Murder Deja Vu

lungs. Then another and another, until he was gasping for air. Rage filled his insides, and he felt the vise tightening in his chest.
    His brother stole his life twenty-one years ago, and he was trying to do it again.
    Reece sailed through a red light.
    Pull yourself together. Don’t get stopped for a traffic violation. He had to think. Where? The dog park. Space. He needed space.
    If he were home, he’d run the mountain roads to drive out his demons. But he wasn’t home. He was running from the police. Wanted for a murder his brother committed to cast suspicion on him.
    Again, he asked why?
    Few cars at the dog park. He pulled his cap low, pushed the sunglasses back on his nose. Nothing he could do about his height. He always stood out. He navigated the paths and bridges, weighing his options. Think smart. He’d been taking chances, walking into the lives of people who could have turned him in. He’d come to the end of the line.
    His own brother.
    There must have been signs. He’d even considered the possibility but rejected it as being impossible. Reece didn’t understand, and he doubted Carl could say anything that would help.
    How long had he walked? Half an hour? Circling and circling. Passing people who paid him no mind. He checked his watch. A little after one. Where was Carl now? At the business? Out to lunch?
    The only way to clear himself was to make Carl confess. Trade one life for another. Isn’t that what Carl did? If he were a police informer, he’d wear a wire. Well, he didn’t have a wire, but he could do the next best thing. He sprinted back to his car.
    Portland had changed in twenty-one years. It was still a beautiful city. Maybe more beautiful. But it wasn’t home anymore. What remained of Reece’s life here were frayed strands that connected to family and friends who had turned their backs on him. Same with Boston. Would the latest tragedies taint how he felt about the North Carolina home he’d grown to love?
    Reece remembered where a chain electronics store used to be. He bet they’d have what he needed. He drove to find it still there. Inside, he avoided looking directly at anyone, then thought maybe the straight-on approach would be less obvious. So he smiled at those who caught his eye, acting anything other than a wanted man. He located a small, handheld digital recorder that fit unobtrusively into his shirt pocket, where dialogue would record clearer than if he put it in his pants. He bought batteries, paid in cash, and left without drawing anyone’s suspicion. At least he hoped so.
    Inside the car, he read the directions to the recorder. Record and Stop were activated by the same button. He inserted the batteries and tested a few sentences to make sure he had the feel of it. When he did, he drove to Daughtry Custom Homes. Someone would probably call the police. That was okay. He planned to get what he needed before they arrived, then give himself up. He couldn’t run any more. He thought of calling Dana but changed his mind. This was something he had to do, and he didn’t want to be talked out of it.
    Daughtry Custom Homes occupied half a block on a main thoroughfare. Reece hadn’t seen it in two decades. They’d renovated. Nothing he would have designed for the home office of the largest builder in the state, but then he wasn’t their architect. The man who’d taken what would have been his position had left years ago, he’d heard, and others had come and gone since. The thought triggered a wave of nostalgia, but now wasn’t the time for what might have been.
    Carl’s SUV sat in his father’s parking space, at the side entrance, under a columned portico. Reece checked his watch. Almost two. Now or never. You can do this .
    The lobby décor, all taupes and beiges, fit Daughtry Homes ersatz Italianate image. The style seemed fussy and somewhat retro, as young, upwardly mobile couples now trended for simple, clean lines with no pretense.
    No one sat behind the receptionist’s desk. Reece checked his watch. A late lunch hour? Day off? He walked toward his father’s old office and stood in front of the closed door, stepping back in time. Thom Daughtry’s name had been etched on a bronze plaque when he inhabited the office. Now, Carl’s name in brass replaced it. Reece closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, let it out. Again. He turned the knob and entered. Shut the door behind him. Twisted the latch.
    The office looked different. Same layout but a different color