Darker: The Inquirer Page 4

  “Prove it?” My headache was back, but it had nothing to do with my drinking. “I can’t tell you about my case. My clients deserve their confidentiality.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Really? I’d say it’s fucking inconvenient that I can’t defend myself.” I uncurled my fingers and pressed my hand flat on the table. “Look, your parents didn’t hire me. No one hired me for them either.”

  That was as honest as I could be without breaking the NDA I’d signed. I didn’t want to say that my case had nothing to do with him or his family since that wasn’t true anymore, but that was as far as I could go.

  “Right.” That single word held a shitload of judgment and disbelief.

  Fuck it.

  “Did you tell Shadae or Brew?” I asked. “That you think your parents hired me? Did you tell them that?”

  “No. Like I said, I’m not going to let you hurt them.”

  I drained the last of what was in the thermos and set it next to the basket. I wanted to yell at him, tell him that he was being a jerk for assuming that I’d use the Huxleys, but I knew that’s what I’d done too. I’d learned the truth about his family history and used that to make a decision about who he was. I sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted him judging me based on the things my family had done.

  I wasn’t going to lecture him, though. This wasn’t a relationship I was trying to fix so we could ride off into the sunset. I didn’t need to debate or explain anything, even if I could have. The Douglasses had given me permission to share their case information with the Huxleys, but Bradyn wasn’t a part of that. He wasn’t a part of any of this.

  I’d be the bigger person, though, and admit that I’d been wrong. No need to behave like him.

  “Look, I need to apologize for how I behaved last night.” The change of conversation seemed to throw him, and I took advantage of it. “Or, actually, I need to apologize for stuff before that too. I came back yesterday and went to your cabin to tell you I was sorry for jumping to conclusions about what you’re doing here. That’s when I saw the woman in—”

  Bradyn opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand. I needed to get everything out.

  Inhaling deeply, I continued. “Your ex, I mean. Then, by the time I actually saw you last night, I wasn’t in an apologizing mood. So, I’m doing that now. I’m sorry I made assumptions about who you are and what you’re doing.”

  I stood and took the thermos over to the sink. I rinsed it out, wondering if he was going to respond to what I’d said. When I finished, and he was still quiet, I figured that was answer enough.

  “You can take the thermos back now. I’ll have what’s in the basket for lunch and take it up to the house myself later. No need for you to stick around.” I went to the door and opened it so he couldn’t misunderstand what I was saying. “I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. I have a job to do. And don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way the rest of the time I’m here, and after that, it won’t matter. I don’t intend to ever come back here again.”

  An uncertain expression was on his face, but he didn’t argue or even comment. Instead, he got up, took the thermos, and walked out without saying a word. I made a point of shutting the door normally just in case he was waiting to hear if I slammed it.

  Leaning against the cool wood, I pushed down my disappointment. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting from him, but that hadn’t been it. If I’d had that sort of conversation with a sub, yeah, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they just walked out without trying to explain or at least ask a few questions. It wasn’t in most submissive’s natures to try to fight for someone or something, especially not for a ‘relationship’ that was only physical.

  Except I thought there were subs who would at least try to fight if they felt more about me. I suspected Rafael would. When I finally told him that we needed to go our separate ways, I didn’t think he’d simply walk away without a word. He wouldn’t do anything stupid, but I liked to think he wouldn’t just leave.

  I supposed that I’d made another assumption about Bradyn. I’d thought that because he wanted more than just fucking, he wouldn’t simply walk away. I thought he’d meant what he said in the barn the day after I told him about what Art had done to me.

  I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to be with you beyond that.

  I supposed I should have known that’d come with conditions. Rules about how I had to behave to fit into his world. I’d apologized, but I hadn’t completely submitted to him and told him everything he wanted to know. If I couldn’t give him what he wanted, what was the point of further conversation, right?

  It didn’t matter.

  I had a job to do, and that was why I’d come back. I wasn’t here to hurt the Huxleys. I was here to help them, and it only mattered that they believed me.

  The first step in the right direction was something I would’ve needed to do, anyway. There was someone else I had to apologize to for my behavior last night. Hopefully, Isaac would be more gracious about it than Bradyn had been. Based on what I knew of Shadae and Brew’s son, I thought he would be.

  Hell, he and I could end up being friends by the time all this was over.

  I wouldn’t date him. After the crash and burn with Bradyn, I was giving up on having any sort of ‘normal’ relationship for good. I wouldn’t put myself through that. But a friend? Yeah, I could like having Isaac as a friend.

  Seven

  Nyx

  I took a slow breath, and then another. My confrontation with Bradyn hadn’t been fun, and I hadn’t really enjoyed apologizing to Isaac – though he had been nicer than Bradyn – but neither of those conversations made me half as nervous as I was right now, standing at the back door to the house, waiting to talk to Shadae and Brew.

  At least bringing back the picnic basket meant I had something in my hands during the walk, and that helped with some of the anxiety.

  I knocked on the door and then opened it, as if nothing had changed from the last time I was here.

  “Shadae?”

  “There you are, sugar.” Shadae stepped into the kitchen with a basket of vegetables. I couldn’t really tell what kind, but I had no doubt whatever she did with them would be delicious when she was done with it. “I was wonderin’ when you’d be up and about.”

  “Thank you for the food.” I put the basket on the counter I’d last seen it on. “And for the hangover drink.”

  She winked at me. “Brew and I shut down a bar or two in our time.”

  I laughed, but it was a weak sound. I was too anxious about telling them everything. Maybe it was because I still had Bradyn’s remarks about my lying about why I was here. That wasn’t what I’d done, not intentionally anyway. But would they believe me? Would they hate me the way Bradyn did?

  “You look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind,” Shadae said as she set her basket of vegetables in the sink.

  “I do. Is Brew around?”

  “He’s on the front porch. We spend most nice Sunday afternoons out there.” She came over to me and put her hand on my arm. She looked more concerned than my own mother had ever been about me.

  Well, maybe not ever. Up until she met Art, she’d been a decent mom. At least, I couldn’t remember her doing anything particularly awful. Most of my pre-Art memories with her in them had both of my parents. My sister had always been closer to our mother.

  “Come on, sugar. Join us on the porch and unburden yourself.”

  I let her lead me out front and put me in one of those sliding chairs that always looked like more fun than they actually were, and then she settled next to her husband. Neither of them rushed me, which I appreciated, but them not asking me what was going on meant I had to be the one to start this awkward conversation.

  Well, I supposed if I didn’t have the guts to do this, I didn’t have what it took to have the difficult conversations private investigators needed to have.

  “I told you that I came down here to Savannah
to do some research for a client.” I forced my lips to move in what I hoped looked like a smile. “And normally, I can’t talk about what I do.”

  “We know, sugar,” Shadae said. “We don’t expect you to tell us nothin’.”

  “I know.” I managed a better smile this time. “But it turns out that the two of you are actually connected to my case.”

  Both looked surprised enough that I knew Bradyn hadn’t told them anything about what he thought I was up to. Some of the tension in me loosened.

  “I now have permission from my clients to share everything with you, but I’m going to start with the basics, and we can go from there.”

  “All right.” Brew put his arm behind Shadae, and she leaned against him.

  “Mid-September, I was approached by a lawyer whose firm is representing Carmine and Kathie Douglass.” I watched carefully but didn’t see even a flicker of recognition at the names, but that didn’t surprise me. Even after I gave them Kathie’s maiden name, I doubted they’d know who she was. Their relation was distant. “They wanted me to research Kathie’s family. Her maiden name was Mae, but it has changed over the years.”

  “Her people are from Savannah?” Shadae asked.

  “Kathie’s grandfather, Gideon Boyd, moved from Savannah to New York City in 1932.”

  Shadae laughed. “I don’t know how old you think we are, sugar, but we’re not that old.”

  I laughed with her, and the sound eased the tension a little more. “No, I didn’t think you were. I won’t bore you with all the family tree details, but what it boils down to is,” I focused my attention on Brew, “in 1791, your ancestor, Solomon Huxley, married a woman named Deborah Adams.”

  He let out a low whistle. “You got that far back, did you? Isaac’s been tryin’ to research both our families for a while now. Am I able to tell him about this?”

  “Actually, he sort of knows.” I pressed my damp palms on my thighs. “The genealogy site he uses is the same one that Kathie and Carmine used. Isaac reached out to them when he saw a connection to Kathie Mae. The short version is that Kathie’s ancestor, Deborah Adams, had a child in 1789, prior to her marriage to Solomon Huxley. That daughter’s name was Rachel, and she ended up taking Solomon’s last name. So, even though she and your ancestor, Alexander, both shared the same last name, they were only half-siblings.”

  “Not being married don’t mean Solomon wasn’t Rachel’s daddy,” Brew pointed out. “‘Specially back then.”

  I nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I had to come down here, to do some digging in things I couldn’t find online.”

  “That’s why you were goin’ down to the historical district, checkin’ out churches and the like,” Shadae said.

  “It is.” Now that my initial nervousness had faded, I was starting to get that excitement that only came with figuring out a puzzle. “If you want the details, I can give them, but the main point is that the rumor back then was that Rachel’s father was the oldest son of the family who owned the Adams family.”

  There was anger on both Brew’s and Shadae’s faces, but no surprise.

  “Kathie’s family is descended from Deborah’s daughter, Rachel,” I continued. “I wasn’t hired to prove that Rachel’s father had been a white slave owner. That discovery just…well, it supported the claim I had been hired to research. The claim was that Zachariah and Ester Adams – Deborah’s parents – had both been free when they married in 1771. Free, and they owned a fairly large farm. At the end of or shortly after the Revolutionary War, a white family stole everything from the Adams family, including their freedom, forcing them into slavery until after the Civil War freed them all.”

  “Damn.” Brew breathed the word.

  The fact that Shadae didn’t scold him for cursing was proof of how shocked they were.

  “I don’t see what good knowing that’s gonna do,” Shadae said finally. “Not like we can hold people accountable now for something their ancestors did. If we could, most of the whole country would be sent ‘back where they came from.’”

  “You’re right,” I said. “And I’m not a lawyer, so I don’t know all the legal terms and stuff, but I wasn’t just sent here to confirm the theft. I was sent to find out which family did it, and if that family continues to have knowledge of what happened. If they are aware of what their ancestors did and have actively covered it up, it makes it an ongoing crime.”

  “And you found it?” Brew asked. “Shadae and I both agreed we hadn’t wanted to go digging.” He scratched at his chin. “I guess we didn’t want to find out if people we know had owned our families.”

  My expression must’ve given me away because Shadae spoke before I could make the words form in my mouth.

  “You did.” The very tips of her fingers covered her parted lips. “You figured it out, and it’s someone we know.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry, but yes. Now, I don’t have to tell you, but it’s going to come out anyway. My advice would be to hear it from me now so you’re not surprised by it in the future.”

  “All right.” Brew pulled Shadae even tighter to his side. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

  “Their name was Calvert.” I paused, seeing something flicker in Shadae’s eyes. She knew, but I said it anyway. “In 1898, the last Calvert from this specific line, Martha, married a man named Jeremiah Traylor.”

  Silence.

  They simply stared at me. It was almost like they expected me to suddenly start laughing and say it was all a joke Bradyn and I had set up. I didn’t know what to do, though. I couldn’t tell them what the Traylors knew or didn’t know. I couldn’t tell them that there would be legal justice for what had been taken.

  And I couldn’t tell them that this was a joke.

  There was, however, one thing I could tell them for certain.

  “I have no idea how things came together to put me here.” My heart started pounding harder again. “I didn’t know Kathie had relatives in this area or that they would be a part of this case. I didn’t know who you were. I swear.”

  “We believe you, sugar.” Shadae smiled at me. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but I didn’t blame her.

  It had been a shock for me to find out about Bradyn’s family. I couldn’t even imagine what it felt like for them. I didn’t know when they’d first met him, but I had no doubt they knew who Clancy was…and probably knew Clancy’s ‘family story.’

  “Does Bradyn know?” Brew asked. “All of it? Some? Any?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “Whatever he does know didn’t come from me, though. I haven’t talked to him about my case.”

  Shadae and Brew exchanged one of those glances that some couples used to have a whole conversation without saying a single word.

  “Are we allowed to talk to anyone about this?” she asked.

  “That’s one of those things I don’t really know.” I lifted a shoulder. “But I have a video conference with the Douglasses and their attorney tomorrow morning. I’d like to have you join us. That way, if there are any questions I can’t answer, maybe they can.”

  They exchanged another glance before Shadae nodded. “All right. Now, sugar, tell us all about that weddin’ you went to, and I wouldn’t say no to some pictures.”

  Eight

  Bradyn

  I should’ve stayed at the ranch and made sure Nyx didn’t take advantage of Shadae and Brew. Who knew what she’d been telling them while I was gone? This morning, she’d apologized for jumping to conclusions, but she hadn’t answered any of my questions about what she was doing at the ranch.

  If she wouldn’t give me answers, then I’d go to the source.

  My chest tightened as the driveway curved, and the house came into view. I had a love/hate relationship with this place.

  On the one hand, it had been the center of every family gathering going back to before the Revolutionary War, but on the other hand, it was full of memories I’d rather forget. Like the one where I’d walked into my father’s
office and found my girlfriend riding him in his chair. The hurt from Antoinette’s betrayal had all but disappeared, but my dad…

  I sighed as I pulled up behind a blue Honda I assumed belonged to one of the employees. My parents either drove expensive sedans or electric hybrids, depending on who my dad was currying favor with that particular week. Well, technically, their drivers drove. They rode.

  My older sister, Ashley, would’ve walked right in, certain of her welcome. She was four years older than me and had already been molded into the perfect Southern belle by the time I came around. She’d never argued with any of the rules we’d had growing up, never questioned anything or anyone.

  Well, except me. Not only was I the younger brother, I also didn’t like to do what other people told me to do without a good reason. That had made me fair game for her sharp tongue.

  I’d thought her dating a man twelve years her senior when she was only eighteen would’ve moved her out of favor just a bit, but since Warren Lester worked for the law firm that handled the family business, he’d been welcomed with open arms. I’d heard later that, the day after they’d met for the first time, Warren had gone to my dad and said that he wanted to ask Ashley out after she turned eighteen. That would’ve stroked Dad’s ego to no end, being asked for permission to ‘court’ his daughter.

  Ashley and Warren had gotten married shortly after she’d turned nineteen, and she’d continued with her parental approval streak by having three kids. Warren Jr., Betsy, and Clancy. Naming the last one after Dad had ensured that Ashley would always be the favorite. As if she’d needed anything to win that award.

  Yes, she would have walked right in like she owned the place. And since I’d been disinherited, she sort of did. This house stayed in our family, which meant it originally would’ve been passed down to me, but because I didn’t toe the line, it’d go to her now.

  As I made my way to the door, I wondered what Ashley would do with it once it was hers. The sprawling three-story house still sat on the same six acres it had been built on when my first ancestor came to Savannah in the mid-1700s. The house itself, however, had changed quite a bit. My ancestors had added to it over the years until it had been transformed into a three-story house of nearly seven thousand square feet. The barn was the same size it had been before, but in the 1930s, it’d been converted into a garage.