Kindle Edition
Download to your Nook (eBook)
Amazon
Barnes & Noble.com
Legacy Writings
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Tate Publishing
ISBN-10: 161346729X
Type: Fiction
Pages: 349
Copyright: 2011
ISBN-13: 9781613467299
Price: $7.99 (eBook)
Colin Lambert returns to his childhood home in hopes of unearthing the killer of his grandfather, Braxton Lambert, a descendent of one of Oklahoma's early, infamous oil barons. A cold case for twenty-five years, Colin is determined to exonerate his father, Stuart Lambert, of the crime and bring the real murderer to justice.
"Bittersweet Justice" is a heart-wrenching tale of murder, intrigue, and romance that will keep the reader turning the pages until the last sentence is read.
Since age twelve, Colin Lambert has believed his father, Stuart, innocent of murdering
Braxton Lambert, heir of the deceased Oklahoma oil baron, Walter Delaney Lambert, founder of the former Lambert Oil Enterprises. Stuart, serving a life sentence for his father's murder, becomes terminally ill, his prognosis six months of life at best. When Colin learns this distressing news, he determines that his father will not die in prison.
Colin begins the quest to discover the identity of his grandfather's true killer when he has to travel to his boyhood home, Haven, Oklahoma, to attend the funeral of his great-uncle,
Maxwell Lambert. Ignoring his mother's warning to stay away from Haven, Colin takes time off from his advertising agency in St. Louis, Missouri to search for evidence that will re-open the twenty-five year-old cold case.
Although aided by law enforcement and Tulsa World reporters Julie Lonetree and Jack
Granger, Colin soon discovers the jeopardy surrounding his pursuit when perilous events occur to thwart Colin's attempt to bring justice to his father.
Overwhelmed by his responsibilities to care for aging relatives, newly discovered family secrets and his attraction to Julie, Colin turns to his faith in God to sustain him. When his ailing great-aunt, Beatrice Lambert, is kidnapped from Briarwood, the family estate, Colin is forced to re-evaluate his goal to exonerate his father of the long ago crime. Is justice for his father worth the risk of his aunt's life?
Excerpt
"Son, listen to me! Haven't you suffered enough from the past? How can you consider returning to that horrid place? You're just asking for more heartbreak."
Colin Lambert darted a glance toward his upper arm, his mother's touch like the singe of a hot iron. He pulled away from her grip. "Mother, you may have forgotten Dad's words after the trial, but I haven't. He said he didn't kill Grandfather Lambert. I've never known him to lie."
Eileen Lambert Hemphill stood motionless, her crisp blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief at her son's reaction. Regaining her composure, she glanced at her arm, which she held suspended in the air. Straightening, Eileen rested both hands on her hips, digging her heels into the carpet, like a soldier settling into a trench armed and ready for battle.
"Fairy tales are for children."
Pulling himself to his full height of six feet, two inches, Colin's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I was only a boy at the time. But I remember how truth blazed in Dad's eyes. I vowed to find Grandfather's killer someday." Colin shook his head. "I can't believe the jury convicted Dad. No one will ever convince me that Dad murdered his own father. I've always believed the true assassin is stashed away in Oklahoma's 'black gold' country. Although his identity has remained anonymous for more than a quarter of a century, I'm determined to unearth the scoundrel."
Colin turned aside to stare into the fireplace. The flames that licked at the sides of the brick seemed to part like curtains on a stage, the final act of his father's trial playing in his mind.
Sitting on the edge of the wooden bench in the musty courtroom beside his mother, twelve-year-old Colin's flesh prickled when the bailiff handed the stern, wizened-faced judge a folded paper. Feeling the touch of a hand on his shoulder from someone in the row behind him, Colin turned briefly to smile at his great-aunt Beatrice and great-uncle Maxwell, siblings of his murdered grandfather, Braxton Lambert. With a trembling hand Colin smoothed the lock of his dark brown hair inching upward in spite of his attempt to keep it in place.
Judge Quail laid aside his reading glasses and turned to the left. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"
His heart pounding, young Colin eyed the jury foreman's slow rise to his feet. A deeper hush settled over the room--the silence clanging in Colin's ear like the sound of cymbals played at a Fourth of July parade. He wiped away the beads of perspiration on his upper lip with the back of his hand.
"Yes, we have, Your Honor."
The judge turned his attention on Stuart. "Will the defendent rise?"
Colin darted his eyes back and forth between the jury and his father. Again, the judge addressed the foreman. "And what say you?"
"We the jury, find the defendant, Stuart Lambert, guilty in the first degree for the murder of his father, Braxton Lambert." The gasps from the courtroom spectators sounded like an off-tune musical note sung in unison by a choir.
Closing his eyes, Colin flattened his palms against his ears. The pent-up air he'd held captive in his lungs rushed from his lips. No! It couldn't be true. Brushing away tears, he turned toward his father. Stuart stared back at him, his espression a sea of anguish. "I didn't kill your grandfather, Son. You must believe me." Neither Colin nor his father noticed the flash of the camera when a tall brawny newspaper reporter snapped their picture, his expression a mask of compassion.
Before Colin could respond, his mother had ushered him from the courtroom, parting the crowd of shocked onlookers uttering their disbelief of the jury's decision. Outside the Osage County Courthouse, a throng of press had greeted the Lamberts, each reporter hoping to be the first to interview a member of the prestigious family. When a television newsman thrust a microphone into Eileen's face, Colin had watched his mother shove it away with such intensity the man had lost his balance and fell onto the concrete steps. Noting his father's exit from the building, Colin had run and clasped his arms about Stuart, unleashed tears staining his suit. It had taken two deputies to pry Colin from his dad.
Within moments Eileen had her son in tow, pulling him toward their car. Just before they'd readhed the automobile, Colin had turned to see the county sheriff escort his dad to a waiting vehicle for transport to the county jail to await his day of sentence. A few days later, his mother moved them to St Louis, Missouri, to begin a new life.
Eileen's resounding expletive jolted Colin back to the present. His lips thinned. "Mother, can't you see returning for Uncle Max's funeral is an ideal time to put in motion a plan to clear Father's name? I should have started the quest to find Grandfather's killer before now, but George needed me at the agency."
Eileen backed away from Colin's entreating gaze, her complexion so flushed her shoulder-length, platinum-blond hair clasped stylishly at the back of her neck paled to the shade of unbleached flour. "You're living in a fantasy world. Stuart Lambert was a brutal man," she said, her mouth pinched with disgust.
Colin stared at his mother, shaking his head. "I don't recall Dad that way at all, just the opposite, in fact."
"With you, yes. But I suffered numerous times from his outbursts of temper."
Wincing, Colin recalled his parents' many heated discussions. Eileen couldn't understand why her husband preferred to sit on a hillside attempting to capture the beauty of the landscape on canvas when he could take his place as heir apparent in the family enterprise, the sale of his artwork not supporting her in the fashion she desired. Often Colin saw Stuart emerge from his bedroom, shoulders slumped, his ebony eyes shimmering with hurt and regret--whether he despised the quarreling, his marriage, or both, Colin never knew.
For that matter, Colin remembered, neither did Braxton comprehend his son's lack of ambition in the oil firm. The two had quarreled over the issue the morning Braxton had been found slumped over his desk, Stuart standing next to the murdered body, his own firearm, a .38-caliber handgun, gripped in the palm of his hand.
At the trial Stuart had testified he'd come in from the stables and had just reached the upper level of the house when he'd heard the shot, running back down the servant's stairs to check on his father. Stuart said he didn't remember picking up the gun but did recall the sound of a car rushing away from the estate through the open window across from his father's desk.
Grayson, Braxton's manservant, had appeared in the office doorway, later testifying at the trial that the look on Stuart's face had been one of astonishment, not that of a cold-bloodied killer.
Stuart's attorney had argued that someone outside the open window could have fired the shot. During his cross examination, Sheriff Tucker had grudgingly agreed with the defense counsel's premise based on the angle of the bullet found lodged in Braxton's chest, the coroner's report validating the theory. However, Stuart hadn't been able to explain how the firearm, which he'd kept in his bedroom had become the murder weapon, or why his were the only fingerprints found on the gun. The prosecutor charged that Stuart had returned from his ride that morning, taken the gun from his room, returned downstairs, found his father alone and murdered him, Stuart's motive--anger against Braxton because he'd threatened his son with disinheritance if he didn't give up the foolish notion to become an artist and return to Lambert Oil.
In his efforts to establish reasonable doubt, Stuart's attorney had stated the real killer had stolen Stuarts gun, donned the pair of gloves found near the window to conceal his fingerprints, and then fired the weapon from outside the office, killing his victim, rushing from the scene as Stuart entered the office. And in a state of shock at finding Braxton dead, Stuart had unconsciously picked up the gun from the floor, thus the reason for his having the gun in his hand when Grayson had discovered him at the scene of the murder. But, with no evidence to prove another individual had motive or cause to kill his grandfather, the defense attorney's argument had been in vain.
Drawing a long, deep sigh, his eyes speckled with remorse, Colin bent his solidly built body forward to give Eileen a hug, kissing her cheek. The color of the chic, ice-blue satin robe hugging her pixie frame seemed to merge with the expression on her face. The image of a snow-covered Rocky Mountain lake flashed before Colin. "If it's the agency you're concerned about, don't be. George's sudden death took its toll, but business is back to normal now, everything running smoothly. Tom Thorpe is a great assistant. He's more than capable of handling the agency until I return."
Eileen stretched her lips so thin they seemed to disappear into her heart-shaped face. "How can you consider leaving me knowing that I'm still in mourning for George."
A snort of disbelief flew from Colin's mouth before he could prevent it. "I thought you discarded your widow's weeds the day you deposited the life insurance check in the bank."
Eileen flung away from her son, a look of haughty denial on her face. "Colin, how can you be so cruel?"
"Mother, you don't have to play the role of grieving widow with me. We both know you and George hardly spoke to one another."
Eileen tightened the belt on her robe, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. "I-I did care for my husband. And you know how much your stepfather loved you. He proved that by leaving you the advertising agency."
"For which I'll always be grateful I loved and respected him too." Colin strode toward the door of his mother's home, contrition biting at his thoughts. Why did he allow his mother to goad him into saying things he regretted? Forgive me, Father God. He paused and then turned to face her. "I'm sorry, Mother. I wish you could agree about this trip. But nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. I promised Father just last week during our visit that as soon as I could manage some time off from work, I intended to keep my promise to see justice done in his behalf."
Eileen seemed to wilt before his eyes. "Colin, you were just a boy. Your're father would never hold you to that oath."
"That's what he said when he tried to talk me out of it. But I don't want Dad to die in prison. The doctor said the cancer had spread throughout his body, his prognosis less that six months of life. You know how hard I've tried to get the state to consider parole for health reasons, but the governor of Oklahoma won't budge. A life sentence is a life sentence to him. I think politics is the motive behind his decision. A hard business man, Grandfather's influence in the state and the generosity to his political party has yet to be forgotten."
Eileen's lips curled into a sneer. "You don't have to tell me how arduous he was. If you crossed him in any way, you could count on nothing from him. And he hated me...tried his best to keep Stuart from marrying me--treated me like I was dirt under his feet. If your aunt Mary hadn't taken us in, we'd have been subjected to living on the street."
"But, Mother, you met George soon after your divorce from Dad. He took great care of us."
Eileen shrugged her shoulders. "Yes, you're right. It could have been much worse. I wanted us to have a decent life. And George did grant that."
Colin turned to leave and then did an about-face, his eyes glaring. "One more thing, Mother. When did you intend to tell me about Uncle Max's death? After I'd read his obituary in the St. Louis Post Dispatch? I'm sure by now every top newspaper in the country has printed at least a few lines about the late heir of Warren Delaney Lambert, one of Oklahoma's famous deceased oil barons."
At Eileen's guilty start, a half smile appeared on Colin's face, smoothing the cleft in his chin. "When Nicholas Girard phoned the office this afternoon concerned he hadn't heard from me, he indicated he'd telephoned you two days ago, moments after he'd been told Uncle Max had died."
Eileen lifted her chin into the air. "He did, but I thought it best to spare you the news"--she appealed to him with softened eyes--"so you wouldn't have to endure any grief from seeing Briarwood or any of the Lamberts again, dead or alive."
Sighing, Colin ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I can understand that. You could go with me, you know, if nothing else, to show respect for my family."
Her chest swelled, indignation boiling in her eyes. "It will be raining ice in Hades before I ever plant my feet on Briarwood soil again."
He shrugged his shoulders then opened the door. "I'll phone to let you know where I'm staying."
Eileen, having followed him into the entryway, grabbed his arm. "Colin, please don't go. I beg you."
Colin drew back, startled by what he read in her eyes. "What is it, Mother? Why are you afraid?"
She lowered her gaze toward the floor. "I-I'm not frightened. I just don't want you to get hurt again." At the look of determination on his face, she stepped backward. "You're as Lambert as they come. I can see my words are futile. Nothing I say or do will deter you. Pardon me If I don't wish you luck. And don't say I didn't warn you when you return with an empty bag for all your hunting."
Sighing, Colin kissed his mother good-bye, pulling at his tie the moment he stepped outside, the day promising to be another scorcher. Why hadn't his mother been able to lay aside the bitterness she'd held toward the Lamberts? And what accounted for her fear of his return to Briarwood, the Lambert estate? She could deny it all day long, but he'd seen it, stark and brash in her expression.
About to enter his car, Colin stopped cold, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the door latch tighter than necessary. Could she be frightened he'd discover something that would implicate her in his grandfather's death? Releasing the tension from his body, he smiled. Eileen wasn't the warmest person on the globe, but she valued social standing far too much to mar her reputation with murder. Colin sobered. Or did she? Would he regret the promise he'd made all those years ago? God, please don't let Father die until I uncover the truth.
|
