He blinked, rain dripping down his brow. "Stop saying my name!"
"You walked up to me while trespassing. You tampered with my breaker box. The sheriff has photos."
He pointed sharply toward the cabin. "That box was already loose."
"No," I said, my voice steady as granite. "I checked it earlier today, and I saw the tracks from your truck."
He stiffened. Got him.
"You need to leave," I continued. "Now, before this gets worse for you."
For a moment, just a moment, I saw something shift in him: a hesitation, a flicker of doubt, a sense that maybe he'd stepped into something bigger than he'd anticipated. But ego is a powerful thing, especially when the sibling causing the trouble is someone like Karen.
He puffed up again. "You think a damn phone scares me?"
"No," I said. "But jail might."
He opened his mouth, probably to bark another threat, but at that exact moment, a branch snapped in the woods behind him.
We both turned.
A figure emerged—older, slower, but far more grounded. Randall.
He walked out with a walking stick in one hand, rain dripping from his hatbrim. "Well," Randall said mildly, "this looks like trouble I didn't get invited to."
Joey's posture tightened. "Stay out of this, old man."
"No," Randall said, simply stepping closer. "I won't."