Cut to the Corpse (16 page)

Hank and Brenna left Julie enjoying the sunshine on her porch, at least until she threw up again. Despite what Julie said, Brenna had to wonder—if she found Clue in bed with another woman, especially now that she was pregnant with his child, would she be enraged enough to kill him?

It was hard to imagine, given how weak she’d been from barfing, but rage could do amazing things.

They tromped back through the woods and Brenna mulled the situation over in her mind. They broke through the trees toward her Jeep and saw an old, rusty pickup truck tucked in behind it.
Uh-oh.

Leaning against her vehicle with his ankles crossed and his arms folded over his chest was Nate.

“Did you want to come with us?” Brenna asked. “We just finished.”

“No, but it occurred to me after you left that it was odd for you to drive across town to the state park when we live on Morse Point Lake, the prettiest hiking spot in the area.”

“I like change,” Brenna said.

“Or, more accurately, you’re up to something,” he said.

“So suspicious,” she said.

“Where did Hank get the new rawhide?” he asked.

“You couldn’t have buried that?” Brenna asked Hank. He wagged. As if sensing they would be here awhile, he lay down in the grass and began to work in earnest on the chew.

“Talk to me,” Nate said.

“What do you want to know?” Brenna asked. “Am I butting in to the investigation? Yes. Am I planning to stop? Uh . . . no.”

“Brenna, I appreciate that you want to help, but have you forgotten what happened last April?” he asked. He shoved off of the side of the Jeep and began to pace. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t,” she said.

He stopped pacing and stood in front of her. She suspected he knew he was looming and using his height to emphasize his point, but she refused to back up.

“Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t answer. If anyone could understand why, it was Nate.

“All right, I know you feel empathetic to anyone who is going through what you went through in Boston,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to jump in and put yourself in harm’s way to help them. You could just offer her moral support, you know, bring her flowers or bake her some brownies. Your brownies are mood elevators, I swear.”

Brenna gave him a flat stare.

“Oh, all right,” he said. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Then you have to promise me that the next time you go barging in on a suspect, you will take me or Tenley or Matt with you. At the very least, you should let us know where you are and what you’re doing. That’s just common sense.”

Brenna frowned. She couldn’t really argue with that reasoning, although she might have tried if he hadn’t just praised her brownies so highly.

“All right,” she agreed.

“Shake on it,” he said and held out his hand.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said but she took his large hand in hers and pumped it up and down. “I promise.”

“Good,” he said. His shoulders dropped down from around his ears and he looked visibly relieved. “So, what did you find out from Julie the stalker?”

“How did you know about her?”

“I’d have to be a much bigger recluse than I am to have missed that news,” he said. “Ed Johnson has run her photo with the story that Clue took a restraining order out against her no less than three times in the
Courier
.”

“Well, it’s more complicated than it seems,” Brenna said. “She’s pregnant, and according to her, the baby is Clue’s. Apparently, the restraining order only went one way.”

“Oh,” he said.

“She might have found him with Tara and stabbed him in a jealous rage,” Brenna said. “Goodness knows, he gave her enough reason to, but I’m not convinced.”

“Given that she hasn’t been arrested, I’d say Chief Barker isn’t either,” Nate said. “Now what?”

“I go to work and see if there is any more news,” she said. “Since you’re here, do you mind taking Hank home?”

“Not at all,” he said. “But remember your promise.”

“I will,” she said. “I won’t do anything without letting someone know.”

Brenna climbed into her Jeep while Nate opened up the passenger door of his truck for Hank. He was watching her, his gray eyes intent upon her face. Brenna got the feeling he had something he wanted to say, but then he looked away.

She honked as she pulled out and waved out the half-open window. She saw him raise his hand in return in the rearview mirror and wondered what he might have said.

When she arrived at Vintage Papers, she had worked out at least three different variations of a conversation in which Nate confessed to being in love with her. She knew it was silly, but it was an amusing daydream nonetheless.

Tenley had just unlocked the doors when she arrived, and Brenna made her way straight for the coffeepot in the break room.

“How was it?” Tenley asked.

Brenna looked confused. How did Tenley know about her conversation with Nate?

“The date? With Dom?” Tenley prodded.

“Oh, that,” Brenna said.

“Yes, that. Why do you think I’ve been calling your cell phone all morning? It’d be nice if you’d answer it, by the way.”

“Oh, I forgot it at the cabin,” Brenna said. “I took Hank for a long walk by Julie Harper’s this morning.”

“You
have
been busy,” Tenley said. “When Nate gets back, he’s going to be pleased at how much attention you’ve given Hank.”

“He is back,” Brenna said. “He arrived last night right before my date with Dom.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Tenley ran her eyes over the shop. No one had come in yet. She pointed to the worktable in back and said, “Sit and speak.”

Brenna did. This was the joy of a best girlfriend. She could tell Tenley anything and her friend was right there, feeling everything she felt and thinking everything she’d thought.

At the end of it, Tenley asked, “What do you think Nate wanted to say to you?”

“No idea,” Brenna said. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

The bells on the front door chimed. Brenna glanced up, expecting the Porter sisters to arrive in full interrogation mode, but was surprised to see Tara and Tiffany Montgomery.

“Good morning,” Tenley greeted them. She took Tara’s hands in hers. “How are you?”

Tara was wearing a pretty periwinkle sundress with navy sandals, while Tiffany was in a tailored linen sheath in a deep rose. Despite the pretty dresses, the two women looked haggard, even more so than they had at dinner the night before.

“I’m holding up,” Tara said. “In fact, I’ve decided to attend the concert on the green tonight.”

“Good for you,” Tenley cheered her. “The brass band from the Elks Lodge is playing and what they lack in skill, they make up for in enthusiasm.”

Tiffany looked alarmed.

“It’s true,” Brenna agreed. “I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tiffany said. “Your father would rather we keep to ourselves until we can go back to Boston.”

“I’m not going back to Boston,” Tara said. “I’m staying here and I’m marrying Jake.”

“Tara, you have to see reason,” her mother pleaded. “Jake hasn’t spoken to you since that awful morning. He doesn’t believe you.”

“He does believe me, but his best friend was killed. He needs time to think it through.” Tara’s eyes flooded and she looked ready to weep.

“Well, the best spot in the park is under the fourth maple tree on the south side. The tuba player faces the other way, so you don’t get the full blast and you’re within ten feet of the Italian ice booth,” Tenley said.

Tara gave her a lopsided smile.

“Brenna and I will be there on a blanket and you’re welcome to join us,” Tenley said and then glanced at Tiffany. “All of you.”

“Really?” Tara asked Brenna.

Tenley was a big fat liar—they had no plan to sit on a blanket there—but Brenna figured this was one of Tenley’s causes for the greater good, and like any worthy gal pal she backed her friend’s fib without hesitation.

“Absolutely,” she said.

“It’s very kind of you, but I think Tara needs to stay out of sight,” Tiffany said.

“No,” Tara said. “I didn’t do anything wrong and I am not going to hide and act as if I did.”

“But . . .”

“No,” Tara said. Her eyes were clear and her chin was set at a determined angle, as if she were hoping someone would take a swing at her so she could knock them back. “You don’t have to go, Mother, but I do. I’ll see you two at seven then.”

With a twirl of periwinkle she turned and swept out the door, leaving a bemused Tiffany to follow in her wake.

“So, we’re going to the concert?” Brenna asked.

“Great way to people watch, don’t you think?”

“Or murderer watch, depending upon how you look at it,” Brenna said. “How close are we to the funnel cake guy?”

“He’s on the other side of the Italian ice booth,” Tenley said.

“Okay, I’m in,” Brenna said. “Let’s hope our killer decides to show up as well.”

Brenna wasn’t sure if it was a trombone or a baboon making such a racket. Since there was no sign of a baboon in the crowd, she had to figure it was the trombone; either way, she was thinking the funnel cakes were going to have to go in her ears instead of her mouth to save her sanity.

She and Tenley spread their well-worn log cabin quilt under the fourth tree as promised. She went for funnel cakes while Tenley hunted down lemonades. The green was rapidly filling up with families and couples. The Italian ice booth had a line of children, and Sharon Liu, the photographer for the
Courier
, was snapping pictures as the Elks Lodge band continued warming up in the gazebo.

The June air was warm with a hint of the sticky humidity that would be coming their way in the next month. Large rolling clouds billowed to the east, while the sun made its descent in the west. If it weren’t for the recent murder in the bucolic town, Brenna would have said this was a picture-perfect moment.

She sat cross-legged on the blanket, holding her hot funnel cake on its paper plate. She was just leaning in to take her first bite of powdery sugar goodness when she felt a sudden change in the festive mood. Loud voices became muted as a whisper moved through the crowd, gossiping in everyone’s ears in a mass version of the telephone game.

Brenna didn’t have to look up to know that Tara had arrived. She sighed as she put her funnel cake down and turned to greet the young woman. As usual, she was book-ended by her parents, with Tyler throwing narrow-eyed looks at anyone who might snub his baby.

Brenna hugged Tara and shook hands with her parents. The whisper moved again when Tara sat down. Brenna could see the crowd parting to reveal Jake on the other side of the green. He didn’t acknowledge Tara but kept his gaze on the gazebo as if the band were already playing instead of shifting in their seats watching the show on the lawn before them unfold.

Tenley arrived holding two icy lemonades and Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. Being Tenley Morse, born into the family for which Morse Point was named, she carried more social clout than Brenna. When she handed Brenna the lemonades and then hugged Tara, the whisper reached a fevered pitch and then hushed.

Tenley’s parents didn’t attend the concerts on the green, which made the townsfolk smile even more favorably upon Tenley since they felt she was the most grounded member of the Morse family, which Brenna knew to be true. It gave Tenley quite a bit of power in town, which she was not above using to Tara’s benefit.

Brenna was glad. Despite her brave words, Tara looked nervous. Her eyes kept darting to the spot where Jake was sitting, and it looked as if a little part of her died every time he didn’t look back.

“Well, then, have some funnel cake,” Brenna said and shoved her uneaten sweet into Tara’s hands.

Tyler and Tiffany sat in folding chairs behind them, like well-heeled gargoyles.

“This should be fun,” Brenna said to Tenley.

Tenley grinned at her. The stout conductor walked to the front of the gazebo and rapped his baton on a music stand three times. All eyes turned to the stage, and in a deafening blast of bleats and screeches, the concert began.

Brenna felt both of the Montgomerys stiffen beside her. She was pretty sure they’d never heard anything like this in Boston.

The Elks Lodge band was made up of grown-ups who had once been in the Morse Point High School marching band. They called themselves the Dirty Dozen and wore a uniform of black pants and shoes with white shirts and black blazers with red lapels and black bow ties. The instruments consisted of a collection of trumpets, tubas, cornets, and trombones, with one percussionist who sat in the back with an assortment of cymbals, triangles, and a large timpani drum.