Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Declan Solves a Murder… Again
Gideon
“Elwood,” I said, on the way to the door. “We need the microbus.”
He was already reaching for his keys.
The three of us piled into the microbus. Elwood started the engine and sped off, spinning his tires like a man who considered speed limits a polite suggestion.
I reached for the handle above the door on instinct. Old habit.
“Okay, Declan, tell us.”
He turned in his seat so he could see me, one hand braced on the dashboard as Elwood took the first corner.
“Donny,” he said. “I think Donny is the next target.”
“Donny the second-place brewer?” Elwood asked.
“Donny the bookie,” Declan said pointedly.
He pushed his glasses up. “Fletcher has the most to lose from Kettlebrook pulling the contract. The brewery was his investment. Roy was going to use that distribution money to expand, which meant Fletcher wouldn’t get any of that money.
Then, when Roy died, Fletcher needed to hold everything together.
He tried to recruit Beckett. Beckett said no.
And now Kettlebrook has handed the contract opportunity to two new candidates.
” He paused as Elwood navigated a curve at a speed that made me grab onto my seat to keep from sliding.
“One of those candidates is Donny. And Donny isn’t just a brewer competing for a contract.
Remember how you said Donny kept talking about how unlucky Fletcher was?
I’ll bet anything he’s the man Fletcher owes money to. A lot of money.”
“So Fletcher needs Donny out of the picture,” I said.
“That’s what I think, yes.”
“So we’re going to the hotel to find Donny before Fletcher does,” Elwood said. “And then what?”
“And then we make sure he’s still in one piece,” I said. “And then Grady takes it from there.”
“And if Fletcher is already there?” Declan asked.
I kept my eyes on the road ahead. “Then we'll deal with that.”
Elwood took the turn toward the Whispering Pines at a speed that made me tighten my grip on the handle above the door. In my peripheral vision, I could see Declan doing the same with the dashboard.
“Elwood,” Declan said.
“Mm?”
“How do you drive this fast and still seem so calm?”
“Years of practice,” Elwood said pleasantly. “And excellent reflexes for a man my age.”
The Whispering Pines came into view at the end of the road. It had the half-empty look of a hotel mid-checkout. Cars loaded. Luggage in lobbies. Elwood brought the microbus to a stop in the car park with a screeching halt.
We got out and headed inside the conference center.
Mellgren was behind the front desk, dark suit immaculate, reviewing something on the computer with the focused precision of a man who preferred order to chaos and had spent centuries learning to project it regardless of what was actually happening.
He looked up when we came in. His expression didn’t shift, but his eyes sharpened in the way that meant he’d already assessed us and decided something was wrong.
“Gideon, what are you doing here?”
“Donny Pace,” I said. “Is he still checked in?”
Mellgren’s gaze moved to his screen. “Yes. He requested a late checkout. He’s in the Birchwood Suite. Second floor, end of the hall.” He looked back at me. “Should I call Grady?”
“Yes,” I said. “Quietly.”
He reached for the phone without hesitation. “I’ll monitor the lobby for anyone who shouldn’t be here.”
“And I’ll stay down here and wait for Grady,” Elwood said.
“Good.”
We took the stairs and hurried down the hallway to the Birchwood Suite at the far end. I stopped outside it and put my hand flat against the door.
My wolf went still and listened.
Two heartbeats inside. One of them was faster than it should have been.
“Someone’s already in there with him,” I said quietly. “One of them is scared.”
Declan looked at me. “Can you tell who—”
“No. We go in.”
He glanced at the door handle. “We don’t have a key.”
I tried the handle first. Locked. I looked at Declan. “Stay behind me.” I put my shoulder into the door. It flew open.
Donny Pace stood near the window with his hands half-raised.
Fletcher stood with his back to us, but I could see the gun pointed at Donny.
He turned at the sound of the door and saw me and Declan standing there.
Nobody moved.
“Gideon,” he said.
“Fletcher.”
Donny let out a long breath. “Impeccable timing,” he said.
“We were just having a business conversation,” Fletcher said.
He’d repositioned himself with the window behind him and the door in front.
I wasn’t sure what his plan was or if he even had one.
Cornered men rarely did. He looked at Donny then back at us.
“I was explaining to Donny that the Kettlebrook situation is more complicated than it looks.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Declan said.
Fletcher’s eyes moved to him. “You’re the one who figured it out.”
It wasn’t quite a question.
“An old newspaper article showing that you were a sharpshooter helped.” Declan pushed his glasses up.
“And the fact that you ran track in school but didn’t finish a festival 5k the morning someone took a shot at Beckett Hayes.
” He held Fletcher’s gaze. “You’ve been trying to save the brewery ever since Roy died.
The Kettlebrook contract was your last chance.
When Beckett turned you down, and Kettlebrook pulled out, Donny became your problem.
Because he isn’t just in the running for that contract; he’s the man you owe money to. A lot of money.”
I watched Fletcher. My wolf watched him, too, reading the shift in his posture, the change in his scent.
“You should’ve stayed out of it,” Fletcher said. He was looking at me now, not Declan, which I preferred. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Everything in this town concerns me,” I said.
His jaw worked. “The shot at the race wasn’t meant to hit anyone. It was a warning. I needed Beckett to understand that turning down my job offer had consequences.” He said it like it was reasonable. Like the words made sense outside his own head.
“You fired into a crowd,” I said. “At a public event.”
“No one got hurt,” he said.
“But they could have,” Declan insisted.
Fletcher turned toward him, and I was prepared to launch myself at him, but I didn’t have to because he froze when he saw that the doorway behind us was no longer empty.
Grady stood there in his brown sheriff’s uniform flanked by Elwood and Mellgren.
“Fletcher,” Elwood said. “I think it’s time you spoke with Sheriff King.”
Fletcher looked at the doorway. Then at me. Then at Declan. His shoulders dropped. It was a small thing. Almost nothing. But I’d been reading people across a bar for long enough to know when someone knew they were beat.
“I didn’t kill Roy,” Fletcher said. Quietly. Like something he’d been holding for days and couldn’t hold anymore. “I didn’t touch him. We were arguing, and he’d been drinking. He slipped, and I—” His voice broke slightly on the word. “I couldn’t reach him in time.”
“You didn’t call for help,” I said. “You put the lid on the vat and left him there.”
“I panicked. I thought if anyone found out, everything would fall apart. I thought if I just left, maybe it would look like an accident. Maybe it would be over.”
“But it wasn’t,” Declan said.
“No,” Fletcher said. “It wasn’t.”
“Covering up a death and shooting at a crowd is still quite a lot,” Declan offered helpfully.
“It genuinely is,” Mellgren said.
Fletcher sat down on the edge of the bed. No one stopped him. There was nowhere to go.
“Someone want to fill me in?” Grady asked.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But we’ll walk you through it.”
He sighed the sigh of a man who’d accepted his lot. “Someone get me a coffee.”
I put my hand on the back of Declan’s neck, warm and steady, and pressed a brief kiss to his temple.
“You figured it out,” I said.
“We figured it out,” he said. “And I don’t care what he says; he was trying to shoot Beckett. He just got unlucky and missed.”
“I know, baby. Grady will sort it all out.”
Elwood caught my eye from across the room. He gave me a small nod.
I nodded back.
Outside, somewhere above the roofline, a raven let out a call.