Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Ethan

Opening the back passenger door, I hold my hand out to Sylvie. She doesn't need it but takes it anyway, sliding out of her seat. As we turn to the house, neither of us are surprised to see the entire Blackburn clan plus Marcie standing there.

I chased Marcie out of the hospital last night, forcing her to go home to rest. I kept everyone else updated throughout the day yesterday as the two specialists looked Sylvie over. Everything had returned to normal and they were stumped, although the cardiologist wants to see her in his office in two weeks. I pushed for a diagnosis and they didn't have one, which has made everything very scary.

It means Sylvie may have an underlying condition they are yet to discover, and until such time that they figure it out, we have to wait with a black cloud over our heads, wondering if it will happen again. I'm not sure I'll ever sleep knowing she's at risk.

On the flip side, the doctors said it could have been an anomaly, perhaps caused by an undetectable virus or even dehydration. They pointed out that Sylvie perked right back up with fluids and a shot of epinephrine, which is nothing but adrenaline designed to get blood flowing. God, I fucking hope it's that simple, but as her father, I've come to realize my greatest fear in life is losing my daughter and I'm not sure how to function with this unknown hanging over our heads.

Sylvie pulls free of my hand and runs up the front porch to accept hugs from everyone. Marcie stands off to the side, her concerned eyes pinned on me.

When I reach her, she says, "You look like hell, Ethan. I'm going to insist you take a shower and a nap. We'll watch over Sylvie."

"I need to check on some things—"

It's my father who cuts in, clearly eavesdropping. "You're not going to do a damn bit of work today. We've got all that covered. You're going to rest—"

"I need to watch over Sylvie so—"

"We'll handle Sylvie," my mom says, motioning between herself and Marcie.

"But I need—"

"Dad," Sylvie says, stepping into me and wrapping her arms around my waist. Her cheek goes to the bottom of my chest. "You look like hell. I'm fine and you need to rest."

"Language," I say, my hand coming up to stroke the top of her head. "But… I suppose since you're the one insisting, I'll have to comply. But you have to rest as well."

"I've been in a bed for two days," she says, tipping her head back to grin at me. "I'm ready to run a marathon."

Fear spikes through me because running could induce a heart attack. "No running. No doing anything strenuous."

Sylvie rolls her eyes. "The doctor just told me to take it easy for a few days, so I'm not going to stay in bed."

"Fine, fine," I grumble and then jerk my head to the door. "Let's go inside. I'll concede my work duties, let Mom and Marcie keep an eye over you and gladly go take a shower. But I'm not napping. Maybe we can watch a movie together."

Marcie and Sylvie share a knowing look, and Sylvie says, "I bet he's asleep in fifteen minutes."

"Ten," Marcie counters, and everyone laughs.

We all troop inside, and my dad, Kat, Trey and Wade offer immediate goodbyes and walk out through the back kitchen door where their farm vehicles await. They're going to head off, under my dad's direction to split my duties, and I know the farm is in good hands. Maybe it is time to start sharing some of the business side of things as Marcie suggested.

"I'll put together some snacks," my mom says. "Ethan to the shower, and Sylvie… you should take one as well."

"Gladly," she says with a grimace. "I smell like hospital."

"I'll help you in the kitchen, Fi," Marcie says, and she and my mom head that way.

Sylvie and I make for the staircase, but there's a knock at the door. "I'll get it," I say to anyone listening and pat Sylvie's shoulder. "Go shower. I'll meet you in the den for a full day of movies and junk food."

"Sounds great," she says, and I grit my teeth as she bounds up the stairs with all the energy of an almost-ten-year-old who was not just in the hospital after nearly dying.

I watch until she's out of sight, marveling at her resilience and wishing I had half of hers, before turning to the door. When I open it, a man and a woman stand there, both in their mid-thirties. The woman has her blond hair pulled back into a low ponytail and is wearing a pair of black dress pants, sensible shoes and a white blouse. The man, whose hair is buzzed short all over, has on gray slacks and a polo shirt with the Shelbyville County Sheriff's Department logo over his left pec. My eyes cut back to the woman—her shield is clipped to the front of her belt.

Back to the man who hands me a business card. "Are you Ethan Blackburn?"

"I am," I say as I take the card, a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach.

"I'm Detective Phil McCune and this is my partner Dorene Coleman from the Shelbyville County Sheriff's Department. May we come in and talk?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, stepping back to let them in. "What is this about?"

"Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

As I shut the door, I turn to see my mom and Marcie standing in the hall that leads to the kitchen, looking at us curiously. "Is everything okay?" my mom asks.

"I'm not sure," I answer truthfully, giving a pointed look to my mom and Marcie. "These are detectives from the sheriff's department. We'll go into the formal room if you can keep an eye on Sylvie."

Translation: Keep her away so she doesn't hear anything because I have a bad feeling about this.

My mom nods and I lead McCune and Coleman into the formal room, closing the pocket doors behind us. Because southern manners dictate, I offer them both something to drink but they decline.

I motion to the sofa and they sit on opposite ends, but I remain standing. "So, what is this about?"

"Would you like to sit?" Detective Coleman asks, her voice surprisingly soft and genteel.

"I'm good standing," I reply curtly. I've got live wires energizing every nerve in my body and I'm not sure I can keep still.

She inclines her head in acknowledgment, the faint smile she bore sliding away. "We wanted to ask you some questions about Sylvie."

My stomach bottoms out. "Wait! What? About Sylvie?"

Are they here because there's something wrong with custody? Are they going to take her?

"Mr. Blackburn," Detective Coleman says, drawing my focus back to her. "Does Sylvie have any allergies?"

"Allergies?" I mumble, completely perplexed. "What's going on?"

"Does she have allergies?" the detective repeats.

"Um… yeah." I'm sidetracked by McCune scribbling notes, but I turn back to Coleman. "To penicillin, but that's all."

"Is there any penicillin in this house?"

"Absolutely not," I exclaim.

Her hard eyes don't waver. "May we have your permission to search?"

"Not without me talking to a lawyer first, but I suggest you tell me what the fuck is going on so I know whether I need to call my lawyer."

Detective McCune holds up a hand, his voice calm. Clearly the good cop for the moment. "Mr. Blackburn, we have reason to believe that Sylvie was given penicillin, which caused an allergic reaction and that's why she was hospitalized."

Suddenly, I have to sit. I move to the love seat opposite the cops and flop down, my head spinning. "And you think I dosed my kid?"

"Actually," he replies with a pointed look, "we're investigating Lionel Mardraggon."

I bolt upright, a wave of fury so strong crashing through me, I go dizzy. "Come again?"

"He's being questioned right now down at the station for suspected foul play. We obviously have to rule out other people at the same time."

I nod in understanding, but the truth is… I don't understand a fucking thing. None of this makes sense. "Are you saying Sylvie's grandfather… what… tried to kill her?"

"We suspect he gave her penicillin to make her ill. The intention is something we have to figure out still."

"Lionel Mardraggon?" I ask, just to make sure I'm really hearing them. "Her grandfather?"

Neither of the detectives reply.

"What made you suspect him?" I ask, because in a million years, it never once crossed my mind that anyone would want to hurt my daughter, much less her own flesh and blood.

"We can't share details of the investigation but we had a credible tip from someone close to Mr. Mardraggon."

And it's patently clear who that person is. "Gabe Mardraggon. His son."

Again, neither detective confirms nor denies my suspicion, but I know it was Gabe. He was truly rattled by Sylvie's illness, and he was struggling with something yesterday morning at the hospital. He must've suspected something and part of me wants to beat the shit out of him for not saying anything to me, but I can't do that. He went to the people who matter.

"Like we said," Detective McCune continues in a monotone voice, "we're here to rule you and other family members out. It's part of the process. Will you let us search your house for penicillin? We can come back with a search warrant but this will make things go faster."

I'm so fucking tired… down to my bones, and there will be no rest for the weary. "I'm going to say yes, but I'll want our lawyer here while the search is being done and I want time to get my daughter out of the house so she doesn't see this. You're more than welcome to wait here though."

"That's fine as we'll need to call in a team of technicians to conduct the search, get the necessary paperwork granting us permission. Why don't you give your attorney a call."

"And maybe we could have some coffee," Detective Coleman adds with a perkier smile. "We could be here awhile."

?

I hate the Mardraggons' house because it's everything that old Kentucky is not. It's a contemporary design with clean lines, geometric shapes and a flat roof. The frosted windows are without trim. The exterior is stucco with stone and wood accents, but not enough to warm up the otherwise cold, fortress-like composition. Even the landscaping is minimalist with no heart to the design. Knowing what I know about this family, and now knowing what I know the police suspect, the austerity seems even more prominent.

The doorbell makes a loud gonging sound and I wait to see if anyone will answer. I came unannounced and I have no clue if anyone is even here. Well, I know Lionel isn't because after the detectives finished searching my house today, they confirmed that they felt they had enough evidence to make an arrest.

According to the police, Lionel Mardraggon tried to kill his granddaughter and I still can't understand it.

But I need to know why because at some point, I have to make sense of this to explain to Sylvie. She'll be crushed when she learns the truth, not because she bore them great love or respect, but because she shares the same blood as that monster. She'll doubt herself merely because of the association and I swear if that bastard weren't in a jail cell right now, I'd hunt him down and dispose of him.

The massive door swings slowly open and Gabe Mardraggon stands there. His face is pale, shadows under his eyes. He's in the same clothes he was in at the hospital yesterday morning and he's unshaven. The man is always so put together that it's shocking to see him like this.

"Can I come in?" I ask.

I'm stunned when he steps onto the threshold, tucks his hands in his pocket and says, "No. You can't."

So be it. "I need to know what happened."

"I can't talk to you," he says, and takes a step back to shut the door on me.

"Gabe," I growl, and that stops him. "Sylvie is going to need to make sense of this, so I need to make sense of this. You have got to help me pave the way for our little girl to handle the fallout."

It galls me to give him any bit of Sylvie by calling her "our" little girl, as if she belongs in some way to the Mardraggons. But I need him to tell me what the fuck happened.

"I know you tipped the police," I say, waiting to see what he does. Those detectives didn't tell me a damn thing, but he doesn't know that. "How did you know it was your dad?"

Gabe rubs at his temple, sighing. He looks over his shoulder as if expecting someone to walk up behind him—presumably his mother—and steps out onto the flat porch. I take a step back as he pulls the door closed. "It was always expected that if Alaine died, her shares would go back to the main Mardraggon trust to manage for Sylvie. When my dad found out that Alaine's eighty percent went to Sylvie directly with you as a co-trustee, he wasn't happy."

"I don't imagine he would be. It's why he sent you to buy me out."

Gabe nods. "Yeah… that's how he wanted to handle it. But when you declined, and I told him… he made a comment that I thought was just a joke in poor taste. He said something like, ‘It would be cheaper to hire a hitman and take you out.'"

"And you didn't think to tell me?" I snarl, outraged that he would consider that a joke. "Or go to the police?"

Gabe's expression darkens. "I didn't give it any consideration because it was all hot air. It wouldn't have mattered if he murdered you, the shares still belong to Sylvie and my dad knew that. He was just posturing."

"Glad you're okay gambling with someone's life," I mutter.

"I never thought Sylvie would be at risk though," he whispers, his voice clogged with emotion. "Never, ever thought he'd hurt that child just to get those shares."

And yes, it hits me why Lionel would make the play for her. The trust says that if Sylvie dies before she turns twenty-one and without any legal heirs, the shares will revert to the main Mardraggon trust. Lionel didn't need to kill me—he needed to kill Sylvie.

I cannot even comprehend it. It makes no sense on a human scale. "It's just money," I say.

"It's never just money to Lionel Mardraggon, Ethan." Gabe's voice is acidic, his laugh cold. "It's being the best, making the most, having power. That winery is worth way too much money. Alaine did such a good job with it, she put Sylvie's life at risk because someone with my father's ambition, coupled with his lack of conscience, sealed her fate."

"So, you suspected he drugged her with penicillin?" I ask incredulously. Because that's a big leap to make.

Gabe shakes his head. "No. It just never occurred to me that he would do something like that. I happened to be in his office yesterday after I came home from the hospital to grab an investment portfolio he wanted me to go over. Figured I'd take it back to the hospital while we waited to see how Sylvie was. Just as I was walking out, I saw a crumpled piece of paper on the floor near the wastebasket. I picked it up to throw it away, but something caught my eye. It looked like a prescription… the kind doctors write on a square pad. I smoothed it out and saw it was from a doctor in Louisville. Someone had started to write a medication on it and then scribbled through it before finishing."

"Let me guess… it was for penicillin."

"The first three letters were P-E-N. And I knew right then what it was for. I didn't want to believe he could do something like that, and after all, he didn't complete the prescription. He threw it away, so perhaps he'd had a change of heart. But I had to be sure, so I went through his desk. Buried deep in the back of the top drawer, I found the actual pad of blank prescriptions. I'm not sure how he got them, but I'm assuming he paid that doctor for the pad. I'm sure he would've thrown a pretty penny to get it. And I could see the indentations on the top piece where he'd written out the entire prescription for it. It was just three days ago."

"Jesus fuck," I rasp, feeling nauseated. "And I'm the one who gave her permission to stay the night here. He had access to her."

The guilt is oppressive and I want to vomit.

After I murder Lionel Mardraggon.

"I called the police right then and there. Didn't even hesitate."

That shakes me out of my funk and my gaze lifts to his. He might not have hesitated, but he looks tortured.

My tone is soft, gracious. "You did the right thing, Gabe."

He nods ever so slightly. He looks broken.

I can't say I'm sorry, but I keep that to myself. They deserve every bit of misery heaped upon them, although I'm slightly empathetic to his plight. "Thank you, Gabe."

His expression turns ice cold, his tone no longer defeated. A chill runs up my spine when he says, "Don't thank me. I hate your family now more than ever. If you'd have kept your fucking hands off my sister, none of this would have happened."

He's not wrong about that but I feel compelled to point out, "And you wouldn't have Sylvie."

"And my dad wouldn't be going to prison for the rest of his life," he hisses.

I stare at Gabe, wondering where his loyalties really lie… with Sylvie or his father. Maybe it was a burst of conscience that compelled him to go to the police, but right now he's more livid over his father going to jail than acknowledging the beauty of a niece who I know he loves.

Or maybe he'll end up resenting her the way he does me.

If that's even a slight possibility, I don't know that I can trust Gabe around Sylvie.

Without another word, I nod at him and spin on my foot. I head to my truck and pull out of the driveway without a backward glance.