“She’s here, isn’t she?” Dillon shot back.
“Forgive me while I question the sanity of you bringing your ex-girlfriend to work on mine,” he bit out.
“It’s the best idea. Charlotte won’t tell a soul, and she’s good. I’ve visited her a few times when I found myself in a scrape,” Dillon informed him. “Leslie’s like a sister to me. I’m not risking her with a stranger.”
“Fine,” Owen acquiesced. “For your sake, she’d better be good.”
Owen’s cell rang from across the room, and he turned to answer it. Taking the opportunity, Dillon slipped out quietly.
“Hello,” he greeted as he stared down at Leslie.
“Hello. I’m Sheila Cunningham, Dr. Harrison’s secretary. He wanted to let you know he released your father’s body to the funeral home. You’re welcome to pick up the death certificate,” she informed him.
“I thought he said it might take another week or two,” he said, surprised to hear the news.
“As you know, it’s a small town. It didn’t take him long to finish his examination,” she explained.
“May I ask what he listed as the cause of death?” Owen asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s listed as a heart attack,” she informed him. “The funeral home will expect your call concerning the arrangements. Do you have their number?”
“Thank you. I have it,” he said, hanging up the call.
Tucking the pillow under Leslie’s arm, Owen went downstairs to talk to his brothers. Mason sat on the couch while Wyatt nursed a glass of Whiskey, making Owen frown at Dillon and Cade, who set the table for dinner. Charlotte sat on the floor with her legs folded under her, highlighting something in her book with earphones, jamming to music.
Nodding for his brothers to meet him in the study, Owen checked on the boys, watching TV.
“I heard from the coroner’s office. They finished their report and released Dad’s body,” he told them as Dillon closed the door. “I’ll call the funeral director to set up a date for us to make arrangements. They claim he died from a heart attack.”
“You don’t believe them,” Dillon said, leaning against the bookcase.
“No, I don’t. I haven’t introduced you formally to Conner and Tucker,” Owen said. “I don’t know what Leslie has told them other than she made an excuseto explain why I didn’t come to see him. When we’re finished, I want to talk to Tucker alone and then introduce all of you to our little brother. At some point, we’ll have to decide what’s best for him. Then, we’ll need to see how to handle Dad’s death.”
“What will we do?” Cade asked. “If the coroner ruled it a heart attack, how can we prove him wrong?”
Dillon disappeared and a minute later, he returned with Charlotte.
“How can we have another autopsy done without alerting anyone?” he asked her once he shut the door.
She mulled it over for a minute. “What do you believe happened to him?”
“We have no idea. My dad drank until a year after my mom’s death. Then, I know he changed his ways. Even drunk, he hiked this mountain in his sleep. I don’t believe he suffered a heart attack and hit his head on a rock. It’s too convenient. Then we have an intruder at Leslie’s, and men on the mountain searching the trails,” Owen pointed out.
She tapped her cheek and then gazed at each of them with her big, brown eyes. “I have a couple of friends. They know how to perform autopsies. If we can get access to the coroner’s report, we can confirm or rule out any false information.”
“Dad’s at the funeral home,” Owen said. “How can you do an autopsy?”
“In Colorado, next of kin can request a separateautopsy. You don’t need to make it a secret,” Charlotte said. “You left the mountain. It’s obvious you haven’t heard the town gossip. Half the town believes Leslie will inherit the mountain. After all, she has Tucker and raised Conner. Jeremiah loved her like a daughter. The other half believes you’ll show up like vultures demanding a portion of the proceeds. Of course, you don’t know because the lawyer needs you together before he can read the will.”
“How do you know?” Owen asked.
“There’s a local bar, and every Friday night, Attorney Williby likes to have a couple of drinks and boast how he knows more about the Wolfe Family than anyone else. People buy him free drinks, hoping he’ll spill the beans. Tonight, you need to have a public fight, and one of you will demand a private autopsy.”
“How much will it cost me?” Owen muttered.
“Six grand,” she said, flashing a no-nonsense smile.
“What the… What does it get me?” Owen growled.
