Tensing immediately, Joe tersely replied, “It’s not. His name is Grant Madsen.”
“Well, Sophie Taylor ain’t buying it. She was one pissed-off woman, let me tell you—screaming at Grant about how he lied to her, acting all scared of him.”
Joe grimaced. No wonder Grant was so upset—his family had taken him down once again. But losing his girlfriend would be nothing compared to the loss Joe had to share with him next.
“Listen, Rog, I’ve got to give Grant some bad news, and I don’t think he’s going to take it so well. Can you cover for him if he can’t fulfill his docent duty for your next cruise?”
“What the hell do you have to tell him that would knock him on his ass like that?”
“Just give us some time while I go talk to him.”
“Sure,” Roger said.
Joe made his way to the bridge and stood in the entryway for several moments before Grant noticed him. Finally cracking a smile, Grant uttered a relieved “You came back” before allowing his uncle to draw him into a hug. The younger man leaned into his father figure, comforted by the familiar sight of his khaki uniform and the smell of Safeguard soap.
“Of course I came back. I had to see my favorite nephew.” Joe swallowed hard. The only nephew I have left.
“Rog did say you might be coming for a visit. It’s great that you made it.”
“Yeah, I had a flight planned for tomorrow, but I bumped it to today.”
“Why?”
Joe cleared his throat. “I needed to tell you something.” Looking steadily at his nephew, he added, “Captain Lockhart called me today.”
“How is the captain, sir?” Grant asked warily.
“Not too good after what he saw today. Listen, Grant, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it.” Joe drew in a deep breath and averted his gaze, suddenly unable to look into his nephew’s cool gemstone eyes. “Logan is dead,” he said quietly.
Grant gasped, slowly taking a step backward, his horrified eyes blinking not once. “What? How?”
“They found him near Great Lakes.” Joe swallowed again, and his jaw flexed forcefully, attempting to hold in his emotion. He’d already cried enough on the plane, his face turned to the window. “Somebody stabbed him to death, Grant.”
Joe watched his nephew’s face crumple. His lips quivered, and his eyes filled with glassy tears. “No,” he moaned, still stepping back to rest against the console.
Joe desperately wanted to take the pain away, but he couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling helpless.
“When?” Grant rasped.
“They found his body this morning.” Joe leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t believe it when Archie called me—I still don’t believe it.”
Grant didn’t believe it either. “Why?”
Joe stared into his glistening eyes. “I don’t know. I assume his gambling debts finally caught up with him.”
Feeling his legs give out, Grant slid down the console onto the floor, just like he’d done during his tequila stupor a month ago, and his body folded onto itself, his elbows settling on his knees and his forehead resting on his crossed arms. He looked down, watching his tears plop onto the white floor. His brother was gone. The brother he hated—the brother he loved.
Suddenly a paroxysm of guilt pierced him as he remembered his last words to Logan: I wish you were dead.
Grant’s body shook with wracking sobs.
*
Parole Officer Jerry Stone met Detective Marilyn Fox in the Gold Coast district, on the cobbled street outside the Taylor home. She had a uniformed police officer accompanying her, and the three made their introductions while taking surreptitious glances at the large home on their left.
“Thank you for your help with this case, Jerry.” Marilyn nodded while shaking his hand.
“It’s not too often a parole officer becomes part of a murder investigation, but I’ll do what I can,” he said.
“Well, you’ve saved me some time already by providing addresses and background information over the phone. Speaking of time, I still have to get to my key suspect before the afternoon is over, so let’s head in there.”
The three were buzzed through the heavy wrought-iron gate, and once they climbed the stairs to the porch, the front door was opened by a nervous woman with long strawberry-blond hair and classy clothing. Behind her stood a distinguished, graying man.
Sophie’s eyes widened when she saw her parole officer on the doorstep, and she anxiously opened the door wider, stepping back to allow the police to enter the foyer.
Jerry shut the door behind them. “Taylor, this is Detective Marilyn Fox from Great Lakes. Detective, Sophie Taylor.”
“Jerry, it’s Grant isn’t it?” she cried immediately. “He’s dead.”
“Grant? No, it’s not Madsen,” Jerry said.
Sophie breathed in huge gulps air, overwhelmed by her relief, and she grabbed her unsuspecting parole officer in a hug. Jerry stood awkwardly for a moment before giving her a few light pats on the back, trying to comfort her. Over her shoulder Jerry aimed an embarrassed glance toward the older man glaring at him. “I’m her PO,” he explained.
Will felt a mixture of sadness, anger, and confusion as he watched his daughter turn to another man, seeking solace. He should be the one soothing her, not that damn parole officer. But he had no idea why Sophie needed comforting in the first place. Who the hell was this Grant character? Will had just arrived home from work, and Sophie had not had time to explain why the officers had come to question her.
Marilyn watched the scene with curiosity, unsure why a parolee would be so familiar with her parole officer.
“Why did you think Grant was dead?” she asked once Sophie released her hold on Jerry.
“Who is Grant?” Will demanded.
Sophie bit her lip and avoided her father’s stare. Marilyn and Jerry realized the construction magnate had no idea about the love triangle his daughter was embroiled in. This could get interesting.
“Mr. Taylor, is it?” said Marilyn. “We need to interview Ms. Taylor. Is there some place we could speak with your daughter privately?”
“Uh, I guess you could use my office,” Will offered tentatively. “Um, no, wait, it’s too much of a mess in there,” he quickly amended with a nervous smile. “How about we go to the living room? This way.” He pointed to a room off the foyer.
The detective gave him an unnerving stare. “We need to interview your daughter separately, sir,” she clarified.
“I’m not letting you talk to these cops without my attorney present, Sophie.”
But Sophie felt comforted by Jerry’s presence. He would look out for her. “It’s okay, Dad. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Except fall in love with another criminal, she thought.
“Mr. Taylor, we’d also like to speak with you after we question your daughter,” Marilyn informed him. “Could you please get some coffee for us in the meantime, sir? Officer Gonzalez can help you.” She exchanged a knowing glance with the uniformed officer next to her. He was to babysit Will Taylor without allowing him to overhear the interrogation of his daughter.