Reunion in Brookhaven (Brookhaven Mystery Thriller Suspense Book 1), page 1
Reunion in Brookhaven
Copyright © 2024 by Cara Kent
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Author's Note
Also by Cara Kent
As the taxi rattled down the dusty roads toward my childhood home, a flood of bittersweet memories washed over me. This sleepy rural town still looked frozen in time, like a relic from my youth. But seeing each faded sign and weathered building twisted my heart.
The auto shop where I first discovered my love for machines and how they worked. Where I spent long summer days covered in grease and grinning proudly at Dad after getting an old clunker running again.
The high school football stadium, its bleachers seeming small and worn now, but once the sight of my crowning glory under those Friday night lights. Back when I only dreamed of fame instead of running from its harsh glare.
And the little white church where we said goodbye to Mom. I can still picture Dad’s broad shoulders shaking with rare sobs as we buried the kindest part of him. After that, it felt like he only had room left for bitterness and disappointment in me.
Each familiar sight twisted my gut just a little tighter. I rubbed my temple, trying to massage away the tension headache building since I got the call about Dad. The old man was gone, just like that. And I’d barely spoken to him these last fifteen years while I was off living my “Hollywood fantasy,” as he called it.
Yeah, some fantasy. Trading the golden silence of these plains for the soul-sucking drone of traffic and constant camera clicks. Escaping Dad’s crushing expectations only to have agents and tabloids dictate my every move instead.
My throat tightened thinking of our last argument right before I left this one-stoplight town.
“Acting? You’re going to throw away generations of Hayes legacy for a fool’s daydream?” Dad’s usual stoic face clouded with anger as he blocked the front door.
I squared my shoulders, staring him down. “It’s my life. I’m not going to be your obedient little soldier marching to your orders.”
“Ungrateful boy!” he shouted. “After everything I’ve built for this family. The Hayes Ranch has provided for you since the day you were born.” His steel eyes chilled me to the core.
I shoved past him, duffel bag in hand. “Well, I don’t want your precious ranch or shackles you call a family legacy. I’m getting out of this Podunk town and making it on my own.”
I could still see the mixture of fury and disappointment etched on Dad’s craggy face as I peeled away down the dirt road to freedom. We’d barely spoken since. What a stupid, cocky kid I’d been.
Jolting back to the present, I sighed and leaned forward. “This is it,” I told the cabbie, gesturing toward the iron gates of the Hayes Estate.
He nodded and turned down the tree-lined drive. “Welcome home, Mr. Hayes. Sorry it had to be under such sad circumstances.”
Home. As I looked up at the sprawling ranch house, a wave of nostalgia softened my lingering bitterness. The stately white columns now seemed to wrap around the porch like a warm embrace rather than loom over me judgmentally. Vines of bold purple wisteria my mother had planted curled up the side of the house, welcoming me back after being so long away.
I smiled remembering how Emma and I used to pluck the fragrant blossoms, laughing and weaving them into flower crowns beneath the shade of that porch. The wind chimes my father hung for my mother tinkled gently, beckoning me inside.
I half expected Dad to come barreling out the front door, yelling about how I was three days late and where did I get off making the family wait after they’d postponed the funeral for me. But the front porch remained empty.
Gravel crunched as the cab slowed to a stop. I slid my sunglasses on and took in the familiar imposing facade of the estate house, with its stately columns and tidy gardens.
“You want help with your bags?” the cabbie asked.
“Nah, I travel light these days.” I hefted my duffel and garment bags, tamping down the quiver in my gut. Why was I so nervous? It was just my family, after all.
The cab rattled away, leaving me alone with the ghosts of Hayes past. I tromped up the stone steps to the front door, my boots sounding oddly loud in the heavy stillness. Before I could lift the ornate door knocker, the carved door swung open.
My little sister Emma stood there, looking so much like Mom it squeezed my heart. Wispy chestnut hair framed her delicate face. She still wore it long with bangs like when she was a teen.
“Liam!” Joy sparked through her teary eyes, and she yanked me into a fierce hug. I staggered, dropping my duffel as her floral perfume washed over me. For an instant I forgot the fifteen years stretched between us and clung to her like I did after Mom’s funeral when we were kids. She squeezed harder, trembling against my chest. Then she pulled back abruptly, wiping her eyes.
“Sorry, I’m a mess.” She laughed shakily and gestured me inside. “We’ve all been wrecks this week handling arrangements and everything. I’m so glad you’re finally home.”
I forced a smile and stepped over the threshold and into the imposing foyer. The dark wood paneling and oil paintings of dour ancestors were just as oppressive as I remembered.
Emma slipped her arm through mine. “Everyone’s waiting in the study. The lawyer just got here to read the will.”
My stomach knotted. I paused outside the tall double doors of the study, bracing myself. Then I strode in, shoulders back.
My two brothers and my other sister all looked up from their perches on the leather couches. Matt’s face was drawn, his sandy hair disheveled. He still wore his ranch clothes, dusty jeans, and scuffed boots. Francesca had clearly come from her architecture office, impeccably dressed as always. And baby brother Noah glanced up from his phone, his stylishly tousled hair and fitted suit looking out of place in this old-fashioned room.
Noah leapt up and grabbed me in a quick hug. “Liam, you made it! We’ve missed you, bro.”
I ruffled his hair. “Yeah, it’s been too long, kid.” He was just an awkward tween last time I saw him. Now he stood eye to eye with me.
Matt stayed seated, regarding me with those flinty blue eyes he inherited from Dad. “Nice of you to finally show up,” he said gruffly.
Francesca shot him a quelling look. “Please, Matt, let’s not fight today.”
I met Matt’s accusing stare. “I got here as soon as I could. You know I was in detox out of the country. No phones allowed.”
Matt muttered something under his breath but didn’t press it. He knew due to my court-ordered rehab I’d been incommunicado in the Maldives. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t been able to make it back sooner.
The family lawyer, Mr. Banks, cleared his throat. “Shall we begin reading the will?” Without waiting for a response, he unfolded the papers on the heavy oak desk.
Mr. Banks’s monotone voice droned on as he read through page after page of legal terminology. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my siblings’ expressions grow listless.
When he finally reached the distribution of assets, we perked up. “The corporate real estate holdings shall transfer in full to Matthew Hayes.”
Matt sat taller, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Of course, it made sense. He had been at Dad’s side handling those investments
“The residential properties, family ranch, and controlling shares in Hayes Agricultural Enterprises will pass to Liam Hayes.”
Everyone gasped.
All I could manage to say was, “What?”
“That’s what it says, Mr. Hayes.”
I blinked in surprise. Matt’s face darkened, his jaw clenched tight. I knew he’d been overseeing the ranch hands since Dad got sick. He must have assumed he’d inherit it.
Mr. Banks kept droning on about individual bequests. I zoned out, reeling. Just like that, I was suddenly at the helm of an empire I wanted no part of. I felt Matt’s glare burning into me but didn’t meet his eyes.
After the lawyer finally finished, I stood abruptly. “Well, I’m exhausted from traveling. I think I’ll turn in early.”
I avoided making eye contact with my siblings as I inched toward the door. “Don’t wanna be all sleepy and grumpy for the big services tomorrow. You know how cranky I get when I don’t get my beauty rest.” I let out an awkward chuckle.
Francesca raised an eyebrow at my obvious deflection, but bless her, she played along. “Of course. We’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
I escaped the suffocating study and made my way upstairs to my old bedroom by muscle memory. Shutting the heavy door behind me, I leaned against it and exhaled, feeling like I could finally breathe again.
Nothing had changed up here. The plaid bedspread, framed vintage movie posters, and shelves of sports trophies were just how I’d left them so long ago. I tossed my duffel bag into a corner and collapsed backward onto the bed.
What was Dad thinking, giving a black sheep screw-up like me control of his precious family legacy? I gazed up at the ceiling fan lazily spinning above me. What was I going to do now?
I jolted awake well before dawn, heart pounding. For a panicked moment, I forgot where I was. Then it all rushed back—the phone call, the casket, the choking weight of expectations. Today was the funeral.
Throwing off the tangled sheets, I staggered to the window. The full moon still glowed over the sleeping ranch, bathing the swaying fields in cold light. It was a mournful scene.
Turning away, I caught my haggard reflection in the dresser mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back at me, clouded with grief and regret. I raked a shaky hand through my disheveled hair.
I couldn’t show up like this, looking half-mad with remorse. Splashing cold water on my face, I attempted to tame my mess of hair. Fumbling with my tie, my fingers felt numb and useless. I cursed, leaving the tie hanging loose around my neck.
“Get it together, Liam,” I muttered. But inside I was still reeling. Today I would bury my father—the one relationship I could never seem to make right.
Downstairs I could hear soft voices as more family arrived to pay their respects. I took a deep breath and headed downstairs, bracing myself to face pitying looks and hushed gossip.
I was immediately engulfed in a hug from Aunt Mae, her familiar floral perfume bringing back memories of childhood. She cupped my cheek in her worn hand.
“Liam, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man, even if those movie rags try to paint you as a rapscallion.” She winked conspiratorially.
I flushed, knowing she was referring to my latest stint in rehab. But her warm smile was free of judgment.
My siblings soon found me in the swelling crowd. Noah slung an arm around my shoulder.
“Come on, bro. Mom and Dad would want us to stick together today.”
I followed Matt into the hushed sitting room, each footstep heavier than the last. And there he was—Dad’s larger-than-life frame now muted and still against the casket’s satin lining.
Seeing those familiar furrowed brows and weathered cheeks frozen in repose, the dam inside me cracked. Jagged shards of regret sliced through my chest. All our wasted years of bitterness and misunderstanding stretched before me now as a chasm I could never cross.
I reached out a trembling hand to touch him one last time, but pulled back at the last moment. I’d lost the chance to bridge our divide.
The haunting melody of bagpipes filled the room as we accompanied Dad’s casket outside. I fixated on the small details—the glint of brass handles, the dusty walk to the family plot, wisps of cloud scudding across the brooding sky. Anything to distract from the cavernous grief threatening to swallow me whole.
At the graveside, the pastor’s warm words about Dad’s devotion washed over me meaninglessly. I stood dry-eyed, numb, the pain too profound for tears. My brothers’ muffled sobs broke through the fog, sparking a fresh wave of anguish. But my eyes remained bone dry, too parched from the years of drought between me and my father.
Matt stepped forward first, his strong jaw set as he looked down at the casket that held their formidable father. When he spoke, his voice was thick with restrained emotion.
“Our father was a titan of a man—in stature, spirit, and legacy,” he began gruffly. “He poured every ounce of himself into building this ranch, through years of drought and hardship, into the thriving heartbeat of this community it is today. And through it all, he tended gently to the family he cherished most of all. We grieve the loss of both the empire builder and the nurturing father.”
Matt paused to collect himself, his broad shoulders rising and falling with rare vulnerability.
“You taught us everything we knew. Everything we ever needed to know,” Francesca said softly. “And no matter what, you were always there for us.”
My sister Emma approached next, delicate features wobbling as she lay a trembling hand atop the casket. “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered through quiet sobs. “You always had time for us, even after the longest days. Your big bear hugs could chase away any trouble.”
Noah swallowed hard, tears glinting in his kind eyes. “You accomplished so much with the family business, Dad. But it was never the land or fortune you loved most—it was us kids. Your pride in us shone brighter than any success.” His voice cracked on the last word.
As the pastor’s warm words about my father’s devotion faded, an uneasy energy rippled through the gathered mourners. I felt the weight of their stares, knew their thoughts spun with gossip about the prodigal son.
The pastor turned expectantly, gesturing for me to share memories of the man whose legacy I’d turned my back on long ago. I wavered, shame and regret churning in my gut.
My sister Francesca stepped forward, her voice steady despite the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Dad was always so proud of everything you accomplished with the family business. But more than the company’s success, he cherished raising us kids together with Mom.” She paused, pressing a trembling hand to her lips. “We’ll honor your memory every day by coming together as the family you loved so much.”
Drawing a bracing breath, I stepped forward on leaden legs. “My father and I had a... complicated relationship,” I began, voice fraying with emotion.
I saw heads bobbing, some faces soft with sympathy, others hardened with silent judgment of the wayward son.
“We were like two bulls butting heads—too alike in our unyielding pride.” I pressed a fist to my breastbone as if to stifle the ache. “But under the bristling, we both wanted what was best—we just tangled it up in our anger.”
I turned toward the casket, eyes brimming. “I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry for the wasted years we could’ve spent accepting our differences instead of butting wills.” I swiped at a stray tear trailing down my stubbled cheek. “I’ll carry your staunch spirit and high hopes within me always. And I hope in the end, you felt my pride in the man you were.”
I rejoined my siblings, all misty-eyed. Noah squeezed my shoulder in solidarity. As we each took turns laying roses on the casket, I whispered a silent farewell to the complex man who was my father.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of mournful embraces, murmured condolences, and bittersweet reminiscing. Each relative’s face blurred into the next—lips moving with platitudes I couldn’t process.
Later at the reception, I slipped into the shadowed corner of the balcony overlooking the gardens. The fresh air was a relief after so many cloying conversations full of sideways glances at my notoriety.
A waiter approached, proffering a silver tray of champagne flutes. The crystal glasses glinted, bubbly liquid dancing within. An empty smile pasted on my face as I waved him off, every nerve suddenly screaming for the numbness of alcohol.
