entirely with her funds and those of the investors she’d brought in was actually fine by her. To her surprise, Julianne liked being the ultimate bankroller of the incubator. Ownership made the reality of debating between a pool table and Ping-Pong table, or both, more fun. Of course, she understood why Don didn’t like her having final say over everything, but in addition to his lack of financial support, nothing about her brother’s decision-making skills so far had inspired much confidence.
Besides, she had given him free rein on what kinds of companies they wanted to recruit and, ultimately, the companies would have more impact on their success than a pool table. The problem was, she hadn’t seen much evidence he was working on that, either. Julianne had brought in the five start-ups who had already signed leases—which was a feat considering that all she knew about the tech world consisted entirely of what she’d learned in order to get Bull City Starts off the ground.
The tech world was supposed to be Don’s responsibility. But Julianne was the one calling Google.
“What do you think of the cop?” Don asked, absently flipping through her research in the folder. He wasn’t paying any attention to it and probably wouldn’t ever.
Handsome. She’d spent too much time thinking about the strength in the detective’s fingers and the kindness in his eyes to keep thinking of him as cute. “He seems competent.” She shrugged. “I only spoke to him that once.”
“Funny. He and a female cop have come by to talk with me twice.” Don closed the folder and slid it back to her. “They wanted to discuss my finances and what I planned to do with the money I’ll inherit from Aunt Binnie.” Her brother said the words nonchalantly, but he fingered the edge of the folder, rather than simply handing it over.
“What are you going to do with the money?” Julianne had wanted to know, too, but hadn’t yet been willing to ask.
“Roll it into Bull City Starts,” he answered, as though this was a forgone conclusion. “I’m sorry Binnie died and everything, but the timing couldn’t have been better.”
Julianne’s head snapped up, as if her heart and neck were on the same string and her brother was the puppeteer—he was a cruel puppeteer. Any positives about timing had evaporated when she’d learned how Binnie died. Now there was nothing left in her heart but the clenching pain of grief.
Julianne would rather face a lifetime of arguments with her mother, brother and Binnie than this awful reality. After her father had died, she’d learned grief had weight, but she hadn’t known it had spikes, too.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Julie,” he snapped. “I’m not thinking anything you’re not.”
Like what? Like you didn’t just say the timing of Aunt Binnie’s death was perfect? “I have not been, nor will I ever be, grateful for the timing of Binnie’s death,” she said, pain making her words pointy. “I don’t need more money for Bull City Starts. I have plenty.”
“Well, I need it.” He must have realized how he sounded, because his voice softened. “I’ll pay the portion I promised, but you don’t know what it’s like raising kids today. The price of parties, the camps, vacations, ballet, soccer, private school and all the damned clothes. It’s eaten away at everything I have. You’re lucky.”
Julianne folded her hands in her lap, not wanting any part of her body to accidently brush up against her brother. Not right now, when he was talking as if he and Avery hadn’t bought a house on the beach and an apartment in Manhattan. The Mercedes SUV for when they were driving with their kids and the Mercedes sports car for when they weren’t.
As if all of their extraordinary wealth could possibly be frittered away on summer camps.
As though he hadn’t made a series of stupid investments because he wanted to be the businessman their father was, but had never been able to step back and think through the consequences of his actions long enough to notice not all roads led to winning.
The worst of it had been the investments he’d made into sweepstakes parlors with their cousin Rupert not six months before the state had outlawed the nasty things. At that point the bill hadn’t been a secret—Rupert and Don had just been too greedy to believe it would actually get passed. That scheme hadn’t been the first and it hadn’t been the last, but it seemed to have diminished her brother’s finances to such a point that Julianne wondered if Rupert had stolen some of the money.
But she hadn’t asked.
Anyway, it wasn’t as though he and Avery were going to starve. They had Avery’s money.
She closed her eyes, grasping for control of the heartbreak that was spilling over into all her relationships, especially that with her brother—dripping black, sticky, putrid paint all over it. She didn’t need to be thinking such terrible things about Don. Not ever, but especially not when the cuts of a lost loved one were still bleeding.
The bright paint samples next to the more subdued carpet squares attached to the poster board caught her attention when her eyes finally popped open. Everything looked brighter and more vibrant in person, where she could feel the rough texture of the industrial carpet and the nubs in the couch fabric. In these textiles, and in the spreadsheets on her laptop next to them, was one small investment in Durham by a Somerset. One small way to pay back the city that had given them so much. More than enjoying the responsibility of choosing a pool table or Ping-Pong, Julianne was secretly relieved that Don didn’t have finances to contribute to Bull City Starts. She didn’t trust him with money.
She would feel guilty about that, too, but her sister-in-law didn’t trust Don with money, either. Avery essentially pleaded with Julianne to let Don have a piece of her dream. “Please,” she had said. “He’s not been looking for a job and, well, we might not need the money, but he’s already suggested a couple investments and pouted when I said no. He needs something to do. A distraction, and he’d be good for what you need. It’s not as if you know anything about tech start-ups.”
Both Avery and her mother had been right, of course, but Julianne had always planned on hiring someone with that knowledge. And honestly, right now she wished she had because she could fire that person. Somersets didn’t fire their baby brothers.
“You’re not going to tell the cop I said any of this, are you?” Don asked when Julianne remained silent. She didn’t know what she could say right now that would be constructive. She wanted to cry and fuss and scream—and kick her brother out of her house.
But that wouldn’t make working with him tomorrow any easier.
“They’re already suspicious enough of me as it is,” he continued to plead, obviously sensing that she was angry, though he didn’t seem to understand what she was angry about. “Can you believe they asked where I was that night?”
She leaned back in her chair, trying to relax her face and look supportive. Once Aunt Binnie’s funeral was over, she would have a long talk with her brother about his role in their joint venture. But not until the worst of this nightmare was over. Julianne didn’t think she could handle both.
“Since you raised the question,” she said as casually as possible, “where were you when Binnie was murdered?”
“At home with Avery, of course. Where else would I be on a Tuesday night?”
“I don’t know.” Avery swore everything between her and Don was fine, but Julianne wasn’t sure her sister-in-law was telling the truth. Not that Julianne blamed her. Men with marriage problems did strange things—and wives denying those marriage problems ignored those things. This Julianne knew from experience.
She shrugged. “Maybe you have a poker night I don’t know about. Or a book club.”
Don scoffed, a noise he’d been making since he was ten whenever he was hiding something. “A book club,” he said, shaking his head as if it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “You haven’t been asked where you were?”
“No.”