Twisted Palace(7)
Callum sighs. “I got a friend out of bed—a judge I know—and he came down this morning to set bail for Reed. I need to deliver Reed’s passport to the clerk of court tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we wait. You might have to stay here a while longer, Steve,” he informs my father. “Your place is currently being held as a crime scene.”
“Why? Did someone finally off my beloved wife?” Steve asks in a dry voice.
I jerk in surprise. Steve’s wife, Dinah, is a terrible, venomous woman, but I can’t believe he’s joking about someone killing her.
Callum can’t believe it either, because he responds in a sharp voice. “Hardly something to joke about, Steve. But no, it’s Brooke who died. And Reed here is being falsely accused of having a hand in that death.”
Reed’s fingers tighten through mine.
“Brooke?” Steve’s eyebrows soar up to his hairline. “How did that happen?”
“Head injury,” Reed says coolly. “And no, I didn’t do it.”
Callum glares at his son.
“What?” Reed growls. “Those are facts and I’m not afraid of the facts. I went there last night after a phone call from Brooke. You were all gone and I felt okay, so I went. We argued. I left. When I left, she was unhappy but alive. That’s the story.”
What about your stitches? I want to scream. What about the blood I saw on your waist when I came home from dinner?
The words stick in my throat, making me cough violently. Everyone stares at me for a moment, before Easton finally speaks.
“Okay, if that’s the story, I’m on board.”
Reed’s expression darkens. “It’s not a story—it’s the truth.”
Easton nods. “Like I said, totally on board, bro.” His gaze travels to the newcomer in our midst. “I’d way rather hear Uncle Steve’s story, anyway. Coming back from the dead? That’s badass.”
“Yeah, he wouldn’t tell us a thing last night,” Sebastian grumbles, glancing at his dad. “He wanted to wait for you.”
Callum lets out another sigh. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? I could use a cup of coffee. The coffee at the police station gave me heartburn.”
We all follow the head of the Royal household into the massive, modern kitchen that I fell in love with the moment I moved in. As Callum walks over to the coffeemaker, the rest of us gather at the table. We all sit down as if this is just any other normal Sunday, not the Sunday after Reed was arrested for murder and a dead man walked out of the ocean to our front door.
It’s so surreal. I can’t make sense of this. Any of it.
In the chair beside mine, Reed rests a hand on my thigh, although I’m not sure if it’s to comfort me or himself. Or maybe he’s comforting us both.
After he’s settled in his seat, Easton gets right down to business. “So are you finally gonna tell us why aren’t you dead?” he asks my father.
Steve smiles faintly. “I still can’t tell if you’re happy or sad about that fact.”
Neither, I almost blurt out. I manage to tamp down the response at the last second, but it’s the truth. Steve’s reappearance is more confusing than anything. And maybe a bit terrifying.
“Happy,” the twins reply in unison.
“Obvs,” Easton agrees.
“How are you alive?” Reed, this time. His voice is sharp, and his hand moves soothingly over my thigh, as if he knows how on edge I am.
Steve leans back in his chair. “I don’t know what Dinah’s told you, if anything, about our little trip.”
“You went hang-gliding and both harnesses failed,” Callum says as he joins us at the table. He sets a cup of coffee in front of Steve, then sits down and sips his own cup. “Dinah was able to deploy her emergency ’chute. You dropped into the ocean. I spent four weeks searching for your body.”
A crooked grin pops up on Steve’s face. “And only five million, you said. Did you cheap out on me, old man?”
Callum doesn’t find this amusing. His expression grows as stony as the face of a cliff. “Why didn’t you come straight home after you’d been rescued? It’s been nine months, for Pete’s sake.”
Steve runs a shaky hand over his jaw. “Because I didn’t get rescued until a few days ago.”
“What?” Callum looks startled. “So where the hell were you for all those months?”
“I don’t know if it was the illness or malnourishment, but I can’t remember everything. I washed up on shore on Tavi—a tiny island about two hundred miles east of Tonga. I was severely dehydrated and in and out of consciousness for weeks. The natives took care of me, and I would have returned earlier except the only way off the island was via a fishing boat that comes around twice a year to trade with the islanders.”