Disputed: A Ryn Davis Mystery (Ryn Davis Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  Jealousy is so becoming. Dammit. He released the tension in his jaw and rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t jealous. Uncle Bill was his only living male relative. Ryn Davis held the power to break the old man’s heart.

  She pushed against the wheelchair and stood—more graceful than he expected under the circumstances. He didn’t move a muscle. Let her decide where to go next.

  “Steve,” Uncle Bill’s bass was husky with unshed tears, “pull that chair up closer, would you?”

  “Yessir.” Steve’s fingers twitched—a breath away from a snappy salute. He covered the distance between him and the overstuffed chair in one stride. “Uncle Bill, meet Beau Scott.”

  “Beau, I’m sorry.” Ryn jogged—jogged—the two feet to where Beau stood smiling. Dammit, she dissed the poor slob at every turn. Exactly what Steve worried she’d do to Uncle Bill once she got from him what she wanted.

  “William White,” she said, her voice silky with a trace of formality. “This is my best friend. Beau Scott.”

  Uncle Bill extended his hand. “I’m a fan.”

  Steve bumped the chair against the back of Ryn’s knees. She glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Brrr. An afterthought. Devoid of meaning. Steve brought another chair for Beau. He at least met Steve’s gaze when he said thanks.

  “Ready for your tea, Uncle Bill?” Steve interrupted a monologue by Ryn, taking a perverse pettiness in acting like a bratty teenager.

  Let her feel how it felt to treat someone like shit.

  His perfect-host uncle said, “It’s that time of day—if you’re an ole guy who likes tea. Ryn, Beau, what will you have? Soda? Bottled water? Wine?”

  Both of them made Steve’s life easier by going with tea. He excused himself and went to the house phone on the other side of the huge bedroom-cum-study. He placed the tea order for three and added Scotch and club soda for one. Without asking for help, Steve made a production of rolling out a table in front of the fireplace.

  Uncle Bill turned his wheelchair and stroked the table’s shiny, wood surface. “This table belonged to your mother. Do you remember eating on it when you lived on Sunset Drive?”

  Ryn stood and approached the table. She stared at it for a few minutes and then said, “Afraid not. I didn’t notice much outside my bedroom in those days.”

  Steve covered his snort with a cough. “Why not?”

  “Too engrossed in listening to Hootie and the Blowfish. Or Nirvana.” She touched the tabletop. “Mostly because I was too absorbed in myself.”

  “Your mother thought you deserved your space,” Uncle Bill said with no detectable animosity. “Your mother agreed, Steven. She said teenage girls identified with Jane Eyre. Boys identified with Tarzan.”

  Steve laughed. “Sounds exactly like my mom.” Unlike the Kansas City society queens, his mother admired Marilyn Davis. Never held her profession before meeting Uncle Bill against her. The queens—and their daughters—tolerated Marilyn and Ryn only because of Uncle Bill’s place in society.

  “I hope I get to spend some time with her while I’m here.” Ryn focused on the fire.

  “Definitely,” Uncle Bill said. “She’s coming to spend the rest of the week with us while you’re here. I was a little slow in extending the invitation, so she invited herself. She likes Beau’s music even more that I do.”

  “Beau, you are known far and wide,” Steve interjected, mildly pissed this was the first he was hearing about his mother’s visit and her love for Beau Scott’s drumming.

  “Why I brought my guitar,” Beau said, his tone surprisingly modest.

  A smiling young server arrived with the tea, laying the table with a crisp white cloth, platinum-rimmed china, heavy silverware, and half a dozen plates with brownies, sugar cookies, lemon bread, and several kinds of sandwiches.

  “The lemon bread was your mother’s favorite,” Uncle Bill said, sliding a piece on his plate. “Did you know she was a first-class baker?”

  Shaking her head, Ryn accepted a plate with a second piece of the bread Steve happened to love.

  “She taught the cook how to make the lemon bread and carrot cake and the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever tasted.” Will’s gaze softened with so much love that Steve felt like a voyeur.

  “Wow!” Beau leaned forward and sniffed the two slices he’d selected. “Ryn, you should get the recipe for Leti.”

  “Leti,” she said to Will a little too loudly, “is my executive housekeeper. She loves feeding me and Beau—”

  “Ryn can’t boil water.” Beau went for three of the small sandwiches.

  She laughed and nodded. “He speaks the truth. I admit to an addiction to junk food. I had no idea Mama cooked like a pro.”

  An unintended pun …. Steve stuffed a ham sandwich in his mouth. Marilyn’s clients probably had no desire to screw her in a house smelling like pot roast.

  Chapter 9

  At 4:30, Ryn interpreted Steven’s raised eyebrows as a signal to end the tea party. She lifted a single finger in agreement. The longer they sat there, the higher the likelihood Beau would comment about the letter. She wanted to call I King Pilgrim before revealing the letter’s existence to anyone without a need to know. She cleared her throat.

  Will remained animated, throwing out anecdotes about Mama, asking Beau about his years in the Stoned Wall Gang, and including Steven in stories about summers at the horse ranch Will owned in northeastern Kansas. But Ryn could see the fatigue around the older man’s eyes. The droop around his mouth. When he splashed tea on his wrist after his third refill, she set her cup and saucer on the table.

  “Am I a party spoiler if I say I’m on sugar overload?”

  “And too much talk from an old man.” Will patted her wrist.

  “On the contrary. But I would like some time to absorb what you’ve shared.”

  “Makes perfect sense.” Will laid his napkin on the table and pushed his wheelchair away. “There are twelve bedrooms in this place—I’ll let Steve’s mother give you the grand tour tomorrow when she comes to stay the night. With two nurses, a respiratory therapist, Steve, and his mother in the main house, it can feel like a hotel. I think you and Beau will be more comfortable—and have more privacy—in one of the guesthouses.”

  “Whatever works for you, Will.” Ryn repressed a sigh.

  Will’s staff would keep everything running smoother than Google, but secretly, she welcomed to the guesthouse. If she got up in the middle of the night, no worries about disturbing anyone. And … she really did not want to spend any time in the room designated as hers when she’d lived under this roof.

  “Is dinner at eight too early? Too late? I remember jet lag.” Will chuckled. “Your mother, by the way, traveled with me to Australia and never missed a night’s sleep.”

  “Boy, Ryn. Arencha jealous?” Beau asked.

  Refusing to open up her sleep issues, Ryn faked a yawn. “Sure am. Now, let’s go unpack.”

  She had no memory of the guesthouse at the end of a formal garden and at least half a block from the main house. She’d spent most of her days at school, finding refuge in the library after classes ended. On weekends, she holed up as much as Mama allowed in her room. Why she’d never explored the estate’s grounds, she couldn’t explain. Any more than she could explain why she’d visited Will’s ranch only one time. She refused to ride every horse and pony offered.

  God, what a brat. A brat who refused to be bought, in her adolescent opinion. A brat who wanted none of the luxuries offered by the man her mother obviously loved.

  Did she forget Daddy?

  Next to her, Beau said, “Ryn, did you hear what I said?”

  She swallowed her impulse to lie. “Sorry. I didn’t. What did you say?”

  Beau flipped his hand. “Forget it. I’m ready to go inside.”

  “Me, too.” She let him open the front door.

  It’s bigger than the house Mama and I shared in Independence. Did that house still exist? She exhaled, blowing off an answer, and followed Beau.

  Late afternoon light flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the spacious living room. Dozens of orchids, Mama’s favorite flower, sat on polished wood surfaces and on the tiled fireplace mantel.

  A handwritten note lay on a small table in the entry.

  Welcome, Ryn. Welcome, Beau.

  We are here to make your stay as comfortable as possible.

  If you require assistance with unpacking, please call 333.

  We put Ryn’s bags in the suite to your left.

  Beau’s luggage is in the suite to your right.

  You’ll find the refrigerator stocked with soft drinks, water, beer, and assorted cold cuts, cheeses, and dips.

  Fresh fruit is in baskets in the kitchen as well as in each suite.

  Chilled white wine in the wine refrigerator in the dining room. Red wine in the pantry.

  Attached is a map of the grounds. The pool house is equipped with weights, a Peloton bike, a rowing machine, and rubber bands. More soft drinks, snacks, and water.

  In the adjacent building, you will find saunas, a Finnish cold plunge, towels, extra swimsuits, and showers.

  We will tidy the guesthouse, replace bed linens, and clean the bathrooms by 10:30 daily. We will turn down your beds and provide fresh towels at 8:00 each evening.

  Please let us know of anything you need to make your stay with us restful and stress-free.

  —Melanie Porter, Executive Housekeeper, EXT. 333

  “Nice.” Beau turned full circle. “Where’s my room?”

  Ryn pointed to the right. “Want me to come with you?”

  “Huh-uh. I’m gonna practice the song I wrote for Will. You need any help?”

  Has he forgotten about the letter?

  “I think I’ll
walk around for half an hour and then come back to unpack.” She should tell him about her intention to contact I King Pilgrim, but she’d get King’s view on the letter first.

  “You should take a nap before you start working on that letter.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “When did you start consulting a crystal ball?”

  He fist-bumped her upper arm. “Thanks, for not treating me like an idiot and denying I read you perfectly.”

  “You want to sit in while I talk to King?”

  “I want you to take a nap. But … I know you won’t until you talk to him. Can we agree to keep the call to less than an hour? You look like a zombie.”

  Chapter 10

  The truth hurts.

  Seated in a lounge chair with thick, comfortable cushions facing the pool, Ryn fired up her laptop and pushed Beau’s assessment to the back of her exhausted brain. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep as she downloaded the letter from her phone. The letterhead meant nothing to her. It could be a fake firm for all she knew. Shade from an overhead trellis minimized the sun’s glare. When Beau returned with water, she was speaking to King’s EA.

  He’s about to finish with a client and then needs to be in court in forty minutes, but I can squeeze you in for a brief consultation.

  Surprised by her good luck, Ryn accepted the offer and chugged on her water. I King Pilgrim’s reputation preceded him. He’d defended Ryn when the LA police named her a prime suspect in Stone’s murder. He also represented Rebecca Carter in carrying out the dying woman’s wishes to leave her billion-dollar-estate to support Esperanza House.

  “I’ll let you do the talking,” Beau announced.

  “Okay, but—”

  I King’s basso-profundo interrupted. “Hello, Ryn, Beau. Tell me what’s shaking.”

  The lawyer listened with the intensity of the common moth. Ryn thought he might surpass the moth in his acuity, but Google searches had failed to confirm her theory. Tired as she was, she felt sure she wasn’t talking fast enough for his liking.

  When she paused for breath, he said, “No attachments to the letter, I see.”

  Great, he reads, listens, and analyzes at the same time. “That’s right.”

  “That alone makes the letter suspicious. But I’m not sure you should ignore it.”

  His words rang in her ears. “I intended to have Elijah check out the law firm, but he had an accident this morning. He won’t be able to follow up for a couple of days.”

  “The law firm’s legitimate. They do a lot of high-profile divorces in LA.”

  “Damn. I was hoping they were fake.”

  “The letter’s a fake,” Beau interjected. “I’m an only child. I bet they want money. Probably a lot of money.”

  “Your theory makes a lot of sense, Beau, but why now?”

  “All the headlines. The attack on Whit Duncan’s company. Me getting kidnapped. Being the reason Ryn shot Chad Gleeson. Some asshat thinks I’ll give him lots of money.” Beau’s cheeks flared with two crimson patches, and his blue eyes shot fire.

  The knot in Ryn’s stomach coiled tighter. “He’s got a point, King.”

  “Let me put one of my investigators on this. He’ll check out this Guerin. We can go from there.”

  No comment on Beau’s point, but at least he didn’t dismiss the idea. “When do you think your guy can start?”

  “I’m looking at his schedule. He can ride with me to court, and I’ll fill him in. He could have a report by later tonight.”

  They disconnected, and Beau pulled the laptop toward him, reading the letter out loud, using his index finger to follow each line.

  BL&G

  Blackstone, Lawson & Guerin

  Attorneys at law

  ___________________

  202232 West Wilshire Boulevard, Stes. 1100-1600

  Beverly Hills, California 90228

  Cell: 1-310-555-8787

  Mr. Beau Scott

  1 Skyview Rd.

  Alta Vista, CA 94022

  Mr. Scott:

  I represent a client who wishes to make contact with you immediately.

  My client has legal proof of a sibling relationship with you. He fears for his life and wants to enlist your support to protect his twelve-year-old daughter.

  The names are redacted from copies of the birth certificates I have attached. Additionally, I have available DNA test results from two individuals hair samples.

  Please contact me to agree on our next step.

  Time is of the essence.

  Best regards,

  Maxim Alexi Guerin

  When Beau finished reading, he closed the laptop with a hard snap. “I hate assholes who use kids in their cons.”

  Hesitant to resurrect old ghosts, Ryn squeezed his hand. If he wanted to talk about Elena, the thirteen-year-old who had led a deadly double life at Esperanza House, she’d go there. Otherwise, she’d take the coward’s way by saying nothing.

  The sun, neon orange through the budding trees, sank lower in the west. A breeze kicked up a few whitecaps on the aqua pool. For a suspended moment, they floated in the fairyland where nothing bad seemed possible.

  Beau broke the silence. “You should take a nap. Give me your phone. I’ll talk to King’s guy if he calls.”

  “Beau!” She felt as if he’d asked for her right arm.

  “Ryn.” He held out his hand. “It’s not a part of your body. Who always says people use their phones like pacifiers?”

  Smiling, she handed over her device. “Why do you listen to me when I spout garbage?”

  “You don’t.” He tucked the phone in his shirt pocket. “Since that was so easy, how about giving me your laptop?”

  “Whoa!” She held onto the computer and clasped it to her chest. “Now you’ve crossed a line.”

  “You can’t work in your sleep.”

  “You know I’ll never sleep.”

  “Not if you don’t lie down, close your eyes, and count sheep.” He held out both hands, waving them toward his chest as she stalled.

  “Oh, what the hell?” She shrugged. “What can the PI find out in an hour?”

  Chapter 11

  After Ryn and Beau left for the guesthouse, Uncle Bill gave no indication the reunion had taken a toll. He ordered Steve to take a break. Steve offered little resistance. He could read the signs. Tense facial muscles. Coloring too high. Carotid pulse too fast. The older man needed a nap, and Steve needed the swim he’d missed that morning.

  Standing at his bedroom window, Steve exhaled. No sign of Ryn and Beau. With any luck, they were also taking naps. On the off chance they’d keep their distance if they saw him swimming, he hustled downstairs, changed his clothes in the bathhouse, and dove into the water.

  Everything—concern for Uncle Bill, undeniable anger at Ryn Davis, and frustration about his job—faded as he sliced through the water. He swam till his arms ached, flopped on his back, and gazed up at the purpling sky. I could take this forever.

  “Wishful thinking,” he muttered and hauled his ass up on the pool’s edge. He dried his face and then jerked his head up.

  Slap. Slap. Slap. Smiling, clutching a laptop to his chest, Beau waddled toward Steve. “Hey. Ryn’s taking a nap.”

  I thought she never sleeps. Steve swallowed the snark. “Glad to hear it. I’m headed for my bed right now.”

  “She can hear a pin drop, so I decided to bring the phones and laptop out here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Steve scrambled to his feet and waited a heartbeat to equilibrate. The smack on his head in Ryn’s barn ten days earlier still left him dizzy at times.

  “You okay?” Beau set the laptop on a nearby table and approached Steve.