Chapter Twenty-One
“Troy, let’s get you back to the kitchen where we can discuss this a little more privately,” June Piedmont said in a low, soothing voice.
“Discuss what?” Troy demanded, turning toward June and giving Juliette a full glimpse of his chef’s jacket with the name TROY PHAM, EXECUTIVE CHEF stitched in gold.
“Discuss how that son of a bitch is breaking Warren’s word to let me out of my contract?
This is the last straw for me, June, I swear.
That worm is going to get what’s coming to him. ”
“Give it your best try, Troy,” said the little worm in question, slinking up to the conversation with a shit-eating grin.
Brad Ellingham had not improved in Juliette’s estimation since the last time she saw him.
He looked like hell, actually, even as he swaggered around Troy like a squirrel baiting a dog.
Clayton followed closely behind, looking aggrieved by the interruption.
“Come on, I’ll give you first swing, my lawyers will love it.
Anybody got a camera handy? Make sure you film the whole thing, including Troy threatening to kill me. Go on, buddy, give ’em a good show!”
“Brad, we’re not done with our discussion,” Clayton said in low, urgent tones. “You can’t go through with this Thomas Ogleby hire. He’s a salvage operator, not a real businessman. I thought we were in agreement on this.”
“Agreements change,” Brad sneered. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go organize a schedule or something?”
“Gentlemen, this is neither the time nor the place for such vulgar discussions,” June snipped.
“I think it’s the perfect place,” Troy said, the cords in his long, lean neck standing out as he ground his teeth together. “Let all these country club wannabes see what kind of shithole rip-off this place is.”
“This shithole rip-off is the only reason you’re not in chains right now, boy,” Brad said.
“Should we call someone?” Charlie murmured to Juliette. “Like security, or a therapist?”
“Don’t you dare interrupt them,” Juliette hissed, digging her nails into his forearm. This was exactly the kind of spectacle she needed to finally get some answers.
“Troy, Brad, darlings,” June said, holding out her hands. When that didn’t get their attention, she took a step closer, dropping her voice to a vicious whisper. “Boys, we are trying to recruit new members here.”
“Oh sure, your big ‘renovation,’ huh, Junie?” Brad said, mocking her.
He huffed out a noiseless laugh, bathing everyone within a twenty-foot radius in his sour whiskey breath.
“Didn’t wait long after Dad’s demise to make your move, did you?
Finally got what you wanted after all these years. Complete control over the Pines.”
“How dare you?” June said, looking truly affronted. “Warren may not have always seen eye to eye with Robert and myself, but we were friends first and business partners second. I mourn his loss every day, unlike others.”
“You saying I don’t miss my dad?” Brad said, his expression turning mean.
What he lacked in height he made up for in menace, his eyes red and bulging as he leaned in to June.
“I’m honoring his memory in a way the old man couldn’t argue with, by pretending I don’t have any personal feelings and focusing on the business.
And let’s not pretend you have any feelings other than relief that he’s gone, either. We both know we’re better off.”
Juliette almost felt bad for the guy. With no daddy to play out the other half of his farce, he looked exactly as he was—a lonely, belligerent, stunted man-child with a musky personal odor.
Of course, the pity withered away when she realized he was also the prime suspect in his father’s murder.
He had, after all, been the one to handle the microphone first. And he’d just said that both he and June were better off without Warren—if that didn’t scream “motive,” what did?
June drew herself up to her full height, which was hardly impressive beside Juliette in espadrilles, but then she added in a dignified nose tip and Juliette had to hand it to her—the look she gave Brad was nothing less than cutting.
“I am sure I don’t know what you’re implying, and you are causing a great deal of embarrassment by showing up in such a state,” she said, voice dripping disdain. “Please remove yourself immediately or I will be forced to have you escorted off the premises under club rules.”
Brad snorted. “What club rules?”
“I’ll take care of him,” Troy said, reaching out and grabbing Brad by the front of his shirt.
“Troy, that’s enough!” Clayton barked, as Brad crowed in victory.
“Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, you all see this asshole accosting me!” Brad waved his arms around, still attached to Troy by the front of his shirt. “Got a tent full of witnesses here, Troy! Give it your best! Come on, put those chopping muscles to work!”
“You’re a hollow son of a bitch,” Troy snarled, giving Brad a shake before shoving him away in disgust. “Just honor Warren’s promise and sign the papers so I can open my restaurant.”
“With what money?” Brad said. “You think I’m funding you? You’re out of your damn mind.”
“I don’t need your funding,” Troy said hotly.
“I’ve raised plenty of capital on my own.
Hell, half the club wants in on my restaurant.
Dr. Campbell just signed up last week.” Charlie’s boss gave a self-conscious wave to the crowd as Troy flung an arm in his direction.
“You can keep your blood money, Brad. Just sign the contract.”
“Maybe we should leave,” Charlie murmured, frowning. “Or least stand out of filming distance.”
Several ladies in the Floyd Flock had indeed pulled out their phones and were discreetly filming, even though Juliette knew the club had a no-phones policy. If Warren’s ghost rose from the grave and blew through this tent right now, she wouldn’t be surprised.
“Are you kidding? This is perfect. I only regret not having my own phone on hand to record this whole thing.”
Brad looked at her blearily, his face still scrunched up in a scowl. “Don’t I know you? You’re that bitch that came poking around Dad’s funeral, aren’t you? What are you doing here? June, what’s she doing here?”
“She was not invited,” June said hotly. “A fact I was trying to remedy before you two showed up and started your inappropriate shouting.”
“I am a guest,” Juliette said haughtily. “And you can’t remove me without due cause.”
“You want due cause?” Brad said. “How about you attacked me at my father’s funeral!
You’re only here to stir up shit, poking around asking questions about my dad’s death.
I bet you’re the one behind those Pub Daily articles, too, aren’t you?
It’s closed and done and I’ll sue anybody who says otherwise.
Clay, call the lawyers, I want her served before nightfall. ”
“Is that really necessary?” Clayton asked, though he took out his phone.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Charlie said, giving the tent a nervous smile.
“You can’t sue me for asking a couple of questions,” Juliette said to Brad, though she was sure that wouldn’t stop him from trying. She dropped her voice. “Clayton, you’re not really calling the lawyers, are you?”
“Of course not,” Clayton said, tapping away on his phone. “I’m looking up whatever article he’s talking about. Did you write it?”
“Of course she wrote it,” said Brad, pushing his barrel chest against her. Even when he was threatening her with legal action, he couldn’t help being a pervert. “You’ve been going around town claiming I tried to kill my dad or some bullshit?”
“I never said you tried to kill your father, though it’s interesting you think that’s what I meant,” Juliette said, giving him a meaningful look. “You’ve got real ‘Tell-Tale Heart’ vibes going on right now. Daddy haunting the halls of your newly inherited mansion?”
“June, I want this bitch thrown out with prejudice,” Brad sneered.
“For once we are in agreement,” June said, glaring at Juliette. “Now if you and Troy would please discuss this like adults—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Brad said, flippant. “Troy doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“I had an agreement with Warren and you know it!” Troy shouted. “The restaurant is launching next week. I’ve got twenty people on staff, seven food deliveries scheduled for Monday, and a front of house to finish out. You have to honor Warren’s word.”
“I don’t have to honor shit,” Brad snorted. “Dad made some questionable calls in his day, and you were the worst of them. But I’m the head honcho now. I’m the guy. I’m the one with the pocketbook, pen, and paper. You’re just a lowlife chef with a rap sheet and lame tattoos.”
“Just sign the fucking contract, Brad,” Troy said. “Or else.”
“Brad, Troy, please,” June said, almost desperate.
“Or else what?” Brad straightened suddenly, throwing off Troy’s grip.
“Or else what, little man? What is a turd like you going to do, huh? Sue me? Please, you’ve got no grounds.
You signed a ten-year exclusive deal with Pacific Pines, and you’ve got a year left.
You were stupid enough to go and try to open a restaurant when it was a violation of your contract?
Not my problem, bub. Tell him, Clay. Tell him how fucked he is. Tell him I own his ass.”
Clayton did his best to maintain his composure, but even he couldn’t help a flare of frustration at Brad’s antics. “It would be better to discuss this privately, after you and I have finished our discussion about Thomas Ogleby, Brad. You’re making a huge mistake.”
“My only mistake was trusting anybody but myself,” Brad said. “And I won’t make it again. My word goes, and your ass stays, Troy.”
“Warren amended the contract!” Troy argued.
“He signed me when I was fresh out of the culinary program and didn’t know any better.
He believed in the restaurant. Hell, he was the primary investor!
I just needed the updated contract, and he promised to deliver it at the party.
I know you have it. Hand it over. I swear to god, Brad, if you don’t—”
“Gentlemen!” came a sultry, vaguely Eastern European accent. Brigitte Ellingham, she with the face of Linda Evangelista, came breezing in through the tent flap like she’d been signaled by a film director. “We can settle this like adults, not children on the playground.”
“And how do you plan to settle it, darling?” Brad asked, looking between his wife and the chef. “Because I know how you’ve been settling, and that train is pulling out of the station.”
“Bradley, you shame yourself and your name,” his wife said, cold as the Russian winter she was probably raised in. Even Juliette felt a shiver creep up her spine.
“Oh, right, because we can’t shame the Ellingham name,” said Brad, suddenly looking morose. “Because that’s all I am, isn’t it? Daddy’s shadow puppet. Still dancing on his strings no matter how I try to cut them.”
Now, that was interesting, Juliette thought. What had he done to cut the strings so far?
Maybe Brad got tired of waiting for Daddy to kick the bucket to make his own mark on the Ellingham legacy.
Or maybe Brad needed money more than June and Robert Piedmont.
Warren had basically said as much at the party, claiming that his son would ruin the business worse than his own personal finances.
And then there was the comment from Duffel Bag about Brad blowing the fifty thousand on the Seahawks.
And just now, Clayton had said Brad got kicked out of his freshman dorm for setting up as an illegal bookie.
What if Brad needed a quick infusion of cash, and Warren refused him?
That would certainly be more than enough motive for murder.
“Bradley, you’re drunk,” said his wife, with a note of pity. “Go home, let James take care of you.”
“That’s not my home,” Brad snarled, a hint of fear in his voice. “The whole place stinks of Dad, I can’t get it out of the wood. I oughta burn it down.”
“He needs to sign the contract, Brigitte,” Troy said urgently. “Today.”
“I’ll sign it over my dead body,” Brad scoffed. “Both of you can go to hell. You’re not getting a single fucking thing from me.”
“That’s it,” Troy growled, barreling for Brad with his other fist raised.
Juliette made to step out of the way just as Brad grabbed her by the shoulders and manhandled her like a human shield, putting her face in a direct line with Troy’s fist. She had a brief moment to worry for the perfect aquiline slope of her nose before there was an explosion of pain and everything went black.