Cut to the Corpse (21 page)

“Do you think Clue drugged Tara to make it look as if they’d spent the night together to get back at you for taking Lisa from him?”

Jake ran his free hand through his hair. “It’s possible, but Lisa had broken up with Clue by the time she and I started seeing each other. Clue said he was okay with it.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I wanted to,” Jake said. His glance was rueful.

“Have you had any contact with Lisa since she left?” Nate asked. “Could she have come back and found out you were with Tara and gotten Clue to help her break you two up?”

“Nah,” Jake shook his head. “Lisa is a free spirit. She’d never hurt anyone to get what she wanted.” He let go of Tara’s hand and opened a locker in the corner.

On the top shelf, he pulled out a small cardboard jewelry box. When he opened it, Brenna gasped. It was the angel she’d seen in the picture on Mrs. Sutton’s hutch.

“She left me this in an envelope with my name on it,” he said. “No note, no other explanation, she was just gone.”

“Free spirit, indeed,” Nate said.

Jake looked at Tara. “I think maybe it’s time I give this to Lisa’s mom. She can get it back to Lisa.”

“That sounds good,” Brenna said and noticed Tara’s smile got brighter. “If you two want to say good night, I’ll wait for you outside, Tara.”

Brenna and Nate stood outside, looking at the town now in the midst of its nightly slumber. Crickets chirped, a warm breeze gusted across the town green, and the glow of the old-fashioned street lanterns that lined the side-walks lent the illusion of safety to the quiet community.

But it wasn’t safe. There was a murderer out there, and Morse Point wouldn’t be safe until Clue’s killer was caught. A shiver caught Brenna by the back of the neck and she shuddered.

Nate gave her a swift glance and then pulled her close so that her side was pressed against the length of his. Neither of them spoke.

When Tara joined them, looking delightedly flushed, they silently walked her back to the inn where she was staying with her parents. Nate then escorted Brenna back to the Jeep before going to retrieve his own car.

“Well, I guess I’ll catch the game highlights on ESPN. The Yanks were playing the Phillies tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s interleague play. They always do that in June. It goes against my baseball purist leanings. It’s a travel day for the Sox,” she said.

“Yeah, so I have nothing to laugh about,” he said.

“And I’ve been spared your trash-talking. How nice,” she said. “I guess I’ll just go home and dig into the brownie pie I made last night while I watch to see how badly your boys got trounced.”

“Brownie pie?” Nate asked. “The one you make with the crushed pecan crust?”

“With fudge sauce on top,” she clarified. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“If I swear not to trash-talk the Sox for a whole day, will you share?”

“Make it a week,” she said.

He looked stricken.

“I think I even have heavy whipped cream to go on it,” she said.

“Three days,” he said. “That’s the best I can do.”

“Five days and a maraschino cherry,” she haggled.

“Man, you fight dirty,” he said. “Four days. That’s my final offer.”

Brenna took his outstretched hand and pumped it three times. “I’ll bring the fixings to your place. Your TV is bigger.”

Nate opened her door for her and Brenna climbed into the Jeep. He shut the door, and she rolled down the window.

“Hank will be thrilled to see you,” he said.

“And me him,” she agreed.

“Hey, is that why you’re coming over, to see Hank?” He sounded a teeny bit miffed.

“Among other things,” she said. She smiled and turned the key. Nate stepped back and she drove away with a wave. It felt good to keep him guessing.

Brenna stayed late at Nate’s. They talked a little baseball and Hank got plenty of love, but mostly, they talked about Clue Parker and debated who his murderer could be.

Two slices of brownie pie each and still they had no answers. Brenna had the nagging feeling she was missing something, or overlooking something, but what? It was maddening.

 

“One more coat of polyurethane and this trunk will be ready for Betty Cartwright,” Brenna said. She ran her hand over the recently dried varnish, checking its smoothness.

“We have to take pictures for the Web site,” Tenley said. “This is one of your finest pieces.”

“One of
our
finest pieces,” Brenna corrected her. “We did it together.”

They admired their handiwork for a moment. It was a quiet morning in the shop. Mrs. Delsum had picked up the birth announcements for her first grandson, and Mrs. Carter had ordered her daughter’s engagement announcements. Other than that, the traffic had been minimal.

With a crash of bells, the front door was flung open and in came Ella and Marie Porter. They were trying to elbow each other out of the way as they charged into the shop.

“Did you hear?”

“Can you believe it?”

“Who would have thought?”

“His best friend!”

Tenley put up her hands to slow them down, but it was like trying to slow the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Brenna wasn’t sure if she should hop up on the nearest table or look for a red cape to make them charge by her.

“What are you talking about?” Tenley asked as the two women stopped by the table.

“Oh, my, that really is lovely,” Marie said, distracted by the hope chest on the table.

“Goodness knows, Betty Cartwright needs all the hope she can get,” Ella said.

“Well, she is trying to wrangle old Saul Hanratty into a relationship,” Marie said. “Personally, I’d hold out for someone with a little less nose hair.”

“It matches her whiskers,” Ella said.

“She doesn’t—does she?” Marie asked with wide eyes.

“I saw Ruby tweeze them myself,” Ella said. “Three big ones on her chin.”

Marie’s hand went self-consciously to her own chin.

“Ladies,” Brenna said in exasperation. “What brought you charging in here? Surely, it wasn’t to tell us that Betty Cartwright has a whisker issue.”

“Jake Haywood was arrested,” they said in unison.

“What?” Tenley cried.

“This morning,” Ella continued. “Chief Barker showed up at the garage with a search warrant.”

“We don’t know the details, but he found a pair of bloody boots. They think it might be Clue’s blood on them,” Marie said.

“Oh, my God,” Tenley said. She looked at Brenna in horror.

“Where’s Tara?” Brenna asked.

“She’s at the inn with her parents,” Ella said. “Apparently, that’s where they found Jake this morning.”

“Do you think . . .” Tenley let the question dangle.

“No,” Brenna said. She had no idea why, but she felt it deep down in her gut. “Jake didn’t do it.”

Tenley seemed to sag with relief.

“I’m going to go and see Tara,” Brenna said. She hurried into the break room to grab her purse.

“I’ll come with you,” Tenley offered.

“You can’t,” Brenna said. “The Stuarts are coming in to discuss their wedding invitations.”

“Darn it, come straight back here and tell me everything,” Tenley said. “And tell her I’m thinking about her.”

“I will,” Brenna promised. She headed for the front door and felt Marie and Ella hot on her heels. She spun around and stared them down. “No. You are
not
coming.”

They gave her looks remarkably similar to Hank’s when he wanted something he shouldn’t have. It didn’t work for them either.

“Help Tenley with the shop,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The elderly twins gave her put-upon looks but headed to the break room to store their purses with only a smidgen of grumbling, just loud enough so Brenna could hear it but not really make it out. She gave Tenley an exasperated look and raced out the door.

It was a cool day for June, so Brenna decided to walk. The Morse Point Inn sat on a lush sweep of property on the south side of the town green. An imposing old Victorian, once the home of Elias Morse, Tenley’s great-great great-great-grandfather, it was sold during the Depression to keep the family afloat. Since then it had changed hands repeatedly until it was bought in the 1970s and converted into an inn.

A tall black iron fence encircled the property and Brenna walked through the main gate and up the gravel walkway, lined with white azalea bushes, to the broad front porch. The house was white with black shutters and sported two turrets, one on each side, and a sloped mansard roof in the middle. Gingerbread woodwork decorated the eaves and gave the house an artistic flare. Brenna crossed to the red double doors. She pushed the one on the right open, and tapped the small silver bell on the wooden front counter.

Preston Kelly poked his head out of the office door behind the counter and looked relieved to see it was her.

“Brenna,” he said. “I’m so glad it’s you. I’ve been running interference for the Montgomerys all morning and it’s just exhausting.”

Preston Kelly was a tall, thin man in his early sixties. He was bald on top and kept the remaining hair on his head cut very short. He and his life partner Gary Carlisle had bought the inn a decade before and were the driving force behind the Morse Point Board of Tourism.

Brenna liked them, not only because they had bought several of her decoupage pieces for the inn, but because they shared her love of the arts and Morse Point was better for having them reside here.

“The press?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I actually had to turn the garden hose on Ed Johnson to make him get off my property. The man is a terrier.”

Brenna laughed. She would have liked to have seen the local editor in chief get a good dousing. She’d had her own issues with him storming her front door a few months before.

“Is Tara here?” she asked.

“Yeah, she’s upstairs in her parents’ suite.”

“Would it be all right if I went up?” she asked.

“Sure, I know you’re friends, and Lord knows she needs one right now,” he said. “It’s the last door on the right.”

“Thanks, Preston.” Brenna dashed up the curved staircase.

She was halfway down the hallway when she heard the raised voices.

“Enough is enough, Tara,” Mr. Montgomery was saying. “It is time for you to give up this romance and come home to Boston where you belong.”

“I’m not giving up Jake.” Tara’s voice was high, tinged with tears and a little hysteria. “He didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”

“Then who did?” Tiffany’s voice was lower than the others. She was obviously trying to keep it calm, but her voice was discouraged as if she couldn’t believe Jake had let them down so terribly.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t him,” Tara said.

Brenna knocked on the door. It seemed as good a time as any to interrupt. She could tell they had all gone still on the other side of the door, probably expecting an onslaught from a reporter who had gotten by Preston.

“Tara!” she called. “It’s me, Brenna.”

The door was yanked open, and Tara hugged her close.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she said against her shoulder.

“It’s going to be all right.” Brenna patted her back, hoping her words would prove true.

Tara stepped back. Her long pale hair was in disarray and her face was red and blotchy and streaked with tears. She was barefoot and wearing a pair of jeans and a lavender V-neck T-shirt. It looked as if she barely had the wherewithal to dress herself.

Brenna glanced at her parents. Tiffany and Tyler were in their usual neatly pressed and tidy attire. The only thing that gave away their distress was the strain etched in their faces in the tiny lines around their eyes and mouths like stress fractures in concrete.

Brenna had never seen that kind of strain on her parents’ faces during her own struggles, and for a moment she envied the complete and unconditional love Tara received from her parents. She was a lucky girl. But then, perhaps that was why Tara was such a nice person: knowing only kindness had taught her to be unfailingly kind.

“You heard the news?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“It’s not true,” Tara said. She stood with her feet apart and her hands on her hips in a fighter stance. “Jake would never harm anyone, no matter what they had done.”

“I don’t think he did it, either,” Brenna said.

“Great, just great,” Tyler said sarcastically. “The paper artist says he’s innocent, so gee, he must be.”

“Daddy.” Tara’s voice was reproving. “Brenna is my friend and she’s been very good to me, please don’t talk to her like that.”

“It’s all right,” Brenna said.

“No, it isn’t,” Tara said. “You understand what I feel for Jake. Mother and Daddy need to understand, too. This isn’t a schoolgirl crush. It isn’t a phase that I’ll outgrow. I’m not going to come to my senses and leave Jake in a year or two. He is my soul mate, and I love him. My God, I love him so much sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe without him. He is my heart, my life, my everything. If he goes to jail, I will live for the days that I get to see him. This is a love that will never die. Never.”

As she spoke, Tara was transformed from silly, young girl to strong woman. It was amazing. Brenna believed her—she would love Jake until the day she died—and judging by the teary expressions on her parents’ faces, they did, too.

Tyler had the grace to look abashed and he cupped the back of his neck with his hand as he gave Brenna a sideways glance.

“My daughter is right,” he said. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

“Done,” Brenna said. “I can’t imagine how stressful this must be for you. Tara, did you tell them what we found out last night?”

“I did,” she said. “I told Chief Barker, too, but he was so focused on taking Jake in, I don’t know that he was listening.”