He really did it. Her husband really did all of those horrible things, they're accusing him of. To Clare, to his brother, to Brian's children, he wasn't even denying it.
Lou-Anne knew her husband, not as well as she would have thought an hour ago, but that man couldn't lie to her, she knew him that well. She knew how he lied too. And his current "Oh, these accusations are ridiculous" bullshit was just that. Bullshit.
She'd lived her life for him. Not had children because he said it'd be unfair. Had held his stupid cocktail parties, had hosted his stupid corporate luncheons. Her whole life, the past thirty-five of her fifty-six years, was all for him.
Lou-Anne's gaze went red.
***
"At least until Stark decided he wanted out," Raylan pointed out.
"Of course, then Stark had to die," Tim agreed, "All it took was a bed sheet."
"Which happens all the time in prison… stupid to bring one though. Kender may have been useful but that stunt did put a bit of time limit on him," Raylan replied.
"To Duffy's chagrin…"
"If you two are done with your stand-up," Graham cut in with his best board-room roar.
Clare couldn't fight the laughter building in her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth too late.
Graham came around his bed as Raylan turned to the door. Tim just stared at the ceiling, rolling his eyes.
She stepped in before anyone could see Art. Smiling sheepishly, she shrugged and said, "Sorry. I never could hear that tone of voice with a straight face."
"I recall…vividly," Graham glowered. "Has…your friend told you his suspicions? They're outrageous."
"Not so much," she shrugged. "Brian compromised the safe house to you. Only you. And an hour later, people are running around shooting at us. Pretty sloppy work, really."
"You actually think I'd try to kill you," he tried to seem offended. Hell, maybe part of him was.
Clare snorted, "I think you'd kill someone over a good parking space, if you weren't worried about getting your suit dirty."
Graham opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
"You aren't gonna come after Clare and Brian anymore," Tim repeated. "And this can go away and keep your suits clean."
"Because you have no evidence I'm involved." He turned to Clare, looking injured, "You really let this... Marshal lead you to believe I'd hurt you?"
"You really think I'd let anyone 'lead' my thought processes?"
Tim pressed his lips together.
"If I could talk to my niece alone, Deputies?"
"No," Tim spat, "You can't be-"
Clare put her hand on Tim's free arm, "No, Graham. You want to explain yourself, you can do it in front of Tim and Raylan."
His eyes narrowed, and Graham said softly, almost gently, "You're as stupid as your mother sometimes."
"There are worse things," she responded with similar softness.
***
Graham was never one for the outdoors, but this was Kentucky and there were certain things expected. Like hunting.
Graham had always complained about having to go hunting with the other men, whether from his golf club, his alumni club, or with his father. Graham had always hated the mere idea of waking up early, wandering out in the cold, and watching in silence for a Bambi to shoot.
But Graham respected the institution of hunting, so he had a rifle. A Browning X-Bolt Feather Trigger, barely used, just sat on a rack in his office, the rounds in the safe behind his desk. Just waiting to be used.
Lou-Anne smirked, "Production for use." The line from "His Girl Friday" rang in her head, she'd shaken her head at the twisting of the shooter in that film. But now, as that stupid little mantra of Cary Grant's and Rosalind Russell's rang in her head, she wanted to laugh. Goddamn her husband, but Lou-Anne needed a laugh right now. She started heading up the stairs with the loaded X-Bolt.
***
The door slammed into the wall behind it, making everyone jump and Tim and Raylan reach for their side-arms. Graham's eyes widened in disbelief. Or maybe it was just surprise at his meek wife leading Chief Deputy Mullen into his bedroom at two in the morning with a hunting rifle.
"What the hell, Lou-Anne!"
"Mrs. Sullivan-" Raylan started, his eyes on a very annoyed Art.
Tim pulled his Glock and stepped in front of Clare, "Mrs. Sullivan-"
"Everybody, shut up!" Lou-Anne shouted with her hands shaking. "I want to know what the hell is going on in my home! No one's told me anything and I've given everything for this family!"
"Graham paid Colin Stark to name me to the feds with the transplant misinformation deal. Then offered a few grand to get me killed before trial," Clare volunteered.
Tim and Raylan both shot her a look, but she just shrugged.
"Thank you, Clare. Lovely to see you again, dear," Lou-Anne said, aiming the rifle at her husband.
"You, too," Clare said, tugging Tim further out of Lou-Anne's rifle's range.
"Is that true, Graham? Did you try to kill her and Brian?" Lou-Anne asked like she hadn't been listening outside the door. Like she hadn't her heard rotten excuse for a spouse lying in the hall. "I know it's been hard for you, sharing the business with them. But it was doing so well, when Clare came up here..." Lou-Anne shook her head in confusion at him while the rest of the room exchanged glances. "You hated dealing with her brothers-"
"Most do," Clare muttered under her breath.
"Have you not had enough gunplay today?" Tim asked her, grumbling.
"She's not pointing it at us. Huge difference. Lou-Anne's cool."
"Really?"
"I'll probably throw up again later, if that makes you feel better."
"Oddly enough-"
"If ya'll would like to leave my husband and me to discuss this," Lou-Anne said calmly, "It really is a family matter."
Clare started tugging Tim to the door, Art smirked and said, "That is an excellent point, Mrs. Sullivan. Raylan."
Art started toward the door, Raylan took half a step to follow before Graham stammered, "Now, wait one moment. Clare's kin-"
"And you tried to frame her and, oh yeah, kill her anyway. What kind of man did I marry, Graham? What kind of man did I spend the last thirty-five years with?" Lou-Anne was shrieking by the end of it.
"And so's that damned little Marshal, by that principle, so they've got to stay, Lou-Anne," Graham rationalized, approaching the door way and Lou-Anne.
"You stay away from her, Graham," Clare warned watching him edge towards his wife. "Killed one man today. You think I won't help her with your corpse, you're crazy." Tim opted for a brief moment of ceiling exploration before eyeing Graham again.
Graham had stopped before Clare was halfway through talking and he was looking at her like she was the Anti-Christ, "You sure you should be saying that in front of your Marshal friends?"
Lou-Anne waved the end of her rifle at Graham's face as Art said, "I didn't hear anything. Did you, Raylan?"
"I heard a dirt-bag dodge his wife's questions, but that's about it."
Tim looked at them appreciatively. "Graham, either you confess to us or you confess to her. It's real simple."
Lou-Anne smirked at her husband and said with deceptive calm, "No, Deputy Gutterson. He's doing both, there's no 'or', Graham. You tell me what the hell we've been doing for, I don't know, our entire marriage!"
Clare started tugging Tim back out of the room and he resisted. While they were exchanging glares at his resistance, Graham took the opportunity to step closer to Lou-Anne and the dresser next to Tim and Clare. "You know, Chief, I don't think anything happening to me under your nose would reflect well on your office," Graham took the opportunity of Art and Raylan looking at each other with near-guilt to take another step to the dresser.
Clare's eyes flicked between Graham and the dresser he was now within lunging distance of, and Tim kept his eyes on Lou-Anne's rifle.
"Tell me, Graham! You tell me what you were doing framing Clare? She had nothing to do with Megan's transplant!"
"Yeah, Graham," Tim said, "You tell her."
"Lou-Anne-"
"Stop saying my damn name and answer the fucking question!" Lou-Anne was still shouting.
"Mrs. Sullivan," Art started, deciding it probably would be unwanted paperwork if Graham was hurt with his Marshals and him in the room, even if he was a cockroach, and distracting Lou-Anne and her rifle in the process.
Graham went for the dresser, scrambling through a drawer as Tim pointed his Glock at him, saying, "Put your hands up, Sullivan. Over your head, thumbs out."
Graham's hands came up with a Sig Sauer P232, pointing at Tim's head. At least for the brief millisecond before he swung the gun at Lou-Anne.
Lou-Anne, having had the good sense to come into her bedroom with the rifle first, also had the good sense to fire first.
Unfortunately for her, the shot was wild, hitting their headboard. Art snatched the rifle from her hands as Graham aimed and Raylan pulled and aimed at Graham.
"I don't pull unless I'm gonna shoot, Graham."
Graham's hand waivered, "I know who killed Tony Kender and why."
"You want a make a deal now? Is that it?" Tim asked incredulously.
"Edgar Moss was talking about Kender at dinner. I told you all that," Lou-Anne said, back against the doorjamb, eyes shooting daggers at her husband.
"Lou-Anne!"
"You're trying to kill your family! What loyalty are you expecting from your 'wife,' asshole?"
Art did his eyebrow thing at Graham, "This is true."
"It's a fair point. C'mon, Lou-Anne," Clare said from behind Tim, "We'll get some coffee and discuss how we're going to make Moss's life miserable." She slipped an arm around Lou-Anne's quivering shoulders and pulled her into the hall and down the stairs, out of Graham's line of fire.
"You want to make a deal about Kender's death? You got to put that down," Art said.
Graham pondered it, asked, "How'd he die?"
"Kender? Strung up to his ceiling fan. Like Stark's suicide except for the groceries in his car."
"Like Kender had done with Stark? Huh," Graham moved his gun hand towards the Marshals slowly. Then he put it to his head a lot quicker.
"Graham-"
"I won't go out like that," he said and fired.
Clare squeezed Lou-Anne's hand after the shot, whether in fear for Tim or sympathy with Lou-Anne's new widow status, she didn't know.
Tim was the first down the stairs, and Clare could breathe again. He shook his head slightly, meaning Graham, and Clare leant her head on Lou-Anne's shoulder and rubbed her back, saying whatever soothing phrases crossed her mind.
Tim stayed out of the kitchen, calling Rachel to update her on Graham and that he'd be visiting Duffy again in the morning.
Lou-Anne wasn't letting go of Clare's hand. Clare didn't seem bothered by that white-knuckle grip, but Tim wanted to sweep her back to his place. So he took the opportunity to make a phone call, "Hey, Elizabeth…It's your brother."