a blog post next month. The question is, did this Samson driver help him since becoming his loyal employee in 2010?”
Brogan noticed Kelly was too quiet. “What’s wrong?”
“I kept watching those dead eyes of his while Beckett pushed him to the breaking point. I sincerely believe that man has the capability of murdering anyone all by himself. He doesn’t need an ounce of help from anyone else. And Beckett isn’t done confronting him yet. I wouldn’t eat or drink anything he offers you.”
“I’m not planning on letting my guard down, so stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
The fog spilledover the woods in hazy, murky clouds of greenish gray. The heavy pea soup had all but obliterated the mountains to the east.
An hour had passed since Chad made his scene-stealing exit from the main lodge. Inside Cabin Number Six, Beckett paced the floor—up and down, up and down—his big boots caused the old wood to creak.
Making the guy wait was part of the plan; the longer, the better. But the delay was beginning to drive him up the wall. He wasn’t a patient man even at twenty. Getting older hadn’t mellowed him out, especially on a mission, stuck now in a holding pattern. He understood the tactic—throw the enemy off his game by controlling the time clock—but it didn’t make it any easier.
The two men hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, so Beckett was surprised when his phone dinged with a text message.
Where are you?
