Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
I almost forget about the envelope that Diarmuid delivered while I’m wallowing over my kiss with Harley.
His protection of me with Avery stays intact, but he no longer speaks to me.
None of them speak to me. At first, I’m worried because I think he’s told the rest of them what I did, but I can feel Avery’s eyes boring holes into my back whenever she’s in my proximity.
It’s like I’m a bomb about to go off and she doesn’t know the range of my potential casualties.
I make it through a few days of being ignored by them all and tutoring Blaise like crazy.
It’s only after I bump into Joey in the library punching one of his friends for not laughing at his jokes that I decide to get back to dealing with him.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to get from the envelope, but the information is both brutal and sobering.
I was wrong. Joseph Campbell Fedor Beaumont, or Joey, isn’t a killer in the making. He’s already got three deaths under his belt.
Not that the file says that outright, but it’s clear what’s been going on.
There’s a nanny, a maid, and a grounds man who have all turned up dead on the property.
Newspapers have declared the house haunted since the police ruled the deaths accidental.
There are pages and pages of evidence that any prosecutor worth their salt would be able to convict Joey with, but it’s all been swept under the rug.
The autopsies are unpleasant, to say the least. The things he’s done, especially to the maid, are truly horrifying.
Biting, burning, stabbing. Evidence of sexual assault.
He was eleven.
It dawns on me just how lucky I was that night of the party. Had he been sober, or at a different stage of his high, if I hadn’t had my knife. If, if, if. So many things had worked in my favor that I didn’t know about.
At the very back of the file, there’s a single page of information on the twins.
Alexander Asher William Beaumont. Born three minutes before his sister, former state swimming champion, now retired, allergic to mangoes, presented at the emergency department seventy-six times in his lifetime, which is an average of five times a year.
I grimace. There’s a list of the injuries too.
Broken wrist, fractured skull, internal bleeding, concussions, every rib in him must have been broken at least twice.
Child Protection Services have been contacted multiple times, but no one ever checks on the family, which tells me his parents are paying bribes. Frequent and expensive bribes.
Then, finally, there’s Avery Aspen Waverley Beaumont.
Only daughter; interests include ballet, violin, and the war strategy game of Go.
No known allergies, though she refuses to eat mangoes thanks to Ash’s allergy.
One trip to the emergency department for Avery.
Last year she was DOA and resuscitated. Clear signs of strangulation, another call to Child Protection Services, but again, no follow-up.
That explains the escort she gets from the guys everywhere she goes.
It also explains why they’re so protective.
She wasn’t just attacked; she was killed.
My chest hurts as I think about how Ash would have felt, knowing she had stopped breathing.
Knowing she was gone, even for the few minutes she was, must have destroyed him.
The day Joey strangled Matthew in the library, Ash didn’t hesitate for a second to help me.
After so much trauma, he’s stronger than I would have ever thought.
I’ve always looked at him and seen the spoiled rich brat facade he puts on.
Even the anger and the flinches in his brother’s direction didn’t clue me in to how bad he really is.
I’m going to have to deal with Joey.
I’ve done a lot in my life, but I’ve never actually planned a murder.
I’m not quite sure that’s what I’m doing now, but I’m going to have to start taking Joey and the warnings about him seriously.
Loose cannons and unpredictable drug addicts are dangerous people to have around you, especially if you carry as many secrets as I do.
I flip the last page to make sure I haven’t missed anything and there is a small, handwritten note in the back. It’s not the Jackal’s handwriting, so it would have to be from Diarmuid.
Do not let Joseph Beaumont Sr. know you’re looking into his son. His hands are bloodier than mine.
Fuck. A complicated web to unravel.
Now that I’m not being whispered about or having my food spiked, I begin to use the study areas that are everywhere at Hannaford rather than just holing up in my room.
All my assignments have been handed in for the school year, and now I’m focusing on my last-minute revision for the upcoming mid-terms. I’m an expert at keeping well organized notes.
I drag a giant file around with me everywhere I go so I can read and cram at every opportunity.
I’m confident I’ll be the top in all my classes, but the perfectionist in me compels me to study during every spare second of every day until the exams are over.
I’m enjoying the quiet of one particular study nook when Joey slips into the chair beside me.
I tense and dip my hand into my blazer pocket to clutch my knife.
There’s no one close by. I’m aware that has never stopped Joey in the past, but I’d prefer to never be alone with him again.
The images of his maid’s autopsy flash into my mind and I have to focus to keep my breathing even.
“It’s been such a long time since we last spoke, Mounty. I’ve missed you,” he drawls as he flicks my colored pens so they roll around the desk.
“Is there something you want, Beaumont?” I try to keep my tone civil but uninviting. I watch him from the corner of my eye, assessing just how high he is.
“There are so many things I want, but I’ve just been told I can’t have one of them. Tell me, how is it you know the Jackal? I received a personal phone call from him, you know.”
I shrug and look back down at my notes. I knew this was coming. When I don’t answer, he continues.
“I’ve met quite a lot of his, shall we say, associates.
I enjoy his products. They’re much more pure than the crap you get out here or from his competitors in the city.
So, I do a pickup with my usual supplier, and he tells me his boss needs a word with me.
I’m thinking I’m going to get a frequent shopper card, or a job offer, and instead I’m given an order. Stay away from one Eclipse Anderson.”
I set my pen down and turn in my chair to look at him. His eyes are clearer than they were in the library, but he is still having trouble tracking. His cheek has a little tick as he talks, and his brow is furrowed like I’m confusing him. I decide it’s safe enough to speak calmly to him.
“He’s a friend of mine. It came up in conversation that you were interested in me, and he was concerned that I’m too young for such a thing, so he told me he would have a friendly chat. That’s all this is.” That is not even close to what this is.
His eyes shine with a manic sheen. “He told me you belong to him. He told me if even a single Hannaford boy touches your pussy, he’s going to come here and deal with it personally.”
I clench my jaw so the words I want to say don’t come flying out of my mouth. When I have myself under control, I say, “So you’re going to leave me alone, then?”
He tips his head back and laughs.
I can’t stand the manic sound of it, so I grab my books and leave.