A Scrying Shame (22 page)

“I don’t care what you think.” Arie sat up straight and gave him a regal chin tilt. “Anyhow, that’s how I met him. You can ask Riann.”

“So, after your date. What then?”

“I went home.”

“Alone?”

“No, of course not.”

O’Shea’s look of surprise jolted Arie’s awareness of what he was really asking.

“Oh! Not with him. I mean, I definitely didn’t go home with Wyatt.”

O’Shea’s expression didn’t change.

“I didn’t go home with anyone. But I wasn’t alone. That’s what I meant. I live with Grumpa.”

O’Shea’s face relaxed a tiny bit. “Your grandfather can vouch for your presence? What time did you get home?”

“Uh, I don’t think he can. Vouch for me, I mean.”

The detective sighed.

“Look, he’s eighty-three years old. He goes to bed early.”
Sometimes.
“If he would have heard me, he probably would have gotten up and yelled at me.”

O’Shea paced the tiny area behind Guts’s desk. As he walked, he twisted his neck from side to side to pop the tension out.

“I’m going to need his name and contact information.”

“Grumpa’s? Why?”

“Maybe he heard you come in, after all.”

“I doubt it. And anyway, you can’t really think I had anything to—”

O’Shea flung up a
stop
hand. “Let’s take a minute, and look at the situation. You’re hired as the entertainment for a party given by Riann Foster, a murder victim’s best friend. Wyatt Striker asks you out, and is likewise murdered the next day.”

“Oh, come on—”

O’Shea slammed both hands on the desk and leaned over it. “Oh, wait. Let’s not forget that you’re related to a man who has a romantic history with the first murder victim and was apparently stalking her in the days before she was killed.”

“Brant didn’t kill Marissa.”

“How do you know that? Did Marissa’s ghost tell you that from beyond the grave?” He snorted, then rubbed his forehead.

Arie took a deep breath. “Look, I may not know exactly what was going on, but I do know my brother would never hurt anyone. I don’t need to be psychic to know that you’re on the wrong track. And you don’t have to be so rude. Just because you don’t believe—”

“Rude? You really don’t get it, do you? Your brother has been taken in for questioning. And you”—O’Shea pointed a finger at her—“I could easily take you in for obstructing.”

Arie gasped.
“Me?”

“Obstructing, or even maybe as an accessory. You
literally
cleaned up the crime scene. And then I find you showing up at the funeral, going to parties with the deceased’s family and friends, and dating the next guy who shows up dead.”

Arie stared at him with horror, tears welling in her eyes.

“Shit.” O’Shea rubbed his face with both hands, then propped them on his hips. “Look, I need you to understand this isn’t some game. Your brother is already . . . never mind that. But I’d better not find that you’ve been running around muddying up my investigation. If you know anything, you need tell me right now.”

“I know my brother didn’t kill Marissa.”

“Then if you want to help, you’d better make sure he gets a good lawyer. Otherwise, stay away from my case.”

More tears broke loose as soon as Arie made it into her car. She swiped impatiently at them with a tissue she found wedged in the back of her seat. She didn’t have time for a meltdown. She had to get to her parents.

Her dad’s car was gone, but Arie found Evelyn sitting at the kitchen table. The sight of her—no makeup, her face ravaged from crying—scared Arie more than anything else had done. Her mom just sat there, staring out the patio door into the empty back yard.

“Mom, it’s going to be okay.” Arie sat next to her and gently took her hand.

Evelyn turned reddened eyes to her daughter. “Do you know?”

Arie nodded.

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arie said. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s at the bank. The lawyer needs a deposit or something, and we have to figure out how to do that bail thing. Do you suppose you could Google it?”

Arie had never seen her mother so bewildered and at a loss about how to manage a situation. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out. Are you saying Brant already has a lawyer?”

Evelyn nodded.

“A good one?” With O’Shea’s comments in mind, Arie couldn’t help asking.

“It’s Randy Bradley. From the Elder Board? You must remember him; he married Alexandra Greenman two years ago. She organizes the bake sale every spring.”

“But is he a good lawyer?”

“I already said he was,” Evelyn snapped. “He saw Brant first thing this morning. And then he called your father so we could get right to work on getting the bail money.”

“What did Brant say?”

“We didn’t get to talk to him. But Randy says . . .” Evelyn’s voice trailed away.

“What?”

Evelyn crossed one arm around her stomach and used it to prop the other, which she pressed to her mouth. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“Mom, what did Mr. Bradley say?” Arie reach out and pulled her mom’s hand from her face.

“He said they found something at Brant’s, something they say he took from that girl the night she was . . . it’s ridiculous! Who is this Melissa anyway? Brant never dated anyone like that. We would have known.”

“Her name is Marissa. Was, I mean. And they were engaged. I met her once. But I don’t believe—”

“What do you mean, you met her? This is crazy. Brant doesn’t keep secrets from me. I’m his mother.”

“It was a long time ago. It was a college thing. Did they say what it was that Brant took?”

“He didn’t take
anything
,” Evelyn said. “Brant doesn’t steal things. And I don’t care what you say. He didn’t have anything to do with that girl or her murder.”

“But do you know what it was? The thing they said he took. What was it?”

“A ring. A stupid . . . a pink cameo ring. What the hell would Brant want with something like that? It’s ridiculous.”

When Arie got back to Grumpa’s, she was surprised to see a car in the driveway. She peeked in as she passed by. A suit jacket had been slung over the passenger seat in a way that was sure to cause wrinkles. A stack of folder files and paperwork was piled on the seat.

Grumpa and Detective O’Shea sat at the kitchen table, each with a mug of steaming coffee. O’Shea’s notebook lurked like a snake next to his elbow. Arie also spied a familiar carton on top of the recycling bin. They’d used up her hazelnut creamer, the bastards. They both smiled pleasantly at her, and O’Shea gestured to the empty chair next to him.

“I’m fine.” Arie leaned against the counter instead. She needed the support; her legs were buckling at the thought of what information O’Shea might have gotten out of Grumpa.

“They’ve arrested Brant.” She tried to warn him. “They think he killed a girl.”

“So Detective O’Shea was telling me,” Grumpa said. “And some other guy got killed, too, I understand. The detective here seems to think you might know something about that.”

Grumpa tried to
tsk-tsk-tsk
, but his dentures mutinied on the second
tsk
and almost slid out of his face.

“I never said that, Mr. Wilston,” O’Shea said. “I’m just following up on Ms. Stiles’s assertion that she came right home after she left the restaurant.”

“Well, you implied it,” Grumpa countered. “I guess you were trying to scare an elderly man with the thought of tossing his dear little granddaughter in the clink. Who would take care of me then, huh? I’d be left all alone to fend for myself. Al-l-l-l alone. I can hardly imagine such a thing. Can you, Arie?”

He smiled at her.

Arie inhaled sharply. Who was he kidding? He’d never wanted her to live with him in the first place. Was he really threatening her?
Why, you nasty old
— She took another deep breath and forced her glare into a sweet smile. “Now, don’t you fret, Grumpa. No matter what happens to me, you can be sure Mother will take care of you. In fact, if I’m not available, I’m certain she and Dad will move you right in with them. That way, Mother could take care of you twenty-four seven. She’d probably put you in the guest room right next to theirs. That way you’d never be too far away. You know how attentive she can be. You’d never have to worry about being alone again.”

Grumpa huffed and worked his dentures back and forth. “Well . . . I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have to put her to all that trouble, isn’t it?” He turned to O’Shea. “Because I was here when Arie came in last night. She woke me up. Does it all the time. She’s very inconsiderate.”

O’Shea sighed but didn’t reach for his notebook. “I see. And what time was that?”

Before answering, Grumpa took a long swallow of coffee, then started coughing. Arie rushed to his side and patted him on the back. O’Shea looked on, singularly unimpressed.

That is, until Grumpa’s teeth shot out, skittered across the table, and landed in O’Shea’s lap.

As the detective yelped and lurched out of his chair, Arie leaned down to Grumpa’s ear. “Eleven,” she whispered. She was afraid he was hacking too loudly to hear, but his coughing fit had subsided as suddenly as it had started, and she couldn’t risk another try.

O’Shea glared at the two of them. Without taking his eyes from the pair, he stooped and—not without revulsion—picked up the dentures and slapped them on the table in front of the old man.

“Oh, thank you,” Grumpa said, fully recovered now. He dunked them in his coffee and popped them back in his mouth. “Now, then. What was the question?”

O’Shea’s scowl made him look like a dark angel. He washed his hands at the sink but didn’t bother resuming his seat. Didn’t repeat the question, either.

Instead, he pointed at Arie. “You. Walk me to my car.” Still glowering, he turned to Grumpa. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

At least, that’s what Arie thought he said. The gritted teeth seemed to make enunciating difficult.

Grumpa smiled sweetly and waved bye-bye.

O’Shea didn’t speak until they reached the car. Instead of getting in, he leaned against it and crossed his arms. His eyes bored into hers. Although the striking blue reminded Arie of the vivid colors she’d seen on the Other Side, they didn’t offer a speck of the peace or tranquility she’d found there.

“I should arrest both of you and throw your asses in jail for that stunt.”

Definitely no peace or tranquility.

“Look, you have to believe me. Brant wouldn’t kill anybody. And neither would I.”

“I hate to state the obvious, but I’m a homicide detective,” O’Shea said. “I can’t trust what people tell me, even if I wanted to. And after that little performance in there, I’m sure you can understand why. Besides, I believe what the evidence tells me to believe.”

“Okay, fine,” Arie said. “But sometimes, the evidence lies. Brant’s lawyer told us you found one of Melissa’s rings at his place. A pink cameo, right? Somebody planted it.”

O’Shea shook his head. “Look, Arie. Sometimes even the people we love do things that we could just never imagine them doing. No matter how close you are to someone, you never really know.”

“I know you won’t believe this, but I’m not blinded by sibling bonds. I remember seeing that ring in Marissa’s apartment when we were cleaning it. If you guys found it at Brant’s, somebody else put it there.
After
she was killed.”

A shadow flickered in O’Shea’s eyes, but then it was gone.

“First of all, I’ve got two separate witnesses. Riann states Marissa wore the ring the afternoon before she was murdered, and Kelli confirmed it was missing from Marissa’s jewelry box. That’s two witnesses who, unlike yourself, I have no reason to distrust.

“Secondly, you can’t expect me to derail the entire investigation on the word of our primary suspect’s sister who just happened to be
literally
cleaning up the crime scene after him and
coincidentally
dated another murder victim the night before he was killed.” He leaned in until their noses almost touched. “Lady, you are in this up to your”—for the briefest moment, his eyes dropped to her chest—“eyeballs.”

They pulled back and eyed each other warily.

Arie almost couldn’t believe what he’d told her.
Riann and Kelli?
What a couple of liars.

“Kelli was messing with Marissa’s jewelry when she and June came over the second day we were cleaning. June saw her, too. You can ask her. She may not have seen Kelli with that particular ring, but the little brat couldn’t wait to play dress-up in her big sister’s jewelry box. And Riann had a huge argument with Marissa the afternoon she was murdered. June heard that, too.”

“If you’re talking about the wedding planner, we already have her statement. She didn’t say anything about either subject.”

“She was afraid to. She didn’t want to risk losing the contract for Riann’s wedding.”

O’Shea groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands.

“If you’ll just ask June—”

“I’ll look into it. But in the meantime . . .” O’Shea pointed at Arie. “You stay out of this. I mean it. If I catch you near any part of this, I’ll toss your cute little ass in a jail cell and leave you there to rot.”

Cute little ass?

He got in the car and slammed the door. The tires chirped against the cement driveway as he reversed out to the street. Rubber burned as he sped off.

Of course, Arie was going to stay out of it. She had no intention of doing anything else. But first, she decided, she’d have a little chat with Riann about falsifying evidence and setting her brother up. And she knew exactly how to do it.

“I feel so bad.” Then Arie said the words into the phone that she knew would guarantee Riann’s full attention. “I feel like I’ve cheated you.”

“Cheated me? How?” Riann’s voice had a sharp edge.

“Part of what you’ve been paying me for is your readings, but it occurred to me that they’ve been mostly about Marissa. I mean, that’s understandable. She’s what brought me to you, but it’s possible that the force of her character has been slanting the readings a bit. I wouldn’t want you to—”

“No, you’re right,” Riann said. “You’re absolutely right. I never thought of it, but . . . you know, it’s just like Marissa to do that, too. She always hogged the limelight.”