Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh (лучшие бесплатные книги txt) 📗

Brian—Leland Alvin—lay sprawled in front of the fireplace. He was lying facedown, but it was unmistakably him. The back of his blond head was matted and dark with gore. A few inches away from the hand he had raised in protection was a blood-smeared poker.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Pierce sucked in a sharp breath and started forward.

“He’s not alive, Pierce,” Griff said. How was it that Pierce didn’t instantly realize that?

“He might be.”

“No.” Griff caught Pierce’s arm, stopping him, drawing him back a step. “No, he isn’t. Don’t touch him.”

Pierce looked at him in disbelief, his eyes black in his white face. Griff realized that although Pierce was older and more experienced in almost every conceivable way, this was not one of the conceivable ways. Griff was the expert here. Griff had all too much experience with the dead, starting with coming home from college one afternoon to find his mother had overdosed on sleeping tablets.

Griff shook his head. “No. We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene more than we’ve already done.”

Pierce’s Adam’s apple jumped. Without another word, he got his phone out and dialed the Muttontown Police Department. He began to speak in a thick voice, and it was clear to Griff that Pierce had not called 911. Maybe his own perspective had changed over the last week, because that seemed like good thinking on Pierce’s part.

A woman screamed. The sound seemed to ricochet off the marble fireplace and tall windows.

Muriel stood in the doorway. She pointed at Alvin’s body, and as she continued to scream, her plump hand bounced like a child pretending to shoot with her finger. The red-rimmed O of her mouth seemed to swallow the rest of her face. Dreadful sounds poured out.

Pierce hastily finished speaking into his phone. “Muriel.” He went to her, widely skirting the scarlet spill of Alvin’s blood, and tried to walk her out of the room.

She wouldn’t be budged. She gripped Pierce’s arm with her free hand and continued to scream. Griff was surprised the windows didn’t shatter.

Pierce threw him a harried look. “We’re going to have the entire party down here,” he said.

That snapped Griff back to life. He nodded, giving the corpse a wide berth, squeezing past Pierce and Muriel, and sprinting down the long marble hall to the drawing room.

Laughter and talk greeted him before he reached the door, the volume of voices explaining why no one seemed to be responding to Muriel’s shrieks. No music. Why had he expected music?

The room was packed. Jarrett’s idea of a small party for family and close friends being a little different from Griff’s.

Griff scanned the crowded room, searching for a familiar face. He spotted Marcus in the alcove bar—and couldn’t blame him for that—and Diana and Chloe, heads together by the fireplace with another older woman who looked strikingly like Diana.

No, no, no, and...no. Jarrett was the only person really capable of dealing with a disaster of this magnitude, but Griff didn’t want to be the one to break this terrible news to him.

Mike. That’s who he needed. Say what you liked about Michaela’s wild past, she seemed pretty unflappable, and unflappable was what he needed.

“Hey, where’s Pierce?” Diana suddenly appeared at his shoulder, Chloe in tow. “He said he was going to meet you.”

“He’s, uh, in the library—” Where the hell was Mike? He said to Chloe, “Where’s your mother?”

Chloe said, “Who?”

“Michaela.”

“She’s being funny,” Diana informed him. “What we want to know is where is the guest of honor? I think he has stage fright. We’re taking bets on whether he’ll show.”

“I...”

“It’s like the Emperor’s New Clothes.” Chloe nearly spilled her drink as another guest jostled her arm. She glared at the woman. “I feel like I’m the only person in this house who can see how butt naked this guy is.”

“Excuse me.” Griff was relieved to spot Michaela and Ring deep in conversation with a woman he vaguely recognized as a celebrity chef. He left Diana and Chloe, edging his way through the crowd to Michaela’s side.

“Can I see you for a second?”

Michaela looked surprised, but excused herself to her companions and followed Griff out into the hall.

“There’s been an accident. Can you—”

“What do you mean?” Michaela interrupted. “What accident? Who’s had an accident?”

“Could you just make sure Jarrett—”

Michaela’s head shot up. She froze, listening intently. “That’s Muriel. That’s my sister. Where’s Muriel? What’s happened to Muriel?” She was away and running, her heels tapping down the marble hall.

A meaty fist closed around Griff’s bicep. “What is it? What’s going on?” Ring confronted Griff. “What’s wrong with Mike?”

“There’s been an accident. Wait. Someone has to talk to Jarrett—” But again he was talking to empty air as Ring shot after his wife, calling her name.

Griff went back into the drawing room and was met by Diana and Chloe, who now looked frightened.

“What the hell’s happening?” Chloe asked. “Something’s going on.”

Diana said, “Where’s Pierce?”

“Pierce is fine,” Griff said. “It’s not—” This time he was faster. He grabbed Diana’s arm and Chloe’s hand before they too darted away. “No. Listen to me. I need your help, Chloe. I’ve got some bad news. Can you get your uncle out here?”

“What news?” Her eyes widened. “Has something happened to Brian?”

He couldn’t help noticing how hopeful she sounded. “Yes. Can you get Marcus? The police are on their way. They’re going to be here any minute and I want your uncle to talk to Jarrett before they get here.”

Chloe looked around the room. “There he is.” She moved away.

“Brian’s dead, isn’t he?” Diana asked. She looked pale but calm.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. It looks like it might be homicide,” Griff said.

“Murder? Oh no!”

Griff finally spotted Jarrett laughing and talking with two older couples. The sounds of alarm and anguish from down the hall were mounting as Michaela reached the library. He watched Chloe reach Marcus and speak to him, saw Marcus’s smile turn bewildered and then wary.

“Hurry,” he whispered.

Jarrett spied Griff hovering indecisively in the doorway. He came toward him, smiling. The happiness on the old man’s face seemed to shrink Griff’s heart in his chest.

“Griffin, my boy, you decided to join us. Excellent!”

Griff tried to think of something he could say, something that would prepare Jarrett.

Jarrett’s expression changed almost at once. “Is something wrong?”

Oh God.No. No, he did not want this task. Did not want this awful responsibility. It should be Michaela or Marcus. At the very least it should be Pierce. It should be someone who knew Jarrett, was close to Jarrett.

He licked his lips and said, “I think Marcus is going to—”

The wail of approaching sirens drowned him out, drowned out everyone, and the guests began to look at each other in surprise and then unease. It sounded as though the police had parked on the front lawn. Maybe they had.

“What is it?” Jarrett demanded. “What’s happened?”

To Griff’s relief, Marcus appeared at Jarrett’s side. “Father,” he intervened. He sounded out of breath. His face was ghastly.

Jarrett looked from Marcus to Griff then, ignoring Marcus, grabbed Griff’s arm with startling strength. “What’s happened? Tell me.”

“It’s bad news,” Griff said desperately. He covered Jarrett’s bony hand with his own, gripping him tight. “I’m sorry. It’s the worst news. Brian’s dead.”

Across the room Mrs. Truscott dropped a large silver tray of canapes. Her face was bloodless, her eyes black and hollow as she stared at them.

Jarrett gave a wounded sound. He reached for, but missed, the arm of a wingback chair and pitched forward.