No Good Mitchell - Riley Hart Page 0,6

really didn’t see a fucking reason why it would have been any of their business if I did want to parade around town with a Mitchell. This was not a hundred years ago, and I had no beef with some guy I’d never met before.

“I believe you, Brody,” Big Daddy said, which earned a scoff from Dwain. “I have to admit, with business going the way it has been, knowing a Mitchell’s in town feels like a bad omen. That family never did nothing to help us stay in business, would have reveled in our defeat, and part of me feels like this guy might have come at the right time for that.”

What had begun as such anger with me for what Big Daddy had believed was a stunt was followed by a familiar sorrow I’d seen in him as we had greater and greater issues keeping the distillery open. I saw the hardworking father I’d come to know all these years, the man trying to keep the business going and provide for his family.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Big Daddy said, sitting back down and retrieving his paper, but Dwain’s expression seemed less forgiving. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t do anything intentionally to shame this family and our history…our legacy. I know it doesn’t mean as much to you kids, but history and our name is all we have to hold on to. Without our past, what do we have? What can we hold on to?”

I knew he meant Big Momma.

And I also saw, plain as day, that the whole fucked-up situation was a perfect example of the dysfunctional mess we’d become since her death. In some ways, it had brought us closer together, but even though we would have killed without question for each other, there was something else that lingered—a certain distance that kept us so very far apart.

“So let this be a reminder,” Big Daddy went on. “You sit at this table, you stand against all Mitchells. There is no middle ground on this. So long as this Mitchell is in this town, we, as all O’Ralleys have done since 1931—well, 1935, if the law asks—stand against him and his wicked blood.”

“Amen, Big Daddy,” Dwain and Lee said together.

Walker and Mel didn’t respond, but it didn’t seem that their responses mattered as much as mine, because Big Daddy’s eyes were right on me.

“Fine,” I muttered.

Big Daddy would see how ridiculous this all was once Cohen finished appraising the place or taking out whatever he needed to take back to wherever he was from.

But it was going to be a real shame not to get to taste his mouth again.

CHAPTER THREE

Cohen

I’d been up most of the damn night.

Isaac was sleeping in one of the bedrooms, while I sat awake with my laptop—and fucking Internet, thank you very much. Byron Palms, Harris Mitchell’s lawyer, had assured me he’d kept utilities on and had housekeeping in once a week, keeping things clean since Harris’s death.

The only room that hadn’t been touched was the office, which only Byron and I had a key to, and it was where I’d spent the night doing two things: going through Harris’s files and business information on Mitchell Creek Distillery, and researching the fuck out of the Mitchells and the O’Ralleys.

“Did you sleep at all?” I looked up to see Isaac standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of red boxer trunks. He yawned and scratched his head, his blond hair sticking up all over the place.

“Dozed for a little while, but not much. None of this makes any sense.”

Isaac padded over and plopped down on the brown leather sofa I’d wiped off last night. “Hit me. I’ve always wanted to solve a mystery.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Simmer down, Shaggy.”

“Does that make you my Scooby?”

“And fuck off,” I teased back. “Seriously, though. I didn’t get a lot of information when Byron originally contacted me. We met up. He showed me paperwork leaving me the distillery and land. That shit’s in the car. I’ll pull it out today. I didn’t go through it with a fine-tooth comb, to be honest.”

Isaac nodded. “Go on.”

“The thing is, according to these files, Mitchell Creek was doing very well. He has everything on paper, literally. There’s no computer that I can find. I’ll contact Byron about that today. So Harris has balances and numbers for the few years before he closed, and he was in the black. I see his estate also gave the employees who