Breath of Scandal

“I’m going with you,” Dillon had said. “Cathy, lock up the office, please. Take Jade’s car home and wait for us there. We’ll call when we can.” Dillon intercepted Jade at her Cherokee and guided her toward his pickup.

“This is my problem, Dillon. My fight. I’ll handle it.”

“Not without me. So stop wasting time and get in.”

Now, she was glad he had come along. His was a strong, reassuring presence. Besides, he drove more aggressively than she would have had the strength or presence of mind for.

They arrived at the Patchetts’ estate in record time. Jade bolted from the pickup the instant it came to a stop. She raced up the steps and across the veranda. Dillon was right behind her as she barreled through the front door.

“Graham!”

Her shout echoed off the walls and tall ceilings.

/> “He’s in here.”

The scene in the formal front parlor looked as deceptively innocent as a stage setting. There was a steaming silver tea service on a low table, along with biscuits and jam, a fresh fruit compote, and a serving platter of paper-thin slices of baked ham. No one was eating.

Myrajane Griffith was seated in a wingback chair, her floral dress clashing with the patterned upholstery. Her rouge had been applied with a heavy hand, making two vibrant coins of color on her wrinkled, pale face. A pair of white gloves lay in her lap. She was wearing a ridiculous hat… and a murderous glare aimed at Jade.

Ivan, sitting in his wheelchair, looked like a shapeless mass held together by ill-fitting clothes. His smile was sly and malicious. His sunken eyes looked like windows into hell.

Despite his swollen nose and bruised chin, Neal appeared as well groomed and unruffled as ever. He had on gray linen slacks and a pink oxford shirt. He was standing in front of the marble fireplace, one elbow negligently propped on the carved mantel. He was swirling the contents of a highball glass, which looked to be a Bloody Mary.

Jade took in all this at a glance, then focused on her son, who was seated alone in a chair. She rushed toward him. “Graham, are you all right?”

He sprang from the chair, circled it, and placed it between them. His hands alternately flexed and gripped the backrest, which had dogwood blossoms carved into the wood. “Get away from me. I hate you.”

Jade drew up short. “Graham! What are you saying?”

“You let him die. I could have helped him, but you wouldn’t let me, so he died.”

“Who?”

“Hutch,” Neal informed her. “He’s no longer with us.”

Jade was momentarily stunned. Donna Dee sprang to mind, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her. “Hutch is dead?”

“Donna Dee called us with the bad news late last night.”

“You killed him!” Graham shouted.

“Don’t speak to your mother in that tone of voice,” Dillon said sharply.

“You, you, shut up,” Graham sputtered. He was doing his best not to shed the unmanly tears standing in his eyes. “She’s a whore, and now you know it, too. She probably screwed you all night.”

“That’s enough!” Dillon barked.

“Like a jerk, I was hoping you’d get married. This morning, I was coming to tell you that it was all right with me, but now you won’t ’cause you know my mother’s a slut!”

Jade said, “Graham, listen to me, I—”

“No. You’re the worst person I know. You let a man who might’ve been my dad die. I could have donated a kidney to him, but you didn’t even tell me.”

“What would have been the point? He might not have been your father.”

“That’s what makes you a whore.” He pointed to Ivan and Neal. “They told me my dad could have been three men. They told me that you did it with all of them. Two of them are dead now, and I never even got to know them on account of you. This old lady could be my grandma, only you don’t even want me to know her, either.”

“No, I didn’t want you to know your father.”