Chapter 41 #2
“I’ll take that question about Erik’s veracity,” Kaitlyn said.
“I’ve been through several trials, and I can usually tell when a witness is lying.
There are slight variations in their facial expressions or the way they sit in the witness box that tell me they aren’t being truthful.
Erik was both evasive and provocative, but I don’t believe he lied. ”
“What do ye mean by provocative?” Elliott asked.
“He is a master of disguise, or he was truthful. He was in control and knew he could answer a question in a way that provoked anger or argument.”
Elliott reached for the carafe in the center of the table and poured a cup of coffee. “Did it?”
“Usually, and he directed that provocation at Clay, or Barclay, as Erik called him. Not to the rest of us. It was as if he were testing Clay.”
Elliott’s eyebrows twitched slightly. “Why?”
“Erik knew he probably wouldn’t see Clay again. He needed to know who Clay was and what kind of role he’d have in the family. Would he encourage others to go to Erik’s time, or would he discourage it?”
Elliott steepled his fingers, tapping them lightly against his chin. “Did Erik reach a conclusion?”
Kaitlyn shrugged. “That’s hard to say,” she stated plainly, her voice a flat line. “I have no opinion either way.”
Remy had observed Elliott long enough to discern the personal code he used to assess a person’s trustworthiness.
From this brief exchange, Kaitlyn somehow launched straight to the top of that invisible scale.
But it gnawed at the question: Why? Was his high regard for her a reflection of the respect and history he had for Roisin, or some other reason?
“Do ye think that scared Erik?” Elliott asked.
“I’m not sure what scares him except maybe Violet’s disapproval.
She has power over Erik that he doesn’t like but accepts.
” Kaitlyn stopped and poured herself a cup of coffee.
After taking a sip, she continued. “On second thought, Elliott, and this was more subtle. Your disapproval scares him, and that’s probably why he said he’ll never come back.
The brief time he was here was the happiest time of his life, and the way he left will always haunt him. ”
“Hearing that brings me no satisfaction.” Elliott’s voice had lost its natural inflection and sounded flat, almost robotic.
That news landed like a physical blow, a grief trigger for Elliott and Erik’s children, survivors of a father’s abandonment.
Much like the sudden chokehold of a forgotten song or an imagined scent, this revelation unleashed a tidal wave of raw emotion.
For Remy, the news triggered an ache of his own.
His fingers found Skye’s hand, lacing their hands together in a swift grasp, grounding him to her presence, the woman he had recognized as the one within their first shared ten seconds.
Kaitlyn sipped her coffee and then said to Elliott, “If you two talked, you could work out your differences.”
“Differences?” Elliott stammered in an abrupt shift in his tone, and his face clenched like a balled fist. “The bastard lied and then ran away. There are no differences to resolve. And how would I talk to him? Should I make a Zoom call or send up goddamn smoke signals?”
The humor died in Remy’s throat as he clamped his mouth shut.
“I don’t know what a Zoom call is, but you have to talk to him,” Kaitlyn said, her voice only slightly tensed.
Elliott glared. “That’s impossible.”
“Then you’ll never resolve your misunderstandings.”
“Kaitlyn!” he goaded. “There are no goddamn misunderstandings between us!”
She sat straighter and held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” she said calmly. “You invited me to this showdown.”
Elliott leaned back, pushing his chair away with a scrape that seemed too loud in the quiet room, and moved toward the liquor cabinet.
He returned to the table, his hands full: four shot glasses that clinked softly and a bottle of twenty-year-old Pappy Van Winkle.
He settled the items with a thud in the center of the table.
A moment later, he filled a single glass to the brim, lifted it to his lips, and swallowed the liquid in one swig.
Remy’s teeth worried his lower lip, a nervous gesture.
Elliott was about to escalate things, metaphorically bringing a bottle of top-shelf whisky to a gunfight.
Was Kaitlyn prepared to meet his challenge, shot for shot?
Though Remy had only known her for a short time, he sensed the same steely resolve Kenzie had, capable of going toe-to-toe with Elliott.
A slow grin broke across Remy’s face as he looked at Bastien, his pride obvious. He tried to look casual, but Remy, who knew him better than anyone, saw the truth. Beneath the easy pose, Bastien was a coiled wire, silent and lethal, ready to snap into action at her first sign of distress.
Kaitlyn slid the Pappy Van Winkle across the polished table.
The bottle made a low resonant thud as it met the wood.
She poured herself a generous measure and swallowed it in one swift gulp.
“Erik guards his emotions well and lets others see only what he wants them to see. Look beyond that, and you’ll find what he really thinks about a situation. ”
Elliott slid the bottle back, then tilted it again, pouring another stiff drink. “He put down his guard for ye. Didn’t he?”
Kaitlyn poured another one for herself. “You make it sound like we were in cahoots. I’d never met the man before. I’m just telling you what I saw and heard.”
“Maybe ye crossed paths and didn’t know it. Ye said he could be a master of disguise. I know Tony had met him. Did yer father tell ye about Erik and Sten?”
“He mentioned them, but he never told me about Sten’s violent streak until I was in law school.”
“So ye already had an opinion of Erik.”
“A neutral one.”
Elliott’s glare moved from Kaitlyn to Clay. “Clay didn’t include any of that in his report.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the shot glass, as if processing a new idea. “History with Erik might have blinded Clay.”
Clay spun his pencil between his fingers. “That makes me an unreliable narrator.”
“But not an unreliable sketch artist,” Kaitlyn suggested. “It might surprise you how insightful they are and that your narrative complements the sketches. Not the other way around.”
“That observation is insightful.” Clay then glanced at Bastien. “You’ll have to be at the top of your game every day to keep up with her.”
“I figured that out when I went with her to meet a client. She’s impressive.”
“Impressive and relentless.” Elliott raised his glass in a military-style salute, his eyes locking onto hers for a fleeting second before he tilted his head back, downing the fiery liquid in a single swallow.
Kaitlyn did the same. “I can match you shot for shot, Elliott. I’m a barkeeper’s daughter.” There was a brief flicker of amusement in Kaitlyn’s eyes.
And in Elliott’s.
“Watch out, McBain,” Kenzie teased. “Kaitlyn might try to usurp your role as Elliott’s consigliere.”
“Elliott’s too old-school for that to happen, but Kaitlyn could easily fill the role for JC. As a matter of fact, I’m going to suggest it,” David said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. A role where? And do I get a say in this?” Kaitlyn asked.
“Aye,” Elliott said. “But family members typically do whatever they can to benefit the clan.”
“Or typically do whatever you ask?”
“Isn’t that the same?”
“And you’re calling me relentless?” she asked.
Elliott chuckled. “Do ye ride?”
“Bicycles or horses?” Kaitlyn asked without batting an eye, as if non-sequiturs were an everyday occurrence.
“Horses.”
“Papa bought me a horse when I turned ten. We rented a stall at Stable Row on East 24th Street. I’d go there and ride astride almost daily.”
“Weren’t women still riding side-saddle?” Elliott asked.
“Yes, but women were challenging societal norms by then and rejected the side-saddle, which we saw as a symbol of female oppression.”
Kenzie applauded. “You go, girl. Thank you for what you and your activist friends did to advance women’s rights. I stand proudly on your shoulders.”
Kaitlyn patted her shoulders. “Happy to have you there.”
Elliott’s eyebrows shot up in a fleeting arc of surprise before settling into a warm smile that caused the fine lines to crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Bring yer big shoulders to the stallion barn tomorrow morning at six,” he said, his grin widening in anticipation.
“Did you just invite me to go riding with you or to observe the stallions in the barn?” she asked in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, as if she found the invitation rather quirky.
“I don’t invite many people to ride with me.”
“Oh, then I feel honored. So, why me?”
“I saw the way ye looked at the portrait of Stormy hanging over the fireplace. Ye appreciated his conformation.”
“You can appreciate a horse without riding it.”
“Yer muscular calves didn’t come from working out in a gym in the early 1900s. Ye’re an experienced equestrian.”
“I’m offended that you’ve been checking out my woman,” Bastien said without a flicker of jealousy or insecurity.
“Three beautiful women step out of the fog, wearing flapper dresses, and I’m not supposed to notice? I’m old, Bastien, but not dead.”
“Don’t worry, Bastien,” Kenzie said. “Elliott was just sizing her up for a pedestal. If he still had a wandering eye or a sexist bone in his body, Meredith would have broken it a long time ago.”
“She did,” David said with a chuckle. “And he rose from the ashes.”
“It’s unnecessary to hear from the peanut gallery.” Elliott sounded as if he were on the downward arc of an upward swing.
“When we go toe-to-toe, Elliott, who steps on whose toes?” Kenzie asked.
Elliott ignored her. “Kaitlyn, ye can find riding clothes in the women’s closet. Now what’s next?” He pulled a notecard from his shirt pocket, perused it, and said, “What’s yer opinion of Erik having James Cullen’s sperm?”
“I think it’s—” Clay said.