Chapter 30 Founding Families
Founding Families
Aweek went by without incident. BJ had brought some cream his mom had made for my wounds, and, surprisingly, they were healing fairly quickly.
They were no longer as painful, and new skin had begun to grow, covering the exposed, burned flesh.
There would be scars, but I didn’t care. I was lucky to be alive.
Despite my initial reservations, Ethan was relatively easy to live with.
He was super tidy, bordering on ridiculous.
He refused to let me do any housework, with the exception of my own laundry, and cleaning my bedroom and bathroom.
I’d vacuumed once while he was out, but in all honesty, it didn’t need doing.
I never saw him doing any of it, but the house was always spotless. I guessed he did it when I went out.
I’d bought myself a new car—a gray Jeep four-wheel drive. Insurance hadn’t paid out yet, and I knew it wouldn’t cover all the costs, so I had to dip into my savings. But this one, Ethan had said, was much safer for the winter snows. If I was still here.
The town mourned the loss of the Tolles, the Millers, and the Torontos, giving up any hope of finding them.
There hadn’t been a memorial for any of them yet.
The Toronto’s funeral took place in New York.
The Tolle’s daughter was traveling and couldn’t be found.
The Millers had relatives who needed to be reached, but no one seemed to know where they were.
I just returned from a coffee date with Jodie and Georgie, and Karson’s car sat in the drive. My stomach whirled. It was the first time he’d been here since he dropped me off—the day he rejected my advances.
I threw my keys and bag on the hallway table as I tried to keep my feelings for him under wraps. But my traitorous heart had other ideas; it launched at the mere sight of him.
Calm down heart, I told it, drawing in a slow breath. I didn’t understand how he could have me this wound up.
His hazel eyes regarded me with reserved interest. “Amelia, it’s good to see you.”
“Karson, you too,” I said, a little blunter than I’d intended.
His brow creased, and his eyes explored mine for a moment, seemingly trying to work out why he’d received such a hostile greeting. Try getting rejected, asshole. “I have some information to do with the development.”
My interest piqued, and I perched myself on the arm of the chair. “What did you find out?”
He set his whiskey down on the mantel. “The land Cole wants to build on is owned by eleven families. All members of the original founding families who arrived here in the 1500s. The contract states they are not allowed to sell the land, but it can get passed on after death to a direct surviving descendant. If there are no immediate surviving relatives, the other members vote on who gets to hold that person’s balance.
The families are the Torontos, Tolles, Jeffersons, Dicksens, Overtons, Bentleys, Smiths, Thompsons, Locklears, Brentworths, and Taylors.
The founding families must also vote on anything to do with the land, with the majority vote being the deciding factor.
Jefferson, the Dicksens, and the Brentworths are on board.
The Tolles are gone—they can’t find Claire yet, the Torontos .
. .” He paused and looked uncomfortable.
He didn’t need to fill in the blanks. “It’s yet to be determined who will get their share.
If they get one of those on board, they only need two more families to agree, and Cole gets the go-ahead on the development. ”
“But if they aren’t allowed to sell the land, how can he build on it?” I asked.
“The land can’t be sold, but there’s nothing in the contract that says it can’t be leased. The contract was made back when land was stolen, gifted, or bought. Hardly ever leased.” Karson reached for his drink and took a sip.
“The Locklears and the Taylors will never sign. They’re of Native American descent, and there is no way they will allow the estate to be developed,” Ethan said, lowering himself to the couch.
Luke’s words at the ball, and the fire that subsequently claimed his life. The Tolles’ car accident. Eight people were taken out in one night. It was almost too conveniently in favor of Cole and Jefferson. What if none of it was an accident? What if it was murder?
I sat back, an uneasy feeling sweeping through my belly.
It seemed highly unlikely, as if anyone would be so blatantly arrogant enough to take out someone who’d just said, “Over my dead body,” and think they’d get away with it.
But then, Occam’s razor—the simplest explanation was usually the best—sprung to mind.
“That’s exactly my thinking,” Ethan agreed, and I realized I’d muttered it out loud. He was staring at the fireplace, his jaw tight, deep in thought.
“Do you think it’s possible Cole had something to do with the car accident and the fire?”
“Robert was drunk,” Karson responded. “He was over three times the legal limit, so I highly doubt that was anything other than an accident.”
Alarm bells sounded in my head. Robert wasn’t drinking. But maybe Robert and Katrina had stayed, and he’d started drinking later?
“Did you catch up with Katrina that night to get her thoughts on the development, Karson?”
“No, she’d gone home unwell, apparently.”
I knew that to be untrue—I’d seen her storm through the room. It also contradicted my last thought that Robert may have started drinking after I left. I simply stared at him. He held my gaze without so much as a blink.
“So, she asked to see you, but then went home before you caught up with her?” I kept my tone as casual as possible.
He raised his brows. “That’s correct.”
Was he somehow involved? But why would he need them dead?
Karson had nothing to do with the development.
He certainly didn’t light the fires and then save me—if he did save me.
Maybe Katrina was unwell and left before he found her.
Or maybe the Tolles had gone somewhere else, and Robert drank and then drove home?
My intuition screamed that there was more to the story.
I smoothed down the edge of my skirt. “Did you come across the fire on your way home or see anything at all? Cars leaving the area, perhaps?” Save any girls from raging fires . . .?
“No, I left not long after you did, Amelia,” he answered with blunt irritation, moving to the far chair and sitting down.
My stomach fell. Then how was it he came to be in the area while the fires raged? I said nothing for a long beat, watching his face, searching for answers that weren’t forthcoming.
“I can see from your expression that you’re doubting my answers,” he said, not hostile, more chiding.
Ethan raised his head and looked between us, bemused.
“I’m just trying to work it all out in my head.”
“I see.” Those two words were as condescending as shit.
“Have you managed to have a . . .” Ethan paused and darted his eyes to mine then back to Karson’s as if reconsidering what he was about to say.
“Little chat with Jefferson or Cole?” He reached across, grabbing the decanter from the coffee table, and poured a whiskey. Then he handed the decanter to Karson.
“No, they’ve left town. I’ve been looking for them, but so far I’ve hit brick walls.” Karson refilled his glass and held the decanter out. “Would you like a drink, Amelia?”
Christ, he had this intense gaze that made me feel like I was a rabbit in a den of wolves. I craved a drink, but not whiskey. I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He settled the decanter back on the coffee table as snippets of conversations came back to me.
“Everyone knows if you sit there when Karson and Ethan are in town, it won’t end well for you.”
“Rumor has it he murdered her.”
To say the scenarios that played out in my head didn’t sit comfortably would be a gross understatement. “What do you mean by ‘little chat’? Why is it your job to talk to them, and not Matt’s?”
Karson leaned his back against the chair and rested his glass on the arm. “It’s not for you to worry about.”
I felt my temper rise. “Don’t patronize me, Karson—I’m not a child. Don’t speak to me like one.” I stood up. “And you didn’t answer the question. What exactly does a little chat with you involve?”
He remained relaxed, an image of composure, but there was a look in his eye that suggested this subject was not to be continued. “I do not mean to treat you like a child, Amelia,” he said slowly, “but there are some things you do not need to know.”
Some things? What the hell did that mean?
I crossed my arms. “What things?”
“Amy, let it go. It’s being sorted, and Matt wants to talk to them.” Ethan thrust a hand through his hair and sat forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, staring at the fireplace for a long beat like it was lit. “They left town awfully quickly.”
“The flights were booked a few weeks ago,” Karson responded.
Ethan sat up straight and said bitterly, “Almost like it was pre-planned.”
“Perhaps,” he answered smoothly. “It’s a little early to jump to conclusions. Rest assured I will find out, one way or another.”
“That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” I clipped.
He threw me a hard look. “Amelia, it’s none of your concern.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Actually, it is. I was in the fire, remember?”
His face tightened, and his tone was quietly furious. “I said, leave it be. We will find them, and it will be dealt with.”
He wasn’t used to being challenged, and he didn’t like it. I knew the kind. I’d met plenty of foster fathers who dominated their domain with a brutal hand. But unlike some of the men I’d had to endure, I wasn’t scared of him.
“Fine.” I threw out a hand and raised my voice. “How about instead of making plans to hunt people down like prey, you try saving the ones that might be the next target?”
He held my annoyed glare unapologetically and didn’t bother to correct my words. Why didn’t he? I was tempted to ask again, but I held my tongue. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.
“I’ll leave you boys to your little plans. I’m going out to drink. A lot,” I said, flicking my hair over my shoulders. I swear I saw his lips twitch. I strode—like the child I just insisted I wasn’t—out the door, slamming it behind me.