Fiona smiled politely.
“Do join us. Cook outdid herself tonight on the crust.”
“Good evening, Andrew. You almost missed dessert,” Jack muttered.
“It took a while to get through all the traffic,” Andrew said, and then looked nervous, realizing that was something he shouldn’t have mentioned.
“What traffic?” Blake asked.
Andrew looked at Nita and shrugged an apology. “The traffic outside your front gate.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Blake said.
“The, uh, crowd of people. I might have seen a few picket signs.”
Blake abruptly stood. “There are people picketing outside our front gate?”
Nita sighed and took another spoonful of ice cream before it melted.
Afraid to take a bite of pie for fear someone would slap it out of his mouth, Andrew put his hands in his lap and nodded.
“What the fuck do the signs say?” Justin asked.
“I only got a glimpse of one. It might have said something about being above the law.”
“I’m going to call Henry Clayton,” Blake snapped. “What the hell good did it do putting him in office if he can’t protect us?”
He stomped out of the room.
Jack threw his napkin down on the table and followed him out.
The rest of them looked at each other in disbelief.
Andrew pulled the dessert plate closer and took a big bite, just in case it was the only one he got.
Five
Henry Clayton was at home soaking his foot, glad that the earlier chaos the Youngblood family caused when they came to Eden had ended without bloodshed.
He had an ingrown toenail that was killing him, and when he’d pulled off his boot tonight, he’d noticed that it was swollen and inflamed. He’d had visions of a doctor’s office and needles and getting part of the toenail removed, and decided to make an antiseptic foot soak in hopes that would take care of it.
He’d been soaking his foot for the better part of an hour, and the water was just beginning to cool when his cell phone rang. He reached past the reading lamp to grab it.
“Hello?”
“Henry! This is Blake Wayne. I want this crowd of rabble removed from my property ASAP.”
Henry swung his foot out of the water, splashing it everywhere as he launched himself out of the chair.
“What people? What crowd? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you should know. You’re the police chief. I don’t know who all is involved, but if I find out names, they’re going to be sorry.”
“Okay, okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Henry said. “But where are they? What are they doing? Are they destroying your property or what?”
“No. They’re in the street outside the front gates.”
Henry’s gut knotted.
“And what, exactly, are they doing?”
“Standing there. Protesting.”
“But why?” Henry asked.
Blake roared, “I don’t give a fuck why. I want them gone! Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir, and—”
The line went dead in Henry’s ear.
He hung up, cursing his toe and the fact that he’d ever let himself become involved with the Wayne family. They were ruthless when things didn’t go their way.
He dried off his foot, mopped up the splatters with the towel, and then put his uniform back on and headed out the door, pulling out his phone as he went.
Lonnie Clymer was the deputy in charge tonight, so Henry called his cell, taking care to keep this conversation off the radio. Henry was backing out of his drive as Lonnie answered.
“Hello, Chief. What’s up?”
“What the hell is going on out at the Wayne estate?”
“Aw, just a few people walking around with signs about seeking justice for Stanton Youngblood.”
Henry groaned. “And you let them?”
The tone of Lonnie’s voice shifted to nervous.
“I didn’t exactly let them, Chief. They just showed up. They’re not making a sound. There’s no shouting, no vandalism. They’re just standing on public property holding signs.”
“Did they get a permit to picket?” Henry asked.
“Well, no, but there’s no law against picketing in Eden, so technically they’re not doing anything wrong.”
Henry groaned and disconnected.
Now his belly was hurting as much as his toe.
He drove without flashers or siren, because he hoped to clear them out without a fuss. He was stunned that this was happening. He couldn’t remember anyone ever challenging any member of the Wayne family in any way—except Leigh, the one who got away.
He saw a small gathering, hardly more than a dozen people, standing beneath a street light as he turned the corner. They obviously saw him, but no one moved or even pretended to make a run for it. They just stood there holding their handmade signs, and as Henry got closer, he could read what they’d written on them.
Justice for Stanton Youngblood.
Murder in Eden.
Shame to the Waynes.
He groaned as he pulled up and got out.
“Whose idea was this?” he demanded.