To Love and to Perish (10 page)

I picked up the phone to dial Cory's cell. He answered on the fifth ring. “Are you with Brennan?”

“I'm home. We had an argument.”

“He noticed his stuff was missing?”

“No. We had dinner together. I managed to put it all back when he was outside grilling. Everything was fine until I asked him about Monica and James Gleason. He clammed up. Wouldn't say a word. Refused to tell me anything we didn't already know. Wouldn't tell me anything about the reunion, the accident, or his high school friends. I got mad. He got mad. I told him if he didn't trust me enough to confide in me, we were through.”

“How did he respond to that?”

“He didn't say anything. So I left.”

“Oh, Cory, I'm sorry.”

“I'm sure we're on the right track, Jo. He's hiding something. I know it.”

Only problem, Brennan might be hiding something to save himself from prison. He and Cory would definitely be through if that was the case, especially if Cory helped put him there, which remained possible.

I filled Cory in on the article from the newspaper and the YouTube video. I emailed him the URL. He watched it a couple times while I waited on the line. He didn't spot anything new. The video confirmed nothing—but it would make a great advertisement for brownies.

“The only people involved that we didn't talk to are Suzanne and Matthew Gleason. I'd love to hear firsthand what her husband and Brennan argued about, wouldn't you, Jo?”

“It might give us a clue as to why Brennan is being so secretive.”

“Can we afford another day off?”

I'd checked the messages on the shop's answering machine before our family sat down to dinner. Only five calls all day, three for oil changes before winter, two for inspections. Cory could get them done early in the day. “Maybe an afternoon.”

“Can you stand another drive to Albany so we can visit the Gleasons?”

“I'll bake them some chocolate chip cookies.”

Fourteen

Friday morning I made
Danny and Ray instant oatmeal for breakfast, while the cookies browned in the oven. Ray appeared in the kitchen first, dressed in his gray uniform and looking hot. I love a man in uniform, especially this man.

He didn't notice me staring. He was too intent on inhaling his oatmeal. “Who are the cookies for?”

“Some are for us, but I'm taking a couple dozen to James Gleason's family.”

He stopped chewing. “When did you decide to go see them?”

“Last night.”

“I was home last night.”

Meaning, why didn't you tell me then? I didn't mention it because I didn't want him to try to dissuade us. I had enough doubts and concerns without his adding to them. “I know. I just didn't want to hear again about how Ken would investigate. Brennan's home and he still won't talk to Cory about the car crash.”

Ray spoke slowly. “Maybe he thinks it's none of Cory's business.” His patronizing tone implied it was none of my business either.

“You're right, but now inquiring minds want to know.”

“Brennan isn't going to appreciate your interference any more than Ken.” He carried his dish to the dishwasher and inserted it. “Now that he's out of jail, it may get back to him that the two of you are snooping around.”

“I think Cory's willing to risk it to keep him out of prison.”

Ray ran his hand over his face. “Okay, have it your way. But don't call me when you two get arrested for impeding an investigation.”

“Do you even know for sure your friend Ken is investigating ties to the crash?

“No.” Ray's response was curt. He hated to acknowledge even the possibility that the sheriff's department in any county would leave the smallest stone unturned.

I raised my face to his. “We may be a little late. Can you pick Danny up from football practice?”

“Done.” Ray's lips brushed over mine. “Be careful.”

After Ray left, I checked the clock and panicked. “Danny, you're going to miss the bus.”

He appeared from around the corner. “Is Ray gone?”

“Yes, but he's picking you up from practice tonight. Cory and I are going to Albany again.”

“Oh.” Danny climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He didn't
pick up his spoon.

“What's the matter? You don't want oatmeal?”

His gaze remained fixed on the bowl. “I want it.”

He made no move to eat.

I leaned against the bar. “Is something wrong?”

“My dad called last night.”

“Ray told me. How is your dad?”

“Good. I saw him at the vintage festival. I didn't know he was coming. He followed me into the store when I went to use the bathroom.” Danny glanced up at me from underneath the hair hanging in this face.

“That was a nice surprise, I bet.”

He sat up eagerly, a huge smile on his face. “Yeah. He's been to Washington, D.C. and Boston. He saw a Red Sox game.”

“Cool.” I wondered if Mr. Phillips had stolen a few cars while he was there, too. Frankly, I was surprised he hadn't made off with
any from the vintage festival, a Mecca for car fans. Maybe he'd been
assessing future possibilities.

“My dad never takes cars people love.”

For a minute, I thought I'd spoken my thoughts aloud. “What?”

“Ray asked me if my dad was at the festival to steal a car.”

“He did?” I couldn't believe it. Well, I could, but I didn't want to. It was one thing to think it and quite another to say it out loud. Deliberately undermining Danny's image of his father was unacceptable.

“He wasn't. He came to see me.”

“I'm sure you were glad to see him.”

Danny nodded. “I know stealing any car is wrong, like Ray said, but my dad would never take one of those cars, ever.”

“Why not?”

“Because those cars are loved.”

“What?”

“All those cars. The people spend tons of time and money fixing them up to take to races and car shows. They love their cars. My dad would never take their cars. He only takes cars from people who drive them for show, or from the dealerships. They don't care. They don't love their cars.”

I thought about the black Porsche 944 S2 my dad had restored and presented to me as a graduation present. I loved that car. My sister had it now. She didn't love it. She didn't even appreciate it, but I couldn't take it back from her. Maybe someday, but not now.

“How can your dad tell who loves their cars?”

Danny picked up his spoon. “I don't know, but he can. Ray doesn't understand.” He started eating, apparently content to have gotten that information off his chest.

And right onto mine.

_____

Cory and I arrived in the suburbs of Albany around four o'clock, planning to stay late, if necessary, to find Suzanne Gleason and Elizabeth Potter at home. We sure didn't want to have to drive back here again. If we couldn't unearth any new information this time, Cory planned to confess to Brennan about searching his home and to demand to know where the five thousand dollar a month payments went. Brennan hadn't called since their fight Wednesday night, Cory felt like he had nothing more to lose. I wasn't so sure.

Suzanne Gleason lived in a modest colonial dwarfed by two enormous pines in the front yard, the kind of evergreens that said White House or Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. The garage door stood open.

Cory spotted a navy car inside. “Hey, that's a 1972 Gran Torino. I had one of those in high school.” He headed toward the garage.

I grabbed his shirt at the shoulder and tugged him toward the front door. “Focus.”

We rang the doorbell. A blond young man opened the door, the same handsome boy with the startling blue eyes in the photograph on Wayne Engle's credenza—only aged a couple years. Shocked, I gaped at him, then glanced at Cory, trying to determine if he recognized him, too.

“Can I help you?” He smiled, revealing adorable dimples.

I recovered first. “We're looking for Suzanne and Matthew Gleason.”

“I'm Matthew.” He looked from me to Cory and back again, waiting.

Cory stood with his head tipped to one side, studying Matthew. I waited for Cory to jump into the conversation, but he didn't.

I thrust the tin of cookies forward. “We're so sorry about your father. I brought you some chocolate chip cookies.”

Matthew accepted the tin. “Thank you. Did you know my dad?”

Cory came out of his reverie. “No, we didn't, but we were at the vintage festival on Friday night. I was actually in the parade of racecars. Jolene was at the corner where your father was …” He stopped, obviously uncertain as to what to say next.

Matthew's eyes narrowed. “We were told only one woman came
forward as a witness. Was that you?”

I shook my head. “We were more bystanders than witnesses.” I held out my hand. “I'm Jolene Asdale. And this is Cory Kempe.”

Matthew shifted the cookie tin to his left hand so that he could shake hands with us, his brow wrinkled, his gaze questioning.

I tried to think of something to put him at ease. “Forgive me for asking, but aren't you Wayne Engle's godson?”

Matthew blinked in surprise, his brow smoothing. “Yeah, I am. Do you know Wayne?”

“We visited him earlier this week. Your photograph is on his office credenza.”

“Yeah. That's my freshman yearbook picture. I graduated last year. I'm looking for a job.” He looked between Cory and me again. “So you're friends of Wayne?”

Cory smiled. “He's a great guy.”

Fortunately, Matthew didn't seem to notice his question went unanswered. “Yeah.” He looked at the tin of cookies. “Listen, my mom's not home, but I know she'll want to thank you for the cookies. Would you mind writing down your name and number for me?”

“Not at all.” We stepped into the foyer at his invitation.

Matthew disappeared down the hall. “I'll be right back. We have a pad in the kitchen.”

The foyer looked into the living room area, which was decorated in shades of gray, black, and red. Very contemporary and not my style. A chrome frame held a photo of Matthew and his mother. She had dark hair and funky fashion glasses, an average looking woman. Another photo held a picture of Matthew and his dad with his unmistakable red hair. No family shots, but then the couple had been separated.

Matthew returned with the pen and paper.

I wrote down my name and cell number and handed it back to him. “Will your mother be home soon?”

“She has to work late to catch up. She took a few days off this week to arrange for the funeral and stuff.”

“I'm sorry we missed her. Please give her our condolences.”

“I will.”

I stepped back outside to join Cory. Matthew followed us to the edge of the drive.

Cory pointed at the Gran Torino in the garage. “Great car. I used to have one.”

Matthew's eyes lit up. “Really? I love this car. It's got power.”

“Mind if we take a look?” Cory headed for the garage without
waiting for a response. Matthew didn't seem to mind, tagging right along behind him. I brought up the rear.

Cory admired the car and asked questions. Matthew opened the hood. Cory stuck his head under it.

Matthew smiled at me, happy to show off his wheels.

I returned his smile. “I own an import auto dealership in Wachobe. Cory is my mechanic. We're big car people. Is your whole family into cars?”

The light in Matthew's eyes faded. “Just me really. My dad's sister was killed in a car crash. He didn't even want to go to the festival. I talked him into meeting us there.”

“You and your mom?”

“Yeah, and my girlfriend. We were all going to have dinner and see the fireworks in the Glen after the race. But then my dad ran into Brennan, and they fought. My mom took off to find me. We decided to head home. We didn't know about my dad until the sheriff notified us.”

I noticed he referred to Brennan by his first name, as though he knew him. “Were you and your dad close?”

Matthew shrugged. “I'm closer to my mom. She and my dad fought a lot. We fought a lot, too. He liked to tell everyone what to do. We moved out when I started high school. It made things easier.”

It didn't sound like they were going to miss him much. “Do you know Brennan?”

Matthew hesitated. “I met him once. He seemed like a nice guy.”

His words caught me off guard. What boy thinks the man accused of killing his father was a “nice guy”? I glanced at Cory, who was studying Matthew again like a sports car he couldn't decide
whether to buy. “Brennan's accused of killing your dad.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, Dad and I got into it a few times. I could understand if Brennan got pissed and gave him a shove, but I don't think he killed him on purpose.”

Matthew backed away toward his front door. “Truthfully, my dad had a way of pushing people's buttons. I loved him, but he's not going to be missed.”

_____

On the drive over to Elizabeth Potter's townhouse, I considered Matthew's words. How sad that James Gleason would not be missed. Had he always been an unpleasant fellow or had his sister's death taken a toll on him? I know my mother's death changed our family forever in some very obvious and many other subtle ways, including the loss of Erica's and my carefree childhood. Had James become angry and demanding after his sister's death? What a price to pay to lose his son's love and respect.

Cory interrupted my thoughts. “What do you make of Wayne Engle being Matthew's godfather?

“I don't know what to make of it. I wish you still had Brennan's yearbook. Maybe Suzanne Gleason was another one of the four Musketeers' friends that we overlooked. Do you remember any Suzannes in the book?”

“I'm sure there were some. I don't remember any specifically.”

“Or maybe she's Wayne's sister.”

Cory slowed for the stoplight. “Didn't you see the picture of his mom in the living room? She doesn't look anything like Wayne Engle.”

“I saw it, but you know Erica doesn't look anything like me,
either. Siblings can take after one or the other parent or be a mix of both. Or look like Aunt Fanny or Grandpa Mortimer. She looked familiar. She could be his sister.”

The light changed to green and Cory hit the gas. “Well, I thought
Matthew resembled someone we've seen, but I can't remember who. Everyone's starting to blend together.”

I had to agree. Too many faces and too few answers. Maybe our next stop, Elizabeth Potter, would finally bring some closure.

Unfortunately, her townhouse appeared as uninhabited as the last time we visited. Cory accompanied me up the sparkling white gravel path and surveyed the lawn while I rang the doorbell. No one responded.

Cory checked his watch. “It's five thirty. Should we wait a half hour or so?”

“We could, but I'm hungry. We could go eat and then come back around again. Problem is, if she comes home to change and head out for the night, we'll miss her.”

“There was a convenience store two blocks back. I could walk down and get subs while you wait here in the car.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I climbed into the BMW and watched as Cory sauntered away, hands in his pockets, head bowed. Normally, his head would be held high, giving him the illusion of height even though he stood at five-three. This whole situation with Brennan had diminished him, both literally and figuratively. If Brennan knew how much Cory cared, would he be more forthcoming with the truth?

A tap on the window sent me jumping into the air. I whipped my head around. It was Elizabeth Potter's neighbor, wearing another stylish housedress, this time in orange.