Chapter 10 #2
I swallow, my appetite lost. “It was. The weather helped.” Cold River hosts one of the oldest fall fairs in Northern Ontario every September and, as detachment commander, I’m required to stroll the grounds and greet people with a smile.
It’s not a hardship. “Congrats to your granddaughter.” At sixteen, Hannah’s the youngest Harvest Queen crowned in forty years.
Given she’s a direct descendant of George Whitley—for which the nearby town of Whitley is named after—she was all but guaranteed the win.
“Thank you. She worked hard for it.” His nod is resolute—no hint of doubt there. “Isla’s of age now, isn’t she? She should put her name in next year.”
“That’s an idea.” Isla wouldn’t be caught dead on that stage.
Brad smooths a palm over his cobalt blue button-down shirt.
The man may have more wealth than anyone I’ve ever met, a lucky bastard twice over.
His grandfather George opened one of the first mines in the area’s early-1900s silver rush and reaped handsome rewards until the industry dried up.
When he passed, he left his vast fortune to his only son John, Brad’s father, with the expectation that he would provide adequately for his three sisters and their offspring.
Not one to sit idle, John founded Whitley Aggregates in the 1940s, employing his many nephews and nieces and his son Brad once he was old enough.
Eventually, Brad took over, growing it to what it is today—a multimillion-dollar company with five pit and quarry locations and a topsoil farm.
He’s earned himself several lucrative municipal tenders over the years.
Yet, with all that money, Brad’s wardrobe is a walking advertisement for Denver Hayes. There’s charm in that.
Unfortunately, it’s the only charm I’ve ever found in him.
“Big plans for Thanksgiving?” he asks, scratching at the fine layer of white bristle coating his chin, the sound cutting into my quiet office.
“Nothing big. It’s just Isla and me.” Which he knows, and he can probably guess that I usually join the Landrys for dinner.
Annie extended the invitation again this year, but I’ve been too much of a coward to accept it yet.
“What can I do for you today?” Because he sure as hell didn’t come here to talk about fall fairs and turkey, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess his motivation.
“Logan Landry is home.”
Good. No more wasting time on small talk. “He is.”
He picks at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “You don’t sound concerned.”
“You think I should be?” Has he heard about the window-smashing event yet? I spoke to Jenny yesterday, and it went as well as I expected, with no accountability, a whiff of accusation for my parenting or lack thereof, and a suggestion that perhaps it isn’t safe for Holly to visit our house anymore.
“You tell me. He went to jail for killing two of your father’s officers.”
I bite my tongue against the urge to correct him. Defending Logan won’t do me any favors. Besides, Brad knows the case file as well as anyone else.
“Jessica is beside herself. Can’t sleep at night, knowing the violent criminal who helped kill her husband—my son—is in our community, free as a bird.”
I lean back in my chair. “I don’t know that I would use that description.”
“What? Violent?” Brad’s bushy gray eyebrows arch. “Don’t you know what he did to that other inmate?”
“After the guy stabbed him? Yes, I’m well aware, and I don’t think Jessica has anything to worry about.” Unless she plans on trying to kill him. “Besides, Logan Landry is on parole, with restrictions. He’s checking in regularly. I imagine he’ll be on his best behavior.”
“Yes, a check-in with his parole officer every other week.” Brad snorts. “Sounds like he’s got plenty of free time to me.”
“And if I had to guess, he’ll be spending most of it on his family’s ranch.”
Brad pauses. “Have you seen him yet?”
“Briefly.” Aside from his horse ride yesterday morning, I’ve not caught a glimpse of him since.
“Socially?”
“I wouldn’t call it that, no.” But I know what he’s getting at.
“And?” Brad presses.
“And I didn’t see any cause for concern.” Other than my own heart being fed through a meat grinder again.
It’s all I can do to keep my expression flat while I hold Brad’s gaze in a staring contest that lasts far too long.
Finally, he hauls himself out of the chair, leaving it askew. “I know you have history with the Landrys, but you best be taking this matter seriously. There are a lot of people around here who have no interest in Logan rejoining our community.”
“A lot of Whitleys,” I correct.
“Yes, well, we are a prominent family around these parts, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, I haven’t.” Mostly in your head. “I heard you petitioned the CBA. So, you know that the Whitleys have no say where Logan Landry resides, whether it’s in Cold River or in the town of Whitley itself.”
His jaw clenches. Hearing that must spark his ire. His bloated sense of power can’t handle it. “Still, there must be actions we can take, things we can do to make it uncomfortable for him. I’ve been having conversations with the mayor, who also has concerns for obvious reasons—”
“Dillon has no say in where Logan lives. Neither do I nor any of my officers.”
Brad pauses to regard me. “I have deep connections on the council.”
“Yes, so do I.” Birthing the mayor’s firstborn has its perks. For all that Dillon is, he likes having me running things here. It gives him a misguided sense of control.
“You’ve been pushing for more funding.”
“Yes, for two more uniformed staff. That’s not a secret.”
“I’m a community representative on the detachment board. You know, the group that advises you on the needs of the community?”
“Yeah, Brad, I’m well aware of your appointed role in that group.
We’ve had many conversations over the years.
” Sometimes I think the only reason he ever joined the detachment board is to have his thumb on me.
Brad caused a lot of noise for my father over the years too, but he hadn’t figured out how to manipulate the system properly yet.
“Where are you going with this?” Because my annoyance is growing exponentially.
“We’ve been discussing an update on our local priorities.”
“Based on Logan Landry returning?”
“Based on the need for Cold River’s policing to focus on the rising number of dangerous offenders within our community.”
“One man who has already served twenty years of his sentence and wants to serve the rest of it in peace? Honestly, where are you going with this? I hope it’s not your aim to use the board for your own personal vendetta.
I’d call that a conflict of interest and probably worth a deeper discussion with necessary parties. ”
“And what’s your relationship with the Landrys, if not a conflict of interest?” His smile is smug. “Are we about to repeat old mistakes?”
I school my expression as I think about how close I was to making one last night. “Our priority remains as it always has been—to keep the residents of this jurisdiction safe.”
“Is that true, though? It’s no secret Clive gave Jason Landry passes when he should have been building a paper trail of his misdoings.”
“There was nothing to document,” I counter, mention of my father’s choices stiffening my shoulders.
Brad shakes his head. “You’re a smart person, Emery. You and I both know Clive was too soft, and look what it cost.”
“I have a meeting now, so you’ll have to leave,” I force through clenched teeth.
“Four lives. My son’s life—”
“Get the hell out of my office!” I point to the door. How dare Brad blame my late father for that night!
My father spent enough years blaming himself as it was.
With pursed lips that tell me this isn’t the end of our battle, Brad ducks out.
My appetite officially ruined, I log in so I can greet Doug Freeman’s bloated face.