Chapter Thirteen

A Thanksgiving Murder Mystery

As far as Thanksgiving dinners went, this one was not so bad. Most Thanksgiving dinners involved some kind of family drama, and this was no exception.

They all sat in Quinta’s living room; neighbors sat in chairs they’d brought. There were twelve of them in total. Quinta and her husband sat beside each other as did she and Sylvester. People Diane hadn’t met talked animatedly. But that wasn’t what was causing the knot in her stomach. It was how Sylvester glowered at his brother.

Gregory Stormbringer sat with his legs crossed, a wooden plate resting on his knee. The village chief had put on a dark jacket for the occasion and was talking with everyone else. When his gaze drifted toward Sylvester, the smile would waver. Once or twice, Diane felt Sylvester’s body twitch, and she knew it was taking all his restraint to keep himself from acting on whatever thoughts were swirling through his mind right now.

Unlike everyone else, he’d barely touched his food. And Diane wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Tension hung in the air and despite the lively conversation, she suspected everyone was bracing for a fight between the two brothers. It was one thing to have family drama, but when your family consisted of powerful dragons…well, anything could happen.

“Why’s he here?” she whispered to Sylvester. “Did Jon invite him?”

“I did.” Sylvester said, his jaw tightening. “I’m not sure why, but after I heard the news about the peace treaty, I told Elias to ask him to come. Perhaps it was not the wisest decision.”

Gregory had arrived accompanied by his guards. Quinta and Jon welcomed him, although neither of them nor anyone else had the faintest idea why he was here.

“You should eat,” she told Sylvester as she shoveled some food into her mouth.

She managed to fake a smile just as Quinta glanced in her direction. Just because the food tasted bad, it didn’t mean she had to spoil the dinner. Besides, terrible cooking or not, and regardless of the fact that they were having deer meat instead of a turkey, it was a nice dinner. It felt good to be around these people today. It lent a sense of normalcy to their strange reality.

But she was also thankful for being rescued from that crash. Things could have gone much differently if Sylvester hadn’t swooped out of the sky and grabbed her. If he hadn’t, she might have shattered all of her bones on impact and… well, that would have been the end of her. Maybe she would leave that last bit out when everyone was sharing what they were thankful for.

And that wasn’t the only part she’d leave out. She’d also omit how thankful she was to have met Sylvester. She’d struck gold with this man, even if they had met in the unlikeliest of ways. Things between them had been amazing. And last night…

She flushed as the memories returned. Had he heard what she’d said before she passed out? Diane doubted it.

“So,” Quinta said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. She was grinning. I hear the war’s been called off thanks to Chief Gregory.”

Everyone cheered and Gregory smiled and a waved.

“Pine Gap does not need to be at war,” he said. “The dangers are far too great.”

Diane saw Sylvester’s response coming from a mile away.

“What made you change your mind?” he wanted to know.

The silence that followed settled over the entire room like a wet blanket.

Diane laid a hand on his arm. “Sylvester—”

“What makes you think I did, brother?” Gregory replied just then. He scoffed. “I never wanted a war, just harmony between the two villages.”

“So why did you murder our father?”

Several of the neighbors gasped upon hearing this. Diane felt her stomach twist into a knot. Everyone was looking from Sylvester to his brother.

Gregory’s eyes narrowed to slits. He shot to his feet all of a sudden, his plate clattering to the floor. “I warned you—”

But Jon cut him off, saying, “It wasn’t him, Sylvester.”

Everyone turned to look at Jon, who suddenly looked tired.

Sylvester frowned at his friend. “What are you talking about? Gregory’s the one who murdered Malcolm. You know it—I told you before.”

“You were wrong,” Jon said, getting slowly to his feet, a solemn look on his face. “Your brother didn’t murder your father.”

Sylvester scoffed. “So, who did?”

Jon cocked his head to one side. “I did.”