His Brother's Keeper

By Bruce Allsman

His Brother's Keeper, a suspense thriller novel by Bruce Allsman

After recently inheriting a fortune, struggling freelance photographer Peter Peterson decides to leave Canada for good.

While clearing out his deceased father’s belongings, he finds a hidden stack of old postcards sent from various locations across the United States. One for each birthday, all twenty five postcards were for him. They were from his mother. She had left when he was four years old. Yearning to retrace his mother’s odyssey, he decides to embark on a journey to all the places she had stayed at over the years.

The first place is Everndale, a small town in the wine country of the Pacific Northwest. While on the road approaching the town, he has a rude encounter with a man. And when he sees the same man again in a bed-and-breakfast, he is unable to shake off a suspicious feeling toward that man. So, he decides to keep an eye on that man and soon discovers a dark secret about him. And a criminal intent.

Fast-paced, His Brother’s Keeper is an immersive thriller and an intriguing suspense story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Allsman
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005357337

Bruce Allsman

Bruce Allsman is a short story author and novelist. He writes in many genres, including literary, romance, science fiction, horror, fantasy, crime, mystery, thriller and suspense genres. He has work appearing or forthcoming in over a dozen venues. When he's not writing, he enjoys learning foreign languages.

Book preview

Chapter 1

BY THE END OF MAY, Peter Peterson finally settled the estate affairs of his father. He sold the house and everything else, except the Jeep Cherokee XJ, which he had been driving for days now in his quest down south. In late June, after having crossed the Canadian border into the United States this morning, he had driven non-stop, eager to reach his destination.

It was already evening when he exited the interstate turnpike and after some miles, he turned into a road leading to the small town of Everndale. This year's summer was unusually hot, not a good sign for this overworked, overused planet, he thought. Slowing down as he drove along the road, his gaze swept left and right, admiring the vast vineyards dotted with clusters of squat buildings.

Coming up ahead, beside the road was the town's large welcome sign. A short distance before the sign, he pulled over to the road shoulder and stopped. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out an old postcard and compared it with the sign before him. Everything matched perfectly, down to the vibrant colors. The sign looked well maintained even after so many years.

Satisfied that he had found the right town, he wondered why she had come here years ago. She had left them when he was just a toddler. That was what Dad on his deathbed had told him after handing him the stack of postcards. Now with his modest inheritance, he decided to go trace his mother's history, to understand and forgive her. She had sent him a postcard once a year on his birthday which Dad had selfishly kept from him. However there was no postcard from her last year. Months later, her lawyer had informed Dad that she had passed on.

From his black leather camera case, he took out a camera, got down from the jeep and crossed over to the opposite side of the road. Raising the camera, he composed and took a snapshot of the sign. He was sure it was this town. Furthermore, its name matched the postmark on the postcard. What part of her past had she left there for him to find, he wondered. This small town was the first among the many places where she had sent him the postcards. So it'll be a good start for him.

At that moment a vehicle sped past, stirring up a cloud of dust around him. He coughed and covered his nose and mouth. What a real dick? The guy must be doing at least eighty. Why the hurry? He stared at the van as it roared into the distance toward the town. Raising his camera, he focused on the white van and snapped. All he could see was its back and when he reviewed the captured image, he noted the license plate, from out of state.

He climbed back into his jeep and kept his camera. Pulling out onto the road, he drove past the town's welcome sign, continuing his way into town, driving slowly while savoring the panoramic view. The surrounding vineyards were vast, and he was sure also famous for their wine. However, he shouldn't touch a drop of it, he reminded himself. That part of his life was over. This journey meant a new beginning, in more ways than one.

Soon he reached the town, passing under the archway of Main Street, a wide road, both sides lined with the town's main buildings, mostly single story red brick buildings. He passed by the usual establishments: town hall and library, mayor's office, police station, bank, hotel, and post office. He slowed down, observing the speed limit. The last thing he wanted was any trouble with the town's sheriff. It was early evening, and people were getting into their cars and driving home. The shops were closing or already closed, so there wasn't any other activity. This place seemed to be a quiet town where most young people chose to leave as soon as they graduated from high school.

Eager for an overview of the town, he drove on along Main Street. Today the weather was sunny, warm with a cool breeze from the north and no rain, a perfect summer day. It reminded him of those glorious summer days in his hometown, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada where he had spend countless hours honing his photography skills. Running perpendicular to Main Street were several streets branching out on his left and right, giving him a glimpse of other business establishments: physician, dental surgeon, restaurant, and convenience store. At the south side, children were playing in a small park and adjacent to it was an elementary school.

Reaching the farthest end of the town, he spotted a sign for a bed-and-breakfast located a couple of miles south out of town. He thought that would be a nice place to stay and decided to check it out later. He turned around and drove back along Main Street, deciding to go back to the north side of town. But his legs were getting stiff, and it would be good to park his jeep, get down, and take a short walk, but he dreaded meeting any townspeople. Small talk with strangers wasn't his idea of fun. He would rather not talk with any of them unless absolutely necessary.

The idea of talking made him feel thirsty. The water bottle on the seat beside him had been empty for several hours. He'll need to refill it. He scanned the shops, looking for a good place to stop. A short distance ahead at an intersection was a strip mall where a grocery store sandwiched between a bakery and a florist caught his eye.

Chapter 2

WHEN PETER TURNED INTO the strip mall's parking lot, he saw the van, the one that had left him coughing in a cloud of dust. Parked right in front of the grocery store, its wheels were slanted against the curb, its wide body straddling two lots. He glanced at the license plate. Yeah, the same van, he thought. Its driver probably went into the grocery store. Now he'll have the chance to get a good look at the rude driver. Even though there was a vacant lot beside the van, he chose to park his jeep a few lots away.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, he headed toward the grocery store. When he reached its front he stood watching through its large window at the people inside. A man at the checkout counter was paying for some stuff. Like him, the man was in his late-twenties, six feet tall, but unlike him who was slim, this man was heavyset. The man was wearing pale blue jeans, short sleeved dark brown plaid shirt, and black boots. A baseball cap hid his hair and shades shielded his eyes.

After collecting his change from the cashier, the man pushed the door open, stepped out, and shouldered his way past Peter without even an apology for his rude behavior. What an asshole, Peter thought as he turned and stared at the man. Hurrying to the white van, the man started it with a loud roar and pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

Peter entered the grocery store, took a few bottles of mineral water and paid for them at the counter. He went back out to the sidewalk, uncapped a bottle and stood observing his surroundings while sipping the cold mineral water. People passing him along the strip mall's sidewalk seemed friendly, smiling and nodding to him as they went by. However, he didn't speak with anyone. After finishing his bottle of water, he tossed the empty bottle into a trash can and walked back to his jeep.

Deciding that it was time to find a place to stay, he pulled out onto Main Street. He recalled the bed-and-breakfast sign and figured that it might be a nice place to stay for a while, if vacancies were available. Although there was a hotel somewhere along Main Street, he preferred not to stay in town. He drove south, past the end of Main Street and followed a sign guiding him to the bed-and-breakfast. He turned into a road lined with shady trees on both sides.

After winding down all windows, he drove slowly, enjoying the fragrant cool breeze funneled under the archway of trees. It was a pleasant ride along the straight road well protected from the harsh summer sun. At the most scenic spot, he stopped, took out his camera and captured images of the tree lined road, a perfect combination of light, shadow, shapes and colors. Satisfied, he resumed his drive down the road. A half mile farther, the big shady trees finally gave way to a field of green grass, and another half mile or so, a mansion stood near a meandering creek.

The white two-story mansion with red roof tiles, stood out against the picaresque landscape of green grass and blue sky. The building seemed large but there weren't many rooms, judging from the row of four windows facing him and possibly, another four facing the other side, making up a total of eight rooms. He wondered how many rooms would be available this time of year. A sign with the words Weller Bed & Breakfast pointed to a side road and he turned into it and drove along the gravel road toward the mansion.

As he approached the mansion's grounds, he gazed at the old building, possibly late 19th century architecture. The mansion was more beautiful up close even though it looked like it hadn't been refurbished in a long time. Never mind that, as long as it's clean and reasonably priced, he thought. His inheritance wasn't much, and his on-line stock photos business hadn't really taken off yet, so he really had to watch his expenses. It might be a good idea to find some kind of part time work while he's here.

He stopped by the side of the gravel road, raised his camera and captured several images of the mansion. He guessed it was once the majestic home of a wealthy family, probably in the winery business. While panning his camera to capture the intricate details of the building's facade, he saw the white van in the parking lot, as usual parked in a haphazard way. He zoomed in on the van's license plate. Yes, it was the same van he had encountered earlier.

He lowered his camera and sighed. So, that guy must be staying here too. He had hoped never to see that man again. Somehow he felt he was doomed to cross paths with such people. He observed the van was parked in the guest area. Good, the man isn't an employee here, he thought. Turning into the parking lot, he drove past the white van and parked well away from it. He kept his camera in the black leather camera case, slung its strap over his shoulder, grabbed his small backpack from the back seat, and got down from his jeep.

Chapter 3

STEPPING UP ONTO THE whitewashed porch, Peter wiped his shoes carefully on the welcome mat, faced the solid oak front door, and looked for a door bell. He felt it wasn't proper to just walk in as if the place was a regular hotel, so he pressed the door bell. After awhile the door opened. A tall, thin and bald middle-aged man wearing dark blue jeans and beige short sleeve cotton shirt emerged smiling broadly and introduced himself as Fred Cormack.

Is there any room available? Peter asked.

Sure, you've come to the right place, Fred answered. Come on in.

Fred showed him into the parlor, the first door on the left of the hallway and said, Please wait here, have a seat. You'll be served soon, in a couple of minutes.

He wasn't alone in the parlor. That man from the white van was there, busy with a young woman.