Bastards and Scapegoats (Twisted Legacy Duet #1) - CoraLee June Page 0,11
they get here. The name is Saint, by the way. Momma was hopeful when she named me. She had the right idea but the wrong bitch, you know?” He cackled. I dialed 911 with his inquisitive eyes on me. Unbothered, he continued speaking. “Did you know that Jack’s wife died in this house? They say she passed peacefully in her sleep—some genetic heart defect no one knew about. But I don’t believe that. The woman was depressed as hell. I have a source that says she spent a lot of time in lockdown at the local mental hospital.”
I gulped and held the phone up to my ear.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“There is a man that snuck onto the property at Jack Beauregard’s residence,” I said as Saint adjusted his jacket, revealing a gun holstered to his hip. I swallowed my words and dropped the phone. The loud sound of it thudding on the deck made me wince.
He looked down at his gun and grinned. “Oh, this old thing? No need to fret, pet. I won’t shoot you. I use it more for my protection. People don’t like good journalism these days.”
He stepped toward me. “Election season starts soon. Jack Beauregard pays a lot of money to look good in the papers. Hell, no offense, but your mother’s rushed wedding is newsworthy. Beautiful woman traps a wealthy man? It’s a tale as old as time. Everyone knows she’s a gold digger, but the papers haven’t breathed a bad word about her. Do you wonder why that is?”
I swallowed. “You have no right to talk about my mother that way,” I choked out.
“Hey,” Saint said while holding his hands up. “I respect her hustle. She’s married to one of the richest men in the world now. I’m happy for her, truly.” Saint patted his chest. “I’m not really here about her. I mean, Lilah isn’t really all that interesting. The real story is with Joseph. You see, things just never add up with him. He just gives me bad vibes. When his own mother died, he didn’t cry at the funeral. Just stood there silently staring at the casket. In fact, the autopsy reports looked doctored. I think Joseph had something to do with it, and everyone knows Jack has enough money to pay people off. ” He thumbed his nose, then looked around at the mansion and manicured lawns surrounding it. “Case in point.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said while praying the cops would show up soon.
“Of course you don’t. Listen, I’m pretty sure there is a story here. And from what I can tell, you don’t want your mom dragged into something sinister, right? I mean, she has a baby to think about now, after all.” He stared at me, waiting to see if something in my facial expression would reveal the truth about my mother’s pregnancy. They hadn’t announced it yet, and something told me Saint would run a confirmation in the papers by tomorrow. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Joseph has always had anger problems. And Hamilton is like this mysterious playboy. We never hear about him, aside from when he has an orgy. Then there was the thing about his birth mother. Nothing ever really came of that, though.”
Saint took another photo of the house before pocketing his phone and pulling out a business card. Finally, I could hear sirens in the distance. “Here’s my email. Let me know if you hear anything. I only have your best interests at heart.” He patted his chest again. “And I’ll pay handsomely for any information you send my way that’s worthwhile.”
I gaped at him like a goldfish, too frozen in fear to move. “You’re insane,” I finally managed to say.
“Nah. Just hungry for knowledge. Toodles!”
And with that, Saint sprinted off the deck, his long legs carrying him down the path and through the woods surrounding the Beauregard home. I collapsed to the ground just as the police swarmed the place, guns drawn. “That way,” I said while weakly pointing at the woods. “He went that way.” My voice was weak.
What the fuck had just happened?
“I’m sure you’re shaken up, but this isn’t the first time we’ve been called here for overeager paparazzi,” Officer Anders said. I was sitting on the couch, leaning over my legs while biting my nails. I’d found a summer dress to put on over my bathing suit, but I wanted to change into cozy pajamas and cry. “When Mrs. Beauregard died, they