Cut to the Corpse (14 page)

They didn’t speak but let John Legend pour out of the car speakers in a soothing wash of sound. It was several songs later before Dom took an exit that led them down an old postal route. They wound through the woods for a stretch until they came to an old covered bridge.

A rough, dirt parking lot surrounded the bridge and

Dom pulled into an available spot. He climbed out and circled the car to get her.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“Never,” she said.

“You have to walk across the covered bridge to get to the restaurant beyond,” he said. “But the food is worth it.”

“I think the bridge is worth it,” Brenna said. Her love for all things old made her pause to study the red bridge, perched over the shallow rushing river below.

It was lit on each side by spotlights, and moths danced in the warm June air as they flirted with the light.

Dom took Brenna’s arm and led her across the uneven wooden boards. They stopped halfway across at one of the small square windows to gaze at the river below.

“It’s a beautiful spot,” she said.

“I used to think so,” he said.

“You don’t anymore?”

“Let’s just say that next to you, it pales in comparison,” he said.

Brenna burst out laughing and he grinned.

“What? Over the top?”

“A little,” she said. “But I like it.”

He tucked her hand around his elbow and they left the bridge to follow the path to the old Victorian farmhouse, known as the Thistle Inn, beyond.

The inn’s restaurant was one of the finest in the area, and although Brenna had heard of it, she’d never eaten there before. She and Dom were led to a table, by a tall floor to ceiling window, which was draped in a thick linen cloth with a white pillar candle circled by a wreath of white roses interspersed with red berries.

It reminded her of the wedding bouquet Tara had been so ecstatic about and from which they were going to design her wedding favors. Brenna frowned. It seemed wrong to be enjoying herself while Tara’s life was such a train wreck.

Dom pulled out her chair, and as if she had conjured her by thinking of her, Brenna glanced up to see Tara enter the dining room, flanked by her parents.

She froze halfway into her seat and Dom followed her gaze. “Oh, the bride.”

For a split second, Brenna considered pretending she hadn’t seen them. A lifetime of good manners prevailed, however, and she dropped her clutch in her chair.

“I should go say hello,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” she protested.

He raised an eyebrow at her and took her elbow.

The hostess had seated the Montgomerys at a table by a window across the room. Brenna couldn’t help thinking that this was another fine mess she’d gotten herself into as they wound their way through the tables.

In a nutshell, the Montgomerys knew her parents, and she was having dinner with a mobster, reformed, but still, not on her parents’ short list of desirable people with whom she should be associating. If word got back to her parents, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do—a situation definitely to be avoided.

She could only hope that Tiffany was so consumed with her daughter’s plight that she wouldn’t mention seeing Brenna to anyone.

“Hello, Tara,” Brenna said as they approached the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.”

The three of them looked up as one, and Brenna could see the ravages of the past few days on their faces. Tara was sickly pale and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed as if she’d been crying as soon as she rehydrated her tear ducts. Tiffany was more put together but her face looked tense, and no amount of foundation could hide the sleepless circles under her eyes. Tyler looked strained, his jaw clenched tight, as if he were chewing on a particularly grisly piece of meat.

“Brenna!” Tara jumped up from her seat and threw herself into her arms. “It’s so good to see you. Jake won’t talk to me and Chief Barker keeps asking me questions, but I don’t know anything. I swear I can’t remember what happened that night.”

A dry sob wracked her body and Brenna hushed her and patted her back. She couldn’t help but feel protective of this young woman for all that she was going through.

“Tara,” Tiffany said as she rose to stand beside them. “Let’s not have a scene.”

Tara peeled herself off of Brenna and gave herself a gentle shake. “Of course, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just so good to see a friendly face.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Brenna said, and meant it.

Tyler stood and extended his hand to Dom. “Tyler Montgomery.”

Dom clasped his hand. “Dom Cappicola.”

Tiffany and Tyler exchanged a quick look, but not quick enough. Brenna could tell from the widening of Tiffany’s eyes that they recognized Dom’s family name. Now they were probably thanking their lucky stars that their daughter was only facing a murder rap and not dating a mobster. Brenna wanted to protest that Dom was making the family business legit, but that would be socially awkward at best.

“You look gorgeous,” Tara gushed. “Is that a Maggy London?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite little black dress,” Brenna said.

“Every girl has to have one,” Tiffany said.

“Or fifteen, I swear they swap them out like putters,” Dom said in an aside to Tyler, who looked momentarily nonplussed and then broke the tension by laughing.

“Do you golf, Dom?” he asked.

“My handicap is in the mid- to low seventies,” he said.

Tyler leaned back on his heels and raised his eyebrows. “We should play a round.”

“Tyler!” Tiffany protested.

“When things—calm down, of course,” he said.

“Of course,” Dom agreed with a small smile.

“We’ll let you get back to your dinner,” Brenna said. “Tara, feel free to call me anytime.”

“I will,” Tara said, looking tearily grateful.

Dom led Brenna back to their table, and as they resumed their seats, she asked, “Do you really golf?”

“Not a stroke,” he said. “But I didn’t want them to judge you for dating a mobster’s son. And that man’s heart lies on the rolling greens of St. Andrews.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Educated guess. They reek of old money, and I could see his golf tan around his collar.”

“You’re good,” Brenna said. “What are you going to do if he calls you for a game?”

“Feign an injury,” he said. “A groin pull, no one ever asks you about those, they don’t want to know.”

Brenna laughed out loud. The man had charm, she had to give him that.

As if by unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation neutral during dinner, keeping it to favorite vacation spots, movies, and books. It was while they lingered over their coffee, and after the Montgomerys left, that Brenna finally asked the questions that were bubbling up inside of her.

“So, did you find out anything about Clue?”

“First, I have a question for you,” he said.

“All right.” She stirred a dribble of milk from the small white pitcher into her coffee.

“Are you here just because you want to know what I found out at the mill?”

“No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“At the risk of overstepping my bounds, I have to ask, is there something between you and your landlord?”

“Friendship,” Brenna said.

She glanced quickly back down at her coffee. She didn’t really want to admit that she had an unrequited crush on Nate, but Dom deserved the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was for her.

“I like him—a lot,” she said. “But he doesn’t return those feelings. Ugh, that makes me sound like such a loser.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dom said. He reached across the table and took her hand. “It makes him sound like an idiot.”

“He’s not, he’s just . . .”

“Stone-blind?” Dom suggested. “A eunuch?”

Brenna laughed. Dom’s hand was warm around hers.

“Listen, I’m not going to push you,” he said. “But I’m not going to disappear either. When you get tired of waiting for Prince Charming to get his head out of his derriere, you let me know. In the meantime, I’d like to take you out again—nothing serious, just friends.”

“I’d like that,” Brenna said.

“All right, here’s what I found out about Clue,” Dom said as he released her hand and leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “He was never late, rarely called out sick, and knew how to work every piece of machinery on the floor. The men wanted to be like him and the women wanted him. Period. Until they dated him, at which point they hated him. Apparently, he was going through women like a race car goes through tires.”

“Lovely,” Brenna said. “How did he keep his job if he was treating his female coworkers so badly?”

“He was smart about it,” Dom said. “He kept it all off-site. He never did anything at work that would give personnel a reason to discipline him.”

“Do you think one of those women got angry enough to kill him?”

Dom sipped his coffee while he considered her question. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“I asked Sally, our tour guide, about him,” she said. “She got very upset.”

“She’s married,” Dom said. “I don’t think she wants her husband to find out that she had a torrid affair with Clue.”

“But surely, the police are investigating anyone who had a relationship with him and her husband will find out.”

“It’s a pretty long list,” Dom said. “She may be hoping to fly under the radar.”

“That’s good news for Tara then,” Brenna said. “That there are others with strong motives.”

“You found her in bed with the victim, clutching the murder weapon,” Dom said. “She seems like a nice kid, but I hear Ted Bundy was a peach, too. Brenna, are you sure she’s innocent?”

“Yes.”

“One more question,” Dom said. “Why are you so interested in this case? Why do you feel like you have to help this girl? Why not leave it to the police?”

“That was more than one,” she said.

Dom smiled. “Humor me.”

Brenna sighed. She did not like to revisit the past, but surely, if anyone could understand it would be Dom.

“Do you know why I moved to Morse Point?” she asked.

“It’s a pretty town,” he offered.

“It is,” she agreed. “But I’m a Bostonian by birth and I lived my entire life in the city up until two years ago.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was late at night,” she said. “I was doing inventory at the art gallery where I worked when it was robbed. I tried to get away but the burglars cracked me on the temple and knocked me out. Then they cleaned the place out.”

“You could have been killed!” He sounded outraged. “Didn’t they have a security guard?”

“No, and believe it or not, it gets worse,” she said. “The burglars took all of Jean Depaul’s work, which I had been inventorying, and my identity. They started offering the pieces on the black market under my name. The police decided I was the inside man on the robbery, even though I was sporting a nasty concussion, and I was prosecuted.”

“You were cleared, though,” he said. He gave her an empathetic look, and she knew that with his family history, he completely understood.

“Luckily, in an effort to catch me the police went undercover and caught the couple who had taken my identity. Turned out they were wanted in several countries and had stolen other gallery workers’ identities. It didn’t get me my job back, however, and my reputation was damaged beyond repair.”

“So, you feel a kinship with those who are wrongly accused,” he said.

“I would have given anything to have just one person in my corner during that time,” she said. “Even a stranger.”

Dom met her gaze and gave her a firm nod. “All right then. I’ll keep nosing around the mill and see if I can uncover any more information.”

He took out his wallet and put several bills in the leather bill folder. Brenna wondered if she should offer to pay half. It seemed like the liberated thing to do, but she suspected Dom would not appreciate the gesture. Maybe she could take him out one night in return. Surely, that would be all right. She really needed to ask Tenley how all this worked. She was so rusty when it came to dating, she was surprised she didn’t creak.

Dom handed the leather bill case to their waitress as she passed. “It’s all set. Thank you.”

“Have a nice night,” the waitress said.

Dom held out her chair, and Brenna rose to stand beside him. He looked her up and down and let out a sigh.

“I need you to promise me something,” he said. He placed her hand on his elbow and they weaved their way through the tables and out the door.

“What?” she asked as they crossed the lush lawn.

“That you’ll be careful,” he said. “You’ll notice I know better than to ask you to stop asking questions.”

“I did notice.” She smiled.

They were halfway across the bridge, and she paused to look out the little window and watch the moonlight dance on the rushing water below.

“Dom, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she said.

His smile disappeared and he looked at her with an unmistakable heat in his eyes.

“For now,” he agreed. “For now.”